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luvsupa · 3 months

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PRINCE GOJO LOVES WHO?!

tags: fem!reader x prince! gojo satoru, childhood enemies to almost lovers to enemies (☹️), NEW MALE CHARACTER!, bully!gojo, gojo gets so jealous, love (ish)-hate relationship, gojos so confusing, ANGST, royalty, arranged marriage, forbidden love, lots of tension, smut-ish (intense kissing + grinding), cheating (guys don’t ever cheat) mdni.

w.c: 2.7k

a/n: sorry for the late update 😥 got lazy 🫣 but thank u guys so much for the support! It means a lot! + likes/ reblogs are very appreciative 💆🏽‍♀️

read part 2 here!

you wake up in an unfamiliar room, the soft mattress beneath you swallowing you deeper as you open your eyes. your body aches, you look under the cover to see the formal gown from last night’s dinner.

oh. the dinner.

your heart sinks as you recall the events. ayana had set you up, and gojo... he had brought you to his room and kissed you.

how could gojo treat me like this for years, kiss me, and then continue to torment me? you shift on the king-sized bed, relieved to find you’re alone.

you wince as you get up, the tight corset beneath your gown causing discomfort. you walk to the balcony, the view similar to yours but from many floors above.

opening the double balcony doors, you step closer to the railing and look down. you recognize your parents and gojo's among the guests. there are a few others, can’t seem to recognize their faces. who could they be? did my father invite them?

“how did you sleep?”

you close your eyes in annoyance, he’s the last person you want to see right now.

“i slept fine,” you say, not turning around to look at him. he can sense your irritation. “i shouldn’t overstay my time here, so i will go back to my room.” you turn around to finally face him. his eyes soften as he sees your puffy eyes from last night.

“no, please stay. i-i don’t mind how long,” he says, his voice with desperation, reaching to grab your hand to reassure you.

“i’m not sure ayana would appreciate me staying in the room she shares with her partner,” you say, hinting at her words from last night. gojo seems taken aback by your words and lets go of your hand, his expression faltering.

“so you think she’d appreciate us kissing?” he retorts, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice.

“i- no. but she is someone you will potentially wed. out of respect for the future princess, we must stop.” with that, gojo’s entire aura shifts. his eyes darken with anger at the mention of marriage. without waiting for his response, you exit the balcony and head towards the front door.

“i explained everything to your parents,” he blurts out, desperation seeping into his tone.

“thank you,” you say softly, a mix of gratitude and sorrow in your voice, as you leave his room.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as you make yourself look more presentable than you did in gojo’s room, you’re too scared to face your family. you don’t know what gojo said to them, but you assume it’s good.

“hi, dear, we have an important meeting you must attend,” you hear your mother's soft voice from your doorway.

“mother, if this is about last night, i will explain—”

“it is not. satoru enlightened us all, it was just a mere childhood feeling,” she reassures as she walks closer to you. “I deeply regret not hearing your side, but the past is behind us. We must discuss more relevant matters. join me in the drawing room when you're ready.”

tears almost fill your eyes as relief washes over you. finally, your family is hearing you out. you nod as she embraces you with a warm hug before exiting the room, giving you more time to prepare yourself.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as you make your way toward the drawing room, your nerves intensify. your mother hadn’t given you any details about the meeting, and the presence of more guards than usual, dressed in different-colored uniforms, only heightens your anxiety.

standing close to the drawing room doors, the guards open them to reveal a room filled with your parents, gojo’s parents, and a few unfamiliar faces you noticed at the balcony. the mothers and other women sit on the couches, while the men stand on the other side, deep in discussion.

abruptly, your mother and the queen stand up, acknowledging your presence. “perfect! dear, we have someone who would like to meet you!” your mother says, her voice brimming with excitement. your nerves spike as an unfamiliar woman calls over someone to meet you.

too nervous to turn around, you hear footsteps approaching behind you.

“hello, my beautiful,” a voice says, making time feel as if it has stopped. you turn around to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with slicked-back blonde hair and a single curled strand. his hazel eyes gaze down at you, and you are in complete shock, struggling to respond.

“i- hi,” you manage to say, shamelessly checking him out. he chuckles at your response.

“i’m kento nanami. i’ve heard a lot about you,” he says smoothly. you’re starstruck by his beauty, still struggling to find words. your mother stands beside you, her hands on your shoulders, urging you to act proper.

“he is also a prince—soon to be king,” your mother whispers in your ear, but nanami definitely hears.

“i hope you don’t see me merely as a king. i’m here to leave the weight of royalty and simply be myself,” he says, as your mother apologizes for her rudeness. if anything, his humility makes you more attracted to him.

“well, we shall leave you two alone to get to know each other on a deeper level,” the queen says, and everyone quickly exits. your mother gives you one last look before leaving, reminding you to be on your best behaviour. for what, though?

“ugh, finally the parents have left. i was getting bored of hearing about royal duties and nonsense,” nanami says, exhaling a long-held breath as you both settle on the couches. his boldness stuns you. he doesn’t want to be bombarded with royal duties... hot.

“i wouldn’t know much about royal duties the way you do, kento. i bet our fathers chatted you into boredom,” you say, trying to lighten the mood with a joke.

“my father? no, that was my mother’s brother. my father passed years ago from an illness.”

great. he hates me.

“oh my—I-I’m so sorry, your majesty. i truly didn’t know,” you quickly say, but he gives you a warm smile, reassuring you that you simply didn’t know.

“i would also hope that you would address me without honorifics. i’d hope for my soon-to-be wife to call me by my first name.”

what?

“sorry what? wife? no offense, but i don’t know you or anything about any marriage!” you say, heart racing, realizing you were kept out of the loop.

“your parents haven’t told you? they’ve been stressing my family for years that you were waiting to meet me,” he says, very confused. you shift your position on the couch, fully facing him.

“i’ve had a few conversations about marriage but nothing about us... i-i mean i’m definitely not ready,” you say, starting to freak out. he notices and holds your hand, his much larger and radiating warmth.

“i may not understand being left out of important conversations—especially regarding your future,” he says, drawing circles on your hand. “if you are not ready to marry, i will use my royal duties and call it off.” his warm smile makes your heart feel whole. maybe he’s the one for you; he’s patient, kind, and handsome.

“kento I—”

“i will not let you marry her!” you hear as the doors burst open.

this cannot be happening.

you and nanami quickly stand up, startled by gojo’s sudden interruption.

“satoru, you cannot be—”

“get your guards and get the hell out of my estate. you are not welcome here—nor are you welcome to marry her!” gojo yells, angrily walking towards you both. nanami looks at you, just as confused as you are by gojo’s crazed state.

“excuse us, kento. i need to have a talk with him,” you say sternly, grabbing gojo’s arm and leading him out of the drawing room.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

after what felt like an eternity dragging gojo to the library, he stubbornly refused to move. finally, you arrive and shut the door behind you, locking it firmly to ensure privacy.

“what the hell is wrong with you? you can’t act like a child and barge in like that!” you say angrily, turning to face him.

“what is wrong with me? how dare you marry someone you don’t even know!” his glare intensifies, his bright blue eyes darkening with rage. “whoever i choose to wed is not your decision—nor shall it be your problem!” you retort, matching his tone.

“it is my problem—especially if you’re making reckless decisions without my presence,” he yells, causing you to scrunch your face in utter confusion. “you’re seriously unbelievable! i can’t believe it,” you say, slowly putting pieces together.

“why are you so against me being married? it shouldn’t matter to—“

“i cannot bear to lose the one person i’m deathly in love with to another man!”

what?

you look at him, wishing he had never said those words. if anything, you wished for him to torment you than confess his love for you.

“that is not fair—it is not fair and you know that,” you say, walking away from him breathing heavily as you go deeper into the library, with him following you.

“i am madly in love with you—since our childhood—“

“satoru, stop. you do not love me. you’ve been making my life a living hell. my stay here—is beyond hell,” you say as you turn and look at him with teary eyes. “the one time i have a chance at life with a loving man and you—you try to ruin it,” you say.

“would he ever love you the depths that i love you?” he questions, and you're taken aback from his words. “love? do you consider ruining my life, my reputation, humiliating me as ‘love’?”

“that was the only way i could block you out of my head—my feelings, my thoughts. i hated the fact your own parents planned to wed you off during our teenage years! i love you so much i pushed you away!” gojo confesses as you watch him pour out his deep feelings.

“so you simply ignored my feelings all those years? all the torment i endured? you only cared about yourself?”

“do you love me?” he says, ignoring what you said. you stammer at your words as he continues to repeat his words, walking closer to you as you slowly walk backwards.

“you were my first love,” you quietly say as you shake your head, your mind all jumbled up. he smiles at your words that he’s been dying to hear. “but you have proved to me over and over that i am not yours. you cannot say you love someone then treat them like shit!” you say as his smile slowly fades.

“i will marry kento and that is the end,” you say. he looks at you angrily.

“is that really what you want? to be with someone who won’t drive you wild like i do? to live a dull life, lacking the connection we have?” he steps closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“you know, i could show you just how much i love you. how every night, it’s your face i see, your name i whisper. just one touch, one kiss, and you’d remember why you were mine first.”

you feel your breath hitch as he leans in, his lips almost dangerously close to yours. “i bet he would never know how to make you tremble with a single look, how to make you ache with a single touch.”

before you can respond, his lips crash against yours in a desperate and passionate hunger. his hands find your waist, pulling you close as the kiss deepens, his mouth relentless and demanding.

lust once again takes over your body, igniting a fire as you wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss more. moans escape into each other’s mouths as you both lose yourselves in the moment. his tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you part willingly, tasting the sweetness of desire.

as you two are mindlessly kissing, you stumble backward, gojo’s strong arms steadying you both until you collapse onto a nearby couch. your gown drapes around you, the fabric crumpling as you straddle him, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. his hands remain on your waist, gripping possessively, refusing to release you from his embrace.

heat radiates between you, his body pressed against yours, a desperate ache building in the pit of your stomach. the intensity of the moment fuels your movements, his hands are guiding you as you’re shamelessly grinding on his bulge. feeling him throb beneath you.

moans and gasps escape into each other’s mouths, the air thick with tension and desire. your bodies move together instinctively, as if trying to merge into one.

you break the kiss, your lips parting from his with a soft, lingering resistance. his darkened eyes plead for more, hunger burning in their depths as he leans in again, his lips brushing against yours in a silent plea. but you resist, causing him to whine and pout at your refusal. what a baby.

“i-i will marry kento,” you say, your voice trembling slightly with the intensity of your emotions. it’s a final decision made in the heat of the moment.

gojo leans his head back with a frustrated groan from hearing another man’s name. he releases his hold on your waist as you rise from his lap, smoothing out your gown to look more presentable. his whine of protest goes unheard as you walk away, the sound of your heels against the wooden floor echoing as you walk away.

the tension hangs heavy in the library as you leave him behind—your heart racing, your mind reeling, and the taste of him lingering on your lips.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

you walk through the grand halls, your footsteps echoing softly as you make your way to the garden, seeking a moment to clear your mind from what happened in the library.

as you step into the garden, you notice two figures standing near a fountain. it’s ayana and nanami. ayana is giggling, her hand rubbing against nanami’s arm as she leans in closer to him. she looks up at him with adoring eyes, her laughter bright and flirtatious.

you stop in your tracks, feeling a jealous at the sight. she always finds a way to ruin something.

nanami notices you walking in and turns to gesture you to join them. ayana looks over to see you and scoffs, wrapping her arm possessively around nanami’s as you approach.

“i see you’ve already met ayana,” you say bitterly, shooting a disdainful glance at her.

“met? oh, kenny! you haven’t told her about us!” ayana fake pouts, her tone dripping with insincerity. you look at them in confusion. “who do you think was his stress reliever, hmm?” she confesses, and a pang of jealousy courses through you.

“i’ve told you many times that whatever happened in the past stays in the past, ayana,” nanami says firmly, removing her arms from around him and creating space between them.

“but of course, that was before i met ruru! we’re now happily in love—expecting to be engaged soon,” ayana chirps cheerfully, her words stoking your anger. little does she know what happened a few minutes ago…

“but poor you, would any man truly desire a future with you?” she taunts, walking closer to you, her hand brushing your cheek. you shove her hand away, infuriated by her audacity.

“i intended to announce our engagement at the gala, but we are also planning our marriage,” nanami declares calmly, causing ayana to whirl around in horror. for once, she is speechless, no vile words escaping her lips.

nothing.

“so instead of belittling my wife and your future queen, i’d advise you to show her the respect she deserves,” nanami says in a low, threatening voice. you’re shocked at his words, feeling his soft touch as he takes your hand to lead you out of the garden. not waiting for one of her snarky response.

turning back, you see tears filling ayana’s eyes as she remains frozen in place. seeing her like this brings a small, satisfied smile to your face. but as nanami guides you back into the castle, you notice gojo rushing out of the library towards ayana, her sobs echoing loudly.

you watch as gojo softly comforts her, his actions mirroring those he once showed you. you start to feel enraged at the sight, but your view is cut off as nanami turns a corner, and they disappear from sight.

why am I feeling this way?

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #gojou satoru x reader #gojo angst #gojo satoru #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #gojo smut #jujustu kaisen

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netherfeildren · 4 months

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FABLE OF THE DOG : 1. The Two Headed Calf

Series Masterlist;

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Summary: Welcome home and buck up, cowgirl.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Slowburn(ish); Original Characters; Alcohol & Drug Use; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Graphic Descriptions of Vomiting; Description of a Dead Body; Death of a Parent; Parental Neglect; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Past Teenage Crush; Unrequited Pinning; Yearning and Longing Galore; Boss’s Daughter; Complicated Family Relationships; A Home is a Place but ALSO a Person!; Found Family

A/N: Disclaimer, I know nothing about Wyoming and it’s geography, ranching, or being a cowboy and just made all this up. Any and all misrepresentations are fallacy of my laziness.

The FMC tag was decided because she has a last name. It was just too difficult for me to speak in depth about her father without giving him a name, and thus her one too. After that decision was made, she kind of went away from me and devolved into her own person who I have come to be quite obsessed with. It’s still written in ‘you’ format, anyhow.

I’ve been having a whole lot of fun with this, I hope you do too.

Word Count: 10K

Read on AO3

1: The Two Headed Calf

“She’s been shut up in that house goin’ on three days now, Joel,” Tommy says as the two brothers make their way across the lawn.

The ride had been long and hard, and Joel is tired—he levels a dark look at him. “Just sayin’. Nothin’ you find in there’s gonna be pretty to look at.” He raises his hands in surrender at the brooding glare, that non-confrontational shrug that’s set Joel on edge since they were boys.

“One of you’s should’a gone in there. Made sure she’s okay.”

“The housekeepers’ve been keepin’ an eye. And Frank tried to go in there and check on her himself, but she’s angry as a barn cat. Hissin’ ‘nd yowlin’, and just bein’ downright scary as hell, to be honest. You should be prepared is all I’m tryin’ to say.”

“Her father just died, Tommy. I’m not expectin’ pretty sights right now,” Joel gruffs, trying to swallow the panic that flutters in his throat as they crest the final hill up to the big house.

The beautiful stone, oak, glass monstrosity that’s stood as monument to this place, this home that is not truly his, for over a decade now. The Kelly Ranch. The sky above is still a sultry, yawning blue, deep and tired, basking in the throes of dawn as the sun just now makes its way over the crest of the Tetons in the distance so that the house sits for just a moment longer in its pool of shadowed blues.

Joel pauses on the border of that somber darkness, afraid suddenly of what awaits him inside; boots glued to the ground with the gum of cowardice. He doesn’t want to see her broken. He doesn’t want to see her hurting. But there’s no other recourse, he knows this. The death of the estranged father she’d fought with all her life, the inheritance of this world that seems suddenly too big for just one orphaned girl, all alone now.

He’s afraid that he’ll walk into that house he’s always seen as other and home all wrapped into one—that Olympus that was so far removed and out of reach even when he walked through it’s halls to the man who’d given him sanctuary and salvation, to the man he knew mistreated her sometimes, didn’t love her enough—and not have the capacity to recognize her, this girl who’d always been familiar and stranger all in one also.

Joel Miller suddenly feels afraid of the memory she exists as in his mind, in the face of the woman he knows she is now.

When he lets himself in the back kitchen door, it’s still nighttime within. The cool dryness of the AC cranked up to inhuman temperatures makes him shiver once while sprouting a damp sweat along his nape. He should’ve showered before coming, should’ve washed the ride and the days of camp off his skin before walking into her presence, but all he’d managed were his hands and face. There’d been panic to make sure she was well, if not then alive, at least. But he should be more presentable for her.

Hell, he should’ve been here for her when she came home for the first time in two years to the house where her father had died. He should’ve been here when the man died.

But the herd had needed moving. He hadn’t thought it’d all happen so quickly, thought he had more time, that they all had more time. He’d hoped she wouldn’t return at all, if he was being honest. There was nothing here for her. Nothing except memories of a gilded and loveless, already motherless childhood. The reality of all she was set to inherit. The truth of an aloneness Joel didn’t know if she was prepared for.

He moves through the house slowly, afraid to disturb the ghosts and the silence. The interior, immaculate and beautiful and solemn. Something out of a movie picture or the gloss of a magazine. Something covered not in dust but in sadness. The stairs are silent as his spinning mind makes up for the creak, the boots she’d sent him on his last birthday hit the richly piled rug at the top, and the hallway to the bedrooms yawns long and frightening in front of him. Two grand a pop, the boots—Lucchese, he’d looked them up on the iPhone she’d sent him the year before. A gift giver, generous to a fault, kind to a detriment. She sent something to all the ranch hands that’d worked for her father since she was a girl. Something for the entire ranch at Christmas. And all he managed each time was a perfunctory thank you card, like he did every year because he remembered, years ago, in her little voice, polite people send thank you notes, Joel, my grandmother told me so. Last year he’d written that they were too much, that she shouldn’t have, that he was grateful. There wasn’t much else to say.

That was the extent of their communication, familiar and stranger in one, the far removed golden child of the Kelly. They’d all called him that, the Kelly, for as long as he’d known the man. As if he was some Scottish laird of old, ruling over his clan and half the world. Egotistical, was what it really was. He’d thought himself a god among men, in the face of his only child. Ridiculous was what Joel saw it all for, a put on play, a farce.

And wonder of wonders, she was entirely unlike him because of course she would be. Of course a man ruled by nothing more than ego and narcissism had been sent his polar opposite in the form of his only child. Kind hearted, was what she was—sending him a birthday gift every year. Remembering them all here always no matter how far she’d gone. He sent her a thank you note for each benevolence in return, a word of respectful gratitude for the fact that a person like her could ever remember a dog like him.

Sometimes, Joel had wanted to go to him, the old man, Oswald Kelly, and ask him where his daughter was, why he wasn’t looking for her, keeping her closer, caring for her. He wasn’t the sort of man that could’ve ever understood such callous behavior towards one’s child.

The last time she’d been here, over two years ago: less than forty eight hours that had ended in screaming so terrible they’d all heard it down from the barn, sitting in uncomfortable, swollen silence, the spinning of tires ringing as she yelled at her father that he was never going to see her again, the man’s echoing laugh as she’d fled him.

Joel hadn’t seen her on that visit, it’d been so quick and angry. Flying down on the jet from New Haven for her father’s seventieth birthday and not even making it long enough for the festivities. This was what her life was, as he’d observed it from a distance for all these years, the singular daughter of this great house, coming to her father, attempting joy and finding nothing but disappointment at the end of him.

She’d been right, a knowing streak running through her. Kelly had never seen her again, and Joel didn’t know if the old man had regretted it or not, the anger and the estrangement and the lack of love. But the last time he’d spoken to him, hours before setting off on their move, the herd always came before everything else, the ranch was all that mattered is what the man had always said, with death scratching at the window, his frail and withered body licked down to almost nothing from the austere and imposing figure Joel had always known him as, he’d asked for her. His only child. Do you think she’ll come, Joel? The dying man had asked him. My daughter, do you think she’ll come see me? Joel had lied a lie he hadn’t known was one, said she would, that he’d call her as soon as he was back.

In the end, he hadn’t even afforded her that decency, a personal call.

He comes to her open bedroom door now, pitch dark as grief within, and the stench of sorrow and liquor seeping from the living grave. He looks down the long and empty hall for a brief second, wishing it didn’t have to be him, that again, he didn't have to see her any way other than okay. And he realizes that there’s something about her, as she will exist now, that makes him cowardly. Something about this house without the man who’d granted him the absolution of a hiding place all those years ago, who’d understood and sheltered Joel in the midst of his own past grief, that makes him cowardly. The house feels wrong without Kelly within it, wrong with only her as its holder now.

Joel steps into her dark, and it’s a battleground—

—You are silent and motionless in the blue room.

Nothing of the gleaming splendor that dresses the rest of the home sleeps in here. There are clothes everywhere, an exploded suitcase lies open and massacred in the middle of the plush white rug, a turned over bottle of red wine bleeding into your clothes. Shredded pages with scratched on writing slashed across them, the dusted white mounds of crushed pills, as if you’d smashed each one individually beneath the thumb of your grief. The sight makes him more afraid, the scent of weed and cigarettes heavy in the air, as he takes the final step towards the wrecked bed, and a single small foot hangs limply from the edge.

He stares at it long and hard for a second, afraid, afraid again, still, of what he’ll find. He says your name once, short and gruff like a dog’s bark. It’s what he feels like. Animal, bestial, lacking any sort of cognizance amidst this minefield. His heart beats against his spine, and he thinks he should do something else, shake you, check for a pulse, his bones throb inside his skin. He needs to fucking move, but the smell of smoke is so cloying he’s choking on his own tongue.

Your ankle twitches.

And Joel sucks in a sigh of relieved air without panic, saying your name again. His voice is level now, maybe gentle, no more barking dog. His eyes move up the length of one pretty leg, and then quickly, he averts his gaze when he gets high up enough he’s met with soft-creased asscheek covered in silk. Swallowing his tongue, his eyes roll in their sockets, looking for anything else to look at besides the sight of panty clad ass. He steps closer again, gripping the edge of the sheet to pull it over your scantily clad body, eyes flitting to the silver spun clock on the nightstand, the warm glow of the hall light shows that they have two hours to get you sober and presentable before the funeral.

Joel should have been here. He does not feel that he is even here now. And the guilt eats at him like acid. The fear too.

“Darlin’, you’ve gotta get up now,” he says softly, taking hold of your shoulder, scalded by the feel of fragile skin, realizing with the suddenness of a gunshot that you’ll be the Kelly now. He gives you a gentle shake, “We’ve gotta get you ready,” and his heart pumps blood like a machine. The sight of the dry liquor bottle toppled on the nightstand, the shattered glass glittering the floor in crystal, the empty pill bottles, it all taunts him. His guilt is a cacophony in his mind. He knows he’s going to have to stick his fingers down your throat, make you spit it all up, that you’ll hate him for all of this afterwards, but when his gaze meets streaked rust, dark and shocking against the white sheets, he’s kicked into terrified action.

He turns you over, your head lolling sickeningly in unconscious stupor, hair a tangled mess strewn about your face so that he has to dig for your eyes, parting the curtains of your fringe to uncover you. He focuses on your closed eyes, the too long lashes clumped together, lips cracked and parched.

He should’ve fucking been here.

Smoothing his fingers along the lengths of your arms, he keeps his eyes on your face and averted from all the skin that keeps peeking out below, searching the divots and slopes of your arms for hurts. When he gets to your right hand, battleground of a long ago broken hurt, he finds the drying crust of blood, the ragged split in the soft, small palm, thankfully shallow.

His eyes smart, looking down at the broken glass, feeling the tear in you.

Gripping you gently below the elbows he pulls you into his arms, cradled like a child, light as loss. Your head lolls again, neck crooked at an unnatural angle as he carries you into the restroom, careful of your head, knocking the lights on and putting you down in front of the toilet bowl. He pulls your camisole to rights, making sure everything is covered, and gathers your mess of hair as carefully as he can, trying his best to not snag the fragile strands in his too rough hands, but gripping you firmly in position. And ignoring the sound of your awakening cry, he sticks two fingers into your slack jawed mouth and down your throat until he feels the hot rush of vomit.

Crouching behind you, his thighs bracket you, keeping your form from slumping over as you empty the poison from your belly, flushing the alcohol soaked bile as you struggle. He wipes his messy hand on the leg of his jeans and rubs soothing circles on your back, his fingers woven through the soft silk of your hair to keep your head in place and your face clear. His heart thumps in rhythm with your heaves, your too quick, panicked breathing. There seems to be not enough oxygen for the two of you and your grief in the too small room of the commode, and Joel gasps like a dying fish, trying to swallow calm breaths.

When you finally stop your heaving, you rest your arms at the edge of the gleaming porcelain, head hung low, defeated, wracked with shivers or silent sobs, he isn’t sure, a strange and horrible keening noise, so small he barely catches it, held in your throat. There’s the finest down of peach fuzz that covers the tender slope of your vulnerable nape, and it makes Joel feel suddenly, just as vulnerable, just as unprotected. At a complete loss for how to help you.

“Finally decided to show your face,” you croak, voice ragged with your sick.

His fingers tighten once around your shoulder, a panicked tick of reminder that he’s here now, that he’s him. “I was moving the herd. It had to be done. Your father, he—” he stutters, trying explain, tripping over his own guilt ridden words. “I didn’t think it’d happen now, so fast, that you’d get here so soon. I thought we had more time.”

We.

Your skin seems to cool by the second beneath his fingertips, and then you’re shrugging his touch away, huddling closer to the porcelain bowl, further away from him.

“Get out.”

“Let me explain. I—” And he’s begging now. He can hear the note of it in his voice. Begging for forgiveness. For a chance.

“I don’t want to see you.” You don’t say his name. “Get out.” It feels worse than anything.

“I’m here now. I didn’t know— I didn’t think.” He reaches to grab for you again, but you turn to face him suddenly. Wiping the back of your hand against your mouth, pushing your heels at his shins to kick him away. Your eyes are red rimmed, the hollows beneath bruised with lack of sleep. But fire spits from the deep color, all anger and hurt.

“Go deal with your fucking ranch,” you fling the words at him. “It’s all you care about anyways.” And they weren’t shivers, he sees now, they’re tears tracked as proof of all his guilt, all his lacking, along the slopes of your fine grained cheeks.

Your, you say. As if this place and anything in it has ever been his. He’s never wanted any of it like that, only ever seen a thing that needed taking care of, and him, with the ability to care for it.

“I needed you,” you whisper as if the thought comes along on a second wind of anger, a realization that sends your voice breaking, hitching, your chest caving in on itself as the tears come faster and faster now. “He’s dead, and I needed you.”

“I’m sorry,” he begs. “I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks now too. He thinks he’ll cry now too, for the man who he also lost, who despite it all meant something to him, as well. For you, who’s lost even more. For Joel’s own guilt.

But he doesn’t think you see any of that, not his apology, not his regret, not his own grief. You turn away from him again, laying your temple down again on your forearm. “Get out. I’ll be ready soon.”

And so he goes.

Your father is made small and withered in death.

One of the wealthiest men in the entire world. A stranger, a titan, a nightmare of a man.

It wasn’t something you’d ever considered, that a human body could look so colorless and frigid and not alive. Like a shock or a ringing bell, it’s a realization that you’re an orphan now. That you’re all alone.

You feel something like a memory of regret. Or something that’s like the idea that you should feel regret, that you should feel guilt for how it was between the two of you. But all that is overshadowed by the reality of what you weren’t. All you feel even more, or in actual reality, is the old loss of what you’d never been to each other. That, you realize, is the seed of your grief. That long ago wound, that child’s understanding that he wasn’t like all the other fathers, that he’d never care for you the way other children were cared for.

Looking down at the frozen face that looks nothing like the one he’d worn the last time you’d seen him, the wispy thatch of hair that hadn’t been so jarringly white before sickness had ravaged his body, you realize that this is no new loss, it is only a continuation, a reopening of a very old one.

The cavernous cathedral at your back is silent, vacated by the sea of people that had congregated here earlier. And with sickening curiosity, you uncoil an arm from where you’ve got it wrapped around yourself, reaching out to press a finger against the ice cold back of his hand. Shockingly not alive; he feels made of rubber.

Everyone that’d been here to bid farewell to this behemoth turned slip of a man, to catch a glimpse of you, packed like teeth into Jackson’s grandest cathedral; business men and heads of state from around the world, the oldest family names in the country, figures of the highest echelons of wealth and society, vipers circling the barrel—half the world here to see this person who was supposed to have been your father but was really only a stranger.

You take your hand back, and you don’t say goodbye as you turn away from his body. There’s no farewell to really tell.

And at the back of the church, hiding in a bright ream of sunlight, Joel stands propped against the face of a saint. Dark and silent and maybe even more far removed than your dead dad. Watching sentinel. Oswald Kelly’s hovering man—come to watch over him one last time.

The silk of your stockings slide against each other at the junction of your thighs, the hiss of your skirt around your calves as your reed thin heels click against the stone, and you pull your armor as tightly around yourself as you can. There’s a hollow echo inside of everywhere and everything, your mind like a gong, reverberating, and his gaze is so steady, hazel bright, deeply shaded by the lip of his dark hat, beckoning you towards him from beneath the brim.

Large and strong and steadfast, your heart gives a painful, longing thump—stupid, writhing thing—and you can only bear to look him in the eye for a second, and if you were to really think about saying goodbye to that father that never really was, lying behind you, slipping further and further away, you’d say it to the man that always stood as his shadow before the world, before you ever said it to the man himself.

The drive back home is cast in frigid silence and made all the more uncomfortable because you can practically hear Joel’s brain clicking and ticking away with worry.

He’d sent your car and driver away with a harsh word while you collected your final goodbyes and words of respect from the last smattering of people congregated and waiting for the newly birthed heir to one of the greatest fortunes in the world.

Hovering over your shoulder, he’d kept anyone from stepping too close or getting too friendly, so close you could feel the heat of his chest through the silk of your blouse, and then going suddenly full on aggressive when a reporter from the New York Times had approached, fishing for a quote on the future of the Kelly empire. Ushering you away with a hovering hand at the small of your back before the man could get half a question out, he’s opening the truck’s door for you as a haze descends over your eyes, the distant shutter and flash of cameras bursting in your peripherals, a latent hangover and sleep deprivation and not enough to eat in the last forty eight hours causing you to sag in his hold. Then it’s only his big fist wrapping around the span of your wrist as he lifts you into the truck, your eyes downcast and unable to take in sight or sound, vision all a blur. You murmur a barely there thank you with his hand fitting at the dip of your waist, big body blocking yours entirely from prying eyes trying to catch a glimpse or a stumble, and for a single second, your entire weight is suspended in his hold, allowing you to bypass the struggle of balancing your high heel on the step up, and then you’re sliding onto the leather of the seat, the whisper of your cashmere and silk rustling around you as he handles you like a child being spirited away from the scene of a crime.

The door shuts gently behind you, face turned away from the flashing lights, the watchful eyes of the whole world, and worst of all, the assessment of his concerned gaze. All you’re afforded are thirty seconds of privacy to let out a single gasping sob.

And now, an hour and a half of silent purgatory.

You slip your heels off, flexing your smarting toes against the damp of your stockings and tuck your folded legs beneath you on the seat. Paying the frantic energy of his anxiety and lodged words no mind, you consider instead: your new reality. The burden of it all means very little to you now. The last of your worries is being readied for entombing as the two of you speed down the eighty nine, zinging past the bright Wyoming green. The thrum of his truck drowns out your thoughts, brand new, probably over a hundred grand, only the best for your father’s right hand man, and the Kelly Ranch insignia emblazoned proudly on the sides. A brand for the whole world to see just who exactly is being whisked away to her old home turned brand spanking new grave.

You might be feeling a little bit dramatic. But then again— you’d just put your last remaining parent in an actual grave, surely that provides you some allowances.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his big paw gripping the leathered steering wheel in a death clutch, knuckles white with his frustration at the dilemma you pose, his own discomfort. You’re sure if he thought you wouldn’t catch him, he’d be squirming in his seat.

You do something to him sometimes, you know this. Not in any way you’d like, not in any interesting way, that of a woman affecting a man, but something respectfully harrowing. Maybe something a little bit like fear.

There has existed between the two of you, always, that strange intimacy of two people who’ve known each other for a very long time, and yet, have always remained at a far removed, arms length distance from one another.

A professional intimacy of sorts. Your father’s foreman, shadow, fixer. The man who guarded that treasure trove you’d inherit one day, today; the thing your father loved most in the world. Two people who’ve known each other a long time, and yet, don’t really know each other at all.

There has always been, however, the fact of the birthday.

The birthday. Your birthday.

The way you’d latched onto that small, immense, detail when you’d first discovered it at fourteen, when he’d newly arrived at the ranch and the true weight of your first real crush had really hit you, it was probably not entirely healthy. But you’d thought yourself in love with your father’s man, the first figure of the male species who’d ever drawn your attention in such a way.

He’d never paid you any mind; you were the boss's daughter, a figurehead or a responsibility, maybe a nuisance, although he’d never ever treated you as one. But the day someone had let slip it was his birthday, on the same day as yours, your teenage heart had swelled with the naive hope of fate. It was meant to be, the two of you were connected, so on and so forth, swallowed by girlish innocence and made buoyant by fantasy.

But you’d had something to share with someone, which was what really mattered. Something tangible, even if only in your inexperienced little mind, something to wield as comfort so that the first time your father had forgotten your special day, fifteen, and what a tender age it had been, you’d had something to cling to. That's when your gifts to him had started. It was your way of making sure there was at least one person in the whole world who’d remember that was your day too. That you were alive, that you mattered. A reminder of yourself. And as the years and birthdays passed, sometimes, when he sent those coldly gracious notes of his, you’d wished you could’ve written back with honesty. Said something like, I’m so lonely, wish you were here, wherever it was in the world you’d found yourself at the time.

And of course, he was gorgeous and older, strong and patient and capable, entirely unattainable. Impossible to forget. You’d gone so far, traveled wide, gotten yourself an overpriced education that would probably serve you for nothing, had lovers and parties and splendor, and always, you remembered your gifts for him, you remembered him. It was the single most important detail of your birthday every year.

The leather creaks beneath his fist again, chapped knuckles set to burst before he flexes his fingers out, long and straight. Thickly built hands, strong, made for working or hurting, on a man who you’ve never seen be anything but stoically patient.

He was strange in that way, neither wholly impulsive nor precisely intentional in his mannerisms. More so, it was that there was something extremely neutral about him, a middle buoyancy of personality. Strict with the cowboys, exacting, wielding his title as ranch foreman with an iron fist and your father’s blessing, and yet still, quiet, serious, with that patient gentleness about him. You’d seen it in the way he’d handled Ellie when she’d first come to the ranch, young and skinny with that hollow look of trauma kids who’d seen things they shouldn’t have shamed adults with. She’d been a little older than you, and with an air you’d not understood, a sort of lived past you’d been naive to the existence of, frightened when confronted by it, and yet inevitably, the two of you’d become fast friends eventually.

You’d even experienced it yourself, on two treasured occasions, that gentleness that you’d held onto for years. Nurturing the memory of him in your mind like a delusional bloom.

He stretches his hand again, wheel caught between his thumb and forefinger, cinching it there, back and forth. His nails are meticulously clean, cut to the quick, and you imagine he must spend a great deal of time cleaning himself up when he works so hard at getting himself so dirty most days.

You can see him sneaking glances at you, and he coughs once, a clearing of his nervous throat. Averting your gaze, you turn your face away so that you’ll be able to watch him through the reflection in the window. He monopolizes the space in the cabin of the truck, broad shoulders and hulking form, all the fine leather smell washed away in the scent of him. That bay rum aftershave he’s always worn, the one with the distinctive notes of bay leaf, cloves and citrus. An old fashioned scent, masculine and crisp.

You’d snuck into the bunk once with Ellie, before he’d moved into the foreman’s cabin, before Switzerland, when the two of you were still girls running rampant and free through the ranch, clutching desperately at the last vestiges of any sort of happy childhood you could scrounge up for one another. You’d peeked in his things, found a whole world of Joel shaped curiosities. The glass etched bottle of aftershave, a hole spotted t-shirt with a burnt orange longhorn across the front, Flannery O’Connor’s The Complete Stories—something you found comforting, knowing he could read about the small, the freakish, real life; thinking that perhaps he was homesick for the comfort of the South, hungering for a taste of the life he’d had then, through books. And then, in a spine cracked copy of Suttree, the pages almost falling apart beneath your fingertips, dog eared and well loved, her picture tucked between the pages.

It had been the first time you’d done something you knew you shouldn’t have and actually regretted it, looking down at that green eyed photograph.

You’d run back to your room after that, ashamed and something a little bit like jealous, desperate to know who she was, desperate for someone to keep a picture of you like that—as if they loved you. And years later, you’d found the scent for yourself. The little molasses glass bottle you still have and pull out on occasion, when you’re feeling extra bad, extra lonesome, extra far away from the whole world, just for a reminding of home.

Beside you, he sighs again, coughs again, brings you back to himself and the present. Just spit it out already, you think exasperatedly, say something, anything else besides how sorry you are.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he starts, and you roll your eyes, scoffing quietly.

“You already said that.” Sullen. Mullish. You wish you were a child who could still throw a tantrum and get away with it. Letting your eyes go unfocused from his reflection in the window, you brood at the sight of everything that’s yours now as he turns off the highway, passing below the iron eave of the Kelly Ranch entrance. Eight hundred thousand acres of pristine Wyoming land nestled into the deep valley surrounded by the Grand Tetons mountain range.

“Well, I’m sayin’ it again.” He’s driving too fast, and you refuse to turn and look at his face. Your heart beats blood in your ears, and you screw your eyes shut to the dizzying blur of green legacy, not wanting to see any of it—him.

Your belly swoops, going slightly nauseous and gurgling.

“I didn’t think you’d get here so quick.” He swallows, “Hell, I didn’t think it’d all happen so damn fast.”

“I was already in New York,” you tell him, voice clipped with breathlessness. “I left Paris last week.”

“What? I didn’t know— I—”

“Why would you?”

“I would’ve called you. I would’ve gotten you out here quicker.”

“Ellie called. It’s better like this, Joel.” Finally letting yourself say his name out loud, it feels wrong and molten on your tongue, a heaviness being spit up from the depths of your stomach. “We don’t have to pretend anymore. He’s dead now.”

“There’s no pretending. He wanted to see you—”

“Please, stop.”

But he urges on unheeded: “He told me so before I left. Told me—”

“Stop,” you snap. Finally turning to look at him and hating him for it. For how gorgeous he is, for all the things he’s always made you feel for as long as you can remember what it was to feel something for a man, for all he did or did not have with your father when you had none of it or so much of an entirely different thing. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any of it. It doesn't matter anymore, Joel.”

“But you should know. You deserve to know that—”

“What?” Because that one hurts. “I deserve to know what?” That he actually had loved you but had just never been able to show it? That now it was too late? That the only person the great Oswald Kelly had ever been able to speak to of the supposed care he had for his only daughter was the hired help? You’d read once that one should never let their parents anywhere near their real humiliations. You’d tried your damndest to follow that as soon as you’d grown up. “It’s not your place,” you seethe with teeth bared, an animal shoved into a corner and made to fight for its life, deciding you won’t ever let Joel near them either.

He spits a cursing, growled sound of frustration, but doesn’t continue. The two of you find yourselves at an impasse, and you turn back to your windowed mirror of him, eyes pinching hot, filling with tears. One of the things your father disliked most about you, your easy tears, and a single salt marred inadequacy tracks down the slope of your cheek, dripping off the edge of your jaw into the bandaged cup of your palm, and you breathe slow and measured through your open mouth, watching the fog cloud grow and shrink against the glass obscuring your vision of him.

The last time you’d missed your mother, the one you’d never known, in any sort of real and true way, you’d been eighteen. Returning to an empty house after celebrating your high school graduation in a far off school, alone.

In the midst of your sophomore year, you’d been sent away to a Swiss boarding school. It had been something worse than devastating, losing your life in Wyoming, the only home you’d ever know, Ellie, the other people on the ranch… But it was far removed enough that you couldn’t bother, where you couldn’t ask for things like attention or consideration. The education had been excellent, the upbringing desperately lonely ending on a whimpering sigh despite your many accomplishments. You’d wanted her very badly then indeed, your mother. To have been there, to have helped you pick your dress, kissed your cheek after watching you walk across the stage. To have wiped your tears when she told you that your father wasn’t there because he was busy managing the whole world, but that he was proud of you, that he’d have been there if he could. You’d wished she could’ve been there to lie to you so that you wouldn’t have needed to lie to yourself.

Peering down from your balanced perch atop the deck’s bannister, you survey the deep bed of Lily of the Valley, destroyed beneath the vindictive soles of your bare feet. He’d planted them for her all around the house after she’d died, her favorite flower.

You’d always hated them.

And that was the thing of it all, which you’d learned when you grew old enough to recognize such things like disdain. He couldn't stand you because you reminded him of her. Clichéd and old and tired. An excuse for being a neglectful father. The daughter who was too much like her dead mother, and thus did not deserve to be loved.

You tip your head back, nursing at the lip of fine aged Macallan, and the sky is a glass mirror of blackened silver streaks. You’re almost positive that all the stars in the Milky Way are visible from right here at this very spot in the heart of Wyoming. The sight makes your broken heart feel full and falsely mended.

You’re certain you’re painting a pretty picture right now: tipsy on a bottle of your dead dad’s sacredly hoarded whiskey that probably cost as much as someone’s house, staring up at the stars in your newly inherited home with a whole unappreciated life full of possibilities ahead of you. Basking in the title of your newly minted— orphan-hood? Orphan-ness? A peer of the orphans.

You snort softly, sucking on the bottle again, letting the heat of it settle in your belly, smolder in your heart. Your head feels full of bubbles and sugar and sad.

There’s a part of you that feels a little ridiculous, despite the circumstances. You’re good at compartmentalizing, good at being objective of your realities. Obviously: sad because your father is now dead, and it’d been nine months and eleven days since you’d last spoken to him. Sad because he’d never given a shit about you. Sad because you’re alone, dumped by the stupid French jockey boyfriend who you’d not even liked very much, just a few days before this whole pathetic ordeal of acquiring your orphan-hood, yeah, that’s what you’re sticking with, had occurred. Not to mention the army of looming lawyers and financial advisors and various heads of business vying for your attention, waiting for the what next?

And Joel.

A one man army of looming Joel.

So you’re feeling morose, blue, maybe a little spoiled, but brought low and cut short. Depressed and unsatisfied with your life thus far.

Poor little rich girl. Poor little orphan. Poor little me.

What you want?

Someone to care.

Someone to love you.

Hard to come by. Impossible to buy.

The stars gleam purple silver, winking at you. The bracketing black so dark it swallows the eye. Another taste of the nutty bouquet of smoked apple oranges, and soon you’ll be tipsy enough you won’t be able to balance your butt on the bannister’s ledge anymore. Maybe you’ll go humpty dumpty over the edge and crack your skull against your mother’s valley of destroyed Lily’s.

You laugh again with sound now, not crazy, only an orphan, ha, but you think that it’s only that it feels shockingly as if you’ve fallen through the surface of your life. As if you are still falling with nothing and no one to grab on to, to help stabilize you. A really terrible, shit-out-of-luck feeling.

Your eyes continue their infernal leaking, and you blow your nose loudly on the inside of your sweater. You’ve given yourself three days to do whatever the hell you want, be as disgusting as you may. When the three days are up you’ll plan to get your act together, take responsibility and hold of your life and become the woman you should be.

Who that is? Still being decided.

You think that maybe you’ll buy another jet before that time’s up. Or an island. Something ridiculous. Maybe you’ll sell the goddamn ranch.

You eye the dark rolling hills of the valley with seething suspicion. Let’s see what Joel says about that. You, marching up to the highway entrance and spearing a For Sale sign in the dirt of the largest privately owned cattle ranch in the continental United States. Way more than that God forsaken surly frown is what you’d get.

So long, Joel, it’s been swell. I’m done with this place. It’s time to pack it up and find some new hunk of land to care about more than you care about me or anything else.

Maybe you’ll be real funny and put up a Craigslist ad.

And it isn’t that you don’t love this place, the only home you’ve ever known. You do. In a way that is passionate and consuming and irreconcilable. Everything about it, the serenity, the guarding mountains and the deep woods, the home you’d been born in, that both your parents had died in. You do love it in your way.

It’s only that every man you’ve ever loved—loved—had always cared more about the place than he’d ever cared about you.

For the longest time, most of your youth until you’d decided that you officially felt an adult, you’d thought you’d hated your father. There was just so much anger and resentment and the resound of his ever furious words and insults and endless disappointment. The echo of no mother ringing so loudly in your ears that the confounding feelings had all been mistaken for hatred. But with age and distance and life, you’d realized you didn't hate him. You never had. You thought, actually, and this was a very good and mature thought of yours, that you were the only person in the whole world that had ever seen him as only a man and not a god.

He was only a man, full of greed and grief and missing the mother of the child he’d probably never wanted. Nothing more or less.

Maybe it was that you felt sorry for him. Not in the way of pity, but in the way of one person feeling empathy for another in a clinical and helpless sort of manner. And a numb, detached sort of sadness. A longing for something that you’d never had and had always wanted but eventually learned to live without.

Ultimately, his disappointment had turned on him, and now it was all you felt you had for him at the end of it all.

But, for some reason, and an annoying one at that, you do think that, if you try very, very hard, you could bring yourself to hate Joel Miller. There’s satisfaction in that possibility, vindication—resentment that even now, as practically strangers, you know he’d be able to pull that sort of feeling out of you which could result in hatred. Something strong and overwhelming and not easily escaped.

Your stomach rumbles, and you smile blithely at all your inherited legacy, filling the hollow with more drink. Three days to behave very badly, as badly as you can. The whiskey is so good, and swishing it around in your mouth, you tip your head back further, gurgling it loudly at the back of your throat.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You jerk, scrambling to keep your balance, choking a little on smokey apples and your own spit. A trickle of the golden amber liquor drips out of the corner of your mouth as you find him hiding in the dark across the deck. Accustomed to drooling over him, you wipe it away with the back of your hand.

“Having a party. Would you like to join?”

“Are you drunk again?”

Tough crowd. Ugh. “Never mind. You’re not invited. Go away.”

“You need to go inside and go to bed.”

You tip your chin at him, putting on doe eyes. “Alright. And are you going to be my new daddy also?” You say in a baby voice.

Fucking Christ, you hear him whisper under his breath, turning away to run an exasperated palm over his mouth. Frustration seethes off of him like sulfur. He’s tired. Of you maybe. Of the whole circus this place has become in the past few days—and rightfully so.

“What do you want? I’m extremely busy, if you can’t tell.”

“Just thought I’d check on ya.” Courteous, always the gentleman, bullshit. You roll your eyes at him.

“I don’t need you to check on me.” And you, ever the child. One day you swear you’ll grow up.

But it can’t be said that you’re entirely selfish either. You have considered the fact of Joel’s own grief at the loss of your father. After all, they’d been much closer than you’d ever been to him for many years. And maybe, in his own cold and removed and superior way, your father had seen this man who you’ve thought yourself in love with since you were a teenager, as something like a son.

Probably, that’s just your own wishful thinking: that Oswald Kelly had ever been capable of such tender feelings.

Maybe the fact of Joel’s own grief is the thorn beneath your nail bed that’s making you so angry with him, so needing of his attention. Maybe it’s that he’d failed to fulfill your silly and girlish fantasy that upon receiving the news of your only remaining parents death, he’d have been here waiting for you, at this home he’d guarded for you for so long, ready to take you into his arms and console and care for you.

When instead, he’d been off doing what he’d always done for as long as you’d known him. Protecting your father’s interests, his legacy.

“Is this how it’s going to be?”

“How?”

“You, being difficult.” Driving me fuckin’ crazy— he adds again under his breath.

“I’m an orphan now, Joel.” You’re becoming quickly addicted to the word. “I think I should be afforded a tiny bit of leeway to drive people fuckin’ crazy,” you mock his Southern drawl. Enough of your time had been spent in Europe over the past two years, kissing Europeans, that you’d sloughed off the last of your American twang; something of a vaguely European lilt peppering your words every now and then that Ellie likes to tease you for whenever the two of you speak on occasion.

A muscle under his left eye twitches at the jab, and you take another deep swig of the bottle, provoking him with your gaze. Wishing you had whatever it is a woman needs to entice this man. Like the fucking vet. Fucking world renowned, brilliant, highly coveted, beautiful veterinarian. You know about her. You’re sure he thinks he’s been discreet over the years with their whatever they’ve had, Tess, but you know.

Maybe you’ll be insane and irrational and possessive, taking advantage of your three crazy days, and fire her with your new found power. See what he has to say about that. Ha.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Obviously not.

Despite your current hysteria, your goal is not to send the ranch head over heels into a tailspin.

But the imagining is soothing.

“Want some?” You hold the heavy crystal out towards him in a peace offering, held precariously between two sweaty knuckles. “It’s probably worth as much as your truck. Would be a waste for me to finish on my own.” You eye what’s left of it, about half, and give him a sheepish grin. It really is very good.

He looks at you for one long, solemn moment, always so silent and pensive, this strange enigma of a man. You get to watch in real time as he loses whatever fight it is he’s trying to fight against you, victorious when he shrugs and comes over slowly, resting his butt against the bannister—a carefully respectful distance away from you.

When he takes the bottle from your swinging clutch, gripped from the base, careful not to touch you in any way, you see the real sad in his eyes. The dim lights bleeding out through the big windows of the family room without a family shine on his face in strips and bursts. A shadow here, golden warmth there. He’s got more lines around his eyes than you remember from the last time you’d been this close to him. Smile lines made bright white in the center and gold burnished at the edges from too much sun. There’s little bursts of silver threaded at his temples now too, a gleam here and there in his dark beard. Forty four years old, he’d turned on your last birthday.

You dig your nails into the soft meat of your palms, and your belly smolders as he brings the bottle to his lips, tasting the exact place your own mouth had just been moments ago. You press your knees together as hard as you can, head a little woozy with the color of his eyes; the most gorgeous green, caramel hazel.

You’d graduated two years ago with a degree in art history and had done absolutely nothing with it since. It was just that everything appeared boring and pointless and shallow. Your whole life had one day suddenly seemed just a little silly. Useless, overpriced degree, nothing to be done with extensive knowledge in color theory when your world is expecting such different things from you now.

But you sure as hell can appreciate the color of his eyes in extensive and meticulous detail. There is that.

Watching the slow slide of the amber liquor down the bottle-neck, the long pull of his lush mouth, the ripple of his strong throat, and the way his eyes go a little wider, shocked at how good it is. You laugh soft: “I know, right.”

He takes another pull, another swallow. That’s what you want to be—swallowed just like that. “Damn, that’s good.” His mouth is a little wet, bottom lip shiny with thousands of dollars worth of your father’s favorite whiskey, and his eyes are sad.

You’d said you were going to be bad, but you don’t want to be bad to him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He swallows again, tipping his head towards you, trying to catch your too soft words—he’s got a bad ear, you know why—and turns to peer at you from beneath his low pulled brow, the tip of his tongue peeking out to swipe at the drop of liquor you wish you could suck off his tongue.

“You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

The first time he’d shown you that gentleness of his: You’d fallen from your horse at school in your junior year. Something had frightened the beast, and she’d bucked you, sent you flying ten feet in the air, ragdoll-like, before you’d landed badly on your right arm, a comminuted fracture in your radius that you’d needed surgery to fix. At your insistence, and with only a few weeks left to spare, you’d been sent home for the remainder of the semester. Your father had been incensed but eventually allowed it. He’d been away from the ranch on business, after all, at no risk of being truly disturbed by you. But when you’d been readying to return to Switzerland at the end of the summer, arm healed, courage not, you’d not been able to get back on a horse no matter what you tried. Joel had helped you, before they’d shipped you off again. Trotted the corral with you for hours and hours before you’d finally been able to relax and sit on your own without tears and vertigo. No questions or admonishments, nothing but the quiet burr of his deep voice, guiding you and the mare along.

It had been a kindness unlike any you’d experienced in maybe your whole life.

“I’ve been bad.”

“Nah. You couldn’t ever be.”

The second time: “Did today make you think of Sarah?” Years after you’d found that green eyed photograph, he’d shared her with you.

His gaze turns suddenly sharp, but you’re not worried you’ve stepped in unbreachable territory. “Yeah.” The echo of her name rings around the two of you.

“In a bad way or a good way?” He takes another long swig, a low whistle through his teeth and a shake of his head before he’s handing the bottle back to you—again, carefully.

“Both.”

You take your own swallow, slicking your tongue all around where his just was, and you’re drunk for real now. Drunk on a man.

“Do you ever regret telling me about her?”

“Nah.” He tips his head back, looking up at the thick beams of the deck’s awning. He’s got the longest lashes you’ve ever seen on a man, thick and curling. The deepest voice you’ve ever heard too, sultry, a bedroom voice. A voice for fucking. Your belly swirls and dips, and you want so much you’re dizzy with it.

Heart beating like it’s about to burst, out of breath on the verge of hyperventilating, you can taste his mouth in your mouth, the imagination flavor of it. This is what it must feel like to die. This is what your father must have felt like three days ago, this agony.

His Adam’s apple bobs, and it’s so pronounced, the skin of his throat sun pebbled. There isn’t an inch of him that isn’t all rough-hewn man. “You needed to hear about her then, I s’pose.”

Yes. “You told me when I needed you to.” After that lonely graduation, the last time you’d missed her really very badly, longed for a mother. Alone, alone, alone little girl.

“You were missin’ your momma somethin’ fierce. Needed to know you weren’t the only one that felt like that sometimes.”

You laugh a not-laugh, butt scraping against the railing, slipping off your perch, socked-feet thudding beside his gifted boots. The pleasure you feel whenever you see him use one of the things you’ve given him is indescribable.

“Silly,” you say with barely any sound, his bad ear reaches for your voice again. “At the time it felt like I was the only person in the whole world that had ever felt like that.”

“We all feel like that at one point or another, I reckon.”

“Will you miss him a lot?” You ask looking up at him, the beautiful profile, the strong jaw. You’ve always wondered how he sees you. If he’s ever thought you were beautiful. Other men do, it’s a common thing, a nothing sort of thing. There are always men, there will always be men. But this singular man—this one is not like the rest.

“Maybe. Can’t tell yet, don’t think. But it felt wrong earlier, walking through his house without him in it.” His house, not yours.

“Do you wish he’d been your father?” And he turns to look down at you at that, gaze snapping, and you can tell you’ve shocked him with the question. But you’d always wondered.

“No. Never,” he says with such assuredness, an uncompromising shake of his head.

And the answer doesn't necessarily shock you in turn. You don't think anyone could have ever wanted a father like that. But it also doesn't help you understand what it was that lived between them either.

He sighs, perhaps reading the confusion in your gaze. “He helped me at a time when I needed it real bad. Gave me a place and a purpose and a thing to do and take care of. You get me? It was gratitude—maybe. He saved me in a way, after Sarah. Nothing more.” He thinks for a moment, and then, “Perhaps it was that we understood each other about certain things.”

You gaze across the sprawl of dark land as far as the eye reaches, that point of no return where the earth shoots up into the sky, purple blue behemoths in the shape of mountains.

From this spot, rooted to the deck of your family home, it seems like the whole world is yours to keep. Also, like you’ll never be able to touch any of it with fingers or taste or meaning.

Your love for this place is complicated—tied up in the people, the memories, the could’ves and should’ves, the whole dreamscape idea of the monument of childhood and all it’d really never been. The time away had felt eternal, like you’d never really been here to begin with, like the young girl who’d grown up on this land had never really existed. But you’d not forgotten them, this, despite your distance. Your home, the father that wouldn’t want you, Wyoming and all its splendor, the people you’d left behind, Joel and Ellie and shared birthdays that meant a secret world to you. Morsels of small happinesses interloped amidst a largely lonely and sad childhood. That’s what it was at its core.

“Would you be angry with me if I gave it all away?”

He thinks for a moment, maybe you’re making him sadder, but then finally says with a swallow, “No. It’s yours to do with as you please.”

You eye the quarter of whiskey left, but your belly isn’t hungry for its warmth anymore. You want something heavier now.

“Could you even do that—legally—sell it or somethin’?”

“Probably not. He probably tied it to my fucking life. Sell and die.” You mime your name in an imitation of your fathers deep voice, frowning at yourself the way he’d always frowned when he looked at you, but it pulls a laugh from him, and the painful memory is worth it. “But I have a billion dollars to spend now. More?” You tap your chin—you want to make him laugh again. “Gotta think of something interesting to do with it all.”

His mouth slides into an easy half grin. Like the moon—that beautiful. And he turns to face you fully. “You’re gonna be just fine. You know that, right?”

You turn to face him too, gripping the bannister for dear life. “What? Will you make sure of it?”

“That’s my plan.”

“How’re you gonna do that, d’you reckon?” The American twang bleeds back into your voice, and you’re all swollen lush on the inside, heart a beating fist in your chest.

“Haven’t gotten that far, if I’m bein’ honest with you.” God. His eyes, the strong bridge of his nose, his mouth. He’s so tall your head has to crook back to look up at him. “I’ll figure something out.” And after another pensive second, and still with that soft, sloped eye smile, he asks, and nicely, “Will you stop drinking now—for me?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” you say with the same sort of smile in return.

And then suddenly, like vomit again but maybe more humiliating this time: “Did you respect him?” Because you don’t know all the things about him that there are to know, but you do know that Joel Miller’s respect is a thing hard earned.

He clicks his tongue, and you hear the pop of his jaw as he shifts it like he’s chewing on an honesty. His eyes, his eyes, they’re serious, mercurial, warm and deep also. You worry he won’t answer, that he wouldn’t want to disappoint you or something, but then: “No,” said real simple like.

“Why not?”

And the way he looks down at you, you know already, and it makes that falling through the surface of your own life feeling rise up inside you again, makes your ears pop with embarrassment. Ah. “He never did a very good job of hiding the way he treated you, sweetheart. I couldn’t ever respect a man like that.”

This is reality right here, this is you falling through your life, this is the realization that it wasn’t only you imposing yourself, your existence, on someone with gifts they didn’t want or ask for. Joel had seen. Joel had understood.

Someone else had noticed that you exist, and it had been him.

What else had you ever wanted?

And in the blink of a desperate, yearning eye, drunk on a man still, you’re throwing yourself at him, pressing your mouth hot and heavy to his, kissing him full on the way you’d dreamt of since you knew to dream of such things.

Chapter 2; Sugar, Not so Sweet

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#fable of the dog fic #vic fic #joel miller fanfiction #Joel Miller x FMC #joel miller smut #Joel miller angst #the last of us AU

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zhongrin · 2 years

Text

“you’re not going out like that.”

— you say with a pout and a glare.

or, you stop him before going out because of his clothes.

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, xiao, scaramouche, childe, diluc, pantalone

◇ tags ◇ modern!au, fluff, reader is not ‘controlling’ if that’s what you’re afraid of seeing

◇ a/n ◇ can you buy a zhongli irl off amazon or something i'm asking for a friend- /j

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

zhongli raises his eyebrows, questioning ambers seeking an explanation from you.

with a sigh, you stalk towards his side and pinch the thin material of his shirt, berating him nonstop over how the temperature has started to drop outside and how he’ll catch a cold if he doesn’t bundle up.

he lets you drag him back to the bedroom and smiles softly as you rummage through his coats and sweaters, all the while still lecturing him about the importance of his health now that you’re both getting older.

what you don’t know is that he does this purposefully so that you’ll fuss over him. call him whipped, but he adores seeing you care for him like a mother hen; he may trust your love in all its entirety, but he certainly doesn’t mind getting a reminder of it every now and then.

it’s the same reason why he leaves his tie a little crooked every morning: just so you could scold him for how he’s gotten lousy ever since you both got married. he would always chuckle and apologize, but inwardly he just can’t help it; surely all husbands want to be spoiled by their lovely spouse?

childe giggles and winks towards you before gesturing to his outfit with a flair as if he’s in a fashion show model which to be fair he kinda looks the part.

“awh, why not? don’t you want to show off how good this boyfriend of yours look?”

“you mean announce to the whole world that i’m dating a fuckboy? no thanks.”

the brunette pouts at the half-serious, half-joking expression on your face and positions his hands on his hips like a petulant child(e), “oh, i’m sorry that i’m hot and i’m unashamed of it! besides, what can they do? grope me?”

you roll your eyes and slip your hands through the wide gap by the sides of his clothes to grab onto his chest.

childe freezes like deer in headlights, but regains his composure quickly; in a blink, he gives you a playful grin, but before he can utter anything scandalous, you pull him into a kiss and uses the element of surprise to steal his breath away.

and when your boyfriend ends up sprawled under you on the couch fifteen minutes later, you don’t miss the winning smile and happy wrinkle of skin spread across his freckled cheeks.

honestly, he could’ve just told you (you know, like a normal person) if he didn’t actually want to go out, instead of always pulling stunts like this.

kunikuzushi stares at you with half his mouth open, clearly surprised and offended at your statement and the insults you blatantly threw his way right after.

what do you mean he looks like a sleazebag? sure, it’s a hoodie from yesterday(’s yesterday), but it looks fine! it smells bearable! it’s comfy! he’s too lazy to change out of it! not when it’s just a trip down to the nearby cafe!

archons, he’s just a common engineer who builds robots, not some high-strung profile in some fancy mafia organization… is what he insists, and he continues to groan and bemoans his fate even as you brought a change of clothes for him.

he might as well be a cat with how he bristles at your threat of running a bath for him, but he quietens when you double the threat with an offer to ‘scrub his poor scalp clean’.

“….. do it then,” he challenges, crossing his arms like a true brat™️, although his eyes are shining with excitement.

you two end up getting takeouts that night.

xiao pauses from putting on his watch and looks at you quizzically.

why would a dress shirt and slacks be an unacceptable fashion choice? last he checked, you were both just going to visit that favorite restaurant of yours.

the man blinks owlishly at the adorable way you stomp your feet and points to the accessories you’re wearing. he cracks a momentary smile when he recognizes them as the ones he bought for you last week; it’s just as he imagined, they look lovely on you. however, the said quirk of his lips disappears as you tell him that he’s forgotten to wear his matching ones even though he had promised to.

“ah,” he scratches his cheek, “i forgot… tsk, alright, alright, i’ll go change. this outfit won’t work with those colors, let me just-”

you end up late to your reservation and were unable to get a table, but seeing the content smile on your pretty lips when you saw the ‘date night!’ selfie you took on the fast food parking lot in his car, he thinks it’s all worth it.

your smile is always worth it.

“why not-”

“you’re a fashion disaster!”

diluc freezes and honestly if it was anyone else he would have ignored them and stormed off in embarrassment.

but this was you. you matter. your opinions matter. he doesn’t want to embarrass you.

“is… is it that bad?” he asks with a blush on his face as you throw his old coat onto the bed and unbuttons the plain shirt he always defaults to wearing.

your rich but struggling-with-fashion boyfriend watches and listens, as silent as a timid bunny, as you tell him the latest trend and the ‘boyfriend look’ or whatever it was called. he's just helplessly nodding and obeying as you hand him the change of clothes, hoping that will lessen the frown between your brows.

“is this a… bracelet?”

“it’s a choker, luc.”

“but they’re so short.”

“it’s supposed to rest around your throat, dear.”

“oh.”

he’s not sure whether he looks okay or not, but judging from adelinde’s messages bombarding his phone that night, gushing about how proud she is to ‘see that the young master has grown to be able to comprehend fashion trends’ after seeing your instagram stories, he thinks he should just ask you to pick his clothes from now own.

when you tell him he looks like he’s about to brave the cold of the mountains in dragonspine, pantalone hums and tilts his head in thought.

perhaps the coat was too much, he agrees as he discards the thick materials. but you huff and press him to remove his gloves and overcoat, and while he understands that he might have gone overboard in dressing up, given how he’s used to the biting cold of snezhnaya’s freezing climates, he can’t help but smirk at the way you’re hurriedly unbuttoning his clothes.

“my, you look quite desperate for me, sweetheart. are you sure you wish to go out tonight? if you'd like, i can always tell them to send the chef over so we can-”

he chuckles when you hit his chest playfully and lets you modify his clothing as you see fit.

well, no matter. if he gets cold he can always buy a coat outside….

... he still ends up sweating like crazy and he does not understand how you can be perfectly fine in this horrendous heat.

calm down pantalone it’s only like 34 degrees celcius.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #rin writes #zhongli #zhongli x reader #childe #tartaglia #ajax #childe x reader #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #wanderer #wanderer x reader #xiao #xiao x reader #pantalone #pantalone x reader

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satrs · 1 year

Text

OVERLOADED?

SYNOPSIS; 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬.

FEATURING; TOJI FUSHIGURO. SUGURU GETO. SATORU GOJO. YUUTA OKKOTSU.

TAGS; NSFW CONTENT! MDNI! unprotected intercourse. Cockwarming. Nicknames. Grinding. Oral(fem receiving).

WC; 0.7k

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+!

TOJI FUSHIGURO

You felt so bad for him, all exhausted and energy robbed from his hard work as a sorcerer killer. You as his lover sure could do something, right?

You already had the perfect idea.

“Yer doing so good baby, fuck.” Toji groaned at the feeling of your tight cunt around him, head thrown back into the pillow, eyes squinting at the lewd sounds your neddy cunt cried out, sucking him dry.

He had an iron grip on your hips, jaw clenching with each thrust of your hips. He found no strength in him to flip you around and pound into you, enjoying himself while his low lidded eyes examine your form.

Your back arched as you felt him hit a particular spot, hand reaching for your clit, circling it. “Just wanna make you feel good, Toji", you wholeheartedly admitted, teeth caging your bottom lip.

His eyes shot up to your face at the sound of your voice, licking his lips at the sight of your features twisted in pleasure, tits lewdly bouncing at your movements, your sinful sounds clouding his mind.

Low-lidded eyes glanced to where you connected, hand on your hip sneaking down onto your ass, firmly squeezing it, earning a mewl from you.

„Such a good girl, my good girl. Right? Always lookin’- shiiit, lookin’ out for me, yeah?“

SUGURU GETO

To be frank, he had a really rough day. A lot to do, day seeming to never find an end. It was like he was stuck in time until now.

The only thing he thought of as he kicked out of his shoes sloppily and removed his tie was cuddling with you. Well, not just cuddling.

“Suguru?” you questioned, voice drenched in sleep, as you turned at the feeling of rough hands around your waist. You felt the man grind into the valley of your ass, hushing you.

„It’s all good, princess, go back go sleep. Just let me feel you, yeah?“ You lazily nodded, slowly drifting back to sleep. But as you felt his cock nudging at your entrance, you couldn’t help but softly moan.

Sleep soon drifted away as you were taken over by pleasure, your hips grinding back against him in excitement, only to be halted by his harsh grip.

He slid past your puffy folds, groaning as he fully bottomed out, his tip dangerously close to tickling your womb. You sloppily grind back into his touch, earning a low moan from the man.

He held your hips in place, thick length comfortably laying inside of you. He buried his head into your neck, breathing in your scent while covering your neck with kisses, sometimes placing a warning slap against your ass when you moved your hips too much to his liking.

He sighed into your neck, goosebumps rising on your skin while his arm wraps around you, comfortably snuggling to your side, ready to drift into sleep.

„Let's just stay like that, yeah? I’m tired too.“

SATORU GOJO

This routine had become like a ritual - every time he had a rough day at work he would come home, plop right onto you on the sofa, face comfortably resting in your breasts, eyes fluttering closed.

"Rough day, hm?" Satoru hummed against your soft tits, earning a soft chuckle from you as he playfully buried his teeth into them. You took his action as a 'yes', cooing at him while petting his head. He purred, almost like a cat, enjoying your pampering. "My poor baby."

He let out a shaky breath at that, head lifting to stare into your eyes. His body moved on its own, hips stuttering into yours, growing bulge evident as it rested heavily on your heat, only departed by some clothes.

You knew he was really exhausted now, too lazy to take you to the bedroom or strip you out of your clothes. A moan left your lips as you felt his tip nudge your clit through your undergarments, one leg wrapping around his hips to draw him near you.

The low groan he let out didn't fly over your head, only edging you on and it was not long until you quickly turned him, straddling his lap as your movements pick up again.

He made himself comfortable on the couch, hand drawing lazy circles in your hips, daring you to go further, a lazy smirk on his lips as his ocean-blue orbs observed you in excitement.

"Let me do the work, alright? Just relax."

YUUTA OKKOTSU

He didn’t have a rough day because of work itself, no. It was because of you. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t help but think of you the whole day, growing painfully hard at the thought of you.

So when he stepped into your shared apartment and saw you in your nightgown, he fell into his sinful desires, picking you up and leading the both of you to the bedroom in one quick motion.

You giggled at his hectic antics, body lightly jumping at the contact with the soft mattress, his dark eyes quickly snapping down to where your nightgown rode up over your thigh, exposing your naked cunt. "What's gotten into you, Yuuta?"

He kneeled down, lifting your dress further up, admiring your glistening pussy before placing a sloppy kiss right onto your clit, startling you. "You baby. Thought about this perfect pussy all day. Need to taste you. Can I?"

A moan from your lips and the grip you had in his hair was answer enough for him, big grin plastered on his face before diving into his long longed meal.

He groaned into your heat once your thighs locked around his head, mind clouded in pleasure, growing dizzy.

Maybe calling in sick tomorrow would be a good idea.

#◛⑅·˚ ᵂᴼᴿᴷ #♡˳ᴶᴶᴷ #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen season 2 #jujutsu geto #gojo satoru #toji smut #yuuta smut #gojo smut #geto smut #getou suguru #gojo saturo #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #jjk

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cannedpickledpeaches · 5 months

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Insert Your Name (12)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Last chapter! Side stories will follow. Thank you for sticking with this series for so long! This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

7:30 P.M. DD/MM/YYYY

I thought I knew the truth for a while—that this world existed inside a story. That this was a world which revolved around a nameless, faceless, flawless main character. This entire world around me existed to serve one purpose: to present trials to the main character until she eventually finds a happy ending with her one and only. This world was created for “(Y/N).”

I was Friend A. Friend A was never mentioned again after page two of that story.

It turns out that I was sort of wrong. This world is made for stories, from stories, and (Y/N) happened to be the main character at the time. Now that I’m the author, I made myself the main character.

You wrote “story” and “world” so much that they hardly look like real words anymore. The tip of your pen hovers over the first page of your journal. It’s your first time keeping one, and you aren’t certain how to proceed. What tone do you use? Should it be informal or professional? How long should each entry be? How detailed should you make it?

The trapdoor to the attic flips open. Floyd’s head pokes through it like a garden eel in the sand.

“Whatcha doin’ over there? Still lookin’ for that manuscript?”

You shake your head. The manuscript for (Y/N)’s story disappeared without a trace after your meeting with Hans. No matter how hard you searched, nothing turned up, so you could only assume he retrieved it.

“No use in looking for it. I’m starting on my journal.” The pen twirls in your hand. “I’m not really sure how I want to write it.”

He hoists himself up and saunters over to where you’re curled up at the window. He peers at your handwriting. Flippantly, he flops on the floor next to you and yawns.

“Who caaares. Write whatever ya feel like writin’. It’s not like the one before was any good.”

The previous author’s manuscript was riddled with inconsistencies, plot holes, and grammar mistakes. It wouldn’t be a massive problem. Hans would simply have to work harder to fill in the gaps.

“The previous one failed, though.”

“Then just don’t fail.” He grins up at you. “Easy, right?”

You pinch his nose, laughing when he swats at your hand.

“Easier said than done.” Despite that, his words ease the burden on your shoulders just a bit. You don’t need to overthink this. It’s your story, yours to tell however you’d like. “Thanks for the advice, though.”

“Sure, sure.” Your name rolls off his tongue dismissively. “You worry too much.”

You glance at him. “You’ve been calling me ‘Red Handfish’ recently, why’d you switch back to my name?”

The lamplight glints in Floyd’s eyes briefly, then he closes them. A lazy grin spreads on his lips.

“I was calling ya ‘Red Handfish’ ’cuz I was hopin’ you’d get your hands all red and bloody again.” A huff of air escapes him. “Shoulda been there when you beat up the security.”

“Typically, you’re supposed to not hope I’m beating up your men.”

“It’s fine. Not like Jade and I need much protectin’.” His voice quiets down to a mumble. “You’re enough for security or whatever.”

His voice trails off at the end. Soon, quiet snores fill the attic. Seeing that he isn’t planning on disrupting your writing, your attention returns to your journal. Following his advice might not be a bad idea.

My main priority was to break the curse on Mr. and Mrs. Leech. I thought I’d have to ask (Y/N) to reach out to Vil Schoenheit or write something in this journal, but it turns out I didn’t have to do anything. Hans went ahead and nudged the odds in my favour already. At least, I suspect he had a hand in it. But I’m never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I’ll happily accept that Walrus’s team and our own people have found a way to break the curse.

Azul was slightly disappointed that he didn’t manage to find a method on his own. He really wanted to put the twins in his debt, but I guess he’ll have to sulk. His specialty is potions, after all. Not curses. He’s also a little salty because this implies Vil Schoenheit is still more skilled than him on the subject of curses. His competitive nature never dies down when it comes to other competent people, even after all these years.

Anyway, the curse was undone three days ago. They’ve woken up perfectly stable and healthy, if a little tired. The twins have spent nearly every waking hour in their room. I’m glad they’re all looking much more lively.

Their parents wanted to go right back to work, but Jade and Floyd have been very insistent on making sure they rest. Right now, Jade and his parents have decided to split up the work equally, but Jade plans on eventually relinquishing his position as the temporary head of the Leech Mafia. He doesn’t want it back anytime soon. His parents might want him to keep observing their work, but I think he’ll take a long breather after the Carpenter Mafia dissolves. He says he wants to join a research lab on fungi. I’m sure he’ll enjoy himself there.

Speaking of Jade’s interests, Floyd owes him quite a bit for breaking his terrariums. You cast a glance at the twin dozing off on the floor. Jade’s been working him hard. Just as you’re about to pull a knitted blanket off the window seat and drape it over his torso, Jade climbs up to the attic.

“Ah, I thought I might find you two here.” He ignores your shushing motion, speaking nearly louder than his usual conversational volume. “Have you made any progress on that journal?”

“Keep it down, Floyd’s sleeping.”

“Oh? I suppose he is.” He smiles as though he’s entirely innocent. “Even though he should be running an errand on the west side of the city right now. Isn’t that so, my dear brother?”

Floyd stirs, brows furrowing as he grumbles. “Fuck off, man.”

“I’m afraid you’re late. Why don’t you head out? It wouldn’t do for you to procrastinate.” Jade leans over him, his shadow eclipsing Floyd’s face. The latter gripes some more before rolling away and hopping right through the trapdoor. His footsteps echo through the halls, eventually leading to the sound of the front door.

“He’s tired. You should let him rest.” You close your journal and set it beside you.

He kneels by your seat and rests his head on your knee. Gingerly, you reach out and comb your fingers through his hair. His entire body melts against the wall and your knee.

“I am also tired.” His eyelids drop halfway, a pitiable pout on his lips. “Much more so than he is, I’m sure.”

“And what? You want a gold medal for the Fatigue Olympics?” Despite your words, your other hand holds his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Come on, get off the floor. It can’t be comfortable.”

He sighs in contentment. “With the way you’re touching me, I have half a mind to stay where I am.”

You’ve come to realize that Jade acts this way when he’s looking for attention, and he only actively looks for attention from you. With a sigh escaping the smile on your lips, you ease his head off your knee and move your legs so that your feet touch the floor. He has the gall to look like a kicked puppy.

“You’re so dramatic.” You pat the cushioned space next to you. “Sit up here.”

It’s like his fatigue disappears as soon as you extend the invitation. He wastes no time in sitting next to you, his thigh pressing against yours. One of his hands reaches behind you. You feel it causing the cushions to shift under you as he uses it to support his weight. Strangely, it feels more intimate than if he had touched you directly. The knowledge that his arm is there creates a sense of security. Sturdy, safe, like the face of a cliff that has your back. He’ll never be a threat to you. You think back to what you once thought of people who trust Jade, and you wonder if you’re a fool, desperate, or if you have something on him.

It might not be so bad to be a fool once in a while.

You lean into his side and rest your head on his shoulder. A pause, followed by the light pressure of his cheek against your hair. His body is cool to the touch like always, and you find comfort in it.

“I’ll help you make new terrariums to replace the ones Floyd broke.”

“How kind of you.” The hand behind you lifts, only to find its place on your waist, securing you to his side. “In that case, I should consider what I’d like to grow in them. Lichen would decorate some surfaces well, but I doubt it would be possible.”

“Lichen?” You often see it back home near the shore. “Why not?”

“It cannot survive in a closed system like my terrariums.” His voice lowers to a soft, almost sweet tone. “It requires clean, fresh air, outside the confines of a box that I control. The charm of keeping a terrarium is that I control every factor within it, down to what lives or dies. But despite the fact that it eludes my grasp, I adore observing its beauty in the environment where it thrives.”

Somehow, you don’t think he’s talking about lichen anymore.

“Lichen grows on trees and rocks, right?” You think about the cliffside. Patches of pale green life covered the rocks where you met Jade. It brought a sort of earthy, rustic quality to the area. “It’s pretty. I think I’ve seen a few of your photos focusing on it.”

“Yes, it needs to be anchored to a sturdy surface.” He adjusts his grip on your waist. “Unassuming, allowing other elements of the scenery to shine, but charming and effective in its own right.”

You don’t want to ask if he’s referring to you. He’ll surely tease you for being self-absorbed. However, you are not so prideful as to not acknowledge what he’s trying to say.

“I sort of understand wanting to be anchored to something.” You place one hand over his. “It’s easier to let my guard down when there’s something that can protect my back.”

“Allow me to assist you with that.” He intertwines your fingers. “If you must be anchored to something, I’ll be more than happy to provide you with support forever, until you ask me to stop.”

“All this talk about ‘forever.’” A grin pulls at your lips. There’s no harm in teasing him once in a while. “It’s like you’re trying to marry me. What’s with that, huh?”

His entire body freezes. You lift your head from his shoulder, trying to look at his face.

“Jade? I was joking—”

He gently presses against your temple, his wrist blocking your eyes as he guides your head back down to his shoulder. What a letdown. This time, you really wanted to see his expression.

“Incidentally,” he says, “would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“You changed the topic way too abruptly.” Laughter bubbles in your throat. “I thought you were better at making conversation than that.”

“I’m inclined to disagree.” He doesn’t elaborate. “Are you free tomorrow evening? We can book a reservation for that restaurant you wanted to try.”

Usually, you wouldn’t turn it down. But . . .

“Sorry, I’ll be out with (Y/N) all day.” You’ve missed her. And after she called you in distress over losing the polaroids you took together, you promised to replace them with new ones. There’s so much you have yet to do with her. “Maybe the day after?”

Jade sighs loudly, as though he’s the most pitiful being in the world. Amidst teasing laughter, you close your journal and focus your attention on him. It’s alright to take your time writing it. Your story is a process that does not need to be rushed. It may only be a page at the moment, but one day, you’re sure this journal will fill with your experiences, plans, and thoughts. You will continue on living as your own person—not a side character or a main character in a grander scheme, but as yourself. To live as a human being with your unique experiences—that is your story.

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #jade leech #twst jade #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #twst fanfic #mafia au #floyd leech #multi chap fic #slow burn has burned #thanks for reading so far!

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ariseur · 2 months

Text

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ DOTTIE’S FIVE HUNDRED FOLLOWER EVENT 𓂃 ! [ AUGUST 2 - AUGUST 27 ]

#dottie’s 500 ᝰ.ᐟ꩜

it’s been about four months since i first created this blog to which i have grown a small but really loving following, i see you guys in my reblogs and in my replies spewing kind words. all those comments and tags are so fun to read lol i love you guys

but — now that we’re here, it’s time for the main event we’ve come for and this is my 500 follower event (≧◡≦) ♡!!— info linked below and more under the cut !!

[ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ top contenders - ]

ffvii ; cloud | zack | sephiroth

ffxv ; noctis | prompto | ignis | gladiolus

mystic messenger ; zen | yoosung | jumin | 707

🍡 ( dango ) — prompt list !! ~ send in a character and a prompt of your choice.

dialogue.

✧˖° - “can i kiss you?”

✧˖° - “wanna practice?”

✧˖° - “are you wearing flavored chapstick?”

✧˖° - “was that okay?”

✧˖° - “one more kiss? please?”

✧˖° - “can we do that again?”

✧˖° - “teach me.”

✧˖° - “i think i deserve a kiss for that.”

✧˖° - “count to five, then you can speak.” (shutting you up with kisses).

✧˖° - “this is my partner, aren’t they beautiful?”

✧˖° - “stay with me ‘til i fall asleep.”

✧˖° - “your hands are shaking.” — “oh.”

✧˖° - “i do miss you, you know.”

✧˖° - “where do you see yourself in a few years?” — “with you.”

actions.

✧˖° - hand kisses

✧˖° - neck kisses

✧˖° - cheek kisses

✧˖° - small quick pecks that you run away after doing

✧˖° - thigh kisses

✧˖° - wrapping your arms around their neck

✧˖° - feeling their smile in a kiss

✧˖° - messy half asleep kisses

✧˖° - reward kisses

✧˖° - lazy make out sesh

✧˖° - grocery shopping with them

✧˖° - them / you trying to make food and it comes out horrendous

✧˖° - kissing to shut them up during sex

✧˖° - goodbye kiss

✧˖° - putting together ikea furniture

✧˖° - seeing them play with a small animal they swore they hated

✧˖° - fake dating ends up for them falling for you

✧˖° - their attitude immediately uplifts when you’re around

✧˖° - taking a ( bad ) photo when the other’s asleep

✧˖° - childhood friends ( love this sm )

🍰 ( strawberry shortcake ) — time check !! ~ this might be a little more niche but basically what i’m talking about is you can request a character and put “🍰 - time check!! [character]?” and based on what time it is right now, i’ll tell you what i imagine them to be doing. so for example, “🍰 - time check on toji fushiguro” and if it’s 3pm for me then i’ll write a little blurb on it, like lazing on the couch while little megumi wriggles his way in between you two.

if you’re wanting a specific time set like, “time check on hidden inventory arc gojo,” — “time check on pre-nibelheim sephiroth,” — “time check on 707 pre-ending.” you know?? i can write that too :)

i might be on a different time zone though so it might be a little weird if it’s 3am for you but 8pm for me lol, keep that in mind !! ^.^

🩰 ( ballet ) — tropes !!

send in a trope you like with a character and i’ll write a blurb on it!! like, for example, “🩰 - one bed trope with noctis!!” or “🩰 - opposites attract with yuuta :)”. i will not do any au’s ( as also stated in my rules, please look at those before you request too lol ) and i will also not do any like.. billionaire or weird dark romance tropes like that. i will do slight nsfw drabbles and stuff but nothing weird or too hardcore!!

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for-a-longlongtime · 8 months

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Aquamarine

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect) x reader x Benny Miller

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, MDNI. 🏳️‍🌈 Characters are bi as fuck. 💖💜💙 Summary: Ezra has enjoyed being pegged by you from day one. When Benny comes over, a lazy afternoon takes an interesting turn. Things are said, orders are being followed, two of you might be to blame for Benny's ruined jeans, and that lovely turquoise strap-on gets used. Also, Benny learns how to suck a dick - and it's not just his mouth that becomes acquainted with Ezra's tongue. Let the good times slut roll. (PWP, that's it really.) Warnings/tags: Established relationship (f/m) plus third (hello, younger!BennyMiller from Triple Frontier!AU), dirty talk, brief masturbation (f and m), fingering (f and m receiving), rimming, anal sex, oral on a strap on, pegging, dildo is referred to as "your cock/dick" repeatedly. Some spit use (no kink). Word count: 5652 words A/N: This is part of the Peg That Middle Aged Man campaign organized by the amazing @wannabe-urs. Please go check out all the other fantastic fics here! I completely missed my 01/18 deadline because things/my brain got in the way, but I finally completed after all. Special thanks to many of y'all, but in particular @sin-djarin, @magpiepills and the @alltheglitterandtheroar for their support in getting this done. Infinite gratitude to the always amazing @morallyinept, in particular for her Ezra Dialogue post and Writing For Ezra guide! Dividers by @saradika. This fic is unbeta-ed (in an attempt to squash my perfectionism) and inspired by @prolix-yuy's Din pegging fic, thank you LJ!

He’s gorgeous like this. Spread out on the bed with your fingers inside of him, those groans of pleasure getting even louder when you slide your mouth back onto his cock. It’s not just about how he looks, although yes - part of the reason you’re soaking wet is definitely that sweaty curly hair with the blond streak. With his head tilted back into the pillows he looks even more attractive than usual, his eyes closed but bliss written all over his face, even after you’ve edged him for almost an hour already.

What gets to you the most is how unabashedly he surrenders himself. Body and mind greedy for pleasure, as if he’s been without nourishment for too long, deprived during all the time he’s spent on Bakhroma Green. He has no qualms to ask for what he wants, or what you want from him. That first night he fucked you better and longer than you had been in a long time, and still convinced you to call in sick the next day so he could do it all over again, making you scream his name until your voice was hoarse. So when you saw him looking at the harness in your toy drawer later that day, you were more than happy to return the favor.

You figured out pretty much immediately that this wasn’t new to him, so you rode him hard - having learned a thing or two about him in the previous twenty four hours - until he was a sticky whimpering mass, begging for you to keep going until he was beyond overstimulated. Afterwards he made you come twice on his tongue and fingers, and told you that while the strap was new for him, “the pleasure of being taken by a cock is not foreign to me, gem. No love too intimidating.” It was then that the thought of him being taken like this by a guy, or him fucking another man, had sprouted in your mind - something you kept filed away until the right moment came to revisit that.

Like now.

A knock on the door pulls you out of your thoughts, and Ezra frowns as you let his cock slip from your mouth. “Gem, I must implore you to ignore that interruption,” he sounds breathless as he grabs your wrist before you can slide your fingers out of him. “As much as I enjoy you keeping me on the edge…” he pauses when you give him a challenging look and curl your fingers up against his prostate, making his hips buck hard. “... having a visitor take up your precious time is not something I’m willing to indulge in.”

“But I got you something.” You smirk when his eyes light up and lean into the kiss he’s offering. “I know you’ll like it.”

“Well… You’ve piqued my interest with such a delightful promise,” he muses before he takes over your mouth with a deep kiss. “Nevertheless, I’m sure the courier can leave this offering at the door. I’m not ready for your hands to leave my body just yet. I…” He groans when you slowly start to move your fingers inside him again, and lazily runs a hand over his chest, teasing his nipples until they’re both hardened by the attention. “Grant me another one of those delightful fingers, gem.”

The hitch in his breathing makes a shiver run through you, and as another knock sounds on the door, you wrap your left hand around Ezra’s cock. Slowly stroking him without any hurry, matching the pace of your other hand. He watches you with pleasure, whimpering quietly when you gently slide his foreskin down to reveal the head, then lean down to lick the precum off his dick and your fingers.

“Come on in, the door is open,” you call out into the direction of the door once you’ve licked up all of him, almost like an afterthought. The momentary surprise on Ezra’s face is easy to spot, but it shifts almost immediately to amusement tinged with a hint of mischief. Most noticeable, he makes no effort to cover himself up or discretely move away from your hands - if anything, he makes a point of spreading out more on your sheets. Luxuriating like a cat under a warm beam of sunlight. Or perhaps a panther in the green is a more apt description; no trepidation, just a single minded focus. It’s exactly what you were counting on.

You press a kiss to Ezra’s stomach as you hear the front door open, and his cock twitches in excitement at the startled gasp of the visitor. “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry, I thought—”

“You thought right, no worries”. You grin as you lick away the last drop of precum that has welled up, then take in your guest. Benny. Just as pretty as when you met him the other day. Tall, blond, a slim but well-defined body that makes it clear he likes to work out. Younger than Ezra, but not too young - probably late twenties or early thirties. He’s a sight to behold in many ways, but that pouty bottom lip and his captivating eyes stand out in particular. You know Ezra is a sucker for that - you remember him telling you that it were your eyes that had drawn him in. Like aurelac. Believe me, gem. I should know, considering how much I’ve harvested it.

“Glad you came. Close that door, would you?”

“What a pretty thing you’ve sourced for us.” Ezra’s voice is quiet so only you can hear him, yet his dick is anything but subtle; he’s positively throbbing under your fingers, but not addressing Benny yet, waiting for him to approach the bed. You see the hesitation on Benny’s face as he takes in the two of you, but there’s no room for hesitation in the way he licks his lips and shrugs his jacket off.

“Hi… I’m sorry if I’m interrupting.”

“Not at all, gentle man.” Ezra props himself up on an elbow, gesturing for Benny to come closer. He’s enjoying this, the panther in him all relaxed yet fully alert, letting his prey come to him willingly. “What is your name?”

“Benny. I met… we got to know each other, and she told me to come over.” He’s clearly trying to not be too blatant about staring at Ezra, but it’s fairly impossible to not look right at that stiff cock, surrounded by the thick curls of his pubes. It takes a moment, but then Benny seems to realize that you’re not just jerking off Ezra; you’re also still fingering his ass with easy, lazy movements. He clears his throat as he seems flustered, clearly not knowing where to look.

“Benjamin. Hello, Benjamin - I’m Ezra. You must have met this gem at the drinking establishment,” Ezra suggests as he strokes your cheek, holding Benny’s gaze. “Surely you were as enthralled by her as I was. Tell me, did you try to make her yours?”

Benny laughs nervously, running a hand through his dark blond hair as he shrugs, seeming flustered. “Yeah, I-... I’m sorry, man. Didn’t know she was yours.”

It takes one to know that Ezra’s smile isn’t quite as friendly as it could be, with just a little too many teeth bared before he speaks. “That is not true, Benjamin. This gem belongs only to herself. I have the distinct pleasure of enjoying her whenever she deems me to be worthy of her time.” He pats the bed next to him as an invitation. “Your presence here would suggest she has plans for you, too. So this is… exciting.”

You nod at that as you slide your fingers out of Ezra, who does not seem too pleased about this. “I want to watch you fuck Benny,” you say casually, grabbing some sanitizer and a cloth to clean your hand. “He’s never been with a guy, but I don’t think that has to be a problem. Or is it, Benny? Sit down.”

He follows the command without hesitation, radiating golden retriever energy as he seems eager to please, and just a little bit overwhelmed. You reward him by brushing your fingers over his jawline, tracing the soft stubble and the more pronounced goatee under his plush lip. He looks slightly dazed, but you have no concerns about that. Setting boundaries was no problem for him, you had already figured that out yesterday - because else you wouldn’t have invited him over. “Can I kiss you?”, you ask, and he nods silently.

“Use your words, Benjamin.” Ezra speaks up before you say it, and you can tell how the tone in his voice has changed since he last spoke. It’s sharper, hungrier, with a little bit of fangs in it. “I expect you to engage in candid discourse with us. Otherwise this is not happening, my friend.”

Something flickers in Benny’s eyes - a hint of resistance, or maybe he just rightfully feels intimidated. Ezra never is subtle about taking control of a situation, getting the upper hand either through words or more tangible weapons. But Benny doesn’t back down, lets his fingers brush down your arm, grazing your breast by no accident. “Yes, you can kiss me. Both of you can”, he then adds, sounding like a dare as his eyes are still on Ezra. “I’m fine with most things, and if not I’ll let you know.”

“How fortunate for us.” Ezra smiles as he leans back against the headboard and lazily runs his hand over his dick, giving you an expectant look. You don’t waste any time, revising your earlier plans to initially only make out with Benny. While he can’t take his eyes off Ezra, you climb into his lap, steading yourself with a hand on his shoulder as he settles in. He looks up almost in surprise, as if suddenly being shaken out of a day dream, and he wraps his arms loosely around your waist as he faces you straight on now..

“I like how you’re drooling over Ezra,” you tease him, to which he immediately blushes. “No, don’t worry, I’m the same way. It’s hard not to,” you hush him as you settle in, wriggling around for a moment until you’re comfortable with the angle, your bare pussy pressed against his denim covered cock. You brush your lips over his as you slowly rock against him, feeling his hand slide to your hip, the other one firmly grabbing your ass to pull you closer. “Ez has a nice dick, you know. Thick, generously sized… ever been up close and personal with an uncut cock?”

Benny seems already breathless when he kisses you, his tongue just as eager as his hips are, grinding up against you. “No. Not with any cock, really. Fuck. He’s… hot.” He groans when you grind down harder against him, your slickness leaving a wet stain on his pants. “You’re both really hot,” he then adds, kissing you harder as he seems to gain more confidence now. Slipping his hand between you, he gathers your wetness so he can tease your clit with his fingertip, and you whimper in delight by how effective he is. You can tell he wants to explore more, would probably gladly slip one or two fingers inside of your heat, but that’s not going to happen yet - you have plans.

“I like your mouth,” you breathe as you break the kiss, resting your forearms on his shoulders as you lean back slightly, perfectly aware of how this pushes your tits up in a spectacular fashion for him. “You any good with it elsewhere, too?”

His lips are on your breasts before you even finish the line, hot tongue licking one nipple before he moves to the other, then sucks it into his mouth in a way that makes your clit throb. “Anywhere and everywhere” he assures you when he lets go of it with a wet smack. “You want me to eat you out?”

“Not now. Maybe later,” you sigh in pleasure, rocking a little harder against his fingers, enjoying how he’s taking his time to figure out what gets you going. Over his shoulder you see Ezra, a predatory glint in his eye when he realizes he’s got your attention. You bite your lip hard when the hand around his cock speeds up, and Ezra lets the other one lazily slip between his legs, teasing himself with deft fingers where yours were minutes earlier.

You have to hold your breath for a moment to not lose it right there, and Ezra takes full advantage of it. His dark eyes hold you captive as he slips a thick finger into his hole, and you groan when you hear him breathe your name. He wants to get fucked by you, hard, and he’s not shy about it either. You’re throbbing in response to it - between his blatant need and Benny’s fingers between your legs, you feel yourself getting way too close way too fast. Especially when Benny’s mouth returns to your breasts, his teeth and tongue alternately teasing your nipples until they feel just as sensitive as your clit.

You pull yourself off Benny’s lap just before the waves threaten to overtake you, legs slightly wobbly as you try to compose yourself and calm your breathing. Benny is looking just as dazed as you’re feeling, and you’re pretty sure that the large wet spot on his jeans isn’t just caused by your arousal only.

“Pretty Benny,” you say softly as you run your hand through his long locks, admiring the play of dark blond hair with some lighter strands. You’re pleased to see his head tip back as he swallows, anticipation on his face when you slowly twist some of his hair around your fingers. “Tell me something. You like being told what to do?”

Benny’s eyes become glassy at your words, and you feel a little jolt of triumph at his eagerness. Perfect. You give a gentle tug at his hair as a warning for his lack of direct response, and he whimpers. Squeezing his stiff cock through his pants as his gaze remains on you, he doesn’t seem aware of Ezra moving behind him. His eyes close when Ezra’s large hand envelops his throat loosely, cupping it with thick fingers that then move up to stroke his chin.

“My gem is not in the habit of repeating herself, so I will do you that courtesy right now, Benjamin.” Ezra’s voice is gentle and warm, but you can hear the warning in his words. “She asked whether you like being told what to do.” His thumb slips into Benny’s mouth, its pad stroking Benny’s tongue for just a moment, then resting on his lip again. You feel slightly dizzy by how captivating it is. By no means is Benny a meek man, and he even has a couple of inches on Ezra in height. But there’s a willingness in him to follow orders, particularly when given by Ezra, that you find incredibly exciting.

“I do here, yes.” Benny’s voice is strained, and he finally opens his eyes again, looking at you. Both men having their glances fixed on you, both looking as hungry as you feel; one confident to the point of being almost predatory, the other momentarily overwhelmed by his own arousal. Ezra hums, reaching out to brush Benny’s lower lip with his thumb, his other arm snaking around Benny’s waist in an embrace. He dips his head down slightly so he can whisper in Benny’s ear, and you already know what he’s going to say.

“Suck it.”

Benny obeys immediately. The wet sound of his mouth around Ezra’s thumb gives you goosebumps, and you feel yourself throbbing once again. You had not yet planned on coming, preferring to take your time and enjoying the lazy exploration between the three of you. But you can’t help yourself any longer - you need your release now.

You slide your hand between your legs and touch your clit, gasping at how swollen and sensitive it is from Benny touching you earlier, and the extensive attention Ezra had paid to your pussy even earlier. Before you can reach further and slip a finger or two inside, Benny’s hand reaches for yours, a pleading expression in his eyes.

You nod benevolently, feeling his fingers gently enter you - only two, but thicker than yours are, and you moan as he strokes you, explores you. With ease he finds the right spot inside of you, rubbing and tapping it gently, and he smiles when you clench tight around him in response, your pulse suddenly skyrocketing. Without even blinking, he increases the pressure a bit while you stroke your clit, in tandem working towards your orgasm, and in no time at all you’re crying out and coming hard around his fingers.

Only once you’ve eased down, Benny withdraws from you, a content look on his face. For a moment you think that he’s going to put his fingers to his mouth, but he surprises you - turning to look at Ezra and offers him his slick fingers. The glee on Ezra’s face couldn’t possibly be any more radiant, and he grins as he wraps his fingers around Benny’s wrist. “A most gracious offering, my friend - it appears we have a good partnership here,” he muses as he lifts Benny’s hand to his lips.

“Fuck me, you’re killing me with that,” you whimper, hearing how hoarse your voice sounds. The sight of Ezra sucking Benny’s fingers into his mouth, cleaning them with his tongue before he lets go, is making you greedy. For more, for them, for someone’s dick being taken down someone else’s throat, and it’d better be soon.

Ezra smirks, entirely too pleased with your reaction, then leans in to kiss Benny. Cupping his face in his hand, a gentle kiss on his lips first, but as Benny sighs in pleasure you see Ezra quickly get bolder. He shifts on the bed as he draws Benny closer to him, fingers stroking through the dark blond hair as he leans to kiss his jawline, then lets his lips wander back to Benny’s mouth again.

“Your eyes are extraordinarily striking.” Ezra hums, almost as if talking to himself, his thumb brushing over Benny’s eyebrow. “Ocean blue, but.. viridescent. No. Aquamarine,” he corrects himself, and you smile to yourself - that’s exactly what you expected him to call it the moment you laid eyes on Benny. Leave it up to Ezra to try to capture colors through precious stones rather than using obvious terms.

Benny laughs a little awkwardly, clearly unsure how to respond to that. “Ahh, thanks? Hey man, you don’t need to woo me.”

“I can assure you I am not even doing such a thing, Benjamin, nor do I believe that I will have to do so when pursuing you,” Ezra teases him playfully, reaching down to the unzipped jeans so he can cup Benny’s cock through the gray underwear. “If I may be so bold - you already appear to be a done deal, my friend. Wooing does not seem necessary anymore.”

Benny huffs as he shakes his head dismissively. “You’re very cocky.”

“You’re very pretty.” Ezra laughs loudly when Benny blushes again, and you reach out for Ezra’s hair as you give it a hard tug before he can say anything else.

“Smart ass. Be nice to our guest, hmm?”

“Of course.” Without missing a beat Ezra’s hand lightly grasps yours and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. “You may want to go have a drink of water, gem. Hydrate yourself. Perhaps bring your cock with you when you return?”

Benny looks confused for a second, but seems to drop it when Ezra grabs him for a proper kiss this time. There’s a moment of hesitation from Benny, but then his hand slides into Ezra’s neck and he pulls him closer. He takes over the kiss from Ezra, tongues greedily finding each other to share the taste of you and explore each other. Fuck, they’re beautiful. Ezra’s roughness, unpolished edges and a direct approach to ensnare you in his words, make you part of his game - versus Benny’s eagerness, being entirely too pretty, the light and captivating energy around him impossible to resist. They’re a good match in all their contrasts.

Benny pushes Ezra down into the pillows, practically climbing into his lap, and Ezra’s large hands immediately paw at him to remove his shirt. It’s tempting to stay and watch, but you remind yourself that some water is a more urgent need right now. You gulp down a cup from the chilled pitcher, then half of another one as you walk to the dresser across the room. The mirror above it gives you a perfect view of the guys making out, and you shamelessly admire them as you rummage through your toy drawer. First your leather harness, then you sort through the silicone dicks until you find the turquoise one that you like the best for Ezra.

Once you’ve put on the harness and slipped the dildo through through the O-ring, you walk back to the bed under the watchful eye of Ezra, who has Benny grinding into his lap as they’re still making out like teenagers. Eventually he breaks the kiss, sucking a quick hickey onto Benny’s throat as he watches you touch your silicone dick.

“Kevva, gem. Look at your cock,” he says quietly, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire for you. He grabs Benny’s chin lightly and turns his head, making him look at you, and you see the surprised expression on Benny’s face as he takes in your appearance. The way the leather straps softly dig into your skin, the size of the dildo, and then you see the realization dawn on his face that none of this is a surprise to Ezra.

“Your mouth is all messed up,” you say as you reach out for Benny stroking the slight redness that Ezra’s stubble left on his pale skin, lips swollen from kissing and his skin slightly flushed from Ezra’s stubble. “Looks good on you.”

“Would look even better on you, gem.” Ezra’s voice is low and gravely as he runs his fingers through Benny’s hair, brushing the strands back. “How about you suck her cock, Benjamin. Do you see how magnificent it looks on her? You can show her that you know how to use that pretty mouth in different ways,” Ezra whispers into his ear, urging Benny off the bed and in front of you, then adds, “Show us how you can take me in later.”

The breath Benny sucks in at those words is clearly audible, making Ezra’s grin widen even more as he moves to stand behind you, running his hands over your soft curves as he keeps his hard dick pressed against your ass. For a moment you wonder if this might be pushing him a bit too much, but then Benny kneels at your feet, a sight to behold. All lean muscle and strong arms, dick hard in his underwear, and looking even more fucked out than earlier.

Benny’s fingers brush over the leather straps of your harness as he examines it on you, pressing kisses to some spots where the leather is threatening to leave an imprint on your skin. “I like the leather,” he says, sounding almost surprised, and just like earlier you find yourself clenching again, especially when he fingers the base of your cock and the balls. For some reason his careful explorations thrill you more than expected, especially once he decides to go for it and lap the head of your cock. Careful licks at first as he seems bashful, fingers brushing over the ridges and fake veins on the phallic silicone. You let him explore, let him get used to the idea of him being on his knees and about to take you in - hell, let him get used to the idea of a dick in his mouth period, even if it is a fake one.

“It’s not gonna bite you, Benjamin.” Ezra has moved over to Benny and is now kneeling behind him, hand resting on Benny’s back as he nods at the dildo. “Will you allow me?”

You raise an eyebrow at Ezra. “Look at you, so polite and sweet to him. Why don’t I get that?”, you tease, and Ezra grins as he smacks your ass hard, making you yelp.

“Because you do not care for that, gem. Come here.” You watch as Ezra’s hand closes around the strap on, leaning in without a moment of hesitation.He’s done this so many times, but never in front of anyone else. Benny watches Ezra’s tongue lavish your cock with attention, and you can tell from the way Ezra’s fingers press into your hips that he’s getting too excited, his body desperately needing release from having been stimulated in so many ways this afternoon.

A quiet groan escapes from Benny’s lips as he watches Ezra’s head bobbing, up and down, and you see Benny’s hand close around himself, the head of his cock almost angrily red and leaking all over him. He fucks himself into his fist, then whines loudly when he sees Ezra take you in all the way - sliding down on your cock until his nose meets your skin and the leather straps.

You laugh, almost breathlessly, as you slide your hand into Ezra’s sweaty hair and cup the back of his head, holding him in place as you watch his throat work on you. “You take it so well, Ezra. Fuck, yeah, there you go,” you gasp, starting to pull back when you feel him gag for a moment. “Easy there, easy-”

“I’m fine,” the words stutter from Ezra’s lips as he sits up, catching his breath before he turns to Benny, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “Oh, shit. That really got you going, huh?” He sounds hoarse as he nods at Benny touching himself, then leans over to him, pulling Benny into another sloppy kiss. His hand joins Benny’s, intending to help jerk him off - but you’re officially out of patience with Ezra’s chaotic energy crackling at frantic levels. He’s been too wired for too long now, and you know there’s only one way he’s going to be able to let that go.

“Get your ass on that bed,” you tell him as you smack his butt playfully, looking for the container of slick under the pillow. “Now, pretty boy. You too, other pretty boy,” you nod at Benny, “...go sit against the headboard.”

They both follow your lead, but you can tell by the glint in Ezra’s eye that he’s not about to back down - you know it’ll just be a matter of minutes before he’s running his mouth again. “I don’t want to hear you. Got it?”, you warn him preemptively as you push him down in the sheets, onto his stomach, then give his ass another hard slap as you twist the lid off the small glass jar with slick.

Ezra groans, letting out a deep sigh as he looks back at you. “Again. Other side too,” he says hoarsely, then sucks in a deep breath when you oblige - a smack against his other cheek, then two more on each of them as you hear him whimper in pleasure.

“Thought I told you to be quiet”, you challenge him as you spread the slick all over your cock. “Ass up now. Are you–”

“I’m fine, yeah,” he interrupts you, so eager he’s nearly tripping over his words, and he whines as you spread his cheeks, running your slick fingers over his asshole. “Please, just…” He groans when you run your thumb over his rim, letting it slip into for a moment. “Shit, shit, yes. Come on, gem, I can-...”

His words trail off as you push into him, just the tip of your cock at first, making sure he’s taking you as well as usual. When he nods at you to keep going, you slide your hand under him and reach for his half hard cock, stroking him steadily as you push further into him. His breathing still stutters but he takes the strap easily, eagerly as always. When you look up for a moment you see Benny staring at the two of you in awe.

Ezra notices it too, and you feel the laugh that’s rolling through his chest before you hear it. “I think Benjamin is rather intrigued by the idea of being taken by a cock, gem,” he suggests, sounding rather amused as he grinds back against you. You pick up the pace as you thrust into him, and it doesn’t take long for those broad shoulders to fully relax. His cock is leaking in your hand as you fuck him steadily, hitting him at just the right angle to make him groan, and you hear him lick his lips as he beckons Benny to scoot closer. “Benjamin… come over here, won’t you? I don’t bite. Unless you’d want me to, in which case… today is going to turn out even better than I thought it was.”

“Hey, Benny? I’m gonna need your help here,” you order the other man as you keep up your pace, resting one hand on Ezra’s hip and the other one on his back, as you stroke his warm skin that’s glistening with sweat. “Need you to shut him up, okay?”

“Fuck. Yes - please,” Ezra gasps, his voice breaking for a second, and you feel a shiver run through him. You’re not even sure which one of you three groans the loudest when he takes Benny’s cock in his mouth, but you can feel your thighs slick with our arousal by the view in front of you. Benny’s a goner almost right away, his hand on the back of Ezra’s bobbing head as he guides him down on his dick, hips pushing eagerly towards his release.

When Ezra’s nose brushes against Benny’s neatly trimmed pubes, holding still for a moment, Benny’s hand drops away as he mumbles something incoherent. You hear Ezra’s half choked grin, see him pull back as he licks Benny’s tight ball sack which earns him another moan. “Tap out if it’s a no,” Ezra tells him before he spits on his digits, brushing his fingertips over Benny’s taint which gets him an even louder moan than before.

“Jesus, Ezra,” Benny mumbles as he closes his eyes, leaning his head back as he lets Ezra handle him. You’re not surprised when you see a flash of Ezra’s pink tongue sliding over the perineum, and you slow down your thrusts to not jostle him too much. When Benny’s hips suddenly buck up hard without a warning, you hear Ezra hum and the sound of more spit against skin.

“Just relax, Benjamin, I’ve got you. Let it go,” Ezra hushes him, rubbing Benny’s thigh soothingly as he keeps his mouth to him, a soft smack of his lips as he sucks on his finger. “ ‘s Gonna feel good, I promise, yeah?” Even though being behind Ezra doesn’t quite provide you with a clear view, you can see just enough of what’s going on - Ezra’s tongue tracing Benny’s rim, slick with saliva, hushing him some more to relax as he takes his time, and then Benny whimpering when Ezra’s finger gently pushes inside of him.

“Fuck. Ezra, fuuck, I can’t– please… please,” Benny begs him, and Ezra beams as his finger slides into the second knuckle. He hums as he mouths Benny’s balls before moving back to his cock, the back of his head blocking most of your view as he works on drawing more moans and pleas from Benny. It’s not long before Benny cries out Ezra’s name along with a string of curses, his body shaking hard until he goes pretty much boneless.

Benny heaves a deep sigh as he practically melts into the bed, reaching out to brush something off Ezra’s face - some spilled come, you would assume. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding very regretful at all as a smirk plays over his face. “Got it all over, huh?”

“I’ll take you on your word that that was not deliberately aimed, Benjamin,” Ezra says with a shrug, brushing the back of his hand over his cheeks and forehead. “Make sure to keep that in mind next time when I bust a nut over your face, too, hmm?” he adds with a grin as he wipes his hand clean on a bedsheet, then wiggles his ass against as he looks at you over his shoulder. “That was some good team work from our partnership, gem.”

You nodded as you rub his ass gently, moving along with him as you slowly start to pick up the pace again. “Hey, at least it wasn’t me in the line of fire this time, you know?”

He laughs at you, stretching his arms one by one, followed by his back as he hums contently under your touch - the caresses to his back, the kiss you press against his bicep. He still has the predatory look on his face from earlier, that panther stretching in the sun while examining his prey, looking extra smug this time.

“Yeah, but you clean it up so pretty with your mouth,” he teases, the two of you both knowing that Ezra is always the first to grab you a wet towel when it’s needed. “As for now…” His eyes darken slightly as he grasps your hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss before he brings it to his throat, folding your fingers gently around him.

“Better finish me good, gem. You know I’ll make it worth your while.”

My brain was fried when I put this up originally, so I'm tagging people only now to let y'all know this posted (and you may be interested): @marisferasiop @ghostofaboy @immarocketman @ezrasbirdie @whatsnewalycat @gasolinerainbowpuddles @idolatrybarbie @writefightandflightclub @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @maggiemayhemnj @linzels-blog @lady-bess @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @undercoverpena @sp00kymulderr @i-own-loki @ladamedusoif @penvisions @bonezone44 @auteurdelabre @ohforficsake @swiftispunk @max--phillips @kiwisbell @beskarandblasters @rifflovesjoey @chronically-ghosted @iamskyereads

Love to all the sluts! <3 @redhotkitchen @sparklefarts38 @exquisiteserotonin @pink-whiskey-woman @youandmeand5bucks @legendary-pink-dot @secretelephanttattoo @arcanefox207

Taglist for those who requested it : @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @pimosworld @survivingandenduring @romanarose @rubyfruitjungle @criticalarchitecture @kt86 @gemmahale @rav3n-pascal22 @rhoorl @laurfilijames @musings-of-a-rose @perotovar

#pedro pascal characters #PMAMC 2024 #ezra prospect #benny miller #triple frontier

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otomegamesforlife · 3 months

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Love Song

Prompt: This started out with the idea that our dear Hunter Mc can sing and blow away the men. Then, it somehow became a love declaration through song. I got so distracted. Here's a tribute!

Warnings: None, just fluff Tags: Established Relationship Reader's Name: Mc (Main Character) Reader is Mc or Main Character, but I made it sound like it’s a name! I’m too lazy to think of a real name. Forgive me! Y/N didn’t feel right somehow *sweats* Could this still be considered x reader? Oh god.

Note: The song is "POV" by Ariana Grande. Imagine our lovely Mc with Ariana’s voice. The kiss banner inspired me to drop everything and just write this.

Zayne

Zayne had just finished a grueling surgery that took longer than expected. He glanced at his watch, knowing Mc would be at the Unicorn Hunter’s party. With Captain Jena there, he wasn’t too worried. Jena was responsible, after all.

As he changed out of his scrubs, his phone rang. "Good evening, Zayne speaking. How can I help you, Captain?"

A soft chuckle met his ears. "Of course, order some more drinks, Johnson." He frowned, pushing back the urge to check the caller ID. He trusted his memory. "Hello, Dr. Zayne. Not a medical emergency, but I need your help picking up Mc. Tara’s house is on the opposite side of her place, and I want to ensure she gets home safely."

He agreed and hurried out the door, Captain Jena’s laughter lingering in his mind. He wondered if the Captain was drunk and what the state of the party would be.

Upon arriving, he was relieved to find the party well-organized. Everyone was seated, and his wife was draped over a relaxed Captain Jena, her hair done and a smile on her face.

“Your husband’s here, Mc!” Tara announced, walking past him to Mc’s side.

Mc stood up quickly, stumbling slightly. Zayne’s arms instinctively reached out, but Captain Jena was faster in helping her up. As soon as Mc crosses to meet him she buries her face in his chest, inhaling his scent.

“You’re drunk,” he remarked.

She giggled, looking up at him with arms still wrapped around his waist. “And happy you’re here.”

He sighed, cupping her face and gently rubbing his thumbs under her eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”

She grinned and bit her lip. He pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing what she was thinking. She giggled, letting go to loop her arm through his.

Then a voice announced, “Your turn, Mc!”

He frowned as Johnson, a fellow hunter, called her to the stage. “Aren’t we going home?”

Mc shook her head, smirking. “No one leaves the Unicorn without singing a song. This one’s for you!”

He watched as she walked to the stage, surprisingly steady. The slow beat began, and she started to sing. It was like a love letter set to music.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The cheers of the team faded into the background. He didn’t see everyone swaying to the song. He found himself moving towards her as the song ended, and she threw herself into his arms.

“I love you,” she whispered, kissing his ear.

Captain Jena took the mic from Mc’s hands. “You’re free to go, Hunter.”

It didn’t matter that he was missing the rest of the performances. All that mattered was the love of his life, now in his arms, making herself small and drifting to sleep with a smile.

Zayne shifted Mc’s weight slightly, guiding her towards the door. “I had no idea you could sing like that,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

Mc smiled sleepily. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she teased, her voice a soft, melodic whisper.

As they walked out into the cool night air, Zayne felt a pang of guilt. How much had he missed in the chaos of their lives? How many moments like this had slipped through his fingers?

“Did you enjoy the party?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

Mc nodded, resting her head against his shoulder. “It was fun. I needed it.”

Zayne glanced down at her, her face peaceful and content. “I’m glad you had fun, but next time, maybe a little less alcohol?”

She laughed, a sound that made his heart swell. “Yes, doctor. I promise.”

They reached their car, and Zayne helped Mc into the passenger seat. As he started the engine, Mc’s eyes fluttered open. “You know, Zayne,” she began, her voice thoughtful, “I’ve always wanted to love myself the way you love me.”

Zayne’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You deserve that, Mc. You deserve to see yourself the way I see you.”

She reached out, her fingers brushing his cheek. “I’m trying. I really am.”

He turned to look at her, his heart aching with love and pride. “You’re doing great, Mc. You’re incredible.”

She smiled, closing her eyes again. “With you, I feel like I can do anything.”

Zayne drove in silence, his thoughts racing. He made a silent vow to himself: to cherish these moments, to never take them for granted, and to always remind Mc how extraordinary she was.

As they pulled into their driveway, Zayne gently woke Mc. “We’re home, sweetheart.”

She blinked up at him, her eyes soft with affection. “Home,” she echoed, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

Zayne helped her inside, guiding her to their bedroom. As she settled into bed, he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Mc. More than anything.”

She smiled, her eyes already drifting shut. “And I you.”

He watched her for a moment longer, his heart full. Then he slipped into bed beside her, pulling her close.

Xavier

The night at the Unicorn Hunter’s headquarters was winding down, but the tradition of everyone singing a song before the party ended kept the energy high. Xavier leaned back against the wall, watching his teammates take their turns. Captain Jena was making her way to the stage, a confident smirk on her face. Xavier sighed, longing to be at home, wrapped in his wife's arms.

He was lost in his thoughts when he felt a gentle nudge. “You're singing tonight,” Captain Jena says, handing the mic as she passed by to the next hunter.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll sing, but only because she’s here,” he said, his eyes seeking out his wife in the crowd. She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling with amusement and love.

The next few minutes were a blur of laughter and cheers as the rest took turns. Xavier clapped along, but his heart wasn’t in it. He just wanted the night to end so he could go home and cuddle with his wife.

Then it was his turn. He took the mic, glancing at his wife one more time. “This one’s for you,” he said softly, his voice carrying through the room.

The first notes of a slow, soulful melody filled the air, and Xavier began to sing. His deep voice resonated with emotion, each word a declaration of love and devotion. He sang about their journey, the moments they shared, and the way she made him feel complete. As the song progressed, the others faded into the background, and it was as if only the two of them existed in the room.

When he finished, the room erupted in applause, but Xavier’s eyes were only for his wife. She stood, tears glistening in her eyes, and made her way to the stage. As she reached him, she took the mic from his hand.

“Now it’s my turn,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I didn’t know If I could sing like this, but you inspire me, Xavier.”

She began to sing a song that was a love letter to him. Her voice, soft and melodic, carried the words of a woman who had found her strength and happiness through the love of her husband. She sang about how he loved her, how he made her feel cherished and valued, and how she wanted to love herself the way he loved her.

Xavier was transfixed. The team cheered and clapped, but he barely noticed. His heart swelled with pride and love as he listened to her pour out her heart in song. When she finished, he didn’t hesitate. He pulled her into a tight embrace, his lips finding hers in a tender kiss.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered against her lips.

She smiled up at him, her eyes shining with love. “It’s because of you, Xavier. You make me want to be better, to love myself the way you love me.”

He kissed her again, deeply and passionately, then turned to the team. “Sorry, everyone, but I’m taking my wife home.”

There were groans and playful complaints, but Xavier didn’t care. He held her close, and in a flash, they teleported away, leaving the party behind.

They appeared in their living room, the familiar surroundings a comforting contrast to the noise and chaos of the party. Xavier looked at his wife, his heart full. “You have no idea how much that meant to me,” he said softly.

She cupped his face in her hands, her touch gentle and loving. “I wanted you to know how much I appreciate you, how much I love you.”

He pulled her into another hug, burying his face in her hair. “You show me every day, but hearing you sing it… it was incredible.”

They moved to the couch, cuddling together under a soft blanket. Xavier held her close, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. “You know, you never have to doubt how much I love you,” he murmured. “You’re everything to me.”

She sighed contentedly, snuggling closer. “And you’re everything to me, Xavier. Thank you for loving me the way you do.”

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside fading away.

Rafayel

Rafayel wasn’t good with phone calls, but he was lucky to have set an alarm to pick his wife up. Seeing that it was her captain calling, he immediately called back but got no answer. His heart pounded as he tracked her device location. When he arrived, he saw his wife draped over Captain Jena’s lap, the latter brushing her hair while sipping a drink.

He frowned, moving forward. No one touched his wife like that! Captain Jena saw him, nodded, and tapped Mc to stand. His wife stood, her mouth agape and eyes glassy.

“You’re here!”

He pouted, pulling her close as soon as they met in the middle. The rest of the team was busy, Captain Jena now attending to Tara in her lap.

“I didn’t know being captain granted that privilege?” he asked, giving Mc some space to check her.

“What? Oh—only girls! She’s the mother unicorn after all.”

He sighed, cupping her face and fixing the hair sticking to her forehead. “I see I’m replaced by the Captain. How dare you!”

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “It’s your fault. You took so long.”

He gaped, placing his hands on her hips. “Me? I wanted to join you at this party, but you said to stay home and pick you up! I am punctual!”

“I missed my grandma… She used to do that.”

Rafayel sighed, brushing her hair as if rewriting the Captain’s strokes. “I’ll have you know my hands are prettier than your Captain’s!”

“Then you’d do it for me—”

“—How could you even ask!”

“That means I won’t do it to you.”

“What?!”

“We can’t do it at the same time, you know.”

“You fishy drunk, we’ll take turns.”

“You’re the fishy!”

“I’m done! Mc, it’s your turn! We can’t have you leaving without a song!”

Rafayel frowned at the guy waving the mic, not letting go of Mc’s hips until she patted his hand. “You’re just in time.” She winked, pulling him to the front row.

The slow beat began. He had never heard her sing on stage, only hum. He was amazed at how she sounded. In all their lives together, he had never heard her sing a love song like this.

He felt tears in his eyes, her form becoming blurry. It was as if it was just the two of them. The team’s cheers drowned in silence.

When she finished, he held out a hand and led her out of the event space.

“Love—”

Before Mc knew it, he had pulled her into a corner, his body trembling with sobs. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you,” she replied, cupping his face with her hands and looking deeply into his eyes.

Rafayel's voice was choked with emotion as he continued, “I had no idea you could sing like that. It was... incredible. You poured your heart out, and I felt every word.”

Mc smiled, wiping away his tears with her thumbs. “I wanted you to know how much you mean to me. How your love makes me feel strong and cherished. I want to love myself the way you love me.”

He pulled her close, his forehead resting against hers. “You already are. You’re amazing, just the way you are. I’m so proud of you.”

She kissed him softly, her lips warm and tender. “Thank you for always being there for me, for loving me unconditionally.”

Rafayel took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Come on, let’s get us home. I need some rest after all that excitement.”

"What's this tapping out so early?"

"You just had to ruin it"

As they walked to the car, Rafayel kept his arm around her, his heart swelling with pride and love. The ride home was quiet, the intimacy of the moment lingering between them.

When they arrived, Rafayel helped Mc inside, guiding her to their bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him with a soft smile. “You know, I never thought I’d sing in front of everyone like that. But with you there, I felt brave.”

He knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. “You were incredible. I’m so lucky to have you.”

She leaned down, kissing the top of his head. “And I’m lucky to have you.”

They climbed into bed, Rafayel pulling her close. As they lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, he whispered, “I'll love you with everything I have.”

Mc snuggled closer, her head resting on his chest.

"Where's my response?"

"I don't know... What if you combust if I love you with everything I have?"

"WHAT"

Thank you for reading!

#lads #love and deep space x reader #love and deepspace #loveanddeepspace #love and deep space fluff #love and deepspace mc #dr zayne #xavier love and deepspace #drabbles #fics #lnds #lnds xavier #lnds zayne #lnds rafayel #lnds x reader #rafayel love and deepspace

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isthemedia · 23 days

Text

Poolverine-Yoink! (2/2)

Part 2 is now done.

Here's Part 1. And here's the Ao3 link.

@manicpixxiedreambitch

@ineffablestardust

@saspas-corner

@angelbonezs

Since ya'll wanted to be tagged when part 2 was done.

=============================================

‘Not today…not tomorrow…not now,’ Wade’s groggy mind repeated. His joints ached. He could hear a ringing that wasn’t typical tinnitus. He grabbed at the back of his neck, the skin feeling too tight. ‘Really laying it on thick there ain’tcha madam/sir author? Is this whump? I feel like this can be classified as whump.’

(Whump is more hurt than comfort. So no, not really.)

‘Well I’m calling it whump, even if it’s not tagged that.’

(You can go ahead and do that, even though it’s wrong.)

Wade sighed as he curled up a bit tighter. Skin felt like it was prickling if exposed to air. That staticky feeling of just too many eyes watching. He could hear the door of Al’s room creak open. The shuffling of her feet…

“Yer too damn quiet right now,” Al complained. “An’ I know yer still here,” she added, her cane smacking alongside the bed. She stopped when she hit the pile of blankets. “Oh lord this again?”

She didn’t get an answer. No witty reply or snide retort. Heaving a sigh, Al continued on. “I’m headin’ ta bingo, and I’m gonna call Vanessa-she can explain this nonsense ta Logan.” It may have sounded like complaining, but the tone in her voice was clear. It was that ‘don’t worry, help is gonna be on the way deary’ tone.

And really? Bingo at what…this early in the morning?

‘What time is it even?’

(Early enough.)

‘Lazy establishing setup.’

Wade shifted somewhat, the bed frame of the pull-out creaking as he did. Right, how was Logan going to take this? He should handle this. Maybe?

Well, Vanessa should be able to handle it, she had no fear with the somewhat feral wolverine he brought home. She did tease him about how he went full ‘White Woman’ and took a wild animal home under the guise of ‘you’re mine now’. He guessed she wasn’t entirely wrong.

But he also wasn’t expecting Logan to stay as long as he did. He’s read the comics-and sure even though this Logan is from a different universe it almost seemed ingrained in all of them to just-leave some day.

It wasn’t a bad thing that he stayed. Hell no! If he could he would strap Logan down and make sure he’d never leave. He loved having him around. Al did too. And how could he deprive dearest little miss Mary-Puppins from her other papa?

The frame of the pull-out creaked again. Oh, speak of the devil. Wade could feel how the pull-out shifted, the weight of the other occupant being removed. But made sense when they’re-what 200-300 plus pounds thanks to a metal skeleton.

Really no logical way for a shitty pull-out to hold the both of them without collapsing or even warping the frame, yet it still stood.

He wondered if they could use that as sort of a marketing ploy, maybe convince Logan into some centerfold-esque poses just for added effect. Well, effect and future spank-bank material, but he wouldn’t need to know the latter.

“Come on!” Wade felt the kick given to the pull-out, it jostled the whole thing. Welp, good luck with the Peanut, cause he wasn’t moving. Threaten him with a good time all you want.

Snikt.

‘And out comes the steak knives. Would stabbing me reset this? Haven’t been stabbed during any of these moods.’

(Pretty sure stabbing would just make you feel worse.)

‘So gonna be a fic with no stabby-stab? And am I even gonna talk? How can you have a Deadpool fanfic where I don’t talk?’

(It’s character introspection.)

‘Sounds like you just don’t wanna come up with quips for me.’

The mattress creaked slightly. Oh, that’s Vanessa. Al really did call her. Such a sweet old blind bat she is.

Wade could hear them-somewhat over the ringing in his ears that changed to something more akin to the old dial-up sound of the internet. Logan sounded less growly now too.

Ah Vanessa, the one who can soothe the savage Logan.

It was weird what his ears would pick up when he was like this. Full conversations happening just outside his makeshift fort of blankets? Nah, that wasn’t important enough. The sound of something being slid across the sheets though? Yeah, could hear that.

‘And yoink!’ Wade snatched whatever Vanessa slid over to him. Hey! He didn’t have this one! Of course she’d know that. ‘And another for the collection. Ya know I don’t think anyone is gonna get the reference. You’re dating yourself.’

(At least someone is dating me.)

‘Ooof self burn. Ya sure you don’t need the hurt/comfort tag?’

Vanessa just knew what to get-she still remembered. Sure it didn’t work out between them. It stung for a long time. Longer than Wade wanted to admit, but it wasn’t like Vanessa wanted him out of her life. She had to drill it into his head that even if they weren’t romantically involved anymore, didn’t mean she didn’t love him. It was just a different love.

He sorta got that. He was feeling that too. Feeling it during the Time Ripper thing. During the time in the Void.

Felt it when he came across Logan. Oh, that was something he still needed to unpack…too bad he was a lazy asshole after a vacation. Eh, it’ll eventually get unpacked-granted, he’ll probably wait until the last minute…like always.

Vanessa was always going to be special. He would drop everything if she needed him, and vice versa it seemed. But Logan…Logan was something else. He wasn’t sure what he was yet. Sure, he knew what he wanted Logan to be-at least he was pretty sure what he wanted him to be. But that wasn’t gonna fly with Disney and Marvel-or the legion of dudebros who think he and Logan are total and complete masculine heterosexuals. They really need to pick up a comic.

Ah, something else was being pushed towards him. ‘And yoink again!’ Hey, weren't these things discontinued? Sheets were gonna need to be changed after this. At least this time around it would be a more common reason than needing to change them cause they tried to reenact the bed scene from ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’. Maybe they should just buy red sheets. Same logic should apply to them like his suit.

Almost on instinct, Wade felt something shift in the bed. ‘Yoink!’

Only this time, there came a high pitched, noticeable yelp. Oh! Oh sweet baby little angel Mary-Puppins!

“Shhh shhh. Oh baby girl I’m sorry,” he cooed as he cuddled the shaking pup. He could hear Logan laughing-the asshole! Some other papa he was! Frightening their little baby. His free hand sneaking out of the mess of blankets to flip him off.

OH! And THAT just made him laugh more? Asshole! When this whole mood thing is done he’s demanding a divorce and child support!

Everything was quiet in the apartment. Slowly Wade peaked out from the blankets. Logan was asleep. Al’s door was closed. Mary-Puppins was having little Dogpool dreams.

The apartment was dark, saved for the stray glow of the streetlights filtering in through the busted blinds.

Carefully, silently Wade slipped out from the mound. Not the worst start to this, though he was tempted to give Logan a smack for making him scare poor, sweet, little Mary-Puppins earlier. The prick-and he laughed the whole time! The super mega prick!

Wade sighed as he looked over. Logan looked peaceful, or well as peaceful as he could be. Brows were still furrowed, muscles twitching as if ready to go all fight-or-flight. But he wasn’t having a nightmare, so to Wade it meant it was peaceful.

He could save the smacking for another time. He’ll even drop the divorce threat. Cuddles and kisses from Mary were always a plus for him anyway-so it kinda worked out.

Right, he got up for a reason. Treading with light footsteps across the apartment, as to not make a single floorboard creak, he made his way to the bathroom. Hey maybe the merc with the mouth, but he knew how to move quietly . Kinda needed too in that line of work.

He brushed his teeth, and washed his face. “Ya know, the static feeling from being watched, doesn’t help when there’s like actual readers for this.”

(Semantics, se-mahn-tics. Sides, like you’d let me just keep you as an unmoving lump of blankets for another 3k words.)

“Eh true.”

Wade made his way back, trying to figure out what was the best way to climb back in without waking Logan. He didn’t need to wake him by accident. Even if he wasn’t having a nightmare, it was a bad idea ta just wake up a sleeping wolverine.

He didn’t wanna get a gut full of adamantium claws again, thank you very much. It wasn’t like Logan meant to do it on purpose. Logan’s mind is always somewhere else when he’s suddenly and rudely woken up like that. So Wade couldn’t blame the guy. Hell, he WOULDN’T blame the guy.

‘I’ll just blame you.’

(Again no stabbing is happening in this one.)

‘But you are making allusions to it happening before.’

(Oh just go back to your musings and pining.)

‘Fine, I will,’ Wade huffed before looking back over to the sleeping form taking up the other half of the pull-out.

Logan looked better these days-not that he didn’t look good ‘cause goddamn Hugh was still working it even after all this time. It was more of how relaxed he was now. Had a bit of weight put back on him too-‘happy weight’, that was the term right? Or something like that.

Urban dictionary would help him. Just needed to steer clear of the raunchy side of it. At least this time around.

Wade took it as a sign that Logan was happy here. Maybe if he stayed happy enough he wouldn’t want to leave. He really didn’t want Logan to leave.

Logan matched his crazy in a way Vanessa did and in ways she didn’t. In ways she just couldn’t.

Logan didn’t need to change anything about himself. Didn’t need to be a ‘good guy’-he was plenty good enough so shut up Jean.

Al loved him too. She might not have said it aloud, but Wade can tell she does.

Sure he was a little feral. Sure he would rather have booze than an actual meal some days. Sure there were times Wade would wake up with a set or two of claws in his chest. But that was fine. Normalcy was for losers anyway.

What was normal about two slightly fucked up mutants with regenerative powers, a coke addicted blind elderly woman, and the world’s ugliest yet sweetest dog? Who needed normal in a home like this?

Logan didn’t need to be tamed. All Wade wanted was for Logan to just, feel like he belonged. That Logan had his own little Logan-shaped hole carved out here, Junji Ito style but without the horrific implications.

He was certain if Logan did try to leave, he would follow him-funny sitcom stalker style, and drag him back home. Cause even though Logan wouldn’t want to admit it, this shitty little one bedroom apartment was his home now. Al, Mary-Puppins, and him were family now.

How Logan has his own toothbrush, coffee mug, he got a cupboard just for his booze, and everything.

There was definitely some codependency between them. Wade was pretty sure of that. That time in the Void-being almost torn apart by the Time Ripper-the fact that he turned around when Wade called him.

But hey, a little codependency never hurt anyone. Besides, that would just be another thing to add to the ever growing list of things wrong with one Wade W. Wilson.. He’s pretty sure Logan doesn’t mind it either.

The pull-out didn’t even creak as Wade climbed back in. Not a single sound when he settled back under the blankets.

‘That is some lazy writing there.’

(Hey, be thankful I decided to be nice and not wake the sleeping Logan.)

Wade peaked out again, just to make sure Logan was still sound asleep. Fingers itched to just trace down his sleeping face, through the coarse facial hair and sideburns. Though last time he tried that Logan literally bit off two fingers off. Really didn’t wanna go through that again either.

Hopefully Logan doesn’t get fed up with this whole thing. Just walk out and leave. To be fair it is kind of a golden opportunity for him if he decided too. Wade hoped this wasn’t going to last much longer.

So, Logan did leave. Well not leave-leave. Jerk decided to head out and restock since they managed to empty the bag Vanessa brought. Dammit, he could be a sweet guy. Why does nobody pay attention to that? Honestly.

Logan said Al was off to the laundromat-they both knew what that was code for. He also warned Wade that he was setting Mary by him so there wasn’t a repeat from yesterday. Alright, all is forgiven now.

He didn’t pull Mary under the blankets this time, but he did reach out to give her pets. She seemed content with the arrangement as well, licking all along his hand to his wrist. Seemed she forgave or just forgot the scare from before.

He slipped his hand back under the blankets. He was thinking-dangerous thing he knows-but he was trying to come up with an idea. A plan to convince Logan that there was no reason to leave. He had a few brewing, but was pretty sure he would end up skewered, or beaten down, or torn apart if he tried any of those.

So his new plan? Well it was a bit crazy. Crazy and yet so simple. Simply just tell Logan. It worked before. It worked quite a few times before.

So his chances were pretty high about it working again. Just a simple ‘you can stay here as long as you like’. Hmm but that made it seem like he could still leave.

Maybe a ‘hey, surprise I think I love you…so don’t leave.’ Nah that kinda sounded desperate.

‘You got everything you need right here, besides the housing market is shit right now.’ Eh, that made it sound like this thing was an obligation.

Wade’s thoughts were cut off when he heard the sound of something being slid across the sheets. ‘And yoink,’ he snatched the offering. ‘Awww Peanut went all the way to that corner store that sold the weird flavor chips. He spoils me.’

Another sound.

Oh…

Wade felt himself smile as he reached out again, and placed his hand over Logan’s. Damn the guy was hot. Well, not just hot like that, but like he was a furnace. Wade’s thumb rubbed small circles over Logan’s knuckles, feeling the lone scars his body had-where those claws would poke out from. He could feel a knot just behind those knuckles.

Maybe a good ole massage was in order for him. Would be the least Wade could do as a thanks for him.

“Yer gonna need to let go or I’m gonna need ta stop pettin’ Mary if you need somethin’ else,” Logan’s voice rumbled. Well, Wade couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let the attention Mary was getting from her other papa just stop. He gave Logan’s hand a pat before giving an ‘okay’ gesture, before slipping back under the blankets. “You get so damn spoiled,” he heard Logan say under his breath.

Yeah, maybe just telling him was the best plan. He just needed to find the right words now.

‘Captain’s log, Star date….I dunno the author didn’t give me one.’

(Dates are pointless for fanfics.)

‘It appears the author wishes to deflect from criticism of their laziness in doing a proper establishing setup.’

It’s been four days into this little funk of Wade’s. He was pretty sure he was ready for it to be over. The only issue was that once this was done, then he’d need to figure the next thing. The asking Logan to stay thing.

He wasn’t sure if he was quite ready for that yet. That familiar sound broke his train of thoughts again. ‘Aaaaand yoink!’

“Jesus!”

Oh Laura came by too. Awww he didn’t mean to startle the baby wolverine. Logan and Vanessa were laughing-they could be real assholes sometimes. Loving assholes but still assholes all the same.

The creaking of the bed frame, the dip in the mattress. Logan was potentially putting himself into yoinking-range. If that happened, well, there would be no way Wade could resist if he did.

“You miss him talking, don’t you?” Wade could hear the smirk in Laura’s voice. She’s such a cheeky kid. He’ll take blame for that. Bad influence and all.

“Dunno what yer talkin’ about,” Logan grumbled.

“Suuuure you don’t.”

Logan huffed and shifted slightly. Oh? Just a bit more Wolvie. He felt the mattress dip a bit more-BINGO! “SHIT! I forgot!”

Both hands shot out and grabbed an arm. Logan absolutely let his guard down, cause there was no way Wade could have pulled this off if he didn’t.

And if Logan had his guard down, that meant he was truly relaxed here. More than that, he felt safe here. And why wouldn’t he? He had the one and only Deadpool here to keep an eye on him. Well okay, the one and only that mattered. None of those variants to worry about.

Man, that shocked look on his face was definitely doing things. Wondered if he could see it more. He felt himself smiling. He knew it was that dumb lovestruck smile he’d give Vanessa when they were together-only slightly different. Cause this one wasn’t for her, this smile was for Logan. “Got too close there Peanut.” Dear fuck was that his voice? ‘Hey next time, write something where I’m not nearly silent for four days. It’s murder on the vocal cords.’

“Yeah, figured,” Logan said softly. “Better?”

“Hmm…a bit,” Wade murmured. Fuck it, he’s in for it now. “Gonna talk your ear off, cause I had a lotta thoughts goin’ through my head during all this.” Wade dragged two fingers along Logan’s jaw, carding through the cause hair of his beard. This time without worrying about losing them this time.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Wade leaned down. Not exactly the Spider-man kiss, but it was close enough. He felt Logan’s breath hitch. ‘Please, stay here? Don’t feel like you need to run away. There’s space just for you.’

“...ready ta come out? Say hi ta Laura and Vanessa?” Logan asked as they pulled apart. Wade almost wanted to say no. He wanted to kiss him again.

But he’d be lying if said he didn’t want to see them. Four days of next to no social interaction was killer. He was gonna need to call Peter and Dopinder too. Maybe make Logan walk with him to the X-Mansion so he could see Yukio and bother Ellie. Maybe watch an episode or two of the Great British Bake-off with Colossus. “Yeah, ‘m pretty sure I’m good,” Wade nodded.

Logan shifted and pulled the blankets back and off of himself as he sat up right. Wade pulled them back just enough to uncover his head. He shifted and shimmied across the mattress till he could comfortably lean against Logan-and he wasn’t pushed off. Score!

“Hey,” Vanessa greeted softly.

“Hey,” Wade gave her a soft smile. Definitely a different smile than before. He could feel it, and she could definitely see it.

“Missed ya. Seems like Logan did a good job at taking care of ya.”

“Hmmm he did,” he laid his head on his shoulder. “Thanks Peanut, I owe ya.”

“Nah,” Logan shrugged slightly, jostling Wade slightly-almost like he was teasing him. Or maybe Wade was getting his hopes up. “ Deal enough with my shit, the least I can do.”

Wade hummed, then straightened up some when he felt something shift under the blankets. No way, was Logan…okay yeah-yeah maybe this was gonna work out. “yoink,” Wade said softly as he took Logan’s hand, threading their fingers together.

Logan had a perfect spot, right next to Wade.

#ooc #fanfic #deadpool #wolverine #poolverine #deadclaws #deadpool x wolverine #laura kinney #vanessa carlysle #Wade Wilson mercilessly bullies his author in this part #If Disney and Marvel won't give them domestic bliss then I guess I will #Ao3 link included so if you don't wanna read it on tumblr you can check it out there

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quibbs126 · 1 month

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“Perhaps now, a new dawn can finally approach…”

Here, have some of your dosage of Cookie Run art by me

The idea was basically of Dark Choco getting that Lava Sword, and then heading out to find a new lease on life

I want his Ovenbreak redemption really badly, or at least an update following him and that sort of story, as unlikely as that is. I mean, he seems to be pretty friendly at the Sun Tournament, so he’s not entirely unsaveable. But I also sort of see why he doesn’t get one, namely that he has one in Kingdom (sort of), and reappearing Ovenbreak characters generally get boiled down to their tropes, and a redemption would mean that they have to change his tropes

But yeah, at least in AUs/fanfiction

His shoulder pads are missing because the idea in my head was that he’s getting rid of his old outfit, to symbolize him starting anew, but then I also wanted the cape but was too lazy to add the shoulder pads back in, so now they’re the only thing missing from his design. I still don’t feel like putting them in though

Background’s still not great, but at least there’s an actual setting this time? I don’t really know how to improve on that front

I put the clouds in to sort of symbolize him leaving the control of the sword, as the clouds are now supposed to be dissipating. But I also don’t really know how to draw clouds, so they don’t look as great as I’d hoped

…All right, I’m gonna be honest, this drawing was cynically conceived. I made it because I was upset that this week’s drawings haven’t been doing so well, particularly last night’s drawing. I can acknowledge most haven’t been great, but I put a lot of effort into that last one and I think it turned out a bit better than usual, but it’s barely gotten any attention, outside of some mutuals and followers that’ll like my non-Cookie Run stuff as well. And it’s gotten nothing on Twitter, despite not having the tag excuse tumblr might have as to who sees it

This was made because I’m convinced that it’ll do better than yesterday’s drawing, as well as the art I’m posting on Sunday which I busted my ass over and have been waiting to post, just because it’s Cookie Run, Dark Choco, and what most of you signed up for

The above art isn’t horrible, and I do feel kind of bad for tying it into my own personal bitterness over what was probably inevitable, but this also is not my best work. I made it in 45 minutes while in class, it’s sort of just fine. But I guarantee you it’s going to do better than those other two pieces, things I put real passion and effort into (the latter piece more than the former though), just because of what it is

I would like to be proven wrong, and for that Sunday picture to actually do good and get the attention I want it to (which isn’t much, it’s mostly just double digit likes and at least one or two reblogs with someone’s thoughts), but I feel like that won’t be what happens, and that I’ll see more of this in my activity instead

#sorry I’m bogging down the piece with my own feelings #maybe later I’ll draw a full Lava Sword Dark Choco design to make up for it #you probably don’t care just take this art #or maybe this’ll flop too and I made all this fuss for nothing #we’ll see #cookie run #cookie run ovenbreak #dark choco cookie #lava sword #my art #rant

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kanerallels · 1 month

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bestie!! Can you tell me about your book, Land of Tales? I may have just stalked the tag for a solid forty minutes and I’m dying to know more (I LOVE me some good fairytale retellings)

BESTIE I LOVE YOU FOR SENDING ME THIS ASK I'm so so honored?? Thank you so much!! (also same we love fairy tale retellings they're amazing)

OKAY SO! I'm gonna give you a brief overview of the book in case you didn't see what it's about, then I'll do some fun facts because I deserve it as a treat and I'm hyperfixating on my own book series right now (and also Valiant. Minor detail. LET'S MOVE ON)

The main plot: My girl Rebecca Wood lives on Earth, but never knew her parents. She discovers at the beginning of the book that she, and the family she never knew, is from the fairy tale world, and so she goes there with the help of this socially awkward cinnamon roll, Liam. We love Liam, and we feel bad about the amount of Horrors I put him through, including but not limited to social interactions and torture

The rest of the book is basically Rebecca and Liam's travels through Avena (fairy tale world) meeting fairy tale characters and evading the evil Empress Goldilocks (who has magic plants and fairy tale princesses for assassins). And there are more books. Or there will be. Four overall in the main series, two prequels, umm... *pauses to count* okay yeah there are a lot of stories post canon. And I've already written a handful of short stories for fun and profit!

And now it's fun facts about some of the characters time:

Cinderella is, as mentioned, an assassin! She has fabulous fashion taste, glass shoes that can morph into any shoe type she wants, and is incredibly sadistic. Her husband Gavin is what would happen if Jean-Ralphio Saperstein, Schimdt from New Girl, and Oscar from The Rookie were fused into one incredibly vain, lazy person who wore a lot of capes

Jack from Jack and the Beanstalk is a pirate (occasionally of the sky). He's married to a future seer who basically tricked him into taking her hostage the first time they met, and has two kids. They are utter gremlins and we love them

Alec and Risha, who I've been talking about lately, are from Camelot. Risha's dad is Sir Gareth, aka Gawain's cool brother. In my series, the people of Camelot have Australian accents because why not?

OH MY GOSH I JUST THOUGHT OF A CHARACTER I HAVEN'T TALKED ABOUT ON HERE okay his name is Bob. It's short for uhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm gonna be straight with y'all I don't remember his full name. It's really long. But he's the Magic Mirror from Snow White! He's a cursed prince who likes shipping his best friend with her love interest, and boba tea (if it exists in this universe. I shall ponder this) and he's just a little chaos gremlin and I would die for him

Somehow, every single ship in this series is enemies to lovers (except Alec and Risha, slow burn friends to idiots in love my beloved) and it's really funny to me. They're all different flavors of enemies to lovers, too. We've got "coworkers who annoy the crap out of each other to lovers", "I tried to kill your friends that one time and am involved in the organization that killed your brother but now we're working together and technically I'm engaged but it's a engagement of convenience and we're connecting to lovers", and one of my personal favorites, "you forced me to take you hostage that one time and now I'm stuck with you which is really annoying to lovers". There are, believe it or not, others

One more fun fact for the road: I have a book planned that's set after the series, and it's a combination of no less than three fairy tales at once. Possibly more, for all I know

Oh, and actually last of all! The first book in the series, which I shall not reveal the title of just yet because DRAMA, is finished! All polished up and shiny, and I'm currently looking into publishing options and cover artists! (also my girl a.spice is doing illustrations I can't wait for you guys to see them they're incredible)

#thanks for the ask!!#this was super fun to answer #land of the tales #if you have more questions about specific characters let me know #i should really do a writing ask game but for my characters. that would be a lot of fun #hazel rambles about her original writing

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petrichormore · 1 year

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(It’s time for a 4halo ramble and analysis into their current relationship! Everything that follows is about the characters, I’m not using the q! because I’m lazy. I also want to repeat that while I am a 4halo shipper this entire rant is me explaining why I don’t want them to get together right now or anywhere in the near future. I don’t really consider this 4halo neg but let me know if you want me to tag it as such - they have the chemistry and in a distant future I could see it - but the fluffy 4halo that everyone seems to be imagining right now? I can’t see it happening. Toxic 4halo is another story entirely though and not what this ramble is about)

Okay you have been warned (THIS IS LONG):

not saying I’m not a huge 4halo enjoyer because. I am. But I do hope they don’t actually “become canon” or get into a relationship for the foreseeable future. Because the only realistic way that will end is in a giant, heart-wrenching break-up after like. 2 weeks. And I don’t see the ship recovering from that I’m gonna be honest.

Look. They can barely communicate as they are right now, any kind of committed relationship between them would end in fire and brimstone - especially when you take into account the power imbalance that is already causing problems.

Forever has not apologized for jailing Bad, even though Bad has asked for it (a rare show of communication on his part) and he might not apologize ever because he thinks he’s in the right. Somehow Cellbit is the only one to have apologized despite being the one calling for Bad’s head the most during the actual furniture incident. Anyway, Bad knows Forever thinks he’s in the right. And Bad also knows Forever wielded his presidential power to keep him jailed - so if Forever’s not sorry and he believes he was right, what’s to stop him from doing it again - in Bad’s mind, that is. There are actually quite a few things keeping him from doing it again, chief among them being that he doesn’t want to lmao. But Bad wouldn’t know that, would he?

I just- The imprisonment hurt Bad’s trust in everyone so badly that he destroyed every waystone in his base - and he when he found out Pac had someone gotten in anyway, he destroyed the waystone again. I don’t think people understand how long he’s been contemplating doing that. I don’t think people understand how many times he’s decided against destroying his waystones. It takes a pretty big fuck up to get him to do that. It takes a fuck-up of pretty tremendous proportions. And he did that last bit with Pac extremely recently too, which means he hasn’t forgotten.

And that - the whole furniture fiasco - that’s not a misstep that will just smooth over if Bad and Forever just care about each other hard enough. They already care about each other deeply - it didn’t stop the conflict. It’s not something everyone can just sweep under the rug with the power of love and no actual communication. Or at least I hope it’s not. It shouldn’t be. Any relationship the two get into right now will be steeped in distrust and wariness on Bad’s part due to the amount of power Forever can choose to use against him at any moment. And even if Forever hadn’t imprisoned him, that would still probably be the case, albeit to a much lesser extent. But Forever did imprison him, so now Bad’s not only wary of Forever turning on him in a hypothetical sense - he has past experience with that exact scenario. He has reason to distrust. It’s not paranoia in this instance; it’s genuine, rational distrust, which is even harder to alleviate.

By the way, that’s not even taking into account that Bad now knows of the existence of a drug that can brainwash Forever into potentially abusing his power against his own will. Think about how scary we all thought the drug-induced marriage proposals were. Think about how much scarier it would’ve been if Bad and Forever had actually been dating at the time. I’m not going to get into the risus potion here, or what implications it has for Bad’s trust in Forever - or more accurately, the trust he has in Forever’s position of power - because that’s too fucking complicated for my silly brain right now and this is long enough.

So basically: how is a relationship between a president and an anarchist supposed to work? Is Bad supposed to shut up, abandon his core principles, and do whatever Forever wants? When he opposes/attempts to help Forever improve the voting system he’s not being ‘immature’ - he’s acting in perfect accordance with his own belief system. There are points where he does act antagonist in an immature manner but in those instances he is very obviously being dramatic on purpose (and Forever does it as well). Him thinking Forever’s voting system isn’t fair isn’t him being immature, it’s just him being politically opposed. And Forever - what about Forever? Is Forever supposed to throw away his entire presidency? Oh, Bad’s an anarchist so that means Forever has to give up everything he’s worked so hard to accomplish, all the plans he has, all the good he’s desperately trying to do despite the fact that the nature of his position is scaring his loved ones away? He’s supposed to let everyone boss him around? Just because his crush hates government? Really? See, none of these options sounds particularly healthy, but their friendship isn’t even healthy right now so I can’t see them somehow reaching a better alternative.

Idk if you couldn’t tell I don’t like it when people non-jokingly boil down Bad and Forever’s political arguments as something that’ll be solved if one of them gives in or apologizes. Because they won’t. Because neither of them is wrong. Forever was partially right when he told Bagi that nothing he does as president will ever satisfy Bad - Bad is an anarchist, the fact that a government has been forced on him in the first place is already a fundamental problem - and that’s not wrong of him! It’s a genuine difference in beliefs and neither of them is wrong! Bad is not somehow automatically wrong because he’s an anarchist, and Forever is not somehow automatically wrong because he’s the president. Grrr bark woof grr bark, etc… you get what I mean.

(TLDR; if 4halo becomes canon right now it’ll crash and burn instantly and kill everyone on board which I don’t want to happen. Therefore I don’t wish for it to be canon.)

#please remember that while forever has the title of president the position is actually comparable in power to that of a king #he can actually do whatever he wants the only thing stopping him is his morals and the federation #and while q!forever himself may not realize that #q!Bad definitely. DEFINITELY does #and he’s behaving under the assumption that ‘morals and the federation’ is not a very strong power balancing system #partially because of his own moral code and what he would do in that position but even still he Knows what ‘president’ actually means #qsmp #qsmp analysis #4halo #taking minecraft political relationship drama WAY too seriously #q!badboyhalo #q!forever #neither of my perfect boys have ever done anything wrong ever and I refuse to accept otherwise

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sillyteenagegirlinlovewithblocks · 5 months

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Next door neighbors.

PAIRING: garroth Ro’Maeve x reader

TAGS: idk honestly I’m new to all this ig it’s happyish.

CW: body dysmorphia, kissing but nothing more. ( that’s all I can think of )

Guys this is my first time writing a fanfic so please be nice but give me advice in the comments! Love you all!

The bright morning sun shone through the trees, the birds chirped happily the air was filled with a sweet fragrance of flowers, and everything seemed peaceful. A peaceful scene to the eye. Y/n wakes up in her room, a slight glare of her rainbow glass window film through her black curtains. Y/n's room has always been so peaceful everywhere she goes she turns the room into a sanctuary that’s something garroth loved about her, where ever she was she brought peace. Y/n finally gets her lazy butt up and Begins to head stairs since it was only her mom and Aphmau who lived in their house it was normal for them to walk around in underwear and tee shirts so that’s exactly what she is wearing except this morning they had a guest over. It’s Zianna!! half way through the kitchen “Good morning girly” Zianna says in her cheerful voice with a wide smile, y/n stops realizing she has her shirt up to wipe her face with it revealing her stomach and underwear fully then puts it down really fast upon hearing her voice “ zianna! What are you doing here?” Y/n asks Sylvanna your mother smacks you for being rude “That is no way to talk to somebody “ she scolded you “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it that way “You were very quick to apologize in fear of offending someone “ it’s quite alright bow tie” she says giggling as she makes a joke about the design on your underwear “ so me and your mom were talking and tonight we are hosting a dinner party!!! It’s going to be so exciting, everyone is going to be formal and wear suits/dresses!!!” She says very thrilled “ oh wow that sounds exciting “ y/n says kinda plain and turns around to grab cereal and milk slightly ignoring the rest of the conversation. Y/n doesn’t love dresses Well, she loves them but wearing them is different often they make her feel too wide or too chunky cause she has curves that she doesn’t like but she tries not to think about that too much and just eats until she is snapped out of her head by zianna saying “ that’s great id love to take her shopping with me “ and your mom saying “ great y/n loves shopping and spending all my money so I’m glad you want her to spend yours “ they laugh together and y/n turns around confused what they were talking about “ huh?” Y/n asks “Baby you going shopping with Zianna today for a new dress cause you don’t have any “Sylvanna states then proceeds to play Candy Crush on her iPad

( she’s such an iPad kid parent)

“ I’ll be ready in an hour to pick you up to go shopping be readyyyyyyy” Zianna yells while walking out the door. You sign and run up the stairs getting ready as fast as you can. Hair, makeup, outfit.

Anyway, after all that was done, she had a few minutes to spare so she grabbed a cute white bag with Sanrio characters on it and a dark green water bottle for aesthetic purposes. Right as she finished filling her water bottle zianna texts her to come to the car so y/n heads and gets in the car in the passenger seat but as she bucked in she screamed in horror seeing garroth in the back seat she didn’t know he was coming or that he was there so he spooked her, he laughed and asked if she was alright and she then began laughing and they started a conversation “ I didn’t know you were coming “ y/n says “ oh yeah I just decided last minute I wanted to come “ garroth says

( he probably wanted to come to see her)

They keep talking all the way to the mall

( garroths hyper fixation recently has been sea animals so he just tells her a bunch of facts about them the whole way there )

Once they get to the mall they immediately head to the Dress shop and start looking after like 20 minutes y/n finds a few dresses they like and now you're going to try them on and have a little fashion show for Zianna and garroth which you are not excited about because it feels embarrassing and you don’t like how you look in dresses and don’t wanna look bad in front of garroth but she carry’s on. The first dress she puts on is this black square chest silk tight dress. She looks in the mirror for a few minutes just staring at her body thinking then she snaps out of it and walks out to show them the dress “Oh you look so beautiful darling” Zianna immediately says then looks at garroth and he says “ I think you look very nice “ he smiles sweetly after collecting her compliments she heads back in to try on more dresses after 5 dresses she didn’t enjoy it was finally time to try the last dress on which she saved because she wanted to save the best for last it’s her favorite cause there’s not much going on it it’s simple and plain. Putting it on she didn’t expect to like it but she didn’t expect to hate it she hoped it would be a medium choice but when she put it on she fell in love with it, the way it made her body look made her feel a little more confident. She walks out to show off the outfit but unlike all the other dresses she is smiling this time while zianna calls her gorgeous and praises her body she is looking into the full body mirror outside the dressing room admiring herself, while garroth admires her. Zianna walks away to put all the other dresses back leaving garroth and y/n alone. “ you look gorgeous not only because of your dress but because of your smile I'd love to see you look at yourself like this more, it’s refreshing for you to see yourself the way others do “ garroth says standing behind her looking at her face through the mirror y/n keeps the smile on her face but it turns into a cheesy blushy smile “ thank you garroth” she says quietly. zianna comes back to pay so y/n changes her clothes back and they wrap up at the store and begin heading home

( ofc on the whole way back they talked about sea animals again)

After they got home y/n went home to get ready for the party and so did zianna and garroth now a few hours later aphmau y/n and your mom walk over to the Ro’Meaves house

(I forgot to mention live right across from your house )

As you enter the house you're hit with the smell of lasagna your favorite food.

( if you have a problem with that write your own story )

Your mom walks straight to the kitchen leaving you and aphmau alone in the doorway but thankfully here comes garroth who looks so dapper in his suit and tie, he comes down the stairs so fast you think he’s going to slip

“ hello girls, “ he says hitting the bottom step a little rough it makes a boom “Hello garroth” aphmau and you say in union. He leads them to the living room so they can get comfortable while dinner is still cooking. They all sit in different places. Garroth sits In a chair that’s separated from the couch and y/n is sitting on the long couch while aphmau sits on the shorter couch “So how was shopping earlier?” Aphmau says after a minute of silence “Fun “ garroth says “Okay “ y/n says awkwardly then it gets silent again until Vylad comes running down the stairs to grab aphmau so they can play their dumb game that they have been obsessed over recently “Sooooo” “so” is the only conversation at the moment “ alright I’m bored of this, show me around the house I mean I’ve been here but only as a guest “ y/n finally says “ yeah!! Okay let’s do that” garroth says excitedly getting up “ umm so this is a lamp and these are our couches and um this is our tv hm walls “ he points to ever item he sees calls its name while walking her through the house then they get to the back yard and y/n sees the tree house her and garroth used to play in when they were kids “ wow you guys still have this thing?” She says shocked “Yep, “he says smiling like an idiot cutely. Y/n begins to climb the broken ladder to the treehouse “Wait I don’t think that’s safe what if it does hold you “ he says “ RUDE!” She yells back “ No No No I didn’t mean it like that I’m sure anything could hold you I know I could with ease, “ he said trying to make it better but ended up sounding a little creepy. She made it into the tree house and is just sitting up there “Garroth come up” she yells down to him “ I don’t think it will hold me “ he says with concern for his safety “Come up anyway “ she throws her hand out of the tree house to wave him up, he begins climbing up the ladder, trembling the whole time cause it sounds like it will break but he makes it up all the way and into the small tree house with her, it’s kinda a tight space but it’s okay “ isn’t this so nostalgic, me and you up Here again “ she says while giggling and garroth couldn’t help but just fawn over her I mean look at it from his eyes, there’s this gorgeous girl who has the same sense of humor as him, listens to him talk about the most random things without telling him to be quiet and stop talking

( yeah garroth is a certified yapper)

Not to mention she’s gentle with everything even inanimate objects, she cares so very much about everything, she is just his dream girl so watching her giggle while being so close to her made him just take action and lean forward to kiss her, after a second he pulls back cause she didn’t kiss him back “ I am so sorry y/n I-“ garroth tried to say but he was cut off by y/n kissing him back, they swap spit for a few seconds then pull back again to look at each other it was silent but there breathing, she had her had placed on his chest, they held eye contact “ I’ve had a huge crush on you for a while now “ garroth whispers “ oh really I didn’t notice “ y/n says with a laugh causing garroth to laugh also she smiles while looking at him and just leans in to kiss him again” KIDSSSSSAS DINNNER IS READYYYYYYYYYY” zianna calls from inside yet somehow it sounds right in your ear. She breaks the second kiss

“Let’s go inside now”

#mcd garroth #aphmau garroth #garroth ro'meave #garroth ro'meave x reader #minecraft diaries garroth #garrothpdh #mystreet garroth

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imma-devil · 1 year

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smile for the camera | s.h

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI

Tags: sub!Steve Harrington, switch!Steve Harrington, Steve's first time subbing, reader's kinda mean and its hawt, sextape (solo masturbation), masturbation (m!receiving), fist fucking, leg riding, slight voyeurism kink!, both praise and slight degradation kink, use of nicknames (e.g., pretty boy), banter, some dirty talk, barely proofread.

Word Count: 1,643

Summary: Steve "The Hair" Harrington is put to the test. Will he hold onto the mantle of "King Steve" when his girlfriend has him at her mercy from behind a camera?

A/N: Prompt two of Lazy Ghouls Kinktober, the prompt I chose was camera. It's a bit on the shorter side than what I usually post, but it's because I wanted to commit to posting but couldn't handle a longer post.

You can not take my work or translate it without my permission. This piece of fiction is mine, and only the character belongs to its original creators.

“Do I really have to do this?” Steve asks, a poorly plastered facade of annoyance to his tone.

Steve and you recently had a talk about how your sex life had largely been about what Steve was into, while your desires were slowly being forgotten. It wasn’t intentional… and its not like you disliked your sex. No, you loved it. But, you wanted Steve to go along with something you’ve requested. Which, brings you to the infamous Steve Harrington, seated on his knees before you. All while you stand over him, wielding a very large video camera.

“Quit complaining Steve, I said you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to.” you shoot back with little hesitance. “The only reason you’re here right now is ‘cause you’re into it— don’t deny it.”

“I like to think I have enough dignity to not stoop to this level just to cum,” He retorts, readjusting the crotch of his sweatpants.

“Really?--” you ask, laced with sarcasm. “I like you at this level.”

“I’m sure you do~” he grins, making a show of advancing towards you, his hands reaching for your hips.

With a stiff palm, you stop him where he is. “Nope!” You impersonate the sound of a car coming to a screeching halt for good measure, which he laughs at. “No touching— this is all you baby.”

He stares up into the lens, all doe-eyed and stunned.

“Now, put on a good show for the camera~” you mockingly grin.

“Well… what am I supposed to do?” he looks off to the side in question, despite the empty room.

You cock your head to the side to accent your reply, finding humor in his newfound innocence. “I assume you remember how to touch yourself? right? Don’t play coy.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Steve chides, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek in an effort to fend off a smile.

“Would you love me even more if I told you that I’d record a little tape for you in return?” you ask, a smile adorning your lips that could only mean you were up to no good. “I’d give it to you on a random day… as a surprise… but only if you make this one yourself.”

He clearly resembled someone who was interested, but he groaned in defiance once he heard the devious ultimatum. He scoots to a slightly more comfortable position on his knees, widening his stance atop the carpet so that he can rest his weight more on his thighs. You can almost imagine him straddling atop your lap instead, with enough room to slot yourself between his legs.

“You can still change your mind,” you provide. “I’d never force you into something you don’t want.”

“It’s too late for that—” He quirks his eyebrow and looks at you with a teasing question. “You’ve already got me where you want me, might as well get on with it.”

“Ahh, I see… for dignity’s sake?” you goad.

“Yup, for dignity’s sake,” he replies, before trailing his hand to rest right where his pelvis meets his hip. You know he’s just doing it for show, but truthfully, Steve was a bit sensitive there. You could remember from past experience that doting kisses or an indulgent touch in just that spot would leave his hips stuttering in their pace.

“Hmm, whenever you’re ready” you voice, your eyes now settling on him from the lens of the camera; watching your ‘pretty boy’ of a boyfriend from a whole new perspective of video grain and amorous lighting.

Steve notices the switch in dynamic, and he too fixates his gaze on the intimidating lens. There’s something he finds different about his girlfriend… this feels voyeuristic as if he considers an audience beyond just the woman he loves. He expected to feel shame while under the intense observation of a camera, a video that would undoubtedly record every detail of his body under pleasure, making it everlasting for them to see. Instead, it feels thrilling. He speculates that the mere idea of him being watched under your greedy eyes is what’s coaxing him further. It’s the motivation for why his hands scan his body without fear, and why he performs for the camera with his eyes locked onto the lens.

Steve sneaks one arm below his t-shirt, his hand traversing the expanse of his stomach. He makes sure to gently rake his nails over his skin, but it does nothing to mimic your touch. Steve hooks his other hand over his groin, adding the slightest pressure while he rocks himself achingly slow over his touch.

A hum then coasts amongst your exhales and he smirks in achievement. Steve awards himself by furthering his weight on his indulgent hand, palming himself for added friction. The thick cloth of his sweatpants barely dullens the pressure, and he feels himself grow harder at the attention.

“Fuck, that’s good” he relents, his voice crackling with the sheer quietness in which he spoke.

“Louder, for the camera—” you advise. “I wanna hear how it feels Steve, tell me how it feels…”

“S’not as good as when you touch me~” he admits. “But, it's warm. I want more though…”

“Touch yourself directly,” you offer like it's obvious. “Show the camera how pretty you are.”

Steve smiles at the compliment, lifting his shirt to hold the fabric between his teeth. You admire the freckles that adorn his fair skin, scattered like small constellations. Brown hair marks a trail up the valley of his lean stomach to collect in a faint patch of hair on his chest. The skin that resides there is pink with growing warmth. To keep his idle hand busy he lightly teases at his nipple with the edge of his index finger, cupping the rest of his pec in his hand.

You watch as Steve releases his cock from the confines of his sweats, his pink head peeking from his waistband. You hum approvingly as to satiate his need for appraisal and he nudges his pants to rest lower on his waist. You can’t help but fixate on the beauty mark that resides on his v, the one which marks that sensitive spot you fantasized about earlier.

Steve places his palm to his drooling head, lulling his head back once on his neck as soon as his touch met its surface. The low hum of a moan gruels through his lips, muffled by the shirt clenched between his teeth. Just as a tantalizing motion sets around his eager cock, Steve’s moans begin to coast along the air in his quiet bedroom. Steve doesn’t even notice as his hips take on a mind of their own, his thrusts mindlessly following his hand in tow.

“Just like that~” you guide him in his pace. “Keep fuckin’ yourself into your fist,”

His breath hitches at your words; his speed ticking up a notch to eagerly appease you. He becomes aware of the camera once more and in doing so, realizes his desire to perform.

“Go ahead, Steve~” you coax, “Make yourself feel good— make yourself cum~”

He rushingly nods in reply; his brows tying up into a knot as he begins to unabashedly snap his hips into his hand. He really wants to— Steve wants to cum… but, he just can’t. He needs you! It just isn’t enough, his hand isn’t enough. He’s virtually chasing his end now, but you can see the seed of frustration starting to grow behind his irises.

You reposition the camera atop your shoulder; pushing one leg further to stand just close enough, between his knees. Steve stares up at you—not the camera—you, the essence of something desperate within his gaze.

“Go ahead,” you relent out of both greed and guilt. “Use me~ I know you need to”

Steve audibly groans, your words going straight to his dick. Maybe he would’ve considered feeling embarrassed, but not now, when his mind is flooded with thoughts of being able to cum. He could curse himself later when the high goes down. But, for now, he pulls himself in close to you.

“Work yourself over the edge,” you egged on.

His unoccupied hand moves to wrap around your leg in an embrace mimicking that of greek statues, kneeling in adoration. His other hand continues to pump his dick, his hips stuttering each time his fist works over his head. Now that the distance between you is closed, he pushes his need into your leg. With each motioned thrust, he drags himself against the plush of your smooth skin. He haggers a moan with each pull, reeling at the sensation. The added pressure of your leg is enough to supply Steve his much-needed release.

Out of instinct, your fingers magnetize to his hair; dotingly combing through his waves to clear them of his face. “My pretty boy,” you coo with a lust-filled voice.

“I knew you were a slut,”

A seething curse forces its way between his clenched teeth as he releases his hot spend in bursts against your skin. His arousal seen soaking through the cotton of his sweats. Steve’s voice drags on throughout his orgasm, as if he uses all of his breath from within his lungs. The shirt falls from between his teeth, wonton pants drifting from his lips in exertion. The aftershocks of his orgasm fizzle to a close as he drops his cheek to your thigh.

It takes a moment before Steve feels he can catch his breath and he turns to look up at your camera; his chin resting upon your knee like a loyal pup.

With a fucked out voice he voices with bliss, “...when you film mine— I want you to fuck yourself over my thigh.”

After a laugh that could surely be heard through the camera, you assure him “that can be arranged.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #stranger things #x reader #fanfiction #sub character #dom reader #bd/sm switch

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mortwig · 2 years

Text

Sparks Fly

Entry for the amazing’s @withahappyrefrain “Dicked Down December”. Written for the loveliest and kindest person ever born: @ouralcohol

18+ EXPLICIT [minors DNI] - Peter Parker fanfic

Words: 5,2k

Pairing: fem!reader* x Peter Parker (based on TASM!Peter but flexible)

Summary: Friends/Co-workers to Lovers, Christmas vibes

Tags: 18+ explicit, strangers to work besties to lovers, so much fluff, smut (only in the Epilogue though), nudity, vaginal sex, oral sex (both F receiving), all characters are 18+.

Song inspo: Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift

Moodboard: here

“I hadn’t realised we needed a new PE teacher?” you mentioned casually, while taking a bite of your sandwich. You and your work bestie, Kayla, were sitting under the shade of some trees, hiding from the hot late summer sun. Children were running around playing tag, sometimes even using you as cover.

Kayla looked up quickly, mild panic on her face. The principal was with a tall, dark-haired man, pointing to the different facilities from the other end of the playground. “Tan pronto?” she whispered under her breath.

You looked at her quizzingly. Kayla always wore her heart on her sleeve. She was never good at hiding emotions, and right now was no exception. She took a deep breath and, looking down at her shoes, said:

“I’ve been offered to be vice-principal in a different school… And I’ve said yes. I guess that guy must be my replacement.”

“Kayla, that is amazing! Enhorabuena!” You went to hug her, but she turned, tears welling up in her eyes.

“The job is in Florida.”

Your face dropped, and your arms did too, now hanging uselessly at your sides. The tears were also making an appearance on your face.

“I’m sorry.” She managed before the sobs overtook her.

You looked at her for a long moment before pulling her into a hug.

“I’m not. You’ve needed a change for a long time and this sounds like an amazing opportunity. I’m proud of you for taking this step. And I’ll be visiting. Often. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

It turned out that Kayla’s replacement as a science teacher was a guy from New York called Peter Parker. Rumour had it he was running away from something, or someone, back home. But when you asked, he just gave a vague response about him “also needing a change”. You didn’t press any further. After all, we all have our demons.

He caught on pretty quickly to the bond you and Kayla had, and it was as though he could feel your pain. Every time you felt the sadness creeping in, he would pop by with a question about school protocols or class locations.

Some petty part of you wanted to dislike him. He would never replace Kayla. He was just some guy. And the truth was, he didn’t replace her. But instead, he filled a void you didn’t know you had. You and Kayla had bonded over good food, Top Gun, and fanfiction of some superhero or other. You’d cook and then be lazy together, laughing and fawning over hot fictional guys and celebrities. Peter was different, he was intent on learning Spanish and he convinced you to go on runs together so he could practice his pronunciation. After endless conversations about anything ranging from soccer to Taylor Swift lyrics, by Thanksgiving you were essentially inseparable.

“Listen up, team! This year, it’s the music department’s turn to organize the staff Christmas party.”

You saw at least four people near you stifle a disappointed groan. The music department was composed of three very extra teachers who were known for the most extravagant ideas and an obsession with glitter for some reason. You wondered if they’d magically found each other or if joining the group implied a transformation into whatever they had going on.

Diana, the oldest of the three, stepped up, hands clasped in an effort to hide her excitement.

“We have a very special evening prepared for all of you. Unfortunately, the PE department wasn’t okay with us using the gym because, I quote ‘it’s a bitch to clean up, and you’ll be too hangover to do it’. So we’ve had to move the location to the old Victorian house at the end of the road that turns out is owned by Michael’s great aunt and which has been recently renovated in an effort to rent it out to tourists next summer.”

Diana’s gossiping and oversharing was nothing new, and most of the staff were only half listening by this point.

“The theme is Christmas fairytale. You must adhere to the theme. If you do not, you will be banned from the bar area. You have been warned.”

“Oh my god.” You whispered. “They did it. They figured out how to get people to put in some effort. Threaten them with an alcohol-free Christmas party.”

Peter giggled under his breath next to you. It didn’t matter how many times you heard that stupid laugh of his, it still made your heart skip a beat. It was like hearing a song you loved as a child that you’d forgotten about. Like the gasp of excitement at the arrivals lounge of an airport on the 24th of December, when someone sees that person they’ve been missing for ages. Like the pop of a champagne cork celebrating a long-awaited pregnancy over Christmas dinner. Like the crinkle of wrapping paper around a perfectly chosen present. It was a simple sound, but it filled you with pure, soul-warming joy.

You didn’t dare look his way though, because he might notice a slight red tinge to your cheeks, a vague indication of a simmering feeling trying to find its way out of your chest, one way or another.

“Kayla, I don’t want to go…”

“You’ve said that seven times in the last hour. I’ve been counting.” Kayla had her phone up by her stove and was making something that, you assumed, smelled as delicious as it looked. Her hands were on her hips, in a proper scolding teacher pose.

“But it’s true…” You pouted, sitting back on the mattress. The numerous layers of fabric of the dress you were trying on covered most of the bed.

“What exactly is the problem? We’ve already decided that the dress is beautiful and on theme, you’ll get enough alcohol to endure Sarah’s incessant bickering, you can watch Jerry make a fool of himself on the dancefloor after four tequilas, and most importantly: you can collect intel on all the new flings that form under the glittery mistletoe that these guys have undoubtedly hung in every dark corner.”

“But it won’t be any fun without you…”

“You have a new friend now!”

“He’s no you.”

“No, he’s way hotter.” Kayla raised her eyebrows and smirked at you through the phone screen.

“Shut up.” you replied, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Why not though?”

“Because… I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“Come on… You’ve ‘not been looking for anything’ for years now. Isn’t it time to have some fun? Or at the very least, some drama to entertain your best friend?”

“You’re the worst. Peter and I are on track to become good friends. If I lose him over a silly infatuation, I’ll be even lonelier without either of you. Not worth it.”

“HA! I knew it! I knew you liked him.”

You instantly regretted your wording, but there was no time to discuss it further. The doorbell rang and with a quick “Gotta go, bye!” the call was over and you were clumsily slipping out of the dress.

“Coming!!” you shouted as you slipped on an oversized hoodie. Hopefully it was the delivery guy with that cute light-up Christmas jumper you’d ordered two weeks ago.

But when you opened the door, Peter was standing there, looking absolutely dashing. Because the truth was, what you told Kayla was a “silly infatuation” was in fact a full-on raging crush. And it had been going on for weeks now.

The way you thought about him switched in your brain right after Thanksgiving. You had a very bad brain day. You didn’t mean for things to escalate, and you certainly didn’t mean to cry in front of him, but all the emotions you had been bottling up exploded and all sorts of negative thoughts appeared all at once.

And he’d said nothing, because there was nothing to be said. You didn’t want to hear another “it’ll be okay” or another “it’ll pass”, and he didn’t say those words. Instead, he hugged you and held you for a minute, five, half an hour, forty-five minutes. While you just cried and cried and cried. And then when you stopped sobbing, he took your hand, took you to the nice bar down the road, bought you a smoothie and told you about the movies that he and his aunt May and uncle Ben used to watch every single Christmas.

Since then, every one of his smiles held a different meaning and every one of his light touches to your arm stung like an electrical discharge. And while you knew nothing could happen -should happen- between you, you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining a life with him, your mind racing with images of picket fences and golden retrievers and children running around the living room.

“Hello…” Peter was still standing in front of you, his eyes wide in both confusion and worry. How long had you been standing there, staring into the void, thinking about how in love you were?

“Peter!” You blurted out.

“That’s me…”

You continued to stare blankly at him, your brain refusing to cooperate as your heart raced at the sight of his unruly hair sticking out in twenty different directions.

“I’m not one to judge anyone’s fashion sense, but I have to say I’m surprised that you chose the mustard stain look to go to Taylor Swift karaoke.”

“Wasn’t that Thursday?”

“Darling, today’s Thursday…” If your brain was short-circuiting before, his use of the endearing term sent it into overdrive and you felt light-headed for a second. You recovered quickly though, you’d had enough breakdowns in front of him for what was left of the year.

“Fuck.”

Despite the facts finally falling into place in your brain, you still didn’t move. So, Peter gently placed his hands on your shoulders and moved you to the side, stepping into your hall.

“You go get changed, I’ll grab the tickets. Where can I find them?”

“Yes, right, sorry.” You shook your head, coming back to Earth. “I think they’re stuck to the fridge. Otherwise… Somewhere on the counter, I guess. I’m sure you’ll find them eventually.”

You ran upstairs to your bedroom, your ballgown still covering most of your floor space. You didn’t really have the time to curate an outfit so you took the most basic black dress and the first pair of nice shoes you could find. It hadn’t even been ten minutes and you were back by the front door, keys in hand, coat on.

“Okay, I’m ready. Sorry about that.”

“You have a very messy place.”

“Not usually, I don’t… It’s just been a messy few weeks.” Messy in your head, you meant. Because it had been a long time since your heart had been in such a fit of emotion that it neglected all responsibilities. Like the night before, when you’d ignored the pile of dirty dishes and instead opened a bottle of wine and wrote self-indulging friends-to-lovers fanfiction that was definitely not a vivid daydream of Peter and you.

“I like your wall art, by the way…” You felt him looking at you from the corner of his eye as you locked the door and headed towards your car. “Spiders, huh…?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, spiders…”

“What’s so funny about spiders?” Did he sound almost… offended?

“Nothing actually. I used to be very scared of them. I sometimes am, still. But that wall art is part of my journey of getting over my fears, and it’s also a reminder of what I’m capable of if I get my mind to it.”

You glanced his way. He looked equal parts confused and in awe.

“Sorry, that was way too deep.” You cleared your throat, suddenly a bit overwhelmed and ashamed of your oversharing. “What do you want to sing first? I say we start with a classic, something from Speak Now maybe?”

Peter was still just staring at you. He didn’t laugh though, he didn’t even look uncomfortable. He seemed just… curious. After what seemed like an eternity in your over-thinking brain, he finally spoke slowly:

“Perhaps ‘Sparks Fly’.” He didn’t take his eyes off your face, studying you, your reaction, the way your eyes widened ever so slightly before you could put on your best neutral expression.

“A bop. Sounds good.”

You tossed and turned in bed, running through the events of the evening in your mind. Aside from the rocky start, it had been generally uneventful. Or so you tried to tell yourself. Because really, was there much to pinpoint that would make it different from any other meet-up with friends? There had been his hand gently touching your waist on your way into the bar. How he twirled you on your way to get a drink because someone was singing Lover. How he’d made his way to the bartender and winked at you when he got your order right within the first guess. And a million other tiny things. But above all, more than every other little gesture of kindness and every other possible indication of flirting, there had been Sparks Fly. How he’d held your hands throughout the chorus, and how he’d stared deep into your eyes and ran your hands through your hair at the start of the bridge. You’d expected him to laugh it off, to say he was just joking. Anything, any indication that there was not something weird going on between you. But he hadn’t. And now you were left wondering if maybe it was reciprocal. If he also felt the butterflies, the tension, the tug at his heart to kiss you when he leaned in to help you open your front door that always gets a bit stuck in the evenings. He said nothing. You said nothing. And you supposed life went on, same same but different.

As usual, you’d miscalculated how much time you would need to get ready and you were running late. You still had to do hair and make-up and you were supposed to meet Peter in ten minutes. You sighed heavily as you sat down in front of your mirror, phone in hand.

> Running late

> I’ll meet you there

> You sure?

> I don’t mind waiting

> Yeah sure

> You’ll just stress me out

> I would never

You giggled at the glassy-eyed cat sticker on your screen.

You hated – hated – getting to events alone. It was so awkward. Even if you knew everyone there, and you got along well with most of them. That feeling of having to find a conversation to engage in, those first few minutes. They were awful.

The hall was empty when you arrived so you sneaked a selfie in the huge vintage mirror that decorated one of the walls. You sent it to Kayla. After all, the outfit had been chosen with her. You were wearing a huge puffy white and ice-blue dress that shimmered magically under the light. A delicate mistletoe wreath on your head and some angel wings completed the look. “A Christmas angel-fairy”, Kayla called it.

You followed the noise to what must have been the dining room, but which had been turned into a ballroom. You gasped at how magical it looked. The renovated ceiling had been decorated with thousands of tiny lights that gave the room a warm glow and made everything look ethereal. The heavy red velvet courtains were drawn, and two fireplaces were lit. Christmas trees stood in every corner, decorated with classic red ornaments and gold tinsel. A bar had been set up at the end of the room, by a band that was playing a cover of Ayo Technology. They had several big bowls full of smoking drinks, and a guy dressed as an elf was mixing drinks for a very happy-looking admin team.

You looked around for Peter, in hopes of going straight to talk to him instead of having to engage in small talk with colleagues you weren’t nearly drunk enough to deal with. It might have worked, had he not been standing at the opposite end of the room. He was wearing black suit and trousers, a flowery midnight blue vest and a beautiful matching cape that brushed the floor with his every move. And… was that an eye patch? What even was that costume?

It took you close to half an hour to make your way to him, which included, amongst others: four compliments on your dress, one joke about the mistletoe on your head by Olivia from admin, and several questions about how Kayla was doing in Florida.

“What is that supposed to be? Santa’s ocean affairs delegate, pirate Parker?”

Peter scoffed, and even before he turned, he already shot back:

“Excuse you, you uncultured ignorant. I’m uncle Drosselmeyer from the Nutcracker. And this cape took a week to make, so be nice.”

Your eyebrows shot up. He’d never mentioned an interest in ballet, let alone in sewing.

When he finally took a look at you, he let out a low whistle. “Damn, you look stunning.” He took your hand and twirled you slowly, admiring the outfit from all angles. “I didn’t know you vibed with long gowns and angelical accessories.” His cheeks were slightly redder than usual, and you couldn’t tell if he’d already had a couple of drinks or if he was somewhat flustered.

“It seems we still have a lot of things to learn about each other.” You muttered under your breath.

You really thought you’d said it quietly. The room was loud enough that you had to speak up to hear and be heard. Yet Peter leaned in closer, your cheeks almost touching, and whispered just loud enough that you almost weren’t sure if it had been your imagination:

“I can’t wait.”

You took a step back in surprise, but he’d already turned to one of the arts and crafts teachers to compliment her elaborate hairdo with little golden bells sticking out of it. People really went all out when alcohol was on the line. You were no exception. You headed right to the bar.

You danced, you talked, you drank, you laughed. You even cried once in the bathroom after you saw Kayla’s supportive messages in response to your picture from earlier.

It was almost midnight and you were positively drunk. The kind of happy drunk that gives you just a little too much confidence and a lot of courage. So when the band’s guitar player started playing the first few notes of Love Story, you ran to Peter so you could sing it together at the top of your lungs.

His eyepatch long gone and his hair messier than ever, you could tell he was also drunk. His casual touches were becoming more frequent. His eyes lingered in yours for longer. His smile was cheekier. His whispers more intimate. And, in your inebriation, you felt that spark between you stronger than ever. As if you could almost see it if you focused on the narrowing space between you.

It still came as a surprise when the band got to the outro and he put both his hands on your waist and pulled you close.

“Let’s go outside for a minute.”

He must have been exploring the house earlier because, instead of taking you out through the front door, he led you upstairs through the beautiful staircase in the hall, his hand firmly around yours. You looked around dreamily, your eyes hazy. Whatever the music department had done with the party, you had to give them that it truly felt like a Christmas fairytale. Through a few doors, you were out on a balcony, overlooking the backyard of the house which was also decorated and lit with a range of Christmas decorations.

You stood there, looking out at the beautiful scenery around you. For a minute, you forgot you were there with Peter, you were just drunk and happy and content.

But then Peter let go of your hand. And, as if he was the anchor keeping you from slipping out of your daydream, you looked back at him, concern drawn on your features. Your heart started beating, it felt loud enough that if Peter started talking, you weren’t sure you’d hear him.

“Y/N…”

He searched your face for something, but you were too scared to say anything.

“Listen, I’ll probably regret this when I wake up sober and hungover tomorrow morning…” His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat, maybe trying to gather enough courage to carry on. “I… I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth agape in shock. You couldn’t form a single word, let alone a full sentence. Seeing how you had been left speechless, Peter continued, trying to fix whatever might have been broken with those few words.

“But I promise I won’t let it affect our friendship. I have a lot of fun with you, I don’t want to lose the best friend I’ve made in years.”

You continued to stare at him, your mind racing but your tongue tied. Ten seconds passed, twenty, maybe thirty, and you said nothing. It must have looked terrible from his perspective. But you couldn’t work out what to say, you were frozen in place.

“I’m so sorry.” He turned and walked back inside, while your hand covered your mouth and you tried to work out what to do. Would you risk the friendship you felt in your bones could be one of the most important ones in your life? Would you risk the awkwardness at work if it didn’t work out? Would you, for a relationship life you always claimed you didn’t want? You already knew what your heart would respond to all those questions: yes, yes, yes. You searched your reason, your cold, calculating brain, for a different answer. But again: yes, yes, yes. How could you not?

Your heels were comfortable but it was still a struggle to run with the voluminous dress.

“Peter wait!” You yelled when you got to the top of the staircase. He was almost downstairs, his cape flowing behind him with every step he took. “I’m sorry!”

He looked back, caution written all over his face.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated as you rushed down. “I don’t want to lose you either, but…” panic replaced every emotion that was rushing through your veins, as you felt one of the silky underlayers of the dress get caught under your toes. In slow motion, you realized Peter was too far down to catch you, but at least you wouldn’t take him down with you. Your wreath went flying off your head as you braced yourself for impact. But the crash against the cold steps never came, only two warm arms holding you firmly.

“But what?”

You looked around in shock, trying to work out how he’d made it up half the staircase in less than a second. “How…?”

“But what?” he insisted, interrupting you. You looked back at him.

“But I’ll risk it all.” You inhaled deeply. “Because I think I’m in love with you too.”

Peter’s relief was obvious, from the way his body relaxed noticeably, and from the smile he flashed at you. He helped you upright so you could gather yourself. You were checking the damage to your dress, partly hiding from the sudden elephant in the room, partly to make sure you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself again.

Once it was obvious you were stalling, Peter cleared his throat. When you looked up, he had an eyebrow raised, and gently nodded up. Hanging about a feet over your heads was your mistletoe wreath. It seemed to be floating mid air but upon closer inspection you realized it was dangling from what seemed to be a spider web.

“How…?” again, it was all you could think to say. But this time, Peter wasn’t so patient. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you in for a kiss.

EPILOGUE

There hadn’t been much time, Peter left to spend Christmas with his Aunt May in New York. You would also be visiting family.

As for New Year’s… Let’s just say things had worked out nicely and Peter was now running his hands through your hair and kissing your neck and up towards the back of your ear. And oh if he didn’t stop whispering sweet nothings against your skin, you were certain you would melt into goo and dissolve right there on the sofa.

“You are absolutely stunning.”

“Mmh…” You hadn’t been able to form a coherent sentence in the last ten minutes. You just hummed and whimpered while your body reacted to what you could have sworn was electricity passing to and from between the two of you.

Peter reached further down, caressing your back and waist tentatively. He was taking his sweet time and, as much as adored it, you felt a need building up in your core that needed to be met, and it needed to be met soon.

“Let’s move to the bed.” As much of a people pleaser as you usually were, the suggestion came out as a demand, firm and confident. In return, Peter didn’t hesitate, he simply looked into your eyes and picked you up bridal style.

You were impressed by how easily he carried you up the stairs, reminding you that you still hadn’t worked out how he’d managed the sprint up the stairs at the party. But that was a conversation for another moment because Peter was putting you down on the bed and seeking confirmation in your eye as his fingers trailed circles on your thighs. You nodded and he proceeded to run his hands up under your skirt, pulling down the hem of your tights. His hands ran back up your legs to pull your panties to the side. His fingers ran up and down the inside of your thighs as his lips met your clit, giving it a soft kiss before licking up and down and getting to work.

You lost track of time, and you were pretty sure you ascended to an alternate reality at some point, and were only brought back by the tightening coil in your abdomen. Peter switched perfectly between licking, sucking, kneading your thighs and humming against you in satisfaction. It was as if he could hear your heartbeat accelerate and relax with every wave of pleasure, giving him privileged information as to how to act at every precise moment.

But it was only after he put in his index finger inside you that you felt the orgasm incoming.

“Oh, fuck, Peter.”

You felt him smile cheekily against your clit, and you wanted to smack his head. You probably would have if he hadn’t been in charge of your pleasure at the time.

A second finger quickly followed, hitting your G spot at just the right time while your clit remained at his tongue’s mercy.

“Peter!” you whimpered, your right hand gripping his messy hair, while your left hand held onto the sheets for dear life. Your moans filled the room as you rode your high, his fingers maintaining a constant speed throughout your orgasm.

You were panting, still trying to catch your breath, as Peter undid his shirt buttons and helped you out of your dress.

“I cannot stress this enough; you are gorgeous.”

You peeked through your half-closed eyelids only to find him standing there, admiring your body.

“Beautiful enough to make love to?” Peter’s eyes went dark with desire at the question and you smirked at him.

The remaining clothes that still clung to your bodies were quickly removed and discarded. Peter kneeled between your legs, his hands combing his hair back. He was hard and leaking precum already. The awareness of him being this aroused just from making out with you and eating you out hit you like a train and you spread your legs wider for him.

“Ready?” he asked.

“So ready.” You winked at him and his cheeks turned just a tiny bit redder.

He didn’t rush it, he took his time, letting you adjust to his size. He only started pumping once you nodded at him. Slow, long strokes had you whimpering and squirming as you hid your head in the pillow, self-conscious of all the noises you were making.

“Hey, look at me. Those sounds you’re making are the hottest thing I’ve ever heard but I want to see you too.”

You were flustered, it was as if he could read your mind. But you made an effort and kept looking at him. And oh, was it worth it. He sped up his pace and lowered himself down to his elbows, close enough to kiss you and for you to grab his hair again. God, he had such amazing hair. He was panting, he seemed to be struggling.

“Tired, Parker?” You giggled in his ear.

“No, not at all. I’m just trying very hard not to cum because it would be embarrassing to last literally five minutes and also I want to make you cum at least once more.”

You were taken aback by this display of honesty. You had to admit you’d never been with any straight guy who felt so comfortable admitting stuff like that.

“I can help with that.”

You pushed him back a little, just enough that you could reach into your nightstand drawer and squirt some lube onto your hand.

Peter wasn’t moving, just looking at you in fascination. You reached between your bodies and circled your clit just like you did when you were alone. When your first moan hit his ears, Peter was brought back to Earth and he started pumping into you again. Tentatively at first, but deeper and faster as he gauged your positive reactions.

“I’m so close”, is what you said, but it took you so much effort to string the sentence together that when it came out, you were actually extremely close. So close that the next thrust from Peter’s hips sent you into orbit and you could do nothing but clench around him and hold his arms as if they were your anchors. You were just riding the last few waves of pleasure when you felt his consistent rhythm failing and his face contort. He soon crashed on top of you, both of you panting, completely blissed out.

A sound coming from the outside caught your attention before you could fully relax into each other. You frowned.

“Are those fireworks?” Peter asked. You turned towards your window and, sure enough, you could see colourful lights through the thin courtains.

“It looks like it.” You responded.

“I would have sworn it was 10 pm just ten minutes ago.” He sounded positively confused. You couldn’t help but laugh, one of those laughs that come from the belly, that makes you feel like a child again. And it must have been contagious because Peter started shaking on top of you, laughing quietly into the pillow next to you.

“Happy New Year, Peter.”

“Happy New Year, darling.”

Shout-out to @p3mybeloved for her cameo as Y/N’s best friend ❤️

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