#ice is prematurely ageing

[notjustjavierpena]

Swelter

A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.

Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting

Word count: 6.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479

Swelter

A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.

Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.

You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.

“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.

“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.

“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”

Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.

“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”

“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”

“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”

“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.

“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”

“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”

“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.

“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.

“See?” Joel looks triumphant.

“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.

When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.

You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.

Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).

This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.

Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.

Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.

One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.

The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.

“Sarah, I need—“

You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.

Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.

And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.

“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.

God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.

“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”

“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”

You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.

“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”

“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”

The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.

“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.

“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.

“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”

“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.

“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”

You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.

The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”

Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”

“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”

“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”

So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.

A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.

You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.

He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.

With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.

That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.

Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”

“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.

“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.

“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.

“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.

Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.

Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”

“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.”

“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”

“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”

It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.

“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.

“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”

This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.

However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.

“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”

“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.

“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”

“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.

His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.

In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.

When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.

He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.

Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.

“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.

“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”

“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”

With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.

“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”

“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”

“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.

When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.

“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”

“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.

“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.

When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”

Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.

God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”

“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.

“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“

He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.

You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”

“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.

Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”

“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”

He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”

You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.

“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.

“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.

Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.

The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.

However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.

“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.

You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.

“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“

“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”

His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.

“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.

“Wrong word,” he replies.

You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”

He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.

Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.

Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.

“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.

“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.

The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”

“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.

“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”

“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.

“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”

“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.

He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”

“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.

.

.

.

FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

[silverjirachi]

i said it in the tags but i really need to say it out here. cecil palmer was so important to me. there are people on this website now young enough who don’t know who he is, who don’t know how important WTNV was to anyone gay and on this website in 2012, and that’s okay, but i want to put this in circulation because those of you who don’t know genuinely deserve to know.

the world we live in now is very, very different than the world we lived in even just ten years ago. It was not that long ago, I cannot emphasize this enough. Cecil Palmer was canonically gay in a well-known podcast in 2012. He openly and lovingly talked about his crush and eventual partner and it was never once treated as a joke. That was unheard of in 2012. Gay marriage was not even legalized in the United States until 2015 and it felt like we were on thin ice the entire time. We still are. But there just straight up werent any visibly gay characters in popular media who weren’t either side characters, died, or were treated as jokes. Cecil Palmer was voiced by a gay and HIV-positive man who also had a lot of say in the way he was portrayed. That is why he was so real, that is why he was so genuine.

And that meant. So much.

We still struggle to have that kind of representation today, and we saw it in 2012.

For those of you who don’t know who Cecil Palmer is, I’m not asking you to vote for him. But I am trying to tell you what he means to the people who were your age on this website in 2012, and why so many people are voting for him now. We were scared, and starved for that representation, and felt alone. To me, at least, and to many others, Cecil was hope.

In fact, Cecil was such a lovingly-made and genuine representation of gay love, specifically, that my mother, who to this day is still pretty homophobic and is deeply religious, would text me updates about cecil and carlos’ relationship. She was happy for them. My “keep it out of my face” mother was happy for cecil and carlos and was excited to hear their updates. THAT is what WTNV meant, and I still think of that moment sometimes when I need love, when I need hope, and when I am feeling alone.

And if you do want to see that kind of representation (that ran its full course!! and wasn’t cancelled or rushed prematurely!!!) then I highly recommend you do check out Welcome to Night Vale eventually. It was one of the first podcasts to ever get big, in fact arguably podcasts wouldn’t be what they are today without it, and it is such a funny and beautiful and unique little thing about daily life in the weirdest eldtrich horror town in the middle of fucking nowhere.

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #1

(I don't know if someone has already written this idea yet. If someone has tho please give me the info/link so I can read it. 👀

This might be the only prompt I do, because my brain likes to keep my creativity behind bars a majority of the time. That and anxiety. I've never done a post like this before. Also, most of my knowledge is from DP not DC. Please forgive me if I get something wrong.)

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = Just me building off of other ideas.

short prompt #1 →

short prompt #2 →

✦

Lair of Mystery

The House of Mystery is Danny's lair or vacation lair(1) and ever since he outlived his friends and family(2), he's been coming to the House of Mystery whenever he needs a break from his kingly duties. Since it's the Infinite Realms, the HoM exists in every universe, but due to it not always being in the form of a literal house and difficult for outsiders to enter, it's never found. At least until now.

One day when he goes to the lair after (insert amount of time) he finds that the Justice League Dark have set up in his home. Initially, the JLD attack him but Danny puts a stop to that fast. It's his house, he can control anything inside it which includes anyone he deems an intruder. An interrogation more or less takes place, both parties are confused by the others presence, both sides get answers and are shocked by them. Danny because the JLD are a subdivision of a superhero agency that specializes in magic/the occult and the JLD because they've literally been using the house of a very powerful monarch without even knowing it.

Danny isn't angry the JLD are inside his house once he gets over the surprise. In fact, he's rather happy to have company of the non-ghost variety and is curious about their world full of superheroes and aliens. He comes to a decision. He will let the JLD continue to use his house as a base of operations if they are willing to agree to a few terms.

1. No one is to touch or use any artifacts they may find inside the HoM without his explicit permission. Some things are too dangerous for human hands to hold.

2. They seek him out of there is anything of the dead/occult variety threatening their world that they are unable to handle by themselves. (The JLD are shocked to learn of the King's past as a young hero as his explanation for this term. He misses those times and helping the JLD will also be another way to fulfill his obsession besides him being King.)

3. They spend time with him. Being the ruler of an infinitely expanding dimension gets pretty overwhelming and lonely at times. Even he needs a break. On top of missing his hero days, he misses the simpler times of being just a regular guy.

The JLD easily agree to his terms. From then on, they peacefully coexist in the HoM for many years to come. Danny is happier than he's been in a long time and so are the JLD because he's a wonderful host and has actually helped them with a few of their personal issues. Danny, having seen straight through his Captain Marvel form, gave Billy a fully furnished bedroom fit for a growing teenager and hidden from the others in the house. Danny and Billy hang out and play video games whenever they need to unwind with someone their age(3) with no secrets between them.

Danny helps Constantine with his soul contracts, seeing how they are fraying his soul and aging him prematurely. They have an easy camaraderie and sometimes share a bottle of whiskey together(4). Etc.

All is good.

Until some world ending threat of the dead/occult variety really does happen and the JLD call for Danny's help. He goes to them in full regalia with chainmail, breastplate with his hero symbol emblazoned on it, billowing, fur-collared purple cape with the cosmos displayed on the interior, a black crown incased in ice above his head with a sword of ghost ice in the hand that wears the newly dubbed Ring of (Peace?)(5). He doesn't even have to do anything. His presence alone is enough to intimidate the world ending threat into complete submission and is easily sent back into the Infinite Realms to face judgement for attacking the Living Realm.

This is how he's introduced to the rest of the Justice League. It's your choice on how they react and what happens beyond this point if you decide to take it further.

✦

This is entirely up for grabs and I wanna read whatever's written.

Notes:

(1) Your choice if it's his original lair or a vacation one depending on if you count Pariah's old castle as Danny's lair or not.

(2) Your choice if any of his friends or family members turn into ghosts.

(3) Danny is able to change the age of his form to an extent, an ability he inherited from his mentor, Clockwork. He uses it when he feels it would make it easier for other people to relate to him. He also has an eldritch form that he doesn't like to use in front of others unless he absolutely has to. You can leave any part of this detail out if you want to. I just thought it would be kinda cool and also a more subtle way of showing how powerful he is now.

(4) He is technically an adult (read several hundred years old) so he can partake if he wants to. Refer to note above this one.

(5) Should the function and name of the Ring of Rage change due to Danny being King or not? Your choice!

(*) Also, I read the House of Mystery is in a place called the Dreaming, a realm ruled by Morpheus the god of sleep and dreams. If this is truly the case, would it be plausible to say that Nocturne is just another one of Morpheus' forms? Would that mean the House of Mystery is in Nocturne's territory? If so, are Danny and Nocturne friends now? 👀

(*) the Dreaming is part of the Infinite Realms.

[laz-kay]

My Tina Belcher headcanons that no one asked for:

Is actually a really sickly kid. Like "catches a cold if someone breathes near her" sickly. *pointed look at Wag the Song when Tina is always sick on picture day*

Was a premature baby hence the nickname "Teeny Tina". Had a growth spurt when she was 12 and ended up stooping her posture because her height made her self-conscious.

Would bump into anything as a baby because she couldn't see. Got her first pair of glasses on her 1st birthday and finally saw her parent's faces clearly.

Learnt how to cut her own bangs from a very early age. Her hair is canonically the "fullest in the family" so her bangs grow back with a vengeance every time.

Got a scholarship to a pretty prestigious college after submitting a creative writing piece, but never accepted the offer so she could be closer to home in case she was ever needed #eldestdaughterproblems

Is still super traumatised by the clam car incident and feels like she's being buried alive whenever she sleeps. Developed pretty severe claustrophobia and a fear of the dark afterwards.

Volunteers at the local library most evenings where she reads fairytales to elementary school kids.

Ended up becoming a Thunder Girl's troop leader when she graduated college. Made a decent sum of money after publishing a novel, so could afford to volunteer her time with the Thunder Girls.

Joined the soccer team in high school and had a major glow-up (love this one sm because there's so many others in the fandom who've had the same thought)

Probably runs an MLP blog on this here app and reads/writes B4N fanfics on AO3.

Highkey bisexual and falls in love with any pretty person on the spot.

Could easily beat someone up if she tried, especially if they were messing with either of her siblings (puberty strength and all that).

Got her first period when Linda wasn't home and thought she was dying. Bob was the only one around and spent the day watching The Equestranauts with her and feeding her ice cream.

[soolarity]

Out of Time

Five Hargreeves x gn!Reader - 8.7k words

Warnings: season 3 episode 4 spoilers, death, swearing, five breaking down

Summary: Five was familiar with the merciless pace time kept, and he could only run that far until his past and future catches up to him, threatening to break him into irreparable pieces.

Here's my Masterlist!

A/n: yeah, this is basically just a rewrite of episode 4 with added commission lore and a ton of angst<3 reader here is a former assassin of the commission who was partnered up with Five for the years he worked there. I also didn’t plan it to be this long my god- but the episode was really fun and I just loved the dynamic of Five meeting himself and how the reader could possibly alter or affect it. Enjoy and please leave comments<3

Cold. That was all you felt as you felt your atoms materialize into reality. It was akin to being dumped with a bucket of ice water, which wasn’t far off from falling face first into a pile of snow. You stumbled into the fresh snow, hitting the ground underneath with your knees as you quickly pulled yourself up to be greeted with a field of snow. You squinted your eyes, trying to shield them from the harsh merciless blizzard. Where the fuck were you?

Through the frigid air blowing through your hair and into your ears, you heard the soft crunch of snow behind you, two sets of feet, two people. You forced yourself to turn around and meet Five and Lila, the former clutching the suitcase disoriented.

Beside you, Five and Lila fell into the snow with as much grace as a newborn giraffe. Five opened his eyes to his surroundings and anger flooded his veins, a stark contrast to the cold snowflakes on his suit. He knew this was a bad idea, first getting electrocuted and losing the first suitcase and now teleporting to the middle of the arctic with the second? Not even to mention that he brought you into this entire mess, guaranteeing your death in this frozen wasteland.

“Oh, brilliant idea, Lila, welcome to the Ice Age!” Five exclaimed sarcastically, his hands motioned to the snow-capped trees in the distance.

Lila ignored Five and wrapped her olive-green jacket around her tighter to preserve warmth. She turned to lean over her shoulder, finding the grand commission building frozen and crumbling. The woman smiled a toothy grin at the sight of it, rejoicing that her plan worked.

Your own eyes trailed to follow her gaze, but instead of finding happiness at the organization that caused all three of you pain, your heart dropped to your feet as you stared at the sight in horror. The perpetually neutral sunshine was replaced with an unforgiving blizzard, tearing the Commission, your former home, apart by its seams.

“Five.” You mumbled in shock, eyes wide and unmoving.

The person in question immediately turned to you, wrapping his free arm around you to shield you from the cold, but you couldn’t bring your arms to return the embrace. Five mumbled your name in concern, he never should have brought you with him.

“Five, the Commission.” You repeated in the crook of his neck, eyes never leaving the building.

He reluctantly loosened his grasp around you to turn around and faced the Commission. “Shit.” He muttered quietly at the sight.

Alarm bells immediately rang in his mind at the state of the once timeless bubble that contained the Commission. He already had an inkling as to what could have caused the unending snow storm but held his tongue, afraid of drawing conclusions prematurely.

Lila skipped towards the building, not waiting for the two of you to end your little to catch up. Her boots crunched with her steps, leaving imprints in the previously perfect blanket of snow. She giggled childishly against the freezing blizzard.

You and Five weren’t far behind, approaching the commission with less enthusiasm and more dread. You tried your hardest to break your trance away from the Commission building, instead focusing on the footprints of Lila’s boots. Five adjusted the suitcase in his hand and kept an arm around you protectively not only from the storm but from the Commission and whatever ghosts were left to haunt you.

The broken halls of the Commission headquarters gave the three of you no shelter from the freezing temperatures. The shattered windows let in the cold draft and the tattered furniture made it look like a long-abandoned building, which might as well have been, time was fickle in the Commission bubble.

“Holy shit.” Lila muttered; eyes wide in amazement. She turned and took in the state of the place, curious of each tattered file and shattered debris in the room.

Your eyes trailed from the familiar spiral staircase to the star in the center of the floor, still in shock of the disarray. It was an empty husk of familiarity, blanketed by an unforgiving blanket of snow. Or perhaps the storm revealed the Commission’s true colors, as it was nothing but a cold and empty office, relentless on ‘protecting the timeline’. All your nostalgia clung on the 1950’s façade that eventually disappeared.

“I was just here. How long was I bloody gone?” Lila asked in disbelief.

Five sat the suitcase down and adjusted his watch. “It seems the grandfather paradox is affecting everything.”

“Even places out of time.” You murmured uneasily.

“The Commission was supposed to be in a perfect bubble outside of the time continuum. It would even survive the supposed 2019 and accidental 1963 apocalypse. But instead, it..” You paused.

“Went to shit.” Lila continued for you.

 “Yeah.” Your voice was winded, almost struggling to get out another word.

“It should be impossible.” Lila said.

“We stopped tracking what was possible a long time ago.” Five smiled knowingly at you.

You mustered a small smile back to him. Your feelings lifted up slightly knowing how much you and Five had gone through and survived. Two whole apocalypses were quite an achievement, what’s a third one to add to the list?

Suddenly rubble fell from above, landing right in front as the three of you stepped back in shock. You winced in pain, chalking it up to a small chunk of cracked concrete hitting you. Debris filled the air once more, blending into Lila’s platinum white hair. Five took the suitcase in front, preventing it from being damaged by the broken tiles and cement. You tilted your head up towards the ceiling, noticing a large crack forming in the concrete and brick.

“We have to go before the building collapses any further.” You said with urgency.

“You’re right, let’s go check the Infinite Switchboard.” Five moved towards the central stairs leading to the second floor.

“And I'll check Herb's office. Little cockroach would survive anything.” Lila said, distantly recalling the short man and his stubbornly bright attitude and perseverance.

You wringed your hands together nervously and shuffled towards Lila. “I’ll go with Lila and check on the others.”

“What? No, we should stick together,” Five argued. “Who knows what will happen in this building.”

“I can protect myself, Five. I wasn’t your partner for 5 years just for you to protect me like a porcelain doll.” You retorted. “Besides, Lila will be there.”

“Not for long if you two will keep this up.” Lila said bluntly. “I can’t handle your bickering any longer, I’m going ahead.”

You and Five watched as she disappeared into the Commission hallway, her boots softly echoing against the rubble.

“There’s nothing left here anymore,” Five pleaded your name, “The kugelblitz most likely destroyed everything already.”

Your brows knitted together at his words. A part of you was in denial, like you were expecting to see your friends and co-workers under the rubble, shaken up but safe and alive. But you knew he was right, just the state of the Commission building screamed abandoned for years. Yet the part that screamed that your friends were smart enough to survive the wreckage was stronger.

“I need to go Five, at least I’ll have closure that they’re actually gone.”

Five still looked reluctant to let you out of his sight. He knew that you were capable of defending yourself, he was familiar with your fighting skills after the years of working together under the now broken Commission and the years after, running to solve apocalypse after apocalypse, but no matter how skilled any person was, you couldn’t fight the unpredictable effects of the apocalypse. Five was terrified that even a minute away from you could tear you away from him without hesitation.

He searched in your eyes for any hint of doubt but found nothing except for a stubborn plea. Five sighed in defeat and decided against his better judgement to trust you. It’s what you deserved instead of being towed with him against your will. He knew how much the Commission and the people in it meant to you despite working with him against it to prevent the apocalypse. It’s what you needed.

“Fine.” He softly agreed. “But be quick and come immediately back to me to the Infinite Switchboard.”

You smiled at Five but he watched as it didn’t reach your eyes. You were thankful for Five understanding your mixed emotions for the ruined Commission even though you haven’t fully grasped it yourself.

“I won’t be gone longer than 5 minutes tops.” You said casually, trying to ease his concern.

You headed towards the same doorway Lila walked through. “See you.” You said, looking at Five one last time before finally entering the office corridor.

Five watched you turn and disappear from the first two steps of the staircase. He could already taste the oncoming regret. Every cell in his body screamed to run after her and forget the reason why they were here in the first place, but he fought to keep his feet planted and to trust you. Five raked his free hand through his hair in distress and exhaled.

His mind’s first instinct is to calculate the intervals of the kugelblitz waves through a period of time. It wasn’t sporadic, it had a rhythm of every few hours with the latest being at a 10-hour interval. You had to have ample enough time to come back to him and return together back to the hotel. Five ignored the nagging voice in his head that it could be a fluke and the waves in this location would arrive faster than usual. He ignored the urge to sprint away from the staircase.

He put his faith into the universe, and subsequently the paradox, and ascended up the staircase.

You stumbled through the collapsed table in the hallway and followed the noise of Lila’s footsteps. Almost tripping on a piece of debris, you called out to her.

“Lila, wait!”

Lila, a bit farther ahead, turned around and saw you make your way through the corridor. “Oh great,” She said with not as much sarcasm as you expected, “Thought that little shit would cling on to you forever.”

You furrowed your brows at her insult at Five. “He trusts me enough to let go for a few minutes at least.”

The two of you continued walking once you finally reached where Lila was. “Although he usually isn’t this clingy, or at least doesn’t like to admit it in front of others.” You trailed off, questioning his odd behavior recently.

“How do you even deal with that grumpy menace?” Lila asked you.

You shrugged in reply. “After a few years you learn to tolerate him.”

Tolerate was an understatement for what you felt for Five. Although you never said it outright, you knew that you had created a deep bond with him and you trusted him with all your being, just as much as he trusted you. You learned his quirks and flaws and your admiration and affection grew further despite the tumultuous journey to save the world over and over, and over again.

Lila grimaced at your smile and love-stricken expression, visibly shivering in disgust at the idea of love, especially with a nutcase like Five. But inside, a small part of her being ached at the notion of loving someone. She wondered if Diego smiled like that thinking about her, despite all the times she lied and ran away out of fear. Lila wondered if love is what made her return so quickly to Diego with a child, despite having all of time at the flick of a suitcase.

After rifling through Herb’s office which was the Handler’s previous, you and Lila concluded that there was nothing except for scattered paper and even more debris. There wasn’t even anything missing or out of place, it was unlikely that Herb ran away without taking at least something from his office.

“You found anything?” Lila asked you while crouching over a fallen bookshelf, keeping an eye out for any suspicious hints to the disappearance of the entire Commission staff or possibly a short man hidden under the bookshelf.

“Nope.” You plainly stated while rifling through the drawers of his desk.

You pulled the lowest drawer open, revealing a stack of papers protected against the harsh blizzard in the Commission and a small black velvet box nestled in the left corner. You pried it open and revealed a delicate diamond ring glimmering in the dim light from outside.

“Fuck.” You muttered.

You knew what this was. It wasn’t a secret that Dot and Herb harbored feelings for each other, even in the earliest phase of them pining for the other made its rounds in the cafeteria gossip. You assumed after the revolution and the restructuring of the Commission board that they had gotten together.

You still remembered the aftermath of the fight in Sissy’s farm in ’63 when Dot and Herb arrived hand in hand to announce to you and Five that they would be taking over the Commission. You recalled the beaming smile the both of them gave you and how proud you felt for them. It was an amusing parallel, two pairs formed by the Commission one way or another. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you clutched the box in your hand. He must have wanted to take it the next step before the kugelblitz arrived.

Lila’s head perked up from the pile of fallen books. “What did you find?”

You wordlessly showed her the diamond ring and Lila’s face fell, presumably thinking the same thing as you.

“Oh.” She said as she stood up an approached you. Lila’s expression was uncharacteristically hesitant and solemn.

“Who’d you think it’s for?” She asked.

You looked at her in confusion. “You haven’t heard of Dot and Herb?”

Lila shook her head, her short platinum hair swishing. “Nope, never been the one for office gossip.”

You nodded, suddenly remembering how the Handler forced her to hide inconspicuously among the other Commission employees as her spy. “Right.”

“Well, let’s head up and ask Five if he found anything, it doesn’t seem like anyone’s here.” Lila made her way back out of the office.

You hesitated; you didn’t know why. “Uh, I just have one thing to check on. You know, might find my old gun here or something.”

Lila raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re gonna shoot someone?”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.” You shrugged. “I swear I won’t take long; I’ll be right behind you.”

Lila reluctantly walked through the busted office door, still not fully convinced by your words. “You sure Five won’t chop my head off for leaving you out of sight?”

“He won’t chop your head off,” You scoffed, “He has nothing to chop it with. The worst he could do is break your neck.”

“Y’know he almost did crush my windpipe once.” Lila pointed at you, recalling their fight in a warehouse in 1963.

You laughed, shaking your head in amusement. “Sounds like him. Tell me all about your fight once we’re out of this shithole.”

“You could say that again.” Lila muttered, looking at the decrepit state of the place.

Lila made her way through the corridor, hopping over the broken table once more. In the distance she shouted, “Miss ya!”

You rolled your eyes at her antics but decided to play into it. “Miss you too! Even though I’ll literally be there in a few minutes.”

You could hear Lila’s laugh echo in the distance, somehow making the Commission brighter through it, almost like an image of what it used to be.

You shook your head at the thought, nostalgia would just get you distracted. You sighed and closed the ring box, pocketing it in your pants. You didn’t know why you took it, but it felt wrong to leave it to crumble along with the rest of the office. You wanted to find out more about the office, maybe discover a remnant of Dot and bring it together with the ring as a sort of memorial of them. It was the least you could do for your friends.

Upstairs, Five fumbled with the knobs of the Infinite Switchboard, trying to make the grey screen function. He tapped the glass screen before flipping a few switches. “That’s good.” Five muttered to himself.

Suddenly, the grey screen warbled to a visible video of Herb talking to the camera, clearly in distress. Five’s eyes widened at the sight of the man clearly in a panic, mouth slightly agape.

“There's been a rip in the space-time continuum. It's swallowing everything.” Herb quaked. “Oh, my sweet Dot, Iris, Josh from accounting, they're all gone!”

Five turned a knob, speeding the video recording forward. He skipped parts to frantically find out more about the paradox. Herb’s voice distorted in a sped-up pace before stopping again.

“I've tried everything! I don't know what else to do. The timeline is collapsing.” Herb frantically stated.

In the distance, screams from other Commission employees were heard and the screens of the past Infinite Switchboard in the background sparked and flickered.

“This is… the end.” Herb quietly said, accepting his fate, before being taken by the kugelblitz.

Five watched in horror as the cells of Herb were seemingly stripped away by the kugelblitz wave, leaving nothing of the man behind. As the recording flickered, showing only the Infinite Switchboard of the past ablaze, Five’s eyes flicked downwards solemnly to the controls that Herb used to leave one last message, jaw clenched briefly.

“I could kill for some scrambled eggs right now.” Lila thought verbally while entering the room, unknowingly cutting through Five’s mourning.

“This is bigger than the timeline, Lila.” Five shoved his hands in his pockets as he stared at the screen.

Lila looked at the grey screen alongside him, curious to what he witnessed that made him so on edge, but instead static greeted her eyes.

“What’s bigger than the timeline?” She asked, looking back at him.

“The entire universe. The grandfather paradox is collapsing in on the entire universe.” Five stated plainly.

“The missing dogs, missing people…” He trailed off. Five’s eyes flickered to the empty space beside Lila, where you were supposed to be.

“Where are they?” Five asked abruptly, glaring at Lila who looked back at him confused.

“They said they just had something to get downstairs.” Lila shrugged nonchalantly which fueled Five’s anger even more.

“You left them alone?!” Five shouted, fully panicked and furious at this point.

“Why are you so pressed about leaving them alone for a second?!” Lila shouted back in defense. “It’s like you’ll explode if you’re not in a six-centimeter radius near them!”

Five ran a hand through his face in frustration. “Lila you don’t fucking get it.” He emphasized sharply.

“Get what?! They’re their own fucking person. You don’t get to order them around!”

“Lila, use your brain for one fucking moment and think! Everyone has been disappearing because of the kugelblitz. Every living animal and human in the whole goddamn universe except for us and them.”

“Yeah and? Get to the point!” Lila frustratedly shouted.

“The only difference we have from others is that we have powers, and something that makes those powers tick. We are one of the last people to survive the kugelblitz waves because we have something in us that gives a temporary immunity to the kugelblitz but they don’t! They’re a regular human and I’ve been biding my time trying to figure out how to save them from it!”

Lila scoffed in disbelief at his rant, she knew he had more than a few screws loose but didn’t expect it to be this severe, he might even be crazier than herself. “You’re insane.” She laughed.

“I’m not!” Five scrambled to get the suitcase. “And if I was then- then it would be fine and they’d be here,” He stumbled over words in a panic, “If I wasn’t then I’d lose them.”

Five’s face paled at his own words as Lila watched his ramblings hesitantly. His chest tightened at the thought of losing you, a familiar feeling he hasn’t felt since the first apocalypse, when he watched the Meritech laboratory blow up. He fought the urge to gasp for air in his lungs. He couldn’t drown in his thoughts right now, so he clung to the chance of catching you fast enough before the kugelblitz could.

“I have to go.” Five ran out of the room, leaving the suitcase and Lila standing in the middle of the Infinite Switchboard.

Lila huffed and looked around in disbelief. She couldn’t understand why he was that frantic to always keep you in eyesight at all times. Sure, there were a few missing animals here and there but no one had gone missing yet under her radar except for the entire Commission, which was a whole different can of worms. Okay, maybe he was slightly correct, but it was still weird.

Lila shook her head and searched for clues on the grandfather paradox. A thick light blue and gold embossed book caught her brown eyes. The master handbook. She opened the heavy book and quickly flipped through the pages, searching for any protocol for the grandfather paradox.

‘In the unlikely case of the grandfather paradox, the founder and any essential personnel should be immediately remanded to the operations bunker.’

Bingo. The bunker was the best chance she had to finding more answers to the never-ending questions. But the founder? Lila furrowed her brows at the mysterious founder, whoever they were. In the years she grew up and worked in the Commission, never once had she heard of a founder of any kind.

Her confusion was interrupted as the room and the Commission building shook. Debris from the ceiling fell onto Lila as the last screen of the Infinite Switchboard flickered into static and finally shut down. Lila ducked at the rumble, using the heavy handbook to protect her from the chips of concrete falling. She didn’t have much time left.

Lila slammed the book shut and decided to run after Five to tell him about the secret bunker and the biggest clue they had yet. If the founder was that well-hidden to nearly everyone in the Commission, then there was a high likelihood that they had secrets and answers valuable enough to be protected in a secret bunker, hopefully the answers to solving the paradox.

You carefully treaded the uneven terrain, stepping over scattered files and broken chairs until you reached the case management office. Although you worked as a field agent for the Commission, you were familiar with the case management department and the people inside of it. You worked closely with them, executing their decisions in unison to protect what was once your one and only goal, to protect the timeline.

After the revelation that the Commission wanted the 2019 apocalypse to happen, subsequently ordering the deaths of everyone on Earth, your friendship with the case management people and your friend Dot specifically took a turn for the worse. You couldn’t believe that they could sit back and watch the world explode with not even an ounce of guilt in the conscience. It was as if they were oblivious to the apocalypse which they obviously weren’t, seeing as how Dot directly managed apocalypse affairs.

You hated how you worked for the Commission for countless of years as a mindless soldier, unaware of the end goal until Five’s arrival turned your entire worldview upside down. You simply wanted to bond with a colleague but the downtime in between missions led to stories of his experience in the apocalypse. You remember the haunted look in his eyes when he recalled the burnt orange sky and the perpetual dust that clung in the air. You heard about how as a child he discovered the endless corpses of his family members, friends, and even strangers that went on with their lives, unaware that it would all end in a single day with the Commission watching behind the curtains.

You wanted to change the Commission, to work against the monotonous flow of the rigid protocols and maybe build a future that went beyond 2019, a continuous timeline that wasn’t constricted by the Commission’s rigid rules and protocols, where Five’s family could live on and grow old. You naively dreamed of growing old years past 2019, with no apocalypses to fear, only warm coffee and your partner beside you.

That was your motivation when you joined Diego and Lila back to the Commission, and soon enough a coup d'état was staged. All it took was Diego’s stubbornness and your knowledge on the other employees to strike a match in the gasoline. The people were sick of the budget cuts from the previous board, and the Handler’s iron-first grip after the board was mysteriously assassinated broke their patience. You thought the war in Sissy’s farm could be the turning point of the Commission to become better, you were even open to talk to Herb for plans in preventing the 2019 apocalypse, but what had been probably months of recovery and preparation here in the Commission, had only been a few days for you before another apocalypse nipped at your heels. The Hargreeves family was far too intertwined with the timeline to the point of bringing chaos wherever they went. They were the apocalypse every time.

Yet why were you here? You asked yourself as you sat on a desk that didn’t collapse under the rubble, the black velvet box sitting next to you as accompaniment. You felt like you betrayed the Commission despite the atrocities they made you do. You abandoned them in the hopes of solving the end of the world, unknowingly becoming friends with the apocalypse themselves.

You knew you couldn’t bring yourself to blame the Hargreeves family for the catastrophes, just as much as you couldn’t bring yourself to hate the Commission for letting it happen, it was a tragic cycle you were stuck on, like a never-ending carousel. It costed you your home, your friends, and your identity to forge a new one with a new set of family and a new home. All you could do now is to try your best to survive another.

Something silver caught your eye while you fiddled with your hands in thought. It was faint and covered in dust but as you brushed it away you realized it was the broken frame of Dot’s glasses. It always suited her along with her pearl earrings and uniform. You imagined her wearing it with the silver ring, grinning happily with Herb as they announce their engagement to the office.

The image of Herb and Dot being so happy broke the dam you’ve been trying the hardest to keep sealed. The past week of trying to stop the first apocalypse and the two months trying to survive with Diego in Dallas felt suffocating in the destroyed office. What felt like years of grief and sadness and anger at it all burst all at once at the sight of your best friend’s crooked glasses. You couldn’t stop the tears as you finally crumbled in exhaustion and grief, crying for what could have been and what wasn’t supposed to happen.

Rubble fell as the building shook again, seemingly even stronger than before. Dust covered your hunched back as you keeled in agony over the friends you lost. You couldn’t bring yourself to care over the way the ceiling cracked over you, too rooted in grief to move. Not once in the months you have been running from the apocalypse have you had the chance to feel what was actually happening to you and now that it all came out you didn’t know how to stop it.

Five vaulted over the rubble the best he could, teleporting short distances to run to wherever you were. The ground shook below him but he couldn’t let himself become unsteady for even a moment, too preoccupied to find you. In the disarray, a curled-up figure caught his eyes before he could run past the office room. It was you in the wreck that was the case management office.

Five shouted your name, panic and concern filling his voice. He watched you glance up at him, eyes wet with tears that tore his heart out painfully. He was in agony watching you drown in emotions you should have felt a long time ago.

Five croaked out your name once more, his resolve crumbling like the walls of the building. “We have to go!”

Five witnessed your being melt into nothingness, eyes unblinking. He helplessly watched you fade as the paradox mercilessly tore away at your core until nothing was left. His mind yelled at him to move even an inch, to run and pull you away from the invisible force that swallowed every other living being whole. His cells screamed at him to turn back time and cheat death, defy life for you. They didn’t care if it would’ve burned his powers up, it would’ve been a measly sacrifice for you.

Yet it didn’t matter as you were already gone. He had space and time at the tips of his fingers and let it slip. In a blink of his glassy green eyes, there was nothing left except a black velvet box and the empty space where you once were. The paradox was even cruel enough to leave your warmth linger to mock Five.

As the shaking of the building came to a halt, dust settled around Five’s form. He couldn’t bring himself to move, the same grief that held you in place slowly crept to his ankles, holding him like ivy.

“Five!” Lila’s voice echoed in the distance. She saw a silhouette standing at the doorway to the torn case management office and ran to the familiar figure. “Five I found where to get answers!”

As Lila approached him, she noticed the haunted look in his eyes as he stared at the empty room. “Five, where are they?”

She glanced around nervously again, hoping to see you rummaging in the corner while Five waits. “They’re gone.” He states hollowly.

Lila almost smiles in disbelief, an ill-fitting habit she formed when faced with seriousness. “What do you mean..? She went to another room?”

The trance that Five was in finally cracked as he turned to her, expression blank but eyes nearly spilling over. “I meant that I was right and the kugelblitz took them and,” He choked up for a moment, “They’re gone.” His voice weakened at the words.

He turned lean on the wall of the room, tempted to spiral then and there into the hurricane of grief and misery that had been chasing him for a long time. “They’re gone and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

He cursed as he roughly wiped a tear with his sleeve. He cursed as he allowed himself to crack in front of Lila. He cursed as he felt himself crumble in hopelessness and despair like all those years ago in a wasted apocalypse.

Lila’s eyes widened as she saw him exhibit more emotion than he had in the short but hectic times she spent with him. She internally panicked, knowing that emotional comfort and empathy weren’t either of their strong suits.

“Five, are you—” She asks before stopping herself to continue any further. It was a dumb question to ask if he was alright when he most certainly wasn’t.

Walls were built up again behind his green eyes, made of fragile stone that he mustered to carry. He couldn’t afford to waste time to cry and give up with the limited amount they had, as much as he wanted to.

“Did you find anything?” He asked, voice void of emotion, brushing off the moment ago like a speck of dust on his shoulder.

Five approached the desk, his hand hesitating for a moment over the small box, before wordlessly placing it in his jacket. He didn’t know why exactly he pocketed the unfamiliar box, but he needed something to ground himself to the fact that you were gone, that if he turned around to ask you a question you wouldn’t be there. He couldn’t handle his mind to shatter his expectations again and again, so he did what he knew to do and anchored himself to the only thing you left behind.

Lila opened her mouth, wanting to ask about the incident earlier, but eventually decided against it. She didn’t know how or where to start, so she decided to shove it away for later, just as Five did. “We need to find the operations bunker containing the founder of the Commission. They’re the one to most likely have the answers we need.”

Lila and Five ascended up the staircase, the latter flipping through the master handbook. Five skimmed through the words but the more he read about pointless protocols, the more he hated the entire Commission.

“Don’t bother, it’s all just bureaucratic bullshit.” Lila drawled, hands brushing the blue staircase.

“You know, Lila, I shouldn't even be here. I was… We were out.” Five solemnly said, slamming the book shut.

“And yet here I am, alone.”

“Hey!” Lila shouted indignantly at the word, slightly offended that he wouldn’t count her.

 Five laughed bitterly. “The Commission always wanted the upper hand, targeting my every weakness, even in its very last hours.”

The woman raised a brow at his wording. “You consider them a weakness?”

“Love is a weakness, Lila. It makes empires and the strongest men fall. That’s why people like us fear from it, run away from it.”

Five didn’t know why he suddenly felt the urge to admit the truth, maybe it was his weariness from keeping any and every emotion locked in a chest in the deepest parts of his being, maybe it was the limited time of the apocalypse. Whatever it was, he simply accepted it, too tired to fight it.

Five scratched his neck awkwardly, suddenly feeling an itchiness throughout his body. “Why can't I just escape this hellhole?” He complained, grimacing at the wrecked observatory.

Lila looked at him with a seriousness that unnerved him, as if she was staring at his soul with ease. “Because you love it. You love them.”

“Face it, Five, all that the time you’ve been running from apocalypses, you’ve also been running from them, until it was too late—”

Five interrupted Lila, “Like how you’ve been running away from Diego?” He bit back.

Lila glared at Five, irritated that he would bring up her and Diego’s complicated relationship, if it could be even called that.

“All I wanted was to retire with them. After I fixed this mess, I could finally sit down and rest, but now that they’re gone, I don’t know what I want anymore.”

Lila sighed, leaning against a railing of the observatory. “I guess it isn’t in the cards for people like us to, y’know, stop running.”

“It could be.” Five placed his hands in his pockets, leaning back on his heals.

“What do you mean?” Lila raised a brow at Five.

“Don’t run away from him, Lila.”

As much as Five showed how much he was irritated by his siblings, he knew that his only driving force in stopping the apocalypse in the first place was you and now just his family. Five constantly gave snide remarks and sarcastic comments but with another apocalypse nipping at his weary feet, he gave into the urge of helping his family be happy despite the limited time of the apocalypse. At least they could still have time together, no matter how short.

The woman scoffed at Five’s words, taken aback by how uncharacteristically sincere the old man was. “Don’t tell me what to do grandpa. I’m not cut out for retirement like you, I’ll never be.”

Five simply gave an unimpressed look at Lila’s weak rebuttal. “Listen kid, whatever denial shit you’re trying to do won’t work. We only have a few days before we all die from this fucking paradox.” Five tiredly said.

The man sighed and pinched his nose bridge before heading to the door. “Note to never fucking try to be nice and help others again.”

Lila followed him, holding the door open before Five slammed it in front of her. “That was you trying to be nice?” She asked incredulously.

The two walked through a darker corridor, the light of the open observatory slowly fading behind them.

“You could really work on, like, the way you speak.” Lila stated bluntly.

“I mean, maybe it's a tone thing? Maybe try to change your tone? Because that was a really pathetic attempt to being nice.” Lila emphasized the last word.

Five looked unimpressed at her ramblings and attempts to discard the topic of her running away from Diego.

“I'm just saying it's something you can work on, you know? Take some classes, counselling, for the future in your retirement.” Lila shrugged.

“I’m glad you’re still concerned about my future retirement.” Five smiled bittersweetly.

Lila grimaced at Five’s saccharine smile. “Yup, you also gotta work on your smile.”

“That was out of sarcasm you idiot.” Five scowled at Lila before his eyes flitted to the front, catching the faint label of the operations bunker in dim lights.

Lila caught his line of vision and spotted the door placed ominously at the very end of the hallway, as if knowing it was the end goal of the two. She raised her brows in surprise, slightly unnerved at what could meet them behind the door.

“Well, here we are.” Lila muttered, before looking beside her and noticing Five already approaching it. She lightly jogged the distance between them as Five opened up the door to reveal a narrower hallway with brick walls.

“Exsqueeze me.” Lila pushed through Five, eager to view the operations bunker first.

“You're excused.” Five let go of the metal door, moving to the side in irritation of the god-awful itch he was suddenly having.

Lila approached the almost vault-like entrance, mumbling the name under her breath. She spotted the circular glass screen in front of the entrance. It seemed to be an eye-scanner. Harmlessly, she leaned into the screen, letting the device scan her eyes before huffing as the alarm buzzed in decline, ‘unauthorized access’.

“We’re screwed.”

Lila turned to look at Five frantically itching himself. His once pristine hair was in disarray, sticking onto his forehead with sweat. “Jesus. You're sweating like a dodgy shrimp on ice. What's wrong?”

Five didn’t respond, cogs whirring in his mind as he recognized the familiar symptoms that he had experienced before. It was paradox psychosis. He, or a version of himself, was in the same vicinity, possibly even through that very vault.

He approached the screen cautiously, letting the scanner whirr before granting access to Lila and Five to the bunker.

“I guess you're essential personnel.” Lila commented, dejected at the fact that never once did the Handler tell her about the bunker, nor did she make her own daughter essential personnel.

As the heavy metal door slid open, a medical contraption laid in the center of a room covered in padded white walls and illuminated in a futuristic way. To the near left corner were two round chairs and a coffee table holding various glasses of liquor and a small worn-out box in the center, the edges frayed by age. Five reached into his pocket and touched the box he currently had, staring at the one on the table in suspicion. He laid the thick handbook on the glass coffee table next to the box, taking one more look at it before approaching the metal contraption in the middle and the man it contained.

“Wow.” Lila chuckled at the sight of the founder all old and frail. She didn’t know what to expect of someone who created an organization like the Commission, but her expectations were definitely defied as she stared him down.

The soft noise of the machine and the founder’s breathing echoed through the room. “That's him, huh? The founder.” Five stated, acknowledging the man that created the organization that made his life a living hell.

“Looks like tinned beef. I was expecting more man and less,” Lila patted the edge of the contraption, “can.”

As Five approached closer, the more clues clicked into place in his mind. The uncontrollable itching and sweating in front of the vault, the paranoia he felt ever since he stepped foot in the ruined Commission, the familiar box on top of the coffee table. The founder’s green eyes and those familiar features warped in age was only the final nail in the coffin.

“It can't be.” Five breathed out in disbelief.

“What's wrong?” Lila asked.

“It’s me.”

Lila burst out in laughter, keeling over the machine as she giggled at the hilarity of it all. She had the privilege of witnessing first hand a tragic comedy. “No way!”

“This whole time you've been complaining about the Commission, and you're the one who founded it. Classic!” Lila exclaimed through her laughing fit.

“If I did, I have no memory of it.” Five stressed, glaring at his future self.

“What are the odds.” Lila said amused, “This whole time you’ve been complaining and fighting against the company that you founded.”

Lila crossed her hands in contemplation. “It’s also kinda sad really, seeing as the company you created technically killed them.”

The founder perked up at the mention of you, his eyes moving to Five and Lila instead of the blindingly white ceiling. “The kugelblitz took them.” He faintly murmured.

“What?” Five leaned closer to his head, listening to whatever the properly old man wanted to say.

“There was nothing I could do. I’ve made peace with that.”

Five gritted his teeth at the founder’s words. Rage filled him at the idea of even moving on from you. How dare he even think that it was all that he could do. How dare he settle for it and continue living without guilt.

“You know nothing!” Five seethed at his future self.

“I do, I’m your future.” The founder responded back.

Five felt nothing but burning rage at his future self, no itchiness, no paranoia, no increased sweating. All he felt was rage and confusion and disappointment at himself and his future.

“How is this even possible?” Five asked him.

“The operations bunker is paradox-proof,” The founder wheezed. “I constructed it as a panic room in case of a collapse in the time continuum. In this room, all permutations of yourself can exist.”

Five looked around the bunker, taking note of the white panels and the smoke coming out of ventilation above.

“You must be here because of a kugelblitz.” The founder continued.

Lila looked the founder in a questioning manner. “Lightning ball in German?”

Five answered for himself, “It's an extra kinky kind of black hole. The kind that can suck up entire timelines.”

“Bingo.” The founder replied.

Lila grimaced at the founder replying back to Five in a weird doppelgänger brain wave unison that she wasn’t privy to. “So, how do we fix it?” She asked the both of them with arms crossed.

The founder let out a raspy chuckle before dissolving into a coughing fit. “You don’t.” He wheezed.

“You created all of this, this company, this bunker. You’re clearly some sort of future version of myself so you must know the answer.” Five stressed, glaring in anger at the founder.

He coughed in reply, struggling to breathe even through the whirring apparatus. The founder struggled through his coughs to speak. “All that will be left is oblivion.”

“Oblivion?” Lila asks the founder, leaning on the edge of the machine once he didn’t respond.

Her hands suddenly pushed the locks open, causing the bed that the founder laid on to slide out. The old man struggled to breathe even more after being exposed to the air outside of the machine. Five and Lila noticed the missing limb of the founder and the strange tattoo he had on his chest.

“This is what you have coming.”

“Listen to me, you ass,” Five seethed, leaning over his future-self’s head, “I just spent the last 20 days running around, saving the world from apocalypses, only keep trying to save the world.”

“Now I’ve lost the most important person in my life in an attempt to solve another apocalypse and you tell me this?!” Five’s voice escalated to a shout.

“You’re tell me I couldn’t have done anything for them?! We have powers, I can bend time at will! Yet you attempted nothing.”

The lines between Five and his future-self blurred as he could feel his anger slip away from his grasp. He couldn’t tell anymore where he ended and where the founder began. Maybe they were both the same person, simply himself screaming in an echo-chamber of blame, self-loathing, and grief.

“Take it easy on him, Five.” Lila placed a cautious hand on him, afraid he might cause himself—the founder, a heart attack.

Five shrugged Lila’s hand off. “Lila, this is between me and myself,” He angrily pointed at the founder, “so stay out of it.”

“This kugelblitz isn’t just something our family can escape out of in the nick of time, It is a giant trash compactor which is grinding up the universe, every single timeline, until nothing is left.”

“So, tell me how to stop it!” Five shouted at himself, knuckles turning white as he gripped the railings of the bed in fury.

The faint whirring of the machine picked up as the founder gasped for breath, “Whatever you do,” He choked, “Don’t save the world.”

The heart monitor beat faster and faster until it finally gave out, echoing a resounding ‘beep’ throughout the bunker. The founder’s eyes fluttered shut as he finally left existence. Somewhere in the fall from life to death, he is greeted by an open sea, warm sand, and you, a version of you. As he lifted his arms to embrace death, he had no regrets, he could finally just be.

In the reality that slowly crumbled from the pressure of the paradox, Five watched in horror, panic, and a sliver of envy as he died. He left himself with more questions and more problems than he could possibly carry, already buckling under the weight of losing you and potentially losing his entire family.

“Five!” He exclaimed, hoping that the sheer urgency and fury in his voice would wake him back up. His voice betrayed him by cracking in grief as he witnessed another death today.

Lila put a finger to the neck of the man, searching around for a pulse that already faded. “He’s dead Five.” She stated.

Five closed his eyes and took a deep breath, tightening the metaphorical reins around his emotions further. He just needed to control it for a second more, just a second.

“Can I have the room?” Five quietly asked Lila.

She shook her head reluctantly in reply, “I don't think I should leave you two alone.” Lila knew that whatever emotional state Five was in was at a tipping point. Although he was rational and cold, almost to the point of psychopathy, every man had a limit, and she did not want to test out Five’s.

“Lila, I need the room.” Five begged, head hung low in defeat.

Lila looked at him one more time before stepping out of the bunker. Five was stubborn in his beliefs and action. Maybe she could afford to trust him a little bit and give him some space. If worst came to worst, the suitcase was still outside waiting for her.

Five sighed as he stared at the founder, his peaceful expression staring back at him like a warped mirror. Was this really his future? Was this his last apocalypse? Did he even want to end up here, dependent on machinery and this hollow empty bunker? Maybe he went mad somewhere in the future, maybe he ready went mad with the unlucky hand of cards god gave him.

 Five felt ready to collapse in a heap, crumbling to the point of dust and ash just like humanity in the first apocalypse he saw, but his feet betrayed there as he still stood. He was cursed with near-immortality, fated to witness everyone he loves die in his hands before he dies with no one but himself and Lila in an empty bunker.

A part of Five wanted to fight back with the eagerness of 13-year-old him sprinting to the future. He wanted to recklessly defy any orders elderly gave him and reach for the endless skies, uncaring to whatever repercussions it might bring. He wanted to try and run through time and space, blissfully unaware that he’d never come back unscathed for dinner. He wanted to save the world again for his family, for you.

Another part of Five was so, so tired. With the weariness of a 58-year-old man he wanted nothing but to lie down and rest. He felt like Atlas, forced to carry the weight of the world on his weary shoulders. As blisters formed on his feet and dents formed on his shoulders, he wanted nothing more than to stop running, stop moving, and finally collapse. He couldn’t care less if his end was graceful or not, all he wanted was silence from the world and from himself. He wanted to be selfish for once and finally rest.

Two parts of himself fought in Five’s inner turmoil, almost tearing him apart. He could feel himself slipping away and falling back to his own personal hell, an exact recreation of the apocalypse 45 years ago made by his own mind. The ash almost felt suffocating as his naïve lungs inhaled the smoke in a panic. The concrete felt harsh on his uncalloused hands as he dug through the ruins of his home.

Five didn’t realize he was moving until his back hit the wall. The soft impact on his back grounded a segment of him but it wasn’t enough, his hands still clambered through his jacket. He gasped and focused on the square tile of the wall in front of him, quickly discarding his jacket and loosening his tie to breathe. He focused on the dents of the panel that were painted in white, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth.

He discarded all of his thoughts, clinging onto the white paneled wall, until the box that was in his jacket hit the floor in a clatter. He forced himself to look away from the wall and look at the box on the floor. It wasn’t covered in soot and rubble, it was fine. He was fine.

He kneeled over and picked up the box, gently tracing the soft velvet edges of the last thing you left him with. He rolled it with his hands, inspecting the front and back of it. Five had never seen it with you before and deducted that it must have been something you found in the ruins of the commission. Five gently pried it open, revealing the glimmering silver ring nestled inside, protected from the harm of the universe collapsing in on itself.

The shining reflection of the diamond ring lit something inside of him, perhaps an ember of perseverance, and as much as a part of him wanted to give up, he raised his tired arms to protect the ember to let it become a flame, it didn’t matter if it would burn through him.

He flipped the box shut before approaching the founder with a new-found determination.

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

Listen, I know I'm just a fanfic writer and Yall are here for content and not real world shit, but I can't ignore what I've seen and heard. Yes, I could look away "for my mental health" or just ignore it and shut it out as many people, especially those my age are doing. But I won't. These people deserve to be seen, heard and witnessed. They deserve the attention. They deserve to be spoken about. If you wish to remain ignorant, that's on you. But this is a teaching moment, and I will be speaking.

In just 30 days Israel has killed more people in Gaza than Russia has in Ukraine during this most recent conflict. I need y'all to understand how vast that is, okay? In 30 days 10,022 are just...gone. At least 4,104 have been children. CHILDREN. Not war criminals, not armed militants, not soldiers. Fucking kids man!

In Gaza there are now 47 entire family trees have been wiped out. Not just a family of 3, entire bloodlines are gone. Entire. Bloodlines. Generations have been eradicated.

All of these weapons that are being used on innocent Palestinians have been provided or bought from the USA. They are being carpet bombed almost constantly. White phosphorus bombs, which is generally used to hide troop movements with its smoke, have been deployed in residential areas. These have caused a multitude of chemical burns to the people of Gaza, both internally and externally. Which, is a documented war crime btw. Hellfire missiles, which are used on high value targets/aircrafts due to their precision, have also been used. These missiles kill not by explosives, but by using blade like shrapnel and kinetic energy. Its ripping people apart like a blender.

The morgues are so full of the dead that Ice cream trucks are being used to store corpses. And corpses isn't even the correct term, because majority of those found are in pieces. Imagine having to have your neighbors help you pick of the severed limbs of a family member because no one is coming to help you. Either because they don't care to or they aren't being allowed into Gaza. So now the community must ban together to use its hands to dig through the rubble in the hopes of finding surviving loved ones or even just a body or some parts to bury.

And because it seems the leaders of the world can blindly turn an eye to the doctors, the everyday citizens and the politicians, so Children now have to win over sympathy to get a ceasefire. And they do that with a press conference, in fucking english because they know people will only listen if its english. In that press conference they tell us how they want to live and play and they legitimately invite us to help. That's how they phrase it, "We invite you to help". Imagine having to beg for the decency of others to shine through so you can make it to tomorrow yet alone adulthood.

They have bombed churches, a refugee camps, schools, homes, apartments, and hospitals. They rejoice and celebrate that schools in Gaza have shut down because the children that attended them are dead. How barbaric can Israel be? And yet they have the gall to call the Palestinian people animals. They condemn them as unfit for life while strutting around with headless babies and cheering

Recently, the power in Shifa hospital has been cut off and it's now been confirmed that all ICU patients (including around 50 premature babies) have all died because of this. To add to that, many sources are saying they have seen the armed IDF forces storm into Shifa hospital, where around 7,000 civilians, 650 patients and 650 medical staff are taking refuge and gunfire has been reported....I can only imagine that a massacre of immense proportions is taking place as I type.

It is time to act. I don't care how. Boycott, march/rally, call your representatives, donate, spread the word. I don't care how you do it, but don't sit idly by and just think "well, it's out of my hands" or "it doesn't concern me". Make your voice heard somehow. Demand a ceasefire now!

Sensitive imagery below (because some of y'all need to actually see to believe)

What did these citizens do to deserve eradication??

I hope you feel the grief and anger as I do. Because we are witnessing a genocide take place. We are witnessing a multitude of war crimes happen with weapons our tax dollars paid for. And if all of this information doesn't phase you, doesn't evoke some kind of emotion within you, then I truly don't want you interacting on my page.

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑

˗ˏˋ main masterlist ˎˊ˗

pairing(s) — foreman!JOSH ANDERSON x reader word count — 3.5k

note — this little number was day one of my patreon kinktober this year, and it was too beloved (by patrons and myself) to be gatekept forever!

recommended viewing — TI WEST'S X (2022) + PEARL (2022)

bingo squares and additional content warnings below the cut.

bingo squares — backdoor play, costumes/roleplay (kinda sorta), + risky location/exhibitionism additional content warnings — implied age gap, outdated patriarchal beliefs, innocence kink, corruption kink, slight humilation kink, spit as lube, dacryphilia, slight overstim, unprotected p in v, possessive!josh x virgin!reader (outdated definition and beliefs here, too) and just general filth

JOSH ANDERSON HATES TO WASTE A SWEET GESTURE, but, even in the scorching mid-day heat, ice-cold lemonade just couldn't compare where it would never compete.

While fresh squeezed is good, drinking the sugary nectar straight from the tap is better.

Still, it hurt Josh's heart a bit to watch the fruit of your afternoon's labor get soaked up by the dirt. He reckons he's the only one who minds the undue waste. 

Though, that shouldn't be much of a surprise; it's hard to mind much of anything when you've long since lost yours.

He supposes you have him to blame for that particular loss, too.

How did a harmless compliment devolve into this?

His hips flush to the skin of his boss' daughter, bent over the tailgate, cotton twisted at the knees, and in full view of the main road...

The afternoon began normal enough; the old man sputtered down the long drive towards town around noon, as usual, and the screen door slammed shut not a minute after the rusty ford dipped around the bend, as usual.

And, as if on cue, the delicate twinkle of glassware on a tray pulled his attention from the task at hand—barrels of hay that now lay abandoned at his boots—and Josh was treated to the eyeful that never failed to make his jeans feel two-sizes too tight and burn his neck faster than the looming sun.

Josh enjoyed the back and forth, however one-sided it often was. Though, not for a lack of trying, however girlishly awkward those efforts might be. It wasn't your fault you were sheltered beyond belief, and it made the mental reprieve all the more addicting, too.

You were easily frazzled in a way many weren't and it—a bashful purse of your lips, the gentle tremble of nervous fingers just behind you back, the way you can't meet his eye for more than a minute at a time—stirred up a sick, juvenile satisfaction Josh thought he long outgrew.

The game was relatively harmless because you were exactly that—harmless. A girl too sweet for her own good, recklessly trusting, and shouldering the heavy predisposition to assume the best in people.

Which is why he hadn't thought much about praising your equestrian skill, having been subjected to the visual torture that was the lessons you gave to local children each weekend.

Josh loved how you couldn't take a compliment without coaxing and, even then, you still squirmed like a newborn kitten.

Blinded by a halo of purity and the lure of a timid smile, your inquiry into his own riding prowess appeared just as unassuming. Another opportunity to get his fix, naively offered up on a serving tray, and he was powerless to resist the temptation.

Josh recalls chuckling to himself, prematurely reveling in the delicious reaction, as he threw a bushel out of the truck bed.

"Not as well as you, darlin', but I know my way around."

He expected you to shrivel. If not at his thinly veiled undertone, at the crass wink he tacked on between innuendos, sandwiched beside the candied term of endearment that made your thighs rub together every time he put it to use.

"I could...teach you a few tricks? Maybe show you my skills one-on-one? Something tells me you're a hands-on learner."

Josh nearly jumped out of his skin. He couldn't tell if you were being serious or not; you've never given back an ounce of what you've gotten from him, but it felt too bold to be a first foray.

Sayin' something as lamely disguised as that? It'd be like jumping into a swimming hole without testing the depth beforehand.

Surely, you were brighter than that. Or, at least, puritanical by proxy.

"You're playin' with fire, darlin'."

Your resolve proved resistant to his polite warning. The grin on your face could've only been categorized as wicked.

"I'm not playing with anything—yet."

"Your daddy know you talk like that?"

"You gonna tell on me?"

You were lent against the truck by then, wide doe-eyes blinking up at him through a fan of lashes. They casted a shadow onto your cheeks that created the illusion of sob-streaked makeup; he groaned out loud.

You've set things hurtling toward mutually assured destruction. Josh had to rein you and your girlish whims in before it was too late for common sense to win out against the ache in his jeans.

That dog won't hunt.

"No, because you ain't serious. I wouldn't wanna get you in trouble for a fib."

"S'not a fib."

Your face pinched in irritation then, understandably annoyed at not being taken seriously.

He hadn't been around too long, but Josh'd seen enough to know hardly anyone did 'round these parts. Probably why you were fixed on him like junebug pursuing light to its own detriment.

For that reason alone, he should've stopped there. It was an easy place to lay the interaction to rest. You'd gotten too big for your britches and it was his responsibility—morally and professionally—to bring your head out of the clouds and put those faded pink boots back on dirt.

Josh should've left it a bluff and sent you on your way, but he had the forethought of a bull straight out of the chute. His impulse control was on par, too, come to think of it.

So, Josh did what any red-blooded man with a death wish would; he hopped down from the truck-bed.

Stalked forward until you were pinned between his bare chest and the hot metal of the truck, his gloves shed and discarded elsewhere sometime between now and when reason got caught in the wind.

"No?"

You bit your lip and shook your head, body shrunken away from his.

Josh would have thought himself safe if not for the mischievous glint in your eyes, sparkling bright and strong in the heavy sunshine. He took that glimmer as a plea for more and caged you between his arms, palms burned by the surface.

It hurt no less than the punishment for his indiscretion would if, God forbid, someone caught him takin' advantage like this.

"I'm not soft and gentle like the boys i've seen droppin' you off."

Half a mile down the road, lights off, and in the middle of the night—Josh had half a mind to steal the ladder right out from under your window in order to facilitate some natural consequences.

"You spyin' on me, Mr. Anderson?"

You weren't too much younger than him, but you treated him with the same respect and reverence as your daddy's business partners or any other senior member of your small community in next-to-nowhere Tennessee. It was endearing, how dedicated you were to respecting your elders, no matter the gap's size.

And nothing in Josh's twenty-nine years has sounded better on his sunburnt ears—or to his throbbing cock—than 'Mr. Anderson' falling from your sweet, glossy lips.

"Got to," Josh shrugged.

He feigned nonchalance about as well as you wore a poker face.

He considered you for a moment then, considered the skin exposed by your top. The way your chest rose and fell; delicious little quakes. Josh liked the way you watched him with bated breath. Perhaps, a little too much.

You were so hungry for attention and approval, so fucking eager for anything he might dish out next—he'd test the bounds of your devotion eventually if luck and time were on his side.

"It's my job to keep all your daddy's property safe and in line, sweetheart... but, i'm also a man, so I can't say I ain't dyin' t'see you ride somethin' else."

Caution bled from his mind hearin' you moan so lewdly at words alone. Any bystander would've been at a loss imagining what he could've done to coax out a sound so broken and overtly impatient from such a pious, pretty thing such as yourself. All he did was utter a quip that would've made a teenager scoff and roll their eyes, and you practically melted in his palms.

You wore your neon innocence on your chest.

"Darlin, it ain't too late to pretend this never happened. We haven't done anythin' wrong, but you're toeing a dangerous line. You're a good girl. Y'wouldn't wanna get us both into any trouble, would'ya?"

"'m not gonna to tell."

You're persistent, he'd give you that.

Bold, too, he came to learn; your warm hand palmed his considerable bulge with enough enthusiasm to negate your palpable inexperience.

"You keep movin' those hands and i'll have to, sweetheart."

"You won't."

You said it with as much conviction as you say grace every night. Josh can almost feel your palm in his.

"How can you be so sure? You hardly know me, sugar. I've been here all summer and this is the most you've said to me in one go."

"Because you wanna touch me as much as i wanna touch you."

"That right, sweet girl?"

"Yessir."

Josh would have you if the creek don't rise.

And even if it did, he would find a way.

You squeak out a garble of protest as you wriggle in his arms. The struggle only worsens the dig of his wide tip prodding the mint hole, his length slick and sliding between your sticky folds with absolutely no resistance—a fact josh goaded you with, one that only made you gush out even more.

"N-not inside, Mr. Anderson," you hiccup.

All your sobbing and moaning has rubbed your vocal cords raw. And thank God for it, because you're louder than a rooster in a hen house and he hasn't even been inside anywhere.

You wouldn't even kiss him with tongue.

"Why's that, sugar? You savin' this sweet cherry for your future husband?"

A pathetic, bashful nod is all he gets from you. Josh chuckles into the musky skin of your soft neck. The patronizing sound makes you mewl and rut back into his lap in spite of your earnest vow of chastity.

"Well, aren't you precious, sweetheart? But that don't mean I can't fuck you, though. You've got another perfectly good hole back here for me to stick my cock in."

You don't hate the filthy suggestion, even though you know you should; you curled into yourself as if you did. The escaped whimper and roll of your body scream the truth when your mouth insists on lying. You might love his idea more than whatever you originally sought out.

In fact, if Josh was a betting man, he'd feel good putting his savings on that.

"Aw, don't get all shy on me now, darlin'. Where'd my little cocktease go, huh? Thought she'd be over the moon at the thought of me stretching out one of her little holes—no matter which one—but I guess I was mistaken."

Josh makes a show of separating your bodies. He leaves you bent over the truck bed, fingers threaded through crumpled hay, as his belt rattles dismissively in his hand.

"Go on, sugar. Run along now. I got work to do and you ain't gonna waste any more of my time."

"No!" you burst, spinning on a bare heel to latch onto his forearm. The tears of a blossoming fit well in your already glassy eyes. "I-I want to, I've just never...nothin's ever been...y'know."

"Never?" Josh blinks incredulously. He wretches off your iron grip to take your hand in his. "Not even these cute little fingers?"

Your head wags.

He smirks. "What about that hairbrush of yours?"

You wear embarrassment just as pretty as you do lust. Josh thinks you might cry for real this time.

He can't wait to lick your cheeks dry.

Josh does his best not to laugh, but your pained, guilt-ridden expression is too amusing. You try to look away but he's quicker—and stronger—than you. Josh grabs your cheeks with his free hand and squeezes until you whimper in obvious submission.

Like a tomcat with a belly full of yellow feathers, Josh bares his teeth. "Shouldn't leave your curtains open if you ain't inviting me to a free show, sugar. Not that I'm complaining—the hours go by much quicker when y'got somethin' nice to look at."

He smells the shame rolling off of you in uneven waves, can just about taste it, too. Fuck, one taste of you'll never be enough to satiate him. Of that, the foreman is certain.

Josh drops your wrist and cups your face with warm, calloused hands. His thumbs rub the teardrops into your cheeks as he coos, "I promise I'll take real good care of you, sweetheart. Nice and slow...get you so ready you'll be beggin' me to split you open. Y'can trust me, I know what I'm doin'—y'ain't the first i've had the pleasure of breakin' in."

You scowl, jaw set and eyes narrowed; rearing to charge. Invisible steam plumes from your rabbit-twitch nose. You are so dang cute, he could hardly stand it.

"Put that pout away before I spank it off of ya, y'hear?"

He nearly busts with how quickly you fall in line at the mere implication of corporal punishment.

Josh'll remember that for later.

"Didn't even give me a chance to say ain't none of them could hold a candle to you, sugar."

Taking you on your back proved to be too much of a temptation, what with your virginal hole mouthing around nothing like a siren song, and your demure face crinkled into disrepair at the hand of your own perverse wants. Your limp thighs splayed open as Josh fucked your ass bare with no assistance, save from his spit and your dribble.

"Look how ripe you are, sugar. Your little pussyhole is cryin' for me and you won't even let me touch her...not even a little bit."

He gave you your first peak in that position, his teeth ground into the side of his cheek as he fought to keep his own at bay; Josh was far from done playing with your supple, sensitive body. With his thumb pressed to your puffy button, he stroked you halfway to your second and then abruptly pulled out.

The hiss of pain and surprise is swallowed by a mound of hay as you're flipped over and he hikes your hips up high into the muggy air. Your hands curl into fists on either side of your head.

Josh's face lowers until his nose slots in the valley between the rounded muscles. His deep inhale and subsequent hum of approval exacerbates the battle waging behind your glazed, lust-blown eyes. His thick tongue slips past the love-loosened ring and he fucks you with it like he can hear the conflict monopolizing your mind.

Josh laps and laps, kneading the tender flesh of your rear like he's got something to prove, until your back aches and you scream into the earth.

The obscene smacking of his lips as he parts from your tender hole is nothing short of profane, but it's no match for the fresh, hot glob of spit that lands on the sore pucker with a loud splat!

And Josh can't help but throw salt in the wound, "'wanna be able to smell your wrecked little asshole for hours, sugar, wanna be able to taste you on my lips all fucking day."

Tears race down your cheeks. This is everything you've been taught is immoral. A one-way ticket to the fiery domain down below. This is a sin, desecration of the worst kind.

This is the most pleasure you've felt in your entire life.

The sun is far too close to the adjacent range of mountains for his liking; the old man will be home a little before it dips behind them for the night with your mama in tow.

Josh is going to cum before then. At least once. Propriety be damned.

He maneuvers you up and off of the ground, taking the time to brush the dirt and smushed fodder from your tear-stained cheeks and clammy palms.

Your heart jumps to your throat when he finishes positioning you—split open on his girth, straddling his broad hips, turned away from his kind eyes, and facing the dirt road. You grip his rippling, jean-clad thighs.

Josh can feel your freshly-painted claws through the sturdy fabric.

"I d-don't know how, sir."

His hips involuntarily buck at the honorific; it'll never get old.

"Yes, you do, darlin'. I know y'do. Seen it with my own two eyes." Josh taps the fleshy bit of your hip. He's growing impatient. "Go on, pretty girl. Ride me like you ride your ponies."

"Not ponies."

He doesn't need to see your face to know you're glowering. Probably singeing holes into the poor, weathered barn ahead, your kind features scrunched tightly into a frown. If you do it any harder, you'll get stuck that way.

And Josh can't have that. Can't have his sweet, good girl permanently pouting. He'd never get a lick of work done again; he'd be to busy fucking that absent-minded smile back where it belongs.

Admittedly, the open-palm hit is harder than the situation warrants but he's waited too long to watch it jiggle at his hand to control himself.

"What was that?" he growls.

You grind down, swiveling your hips as you grasp onto the lifeline, "Nothin', sir."

"God, even with a cock in your ass you still mind your manners. Your daddy would be so proud of ya, wouldn't he, sugar? Raised ya so good, got ya so obedient."

Josh's vision clouds as you find your stride. The feel of you rocking over his cock is unreal. Entirely unmatched by anything he's ever experienced, in practice or in theory. You feel divine.

You're just as dedicated and passionate in riding him as you are that gentle Tennessee Walker of yours. But there's an intense undercurrent he's never seen before—a fervid need that he could only hope would surface and possess you someday.

Today is that day, and it is glorious.

"Spread yourself f'me, honey."

You do so without lip or hesitation. You just reach back and grab yourself with both hands, hips never wavering.

Heaven-sent, he muses. His very own fallen angel.

A she-devil in disguise; a dirty whore with a greedy, greedy hole.

Josh's never seen anything hotter than your tight little ass fighting to accommodate another of his blessings.

It ain't like you're going easy on yourself either, forcing that sweet hole to take a beating because slow and steady ain't enough anymore. The floodgates have been opened, you're now subservient to the mounting heat low in your tummy and the pulse of your neglected, untouched pussy. You're fucking yourself hard enough for both holes, and you've graciously awarded Josh a front-row seat.

"Sweet Jesus, you're prettier than a peach—juicer, too. I reckon you got the nicest set of holes this side of the Mississippi, sugar."

You preen, back arching. In response, you hold yourself open even wider for his perverted gaze.

"That's it—show me where my cock is. Show me what you've let me take, what you've let me claim—what I'll always call my own. Even when you're good and hitched, it'll be mine. And whenever your empty ass aches, you'll think of this—think of me.

You'll always remember the time you let your daddy's foreman soil you in the middle of his pasture."

The moan that tumbles from your gaping mouth is as uncouth as the visual feast you're treating him to. Even in your struggle to balance on chaffed knees.

Taking mercy on your poor skin, Josh sits up, tugging you back so that your back is pressed tight to his sweat-drenched chest. His grip on your hips matches the ferocity of your hole pulsing around the base of his member, his heavy sack jumping up to repeatedly slap your sensitive clit.

"Y'gonna let me fill this little hole, sugar?" His voice is low in your ear, his breath humid and encouraging.

Your head bobs, your body in a frenzy.

Josh hums his satisfaction, "m'gonna stuff you full and send you back inside—have you make supper right next to your mama with me leakin' down these pretty thighs...M'gonna make you sit in your sin across the table from your daddy."

It's that thought—and your enthusiasm for it—that kicks him over the edge, and, without warning, Josh is unloading warm ropes into your ruined body while you spill for a third time, painting his generous sack in your cream—and it's the crumpled white cotton sticking out of his back pocket that lays the foundation for it to become a reality.

As you limp back to the main house like a freshly dropped foul, Josh knows there won't be any more boys parked at the edge of the property line. No need for the ladder tucked behind the bushes.

Your daddy's gonna be so pleased with him. For weeks, he's been asking Josh for his two cents on how to exterminate the vermin in his field. They're gone now, and Josh'll make sure they stay gone.

patrons gained access to this work on OCT 1, 2023 as one of their benefits. learn how you can acquire early bird privileges and access to another 200+ posts HERE!

thank you for reading, and happy holidays! &lt;;3

⤑ to my inbox 💌

⬸ to the catalog  

⬸ to the event masterlist 🕷️

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2023 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

[mangoshorthand]

No Hard Feelings- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch1

SUMMARY: You're Five's latest assassination target, but things don't go to plan and now he wants you as his fuckbuddy. Funny how what we want and what we need are rarely in line. (Aged up Five because things get smutty...obviously.)  Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five- Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve

In this opening chapter, you’re a nice, normal girl having a nice normal evening. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter One: Nothing Personal You’re about to turn in for the night. Today was long and tomorrow promises to be no better. You know you’re lucky to have your position, only six years into a real career, but it doesn’t make it any easier to be constantly talked over. Your co-worker, Charlie, was particularly infuriating today, sneering at your idea and then pitching the exact same thing with a few words changed. Of course, he got claps on the back from all the old farts in the meeting room. Fuckers. No matter how much your HR department talks about equality, you know it’s just a bullshit boys’ club.

You rub your hand across your eyes and forehead. Your feet ache from wearing heels all day. Dressed to the nines just to be treated like furniture. You'd kicked them off as soon as you came in the door; shedding your nice, conservative dress with relief. You’d thrown on a pair of sweatpants and, after slinging your bra over the bedroom door, covered your top half with an old camisole. Maybe a little tattered, but comfortably so.

You intended to go for a run tonight but, fuck that: you’ve earned a bit of self-indulgence. After turning on an old sitcom, you get up from the couch and cross to the freezer. It's time for a pint of ice cream. You know it’s going to be easier to imagine seeing Charlie’s bitch-ass face tomorrow morning with the cool carton in your hand. Are you binge eating? Yes. Do you care? No.

You close the freezer door only to reveal a gun held inches from your temple. You drop the ice cream, hearing its frozen-solid thump on the floor. Your wide, terrified eyes meet the intruder's and you collapse to your knees, legs having totally given way.

“Cookie dough, huh?” says the man who will soon send a bullet into your brain, splattering gore onto your fridge-freezer. “I’m more of a Cherry Garcia guy myself.”

You look up at him, trembling. Somehow you know this isn't a robbery.

He’s young. Younger than you; maybe twenty. His posture is casual, as if he's standing in line at a McDonalds rather than about to shoot you execution-style. He's relaxed, his head tilted backwards slightly. He’s dressed impeccably in a well-fitting but otherwise nondescript black three-piece suit. His hair is swept neatly to one side and a wry, cocky smile fills his face even as he clicks off the safety. His jawbone could cut glass.

“Please,” you whimper, feeling your heart beat frantically in your throat. For all the world, you think it’s trying to thump out your lifetime’s worth of beats until this man stops it prematurely, “why?”

“It’s nothing personal,” he says. His smile doesn’t falter...but then your eyes meet his green ones, beseeching. Something flickers in his; something human.

You don’t know why you do it- it’s not a conscious choice. Feeling as if your bladder and bowels are about to let go, you fall forward with your eyes still locked on his, trying to hold onto that piece of pity, that piece of mercy as you hold his gaze. Desperately, you wrap your arms about his waist, hands coming to rest somewhere between his thighs and buttocks, your nose pressed into his lower stomach.

Clearly, whatever he expected from this encounter, it wasn’t this.  As the TV plays the familiar sitcom theme tune, his cool demeanor cracks. The smile runs off his face like water down a drain. You hear his hand contract around the gun as he presses the barrel into your temple. It’s a horrible metallic sound and you hear it in all its minute detail: just like your heart, your brain is also making the most of the time it has left, stretching the seconds like taffy; every micro-perception coming upon you in vivid detail.  You don’t know why, but you know that your only hope is to maintain this eye contact. You’ll do whatever it takes to get out of this. Anything to save your life.

His expression hardens. You clutch him and your vision blurs as silent tears come.

“Please…don’t”

At some point in the countless, interminable seconds you stare into his face, you become conscious of where your mouth is. As you breathe raggedly, your lips graze the material covering his groin. You know he’s noticed too. His posture changes uncomfortably and the gun slackens slightly.

He inhales sharply through his nose as he looks down at you, eyes ablaze. With anger? Disdain? Maybe. You can feel him hardening rapidly beneath his pants. He shifts again and something presses gently into your chin. You feel your face flush yet you dare not move.

He breaks eye contact and a thrill of fear rushes through you. The one thing tethering him to you and it’s gone. You’re living your last moments now. His neck arches, Adam’s apple standing out in harsh relief as he looks up, eyes on the ceiling, breathing hard. He stays that way for a second or two, trying to compose himself. You want to beg him, to bargain, to tell him you’ll do whatever he wants… but fear and overwhelming instinct keeps you silent but for hitching breath. At last, he looks down again, though not resuming eye contact.  His gaze seems to rake what parts of your body he can see. You’re sure he catches a glimpse down your camisole to your naked breasts. You know your nipples must be prominent. Your cheeks burn.

And then, again, your eyes meet. A tiny movement; barely there and surely unconscious on his part. His pelvis moves forward, the pressure of his hidden but rock-solid erection becoming fractionally more pronounced on your mouth and chin. He inhales, throatily, his eyes lidded now. Not a trace of the cocksure smile of a few moments ago.

Then, from under his breath.

“Son of a bitch.”  

He seems exasperated. His right hand slackens and the gun falls to his side. As he steps back, your overtaxed nerves finally fail you. The world falls away as you sprawl forward onto your cheap kitchen linoleum.

Five holds a glass of single malt. This isn’t how things are supposed to happen. Is he losing his touch, can’t even take out a single target these days? Does he shit his pants because a girl looks up at him now? He knows he’ll have to finish what he started, so why is he putting it off?

…Because shitting his pants wasn’t the problem: her tits were. Or her lips. Or her hair. Or the way her breath warmed his crotch, penetrating the layers of fabric between them. It had been unsettling: the way his hips had moved, seemingly without conscious design on his part. The body wanted friction…wanted her. He sighs, sweeping his hair back and altering his seated posture, the better to accommodate another growing erection.

This all because he’d fucked up that first time, when he’d trapped himself in the teenage body, sentencing himself to a few years stewing in hormonal rage and frustration. He’d coped with it, (for the second time) and he’d thought it was over, that he was controlled now the body had grown beyond sexual maturity. Sure, he was over the horrors of puberty but the virility was still…a problem. A problem perfectly summed up by the fact he'd just popped a boner on a barstool.

She was a pretty girl but not breathtakingly so. The photograph in the file hadn’t done her justice. She had seemed just a suburban twenty-something trying to make it in the big city... and that’s what she is. So why had her eyes assailed him so much? Something in them…or something they saw in him?

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes and forehead.

“Tough one, son?”

He looks up at the old man sitting a few barstools down and gives him a slight smile.

“You might say that.”

“Chick stuff or job stuff?”

Five lets out a slightly dark chuckle, “Both, my friend.”

“I’d call that a double-whammy. Ain’t life a bitch?” the man replies, draining the last of his drink.

Five gestures to the barman, wallet in hand.

“Whatever my friend over there’s having.”

The man toasts Five with his empty glass and goes back to playing with his bar mat.

He'd wanted retirement. He'd wanted to just let it all go. They're where they should be, powers all intact. Theoretically, there had been nothing to stop him just checking out. His real body got tired easily and would have relished the rest, but this body? No siree. Not with all those healthy young neurons firing up there his brain, his muscles, bones and joints strong and ready for another lifetime's activity.

After a few weeks of vacation, he was bored out of his mind, full of pent-up energy and feeling pretty stupid dressing the young body in old-man clothes. Full retirement had not suited him so, eventually, he'd told Herb that he was happy to work on a freelance basis. The occasional project had kept him sane over the last six years, as well as giving him an excuse to wear suits again. It was simply easier and less unsettling to self-image to wear a style that would suit a man of any age.

Five’s moral code was liberal (to say the least) but he drew the line at committing murder out of sheer boredom. Up until this evening, his duties had been strictly analytical- he’d been acting more as a consultant given his status as the founder of the Commission in some remote permutation of himself. Herb asked him to take on this job as a favor, (something about cost-saving and briefcase scarcity) and Five reluctantly agreed.

Her face rises unbidden to his mind’s eye. He takes a sip of scotch, savoring the burn on his tongue and throat as it goes down. The way she blushed, the way a tear rolled down her cheek. Her beautiful, pleading, wide-pupiled eyes. They had stirred something in him beyond his sexual frustration…but it’s no use dwelling on that.

Necking the last of his drink, Five decides. He can’t leave things as they are. It’s time to take action.

The blanket you woke up beneath is around your shoulders. One of the two cops, Officer Roja, sits on one of your dining chairs, facing you. She taps the end of her biro contemplatively against her notebook. Behind her, Officer Boden assesses the apartment, craning his head around doors and taking in the view from various angles.

“Can you give me a description of the man?”

The mug of coffee Officer Rojas made for you warms your fingers but it barely penetrates the bone deep numbness that’s settled all over you. 

“He was young…white. College aged, I’d guess. But he was wearing a nice suit. Like a jacket and a waistcoat. It wasn’t the sort of outfit a college guy would have, I’d think. And he seemed…he seemed older when he spoke.”

“Mhm.” she said, taking a note. “That’s great, you’re doing really well. Can you tell me anything about his appearance? His face?”

You cast your mind back and find your memory disturbingly exact. His image is burned into your brain, his voice easily recalled. If you had to, you think you might be able to pick him out of a line-up by his smell alone- the smell of his aftershave.

“He had dark brown hair. Longer at the front, shorter at the back. Kinda…swept over. Green eyes. That sort of green that changes in different lights.”

She raises her eyebrows as she scribbles, impressed at recall you sense must be rare in other witnesses. The idea makes your cheeks burn with shame, although right then you aren’t sure exactly why. 

“His nose was…it was straight but a little hooked? There were two small moles- maybe birthmarks on his cheek. His left cheek,” you gesture at the corresponding spot on your face.

“How tall was he?” prompted Officer Rojas, nodding.

You shake your head, unsure. You spent most of your time on your knees looking up at him so perspective was hard to gauge. The only thing you have as a reference was how his groin ended up right by your mouth as you knelt.  

“Under six foot but I can’t tell you more than that. Five seven? Maybe eight?”

“Thanks ma’am, that’s so great.”

From beside the fridge-freezer, Officer Boden cuts in.

“You passed out here?”

You nod.

“But you woke up there-”

You nod again, feeling your face spasm with suppressed tears. 

“-and the door was still locked from the inside?”

You feel your eyes screw up and sobs begin to puff their way out of your tightly-held lips as the tears come. Rojas places a hand on your arm. 

“It’s okay, ma’am. You’re doing perfectly.”

“This building got cameras?” Boden continues, brusquely. 

You nod, trying to speak through sobs. 

“Uh…th-there’s one at the front door, one in the elevator. Maybe there are others? I- I don’t know.”

You just cry for a minute then, remembering the way he’d just been there when you closed the freezer. Aside from the Cookie Dough melting on the floor, you might have thought you imagined the whole thing. When you open your eyes, it’s clear that a silent conversation has been going on between Rojas and Boden. She’s giving him a look that means: leave this with me, dumbass. When she turns to you, her voice is gentle and her eyes concerned. 

“I’m going to ask you something now, and you can just nod or shake your head. You don’t have to go into detail just now, okay?

You nod your understanding.

“Did this man hurt you in any way?”

You shake your head, tears still falling.

“He just held the gun to your head for a while? He didn’t hit you, kick you or anything like that?”

You shake your head again.

“Did he…did he touch you inappropriately?”

You shake your head for a third time, but the idea draws another sob from you. 

“Ma’am?” says Rojas, softly, but Boden speaks again.

“You say you passed out here but you woke up there,” he indicated the two spots with a sweep of his arm, “that means he moved you. Did he perhaps drug you? You eat or drink anything? Maybe he injected you with something?”

This shocks you into speech, “No. No, I just passed out. I was scared. I haven’t been- everything’s fine.”

The way his hips moved fractionally towards you recurred in your mind: the way you could feel his erection against your face…but then, other things didn’t match with that picture: his ‘just business’ attitude and the way he hurriedly disengaged from you after that moment. He seemed…almost scared by what was happening…but he wanted you for at least a moment: that part you couldn’t deny.

And the worst thing? You couldn’t deny that, for at least a moment, you wanted him too. 

You open your mouth to tell them, but something stops you. It seems wrong in a way you wouldn’t be able to explain. It seems unfair: it was a moment of vulnerability for both of you.

“I haven’t been raped,” you say, much more calmly, “I don’t think there was time, anyway. My show was starting a minute before I passed out. When I woke up on the sofa, it was still before the first ad-break. I could only have been out for a few minutes.”

Both cops look at you. You know what they’re thinking: it only takes a few minutes. You know that’s true butas you think back to that look in his eyes as they held yours, you know that he didn’t.

“You got family, Miss?” said Boden, “Or a friend, maybe? We gotta take you down to the station but after that you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

Herb spills his tea into his saucer as Five blinks straight into his office once again, eyes aglow and energy high. Slapping the file onto Herb’s desk, Five doesn’t apologize for his rude entrance, too pumped to tell what he has to say.

“Got him Herb. Guy called Chet Monroe. Real piece of shit. For once I can’t wait to take this fucker out.”

Recovering himself, Herb swallows his last sip of tea. 

Five Hargeeves had never failed to take out a target before. When Dot brought Herb the report from field agents that police had been seen escorting the mark, completely unharmed, from her building, he’d been extremely perturbed: Hargreeves was known for being volatile and following his own ends, the timeline be damned, and him going rogue had always meant very bad things for The Commission. 

When a message from Five arrived requesting a meeting, Herb was unsure whether to be terrified or relieved. As it happened, Five was apologetic and only requesting to perform some recalculations. To this, Herb acquiesced immediately, just thankful to have Five working with them rather than against them. 

He just has time to say: “Chet Monroe?” before Five launches into his spiel. 

“Sex trafficker!” he says, triumph obvious in his voice. “The meat merchant. He’s the one who sources vulnerable girls, makes them feel safe and then pulls it out from under them. When I take him out, we preserve the timeline and we save a few girls...from him, anyway. It’s win-win. It's always nice when they're some real shitbag. I’ll waive my fee on this whole thing.”

“Let's see,” says Herb.

He opens the file and shifts the papers inside, looking at the potential new mark with interest. After scanning the information, he finds himself smiling with more mischief than he usually employs with Five.

“This seems more…vigilante than usual for you. I guess your brother would be proud of you.”

Five responds with a scoff, “You mean that bargain-basement batman? No, this is just about the math- him being an evil piece of shit is just a bonus. And then, guess what? He’s only one link in the chain further on. Two months after I meet her, that human shit-stain cat calls my girl and she tells him where to stick it. That will make him pissed off enough to beat the shit out of one of his girls, which means she’s too ill to rob the grocery store, so-”

Herb nods and waves a hand.

“I’ve read the files." 

He knows the chain reaction that would eventually lead to timeline destruction. This certainly wasn't procedural, but since being in charge of the Commission, Herb had come to learn that timelines were far more malleable than he'd been led to believe. Most procedures, he discovered, were more to do with matters of bureaucracy than they were to do with paradox prevention. It was a discovery that was, at first, unsettling to him but now he finds it oddly freeing. After contemplating Five for a second, he makes his decision.

“Dot chose that girl mainly for ease of access. Single, lives alone, no combat experience. Seemed a waste of your skills but she was in your city, in your timeframe. Wouldn't even need a briefcase.”

"So you'll sign off the switch? This guy's in my timeframe too: don't need a briefcase for him either.”

Herb grins. 

“You know,” he says, taking another sip of tea and fixing Five with a knowing look, “she sounds pretty special.”

He didn't miss the proprietary look that crept into Number Five’s eyes when he said ‘my girl’. Five doesn’t respond to the implication. 

“Will you sign it off?”

Herb grins, “Of course, I'm sure Dot will understand.”

With a flash, no thanks and no goodbye, Herb is left alone, shaking his head.  

“Ah, young love.” he murmurs with a little smirk,  glad that Five is out of earshot.

Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03.  Here is a link to the whole series

This is the first chapter of four Five X Reader Fics that are all posted on Ao3. I am in the process of writing a 5th. Smut is ever-present but takes a back seat to plot and character study in later instalments

[cyyyyanity]

Frostbite, a Sky/Ice hybrid.

Essentially I had an idea for a concept that had to do with conflictions, hence the tribe associated with fire(firescales), the skywings, and the tribe that would then be the complete opposite: the icewings with their ice. Pretty much the confliction would be centered around something negative, like how conflict often leads to arguing and fighting. So I thought, what if it's fire and it's ice tried to "live" in the same "host" despite the fact fire and ice are not compatible.

Hence where this idea came from: what if it's fire and ice attributes negatively impacted its body and its health because of how contradicting the two are? So the idea for Frostbite, the skywing/icewing with pseudo-firescales and "frostbreath" came into being.

His scales are too hot for frostbreath to actually form and be expelled from his body, but doesn't stop in trying to be created. This makes his firescales very hot, which can burn if touching for too long, but won't set things ablaze just by a touch like Peril can because the frostbreath dampens its effects. Unfortunately this is then very harmful to his body, like in the following sketches.

The first image was roughly around his teen years, where he's healthy. However, in the above sketches, he goes from healthy at the beginning of his life, to a deteriorated health when he's reached roughly a young adult age.

The frostbreath and the firescales within will have taken a toll on his health, eventually ending to a premature death.

Some of this was also inspired by Battlewinner, when she used the lava to keep the frostbreath down her throat at bay. Similarly they both have these two opposite forces working against one another to create some form of stasis. Though with Frostbite the scales tip a little bit, causing a negative reaction.

And honestly, I just generally thought it would be cool to create a concept where two forces worked against eachother, leading to an unfortunate conclusion. What do you guys think about this concept?

[blooming-violets]

Hi! This isn't a request but how do you think Peter would react to reader being a Funeral Director? Let's say it's like a blind date (set up by Auntie May ofc). Im asking because a good amount of your fics that you write with Peter revolve around death- weather it being Ben's, Gwen's, and/or what he see's around just being Spider-Man.

Lol this is coming from someone who's about to get their license to become a f.d if you couldn't tell :)

omg over a decade ago i used to roleplay with an oc who was my dark humored, lil goth queen and she was studying to become a funeral director and even though it was so long ago, once an oc, always an oc. she still lives up in my brain with the rest of every other character i've ever created in my life time. i'm going to channel her energy into my soul for this one

Ok, so! I love this.

(using gender neutral "they/them" for this character)

This might sound slightly gruesome but I'm going with it! May is getting a little older in age. Nothing crazy but she's a realist and she wants to be extra prepared when it's her time to go because she doesn't want to burden Peter with such things. She knows what it's like to go through the entire process of burying a dead loved one when you are in the middle of the worst grief of your life. She doesn't want Peter to have to make any of those choices like where to go and what casket to chose. She's a planner and is going to keep nurturing her boy even after death.

Soo she starts doing the rounds of looking into funeral homes, types of caskets, potential flower arrangements, details for the service, how she wants her body to be prepared...she's got it all figured out and in a binder with laminated pages. And she's having the time of her life doing all this because any chance to pull out some stationary is a good day in her book.

Peter freaks when he finds out because that's his girl and he refuses to let her die ever. But she calms him down by reminding him that death can happen to anyone, at any time, and she wants to be prepared for him. All he will have to do is hand over this binder to the director and they can do the heavy lifting so he can just take time to grieve. He's still not happy about it. Aunt May will never die. He doesn't even want to entertain the idea that it's a possibility even twenty years from now.

But then she throws in a lil twist.

"Oh, by the way, Peter...you have a date next Saturday night. I set you up with the director of the parlor. They were just lovely! So accommodating, so funny, absolutely gorgeous, not anything like I was expecting. I told them I had a nephew who was single. Showed them a picture of you. You know that picture I took last summer of you at the beach eating a Ninja Turtle popsicle next to the ice cream truck? I just love that picture...reminds me of when you were a boy...anyway, they agreed to meet up with you! Isn't that wonderful?"

And he's standing there speechless and mortified because only Aunt May would start prematurely planning for her death and then go around showing embarrassing, shirtless pics of him to his potential suitors...who are also helping her plan for her death. He tries to refuse to go but it's May and you can't say no to her. She will always win.

She picks out his best outfit for him and makes sure he's all dolled up (also to be sure he actually goes through with the date and doesn't bail).

He's shocked at how young and attractive they are when he meets them. Even though May insisted they would be a good match, he still was picturing some creepy old, sickly pale, skeletal man wear a dark suit. He's been dating a bit lately but nothing really sticks. This date feels different. He starts off by making a dark joke about dating the person who's going to bury his (still very much alive) aunt. Which gets a laugh from the both of them. They start in on how lovely it was to meet her and how she brightened up the house when she came for a meeting. And Peter talks about how baffled he was to find out she was even doing all that in the first place. He would have gone with her or been more than willing take care of everything. But they insist that May was adamant on doing it on her own. Peter asks a lot of questions on why they would ever want to go into this line of work but they just laugh it off. They're helping people, even after death. Helping their loved ones have the best final goodbye they can have.

The first date flows smoothly. They both try to avoid the death talk after the first few minutes and keep things light and happy. Peter is unknowingly smitten at the time but finds that once he goes home for the night, he can't stop thinking about them.

A second date is soon to follow. And a third. And fourth. And so on until they are officially dating.

I think as they get more comfortable with each other and open up to each other more, Peter will start to reveal how badly of a relationship he has with death. Reader has a healthy outlook on it. They don't mind taking care of the dead. They enjoy being able to provide that kind of service. Nothing really turns their stomach at this point. Peter can't remember much about his parents or their funerals, Uncle Ben's was a blur, and Gwen's is blackened out from his memory. It really upsets him to picture Reader doing any kind of body preparation. He keeps having intrusive thoughts about them working on Gwen's corpse and it kinda fucks him up. (They obviously weren't the one's who did that but his mind is putting the two people he cares about together without reason). Sometimes it makes it hard for him to look at them. It causes tension in the relationship. He starts to resent that they do that job. He think that they are "better than that" and they should leave that sort of job to someone else. He thinks it's gross and upsetting.

Reader would take massive offense to that. They love what they do. It's very important to them. Peter keeps not being able to hear what they're saying and is throwing his own uncomfortable attitude into the mix. They represent death to him and he hates death. Almost like they're a constant reminder of everyone he loved who has died. Cue the climaxy fight part where they separate for a bit in order for the growth to happen. Peter goes off to sulk and eventually ends up on May's doorsteps like a lost, sad puppy.

He'd need to go have a heart to heart talk with her about why he feels so uncomfortable dating someone who is so close to death. She'd talk about his past traumas, losing so many loved ones, and how he never allowed himself to put those people to rest. That's what Reader does. They helps other's put their loved one's to rest. And that frightens Peter because he's afraid of letting go. They represent someone who is at peace with themselves and Peter is living in a constant state of turmoil. In order to love properly again, he has to let go of the past. Reader can become a healthy path forward but only if Peter is able to cut off the baggage that is holding him back.

He'd let that talk sink in for a few days until he finally crawls his way back to their home with a box of their favorite chocolates (not flowers because they've seen enough flowers to last them their entire life time). He's met with nothing but a gentle smile and open arms. He'd open up to better explain himself to them so they can understand where he's coming from and see into his past. It's a healing moment for him to overcome.

Over time he'd warm up more and more to the idea of them working so closely to death. They both like to lighten any dark moods with some terrible jokes and dumb comments. A lot of silly ghost/ haunting talks. A lot him questing them about things. Like if guys can get an erection after death. Or what exactly is embalming fluid (bc he likes science-y things). And trying to find out the craziest things they ever experienced while working. They have endless stories to share so there's never a dull moment.

And when they finally find out about Mr. Parker and his big, giant Spider-Man secret, they threaten Peter that he better never end up on their table or else they'll mutilate his corpse by cutting off his dick and keeping it in a jar. (too dark? lmao not for them!)

Peter loves it. It makes him feel loved.

[i-never-forgot]

I wanted to ask for curiosity sake BUT!!! What does Lu wear/look like when he’s evolved into a fully fledged Lucario? We’ve seen Eliana but I don’t think we’ve seen him yet, and I’m SUPER interested :O

I’m not great at drawing Pokes besides Eevee (especially from memory) so the one other time I’ve drawn a Lucario recently I decided…not to post it🥲

But! I don’t give Lu enough attention (plus I’ve been meaning to post some more refined sketches of this duo), so…here you go!😊

Team Relic!

I’ve previously shied away from giving them any specific identifying features because I am frankly terrified of unique character design (I’ve never been particularly good at it tbh…I always draw a blank on what I could include that wouldn’t be terribly cliche…all my OCs weep bc of this lol), but I decided to try my hand at it.

Eliana as an Eevee is taller than average, perhaps the greatest indicator of her physical age despite being a first form Pokémon (still tiny tho). Her paws are a darker shade of brown, similar to the tone in the inside of her ears, and instead of having a somewhat coarse, stiff, straight fur like most Eevee, hers is smoother, silkier, and almost curly (to reflect the texture of her hair as a human more closely). Her fur is also a tad longer, so some of these errant cowlicks are visible. She wears the knot of her scarf in the front sometimes because she does (thankfully) have enough dexterity to tie it on her own, but it takes her a while. Most of the time Lu does it for her.

[Lu develops a habit of either smoothing down said curls with his paws or introducing her to the concept of mutual grooming as a response to either of their occasional insomniac episodes or when one of them is anxious, but only in the privacy of their room. Otherwise, he keeps a paw between her shoulder blades under her ruff and strokes the fur under his pads as a self-soothing tactic, such as when running into Team Skull.]

As a Leafeon she grows extra lithe and lanky, so she has a bit of fawn clumsiness at first because she’d gotten so used to her shorter legs. Her nose scar from Grovyle is fully healed by this point, so it’s faded a bit, but she hadn’t been able to see the dead patch of skin where Dusknoir’s Ice Punch frostbit the flesh around her throat and rendered it hairless before, so she wears something over it almost all the time bc she hates the reminder.

[Later on she continues to wear it bc it distresses Dusknoir to see it a whole lot—it’s hard to coax him back from his guilty spirals, so she only goes “naked” when her things need to be washed after exploring.]

[She doesn’t even realize she has to allow herself time to photosynthesize a certain amount of time per day so the first week she couldn’t figure out why she felt so awful until Sunflora pointed out that her ears and tail looked a bit wilted. Sun baths and afternoon naps become a main stay after that point, although Lu does have to occasionally remind her when she starts to feel down without realizing she’d forgotten to do so.]

[She feels a little naked without her ruff because she’d grown the habit of tucking her chin/mouth into it when stressed out, so when she swaps her Guild scarf for a Virid Collar, she’s grateful to have the extra fabric to nuzzle into when she’s overwhelmed.]

[She can also contort into the oddest shapes to sleep. Lu can’t understand it, but it’s because she and Treecko would often have to wedge themselves into crevices and cracks to rest.]

Lu is pretty much your run-of-the-mill Riolu, although he’s a little slimmer and taller with a bit of a longer narrower snout.

However, when he evolves into Lucario, he fleshes out and gets a bit bulkier after all the exploring they’ve done. His chest spike is broken in an accident, and he develops early gray hair along his muzzle (losing your best friend prematurely to sudden vaporization will certainly affect your stress toleration in the long run huh).

[His fur thickens up in the winter and he’s the best to snuggle with, but given the fact that Treasure Town is coastal it rarely actually gets cold enough to last the whole night without having to peel yourself away for a chance to breathe.]

Let me know if there are any other details or questions you wonder about :)

[mosie-b]

So like Otacon was totally a Shinnie right?

TW mentions of SA:

So like Eva is a mech show(well deconstruction of the genre but still) and it aired from 1995-1996 at a time when young Hal 'Otacon' Emmerich would have been 15-16 similar to the age of Shinji(14) in eva. Shinji is ostracized and forced to pilot a mech by his father(who possibly killed his mom working on the mechs). Later in the series his ersatz mother figure(Misato) attempts to sexually abuse him. "But what does this have to do with mgs?" Well Otacon was also forced to pilot a mech by his father. His mother fought back by sending Otacon away to America, in response his mother was murdered by his father, who stuffed her inside an AI(just like shinji's mother being the soul inside eva01) In America after living separate from his father for years, they reunite, and the two begin to live together again along side his new stepmom and step sister. This new mother figure promptly begins to sexually abuse the young boy(again around the time the original show aired) Upon figuring this out his father attempts to murder his stepsister JUST LIKE RITSUKO'S MOM WITH THE FIRST REI CLONE! Otacon runs away after his father dies. He has no friends and is entirely alone until meeting the love of his life Solid Snake who would later die prematurely just like Kaworu. But the icing on the cake... Otacon is a huge fan of mech shows. He totally would have watched the biggest show while it was airing, while he was the same age as Shinji, while suffering the exact same things Shinji did. So like Otacon totally would have been a Shinnie right?

[dulcisregnumdorm]

Willa Gumdrop

More info under the cut

Name: Willa Gumdrop

Age: 16

Gender: Non Binary

Sexuality: Bisexual

Pronouns: They(preferred)/Her

Year: 1

Best Subject: Physical Training

Birthday: July 18th

Twisted From: Sour Bill

Class: A (No 12)

Club: Cheerleading

Height: 5’0

Hobby:Rhythmic Gymnastics, Ice Skating, Dancing

Homeland: Glace Duchy

Likes: Outer school events,Watching Gymnastics performances Dislikes:Their parents, stress

Unique Magic: Vocate Chacott (Can summon one or more gumdrop chacott balls for whatever she wants) 

VA: Ookubo Rumi

Nicknames:Gumdrop,chewy,sour puss

Pet Peeves:Vargas

Favorite Food: Fruits

Least Favorite Food: Papaya

Talent(s): Dancing, Tactician,organization

Zodiac: Cancer

Personality type: ISTJ-T (Logistician)

Personality: Willa is known to be a very snarky and blunt person in general, due to being the daughter of the Prime minister of the Glace Duchy she has had to become this way in order to not be hurt or manipulated by people around her. However if you are able to get to know Willa on a personal level you will begin to see how she cares for her friends in the little ways like doing favors and trying to make life easier for them.

Fun facts:

Willa has obtained over 25 medals throughout her gymnastics career

Whenever she trains she does so in the Savannaclaw dorm alongside Jack and Epel

Willa is currently in the cheerleading club (Terrence convinced her to join because she needs the social interaction)

Willa has broken her leg before, what was she doing she won't say

Since they have known each other in the past Willa and Terrence and a brother and sister relationship

Her favorite teacher is Crewel because he reminds her of her old trainer

Willa is proficient with clubs, the hoop, ball and the ribbon.

Willa does have a little sister but because their parents are separated, they don’t talk as much anymore

Willa currently dyes her hair due to the gray hair she has received prematurely 

[cherryskkks]

What the eyes don't see, the heart feel - Naruto x Alchemy of Souls

This post, is more than anything, a repost of one of my fanfics. The're writhem in my original linguage and don't have so much attention, so, I repost them in english. I'm SO SORRY for the bad english, I use my horrible skills and the Google Translator for this, lol.

There some little spoilers of the drama, but the're small. And references too.

Enjoy please!

"Kazekage, my child has been in my belly for twelve months." A woman with black hair tied in a bun and a white skirt with a purple coat over it and a skirt of the same color stood in front of the kazekage with eyes that threatened to shed tears. "Please kazekage, save my child."

"I'm sorry, but she's already dead." The man spoke in his dry tone but his expression exuded sadness and mourning. "There is nothing I can do."

"Please, I won't give up on my baby..." Tears fell from the woman's eyes, who ended up sitting on the floor with her hand over her belly "I'm not going to give up on her..."

"I already told you, there's nothing I can do." He repeated what he said before, but in a higher tone.

"The ice stone is in Jinyowon." The woman whispered in a low, tearful voice but it was enough to get the man's attention. "It never left Jinyowon, I can't use her in this state, but maybe you can get Kazekage."

"You want me to use a forbidden jutsu?!" The redhead spoke out loud.

"I'll do anything to save my baby!"

The man shook his head and helped the woman to her feet. He really didn't know if he should really try this, since resurrecting someone from the dead with the power of the ice stone was forbidden and wrong. After using the power of the ice stone he sealed it beneath the desert sands, so that the large layer of grains hid the stone so that it would not be used by the wrong hands.

A beautiful little girl with black hair was born. She was called Ari which means 'adorable', that was what BoA thought when she saw her daughter who ended up being born without the ability to see with her eyes but had a large amount of chakra within her and could feel the flow of energy around her. around her, because of this she was excluded by the other children, they thought she was strange and scary because she was blind and could predict the weather and know if there was someone around her or not. The Jinyowon family were the only ones who did not fear her for her gift, and even made a point of training her so that she would become the leader of Jinyowon in the future. A year later the Kazekage had a third child, a premature little boy with red hair and sealed the one-tailed fox inside the child.

"Why you're alone? Shouldn't he be with the other kids?" The girl with loose brown hair asked a little red-haired boy who was sitting on the sand hugging his teddy bear, the little boy was scared by the girl's unexpected voice.

"They… are afraid of me…" He whispered in a low voice, but it was enough for the girl to hear and smile at the answer.

"It seems like we have something in common, what’s your name?" She sat in front of the boy on the sand "I'm Ari no Jinyowon, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Gaara. Subaku no Gaara." The little boy opened a smile, but his expression quickly changed to doubt "Ari, why are you wearing that blindfold? That way you won't be able to see..."

"Even with or without the blindfold, I wouldn’t be able to see." His smile didn't waver and remained on his face, showing dimples on the side of his cheek "I'm blind."

"Sorry, I didn't want to seem rude..." The little boy said, lowering his head and scolding himself.

"Don't worry, Gaara. Do you want to be my friend?" The little red-haired boy raised his head at the sudden question.

"Friend? Eh... of course I want to." He said, smiling.

"Ari!!" A voice called the blind girl who turned her gaze to where the voice had been heard "Ari! Mommy is calling you." A girl apparently the same age as Gaara appeared running towards the girl, she had brown hair tied in a side braid, bangs that covered part of her forehead and was wearing a light blue dress. She stopped running and screaming when she realized that her sister wasn't alone "Ah, sorry for disturbing you two..."

"It's okay little sister, Gaara, unfortunately I have to go. Let's play tomorrow." She got up with the help of the girl and headed towards her house.

The little boy nodded, even though he hadn't played with her, at least he had gained a new friend. He spent a few moments playing with the sand until his uncle, Yashamaru, appeared.

"Uncle Yashamaru! I made a new friend, her name is Ari." Gaara said to his uncle with a smile

"Serious? How good Gaara." The older man smiled at his nephew's achievement "It's Ari from Jinyowon, isn't it?"

"Yes, she can't see but she managed to notice that I was alone."

"Amazing. Now come on, you have to go home." He took the little boy's hand and started to walk.

The days passed and Ari and Gaara played together every day, Ari's mother, BoA accompanied their games sometimes and the redhead murmured how elegant she was. BoA liked the little boy and loved it when her daughter said she was going to play with him.

"Ari! I have something to give you." Gaara took one of her hands and opened it with the palm up, putting a bracelet on it "I made this bracelet in pairs, this piece is blue and mine is red. I made them both using sand and asked my brother to paint them, did you like them?"

"I liked it, Gaara, despite not seeing her, she must be very beautiful. Can you put it on my wrist?" A visible smile remained on her face, showing the dimples on her cheeks again. Gaara took the bracelet from her hand, undid the knot on the cord and tied it again around Ari's wrist.

Even though the two meet every day, over time these meetings have become less frequent. Especially after Ari graduated from the ninja academy and joined a team where he started going on missions. A few months after Ari's team was formed, she and her team partners were recommended for the chunin exam, which they participated in and passed. In the meantime, Gaara barely had time to see his friend but he always asked his sister, Yujim, about her, who said that she was fine and that she was just busy doing missions.

Gaara became increasingly violent as he lost her company; Angry because his only friend abandoned him. But a part of him wished he could meet the oldest girl in the park where they met.

When it was his turn to take the chunin exam, at first he wanted to kill everyone due to Sukaku's influence but then he thought about sparing Yujim's life, he couldn't bear to see the girl's older sister cry due to her sister's death. During the third phase, before his fight, he saw her.

"Gaara, I’m happy that you made it to the finals." The redhead remained with his arms crossed and his face frowning, but inside he felt the urge to hug her.

"Hm." He mumbled, rolling his eyes.

The conversation did not continue, Gaara's battle with Sasuke was announced. Ari returned to the stands, sitting next to his mother and sister, Yujim managed to win his battle thanks to the sound ninja who didn't attend and his mother, BoA, always makes a point of attending and supporting her daughters.

The last thing she remembers was falling into a genjutsu and blacking out. When she woke up, her sister seemed to be fighting with a boy and some other voices.

"Naruto! You can't go after your enemies without even thinking of a plan!"

"Yujim is right Naruto, it's better to stay here and wait for the situation to resolve itself." A male voice spoke followed by a yawn.

"What is happening?" Ari asked loudly, drawing the attention of others.

"Ari! Please help us!" Her sister ran towards the girl and helped her face the large crack in the coliseum. "Gaara and the other sand ninjas ran away, Sasuke went after them to want to fight with Gaara and Naruto wants to go after them."

"Wow, you summed up what’s going on well." Shikamaru grumbled, snuggling on the floor

"Are only the three of you free from the genjutsu?"

"No, there is another girl, Sakura Haruno, who went to find someone to help us. But so far it hasn't come back."

"Right. Naruto, you can go after them, but the other boy who is lying down go with him. Yujim and I will stay here in case reinforcements arrive and we will explain the situation." He gave the orders calmly, hoping that the three children understood.

"Why do I have to go? I don't want to babysit Naruto." Yawned Shikamaru again "Anyway, how are we going to find their trail?"

The oldest smiled at the question.

"Do you guys have any objects or hairs from Sasuke or any of the other ninjas who went with him?"

Naruto and Yujim started touching their own robes.

"There's this here." Naruto said holding up a set of bandages that were in one of the mini backpacks that were in his jumpsuit. "I remember Sasuke using this on his wounds on a mission and I kept it for myself."

"Perfect, thank you Naruto." Ari took the bandages carefully so as not to touch the blood that had already dried on it, with one hand a chakra energy began to form, the chakra began to take on a transparent circular shape and fused with the bandages. A small light was made in the girl's hands blinding the three genins, when the light went out a floating ball with Sasuke's image appeared. "Follow that bubble, it will show you where they went."

"Wow! How did you do that?!" Stars could be seen in Naruto's eyes as he stared at the bubble in awe.

"Yeah, it's cool, but let's go before I change my mind." Shikamaru pulled Naruto by the collar of his clothes.

"You're good for a genin." A male voice was heard along with frantic footsteps.

"Kakashi-sensei! Wait!" The female voice was breathless, from her breathing she must have been running a lot.

"Did Sakura get backup?"

"I'm the backup." The man nominated himself "And I saw what that girl with her eyes covered did, not bad for a genin."

"I'm not a genin, I'm a chunin."

The conversation could not continue, fake ANBU appeared and Kakashi went to distract them while Ari, Sakura and Yujim freed other ninjas to stop them.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The memories she had of Gaara and Yujim's chunin exams, although grounded and not very clear, were still good to her. Of course, it was the examination of his friend and his sister. She is especially happy that her friend Gaara was able to achieve his dream of becoming a kazekage, who would have thought that the shy little boy who was afraid of doing something bad to someone would become The kazegake of the sand - literally -. She wasn't behind either, a few days before Gaara's ceremony she was named the new leader of Jinyowon.

"Do you still use that?" She heard his voice but didn't turn her head to look, she already knew he was there.

"I don't have the courage to take it off, did you lose yours?"

"Yes... I remember putting it somewhere in my room before my ceremony and when I went to check it wasn't there." The redhead sighed. "I wondered if it was Temari or Kankuro."

"Probably Kankuro, he must have thought it was a gift for him."

"Yeah." Gaara chuckled at her response.

Silence once again settled in the park, the redhead observed the circular moon, it was a full moon night. The other felt the cold winds of the night hitting her slightly tanned skin, in these last few weeks she hadn't even had time to breathe, let alone get a tan.

"Do you think I'll be a good kazekage?"

"I have no doubt, you will be a great kazekage." He smiled at her statement.

"But now that I'm the leader of Jinyowon and you're the kazegake, we probably won't be able to meet as often as before, right?" She began, with a voice that indicated complete sadness.

"Don't worry, we'll still see each other. Obviously not as much as before."

She smiled, showing the dimples he loved so much about her. He loves everything about her, her voice, skill in battle and even the way she gets embarrassed when her mother starts talking about her. He had been trying to declare himself for days but was unable to do so due to pure nervousness and fear of being rejected.

"Have you... ever been afraid of me?" The sudden question made the girl turn her head to the redhead beside her.

"Excuse me?"

"Have you ever been afraid of me?" He repeated.

He was full of insecurities when it came to other people's opinions of himself. Since childhood he has been upset by other children's mean words towards him and because of this he has developed insecurity about this.

"Gaara, you are not a monster to make anyone afraid." She turned to the man and took both of his hands gently, "Your beauty never ever scared me."

They both smiled, holding each other's hands. Ari was without her typical blindfold with the symbol of her clan and because of that Gaara looked at her black eyes that because of the night moonlight had a blue color in them.

"You know, I like you. Like, like to the point where my chest hurts when you're not around." Gaara thought it was a good time to say this.

"It seems we feel the same way."

"Hello?"

Ari gently grabbed Gaara's face with his hands and quickly touched their lips. The redhead was startled by the surprise attack but accepted it as soon as he realized what was happening, the two entered into a calm and affectionate kiss. The kiss didn't last long, but it was truly a giant step for their relationship.

"Does this mean we're dating now?" Ari asked, trying not to smile like an idiot.

"I think so." Ari had to hold back even more to hold back her smile and the redhead laughed at her expression. "You look like an idiot trying not to smile like that."

"Then I'll love you like an idiot does." Again, the older woman pulled the man in for a kiss again.

Further away from the two lovebirds were Kankuro, Temari and Yujim watching their brothers.

"The situation is heating up there." Kankuro said, watching the couple kissing.

"Isn't it better if we get out of here? Then my mother shows up and sees the two of them there..." Yujim was trying to give his sister and her boyfriend more privacy but it wasn't working so well.

"Relax Yujim, they won't notice us." Temari reassured her.

The three of them watched the brothers for a while just to make sure they were okay. The two had left the congratulatory party for Gaara's new position.

After the festivities ended, the redhead dragged his feet along the sandy roads towards his home, he was exhausted but at the same time happy. After so long he managed to confess his feelings to his first and only love and he also managed to achieve his dream, thanks to that a small smile was formed on his lips.

This happiness didn't last long, he saw a giant white bird surrounding the village in the sky. It turned out that that bird was made of explosive clay and the redhead was kidnapped by two members of Akatsuki, a criminal organization that only recruited S-rank criminals. When the sun rose, many people were saddened by what happened to the kazekage, one of the most It was Ari who was shaken, she had practically declared her love a day ago and the guy she likes was simply kidnapped.

Foil reinforcements arrived and a rescue mission was requested. Ari was one of the sand ninjas sent to accompany them, along with her sister Yujim and a woman from the village council, an elderly woman called Chiyo.

"You can go ahead, I'll be a little late." The black-haired one spoke as she stopped her walk in the desert. Her speech caught the attention of the entire group, causing everyone to stare at her. "Don't worry, I'll catch up with you."

"Sis, what are you going to do?" Yujim asked arching an eyebrow at his sister as the group continued their walk.

"Do not worry." He responded promptly. "I'm going to bring a certain 'shining stone' back."

"What?! Are you crazy? Nobody knows where it..."

"Hey! Yujim! Are you coming or not?!" Naruto's booming voice could be heard on the other side of the world.

Before the youngest could try to stop it, her sister completely disappeared from her sight. She had no other choice but to follow the rest of the group and wish her older sister well, a lot of time has passed and so far no one has found the ice stone. The former kazekage, Gaara's father, had hidden the stone beneath the vast desert, this made many people give up searching because how would they find a stone beneath many grains of sand, without a precise location of where to start looking? and without even knowing if you're going to get out of this alive. The desert can be a very dangerous and scary place.

She spent almost an entire day walking through the desert to see if she could feel anything, and in the end it was a long mission. She found the stone, now what was left was to follow the others' chakra, it wasn't difficult considering they had the copy ninja, a doctor, a biju, a old lady and an artifact specialist with them.

Arriving at a giant cave, she felt as if she had arrived late. She heard cries and sniffles from many sides and followed with the ice stone in hand towards Naruto's chakra, who was crying, mourning his friend's death.

"Ari?" Sakura was the only one who noticed the presence of the woman with the blindfold. "I'm sorry, but..."

"It's okay." She responded promptly, still holding the stone tightly in his hands with chakra. The brunette walked towards the body of her former lover, although she couldn't see it in person, she could feel an energy draining from someone and heading towards Gaara. It wasn't something violent and It didn't intend to hurt his corpse, It wanted to save him. The brunette took the lady's hands off her boyfriend's chest.

"What are you doing? I'm going to save him." The old lady insisted.

"Let me do it."

The stone began to rotate in the brunette's hands, the clouds around the mountain began to form and became darker. The strongest winds, threatening to take some hats with them, formed a black powder from the stone.

"Ari, you're not going to do that, right?" Yujim asked approaching his sister, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

"Do what?!" Naruto, still with tears in his eyes, shouted.

"She's going to resurrect Kazegake." BoA, who appeared along with other sand ninjas, replied the blonde boy.

"Then why.."

Naruto didn't have time to scream once more as the sight of Ari hugging Gaara's awake body caught sight of him. The dark-haired woman wore a white scarf over her eyes, which were now soaked by the tears running down her cheeks. The redhead just comforted his girlfriend with a hug, as he had no idea how to help her.

"Don't scare me like that again..." The girl whispered in her muffled voice.

"I'll try."

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Discord, I’m Howling at the Moon

Title: Discord, I’m Howling at the Moon

Summary:

Roman was an accomplished Hollywood actor. Millions adored him for his charm and winning smile.

On the flipside, Remus was a certified medical examiner. Millions hadn’t a clue of who he was and those few people that did tolerated him. He dissected dead bodies for a living. Hell, he’d do it for pure amusement if someone offered. Becoming a medical examiner had been just the safe, legal route.

So it might shock people on who was the normal human being and who was the one that could transform into a quote-unquote "horrifying bloodthirsty monster."

Pairings: Brotherly Creativitwins

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Logan is in this fic for like five seconds (not enough to tag him imo), Werewolves, Nonspecific discussion of dissecting dead people (Remus is a medical examiner it’s kinda his job), illness mention, death mention, mutilation mention, vague nsfw jokes, arguing, crying, body horror, hurt/comfort

AO3 Link

Would y'all believe me if I told you this has been in my drafts for nearly three years, needing nothing but a few fixes here and there? Anyways, this idea had seized me one day late at night during 2020 lockdown and I wrote the barebones all in one night as you do. Many thanks to @stillebesat who beta'd it back in the day and gave helpful suggestions. I did use their advice to tighten up this fic...even it took this long for it to come into fruition.

-

People were generally ecstatic to learn that Remus Merkle was a doctor. Until they discovered his patients were mostly dead. And by mostly dead, they were completely dead. It was just, occasionally, decaying corpses had muscle spasms that caused them to move on their own. Thus “mostly” dead. However, nobody really appreciated jokes about decomposing corpses unexpectedly moving. Whatever, when the zombie apocalypse arrived, he’d be the only one prepared for it.

They also didn’t seem to appreciate hearing about the various ways one can end up dead. As a mortician, he’s seen all sorts of cause for death. Most were mundane things—old age, heart failure, cancer.

Some, however, never failed to crack him up on the depravity of man. They were all going to hell, every last one of them. Anyone who thought otherwise was just fooling themselves.

That was why Remus didn’t care about keeping up appearances. He spoke loudly and proudly about anything, everything on his mind. He proclaimed liking chocolate ice cream in the same breath of proclaiming his enthusiasm for octopus sex. He’d walk around publicly in the nude if it wasn’t illegal. When a grey streak appeared in his hair prematurely—he didn’t hide it away. He embraced it, showing it off to everyone—and he meant everyone. His co-worker Brian, the barista at the coffee shop, the random businessman on the street—everyone.

People were then generally surprised to find out that he had a rather conspicuous twin brother. Or perhaps surprised to find out that Roman Prince was a stage name—as artificial as the grandiose, bravado image his brother portrayed himself to be. Because despite their passing resemblance (they were fraternal) they were polar opposites.

Even growing up this was evident. Roman liked drawing unicorns and fairy-tale princes. In turn, Remus liked drawing five-legged, eight-eyed monsters that ate up Roman’s princes and unicorns. Roman liked the good guys. Remus liked the bad guys. This worked out rather well when they’d play princes and dragons. Except, of course, when they’d argue who should win.

Most of the time? It ended up in a wrestling match full of foul play. Such as pinching, biting and tickling. If their poor mother was fortunate, she might discover them in a heap sound asleep. The unfortunate times were when this rough-housing went too far and one of them ended up crying at the end.

Unlike Remus, Roman cared about what others thought of him. He loved putting on a performance—doing whatever he believed would please others. In school, he was always the favorite among teachers and students alike because of this. Many times Remus tried convincing him to let loose and have fun. All that did was result in arguments with words far more painful than childish rough-housing ever was.

It wasn’t like Roman and Remus didn’t care for each other–because they did! It was just natural that when you spent almost every moment of your life alongside each other up until high school graduation, you were going to argue a lot about stuff that was very important but also very stupid. Nowadays they both learned to agree to disagree about certain things.

Given his acting tendencies, it wasn’t too astounding to Remus that his brother went on to become an accomplished Hollywood actor. Millions adored him for his charm and winning smile, among…other things. Sure, Remus was Remus. But even he had a limit.

Reading stranger’s thirst tweets about your twin brother? It would never cease to be a bizarre, disconcerting experience. This didn’t mean he wasn’t above using it as fodder to tease Roman. For all his talk, his brother was easily flustered by such things.

On the flipside, Remus was a certified medical examiner. Millions hadn’t a clue of who he was and those few people that did tolerate him. He dissected dead bodies for a living. Hell, he’d do it for pure amusement if someone offered. Becoming a medical examiner had been just the safe, legal route.

So it might shock people on who was the normal human being and who was the one that could transform into a quote-unquote "horrifying bloodthirsty monster." This wasn’t always the case, mind you.

It all began when Remus received a phone call one Tuesday evening at around 5:37pm. It was a cold, overcast, rainy day. The type of weather that warranted murders and other violent criminal acts if this was a fictional story. Most actual crimes statistically occurred during warm sunny days.

Remus had just taken his dinner of chicken gizzards out at the same moment that Aqua’s Barbie Girl erupted on his phone at an obnoxious loud volume. Remus groaned, setting the dish aside as he dug out the phone from his pocket.

“What’s up bro? Did you end up finding the surprise I left hidden in your TARDIS of a closet?”

“Ah, I apologize but this is not your brother speaking.”

Remus’ knuckles went white, “Oh really? Then where is my brother?”

“I’m afraid he’s…occupied at the moment. Listen your brother has—”

“Did you kidnap him? Because I can and will find you—and chop you into tiny bits of pieces! I’m real good at that—well with dead bodies but I’m sure the same principle works on live ones.”

“I have not kidnapped your brother, I promise.” The stranger said, voice level and calm. Remus pouted because it wasn’t fun when people didn’t freak out.

“What are you doing with his phone then?”

“My name is Logan Barry, I am your brother’s assistant. I know this is an invasion of his privacy and could very well end in my severance from his employment but I felt it imperative to make this phone call for your brother’s sake. He has been experiencing mood swings—”

“Have you worked with my brother for a long time?” Remus interrupted, barking a laugh, “Roro’s always been one for dramatics!”

“I’m well aware of his flair for the dramatics, having worked under him for two years,” Logan bit back testily, “I assure you this is different. The thing most concerning to me is that a few days ago he dropped out of all his acting engagements and has taken to isolating himself in his home. It is clear something is causing him anguish but he won’t say what it is.”

“And so you thought to steal your boss’s phone and call up one of his family members to check up on him?” Remus hummed, “because damn, yeah, it sounds like a pod person replaced him. But you picked the worst person to call—sure, we’re cool, but we aren’t the sort to do mushy emotional talks.”

“Are you certain? From what he has told me, you two are close. You are also the closest relative in terms of geographical distance.”

Well, shit. The dude had him on that. Both their parents were currently on an anniversary vacation in Florida.

Remus sighed as he grabbed his dinner and shoved it into the refrigerator. Right smushed between a few of his science experiments; a dead rat and dove respectively each wrapped in tinfoil.

“And he doesn’t have any friends you thought of calling first?” Remus asked, snatching up his car keys.

“Roman has plenty of friends—“

“—but lemme guess? They’re a bunch of artificial Hollywood phonies?” Remus asked. He took the resulting silence as confirmation. “Don’t worry, Nerdy Wolverine, I’ll go over and knock some sense into my idiot brother.”

“Thank you, it is much appreciated.”

“Don’t thank me just yet—by the way, how did you get my bro’s phone? Did you steal it?” Remus asked, already in his car and starting the ignition.

“I did not steal it—the phone needed a new screen and he entrusted me with making sure it was replaced. I am simply returning it to him in the morning, rather than this evening.”

“Hm, whatever helps make you sleep at night!” Remus chirped, “I’m gonna hang up now so I can listen to some tunes while on my way to save Roman from himself!”

He then did just that, before Logan could have a chance to utter some formal goodbye. The drive to Roman’s house was long—three hours. It was a little less than that due to Remus’ excessive amounts of speeding. Death metal blared out of the car stereos. Usually he liked to screech along to it but he remained silent the whole ride.

Being a Hollywood actor was Roman’s dream job—just as much as Remus’ job as a medical examiner was for him. He worked just as hard as Remus to achieve that. It’d be one thing if his brother grew stressed from the pressure of the job or wanted to pursue other creative avenues. But for him to up and quit acting? With no warning or explanation? That didn’t make sense. Nobody just did that—well okay Remus would. That was on-brand for him. Not for Roman.

Although, it’d be great after all these years his brother finally learned to cut back and let loose. Who knew, maybe his assistant was just being stuffy about the situation.

It was completely dark by the time Remus reached the gates of his brother’s ridiculously large home. Normally Remus liked ditching his car and scaling up the gate to freak his brother out. Today he used the gate code for the first time ever. He still lockpicked his brother’s front door—what? He had to maintain some sense of normalcy. Or as normal as Remus got anyways.

“Roey, I’m homeeee!” Remus called out, grinning maniacally as he pushed the door open. He took one step inside and his foot met with the crunch of glass.

Roman liked to call himself a man of passion and ideals. He loudly abhorred logic and structure, claiming he followed the whimsy of his heart best. Despite that, he did appreciate some order and rationality. Unlike Remus’ unbridled chaos, Roman’s chaos was organized to a degree. Roman sometimes had piles of stuff lying in a room. Piles that seemed random and unorganized but they really did have a purpose.

Remus shone his phone’s flashlight to a mess that rivaled Remus’ own anarchy. Chairs overturned, broken shards of glass, a torn-up shirt—the list went on.

“Whoa,” Remus breathed in, closing the door behind him. For a second Remus forgot the whole reason he came here. Instead he became invigorated with memories of when he trespassed abandoned buildings as a teen. Some had broken-down belongings still left inside—you could tell a lot about a person from what they left behind. Remus knew that fact intimately.

Had there been some sort of a struggle? Was Roman involved with the mafia? Was Roman dead?

Remus froze, crouched down as his fingers touched a shard of glass on the ground.

“Roman?” He called out, “Where are you? I can’t believe you had a wild party and you didn’t have the gall to invite me!”

He waited, tapping his finger against the glass. Tap, tap, tap. He almost didn’t think he’d get a response until he heard a distant clang. And then, “Remus?!”

His brother. That was Roman’s voice. Weak and faint, although that could be because he was halfway across the house or something.

“Yup it’s me!” Remus grinned, jumping up to his feet, “Bro, where you at?”

“Remus what are you doing here?” Roman asked, a muffled noise following his words.

Remus huffed, slightly peeved. Here was his brother, a pinnacle of manners and yet he ignored Remus’ question entirely. Regardless, he walked in the direction he thought Roman’s voice was coming from.

“What, I can’t drop in, just ‘cause anymore?” Remus asked, “besides, it doesn’t seem like you’re up to anything right now. Besides nursing a wicked hangover, I bet. Did you manage to get laid?”

“Remus, you can’t be here!” Roman’s voice said, sounding increasingly closer. Remus’ grin widened. Bingo.

“What do you mean I can’t be here? I got through the door just fine—also for someone that’s loaded, you should really invest in a better lock.”

“No, please, Remus I mean it!” Roman snapped, the clanging noise echoing once more. This time it sounded like something metal. “You can’t be here, please!”

Remus creeped closer, frowning when he came to the end of the hallway. Hmm, right or left?

“Why not?” C’mon bro, please speak up and tell me .

“I—I can’t! You just have to believe me!” There was a tremble in Roman’s voice. Remus had heard his brother act, time and time again. He knew all his tells. This wasn’t him acting. Roman was genuinely afraid.

He was also definitely in the room to Remus’ left. Now he just had to open the door—locked. Remus bit his lips. Alright, no biggie. He could lockpick it.

“Remus? Is that you? Stay away!”

“Roman, you know me—if you have a dead body in there, I’ll bury it for you. No questions asked. I might just want a peek at the insides though!”

“Remus, please—” Roman let out a pained scream.

Remus’ fingers quivered. No! He steadied them, working as fast as humanly possible. It struck him then that this was just like a scene ripped from a horror movie. A man goes to visit his apparently gone mad brother and finds a mystery afoot. As much as Remus liked horror movies, he was finding that he didn’t like being in one.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the door unlocked. Remus slammed it open, one hand itching close to his pocket knife. The room was dim, containing a single window with blinds drawn over it. It looked like an ordinary guest bedroom until something shifted in the corner.

“Roman?” Remus came near, startled at the sight of his twin shirtless and chained up to the bedposts. What the fuck. “I should’ve thought you were one for such a vanilla kink. Where’s your partner? Are they hot?”

“It isn’t like that!” Roman insisted, baring his teeth, “Listen, I can’t hold it back any longer, you need to g o .”

Remus opened his mouth to respond when Roman dropped to the ground, screaming as he convulsed. Oh my god, he was having a seizure. Remus should call 911. His phone fell out of his pocket in his fumble to pull it out. He reached down to pick it up, only to drop it entirely once more.

This time was due to the fact that Roman…was rapidly growing hair? Like an infection, coarse grey hair started covering every inch of his brother. Which was really fucking weird because Remus did not know of any disease that caused instantaneous hair growth in such a way. But it didn’t just stop there.

As it continued, there was a series of horrible crackling noises. It sounded akin to someone popping a dislocated shoulder back into place except it sounded wrong, wrong, wrong. Something screamed within Remus that he should not be here, that he was in danger, that he should escape while he had the chance.

But he didn’t move a muscle, standing stupefied at the sight of his brother…transforming? Yeah, that seemed like the right word. Because the crackling was the result of Roman’s bones rearranging themselves to create an entirely different skeletal frame. His brother’s face twisted and contorted until it no longer resembled anything human. Dull human teeth gave way into sharp carnivore teeth.

At this point, Roman no longer had any hands–they’ve fused together into something else entirely. The same was beginning to occur with his feet.

The pants his brother had been wearing had long since been torn to shreds, but they became even more so as something burst forth from his body like that parasite from Alien except it was near his butthole and oh–was that a tail?

A werewolf. His brother was turning into a fucking werewolf.

Remus almost laughed. Was this a dream? Was his apartment infested with toxic mold and this was the result of a hallucination? Because the idea of werewolves was fucking sick (he’d been convinced he was one in middle school) but as far he knew, they weren’t supposed to be real and his brother sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be one.

Yet, it was becoming very damn apparent that his brother was turning into one. As the transformation leveled out, Roman’s screams ceased as a deep, guttural howl replaced it. The grey hair became more shaggy and looked soft to the touch like fur. His brother had paws! And fluffy wolf ears! If Remus hadn’t witnessed the whole thing, he would’ve assumed that Roman had a real ass wild wolf chained up to a bedpost!

Remus couldn’t help himself. He reached a hand out towards Roman, only to be met with a snarling and gnashing of teeth.

“No touching, got it.” Remus whispered, staring as his brother thrashed against the chains. The wolf tried chomping down on the chain, only to let out a yelp. Ears pinned back, he tried a few more times to success. Eventually he threw his head back and howled.

This was where most people would’ve been terrified enough to run away if they hadn’t at the start. After all, his brother had turned into a wolf and now was trying to escape his chains. Surely if he managed to break free, his animalistic instincts would cause him to maul Remus to death.

Oddly enough, Remus was feeling very calm. Perhaps a bit too calm, but as he stared at the wolf that was now his brother, things made sense. The trashed house, the erratic behavior, the fear in his brother’s voice moments before–werewolves were real and somehow his brother got bit by one.

“I bet it’s silver, isn’t it?” He mused underneath his breath. Silver hurt werewolves, right? Assuming that was true, it was no wonder that Roman’s wolfy form was so agitated by it.

So Remus decided to do something that was probably ill-advised. In fact if this was a b-rated horror movie, the audience would be yelling at him right now for being stupid. He reached for his lockpick toolkit and slowly inched forward. Roman growled at him.

“Listen, I’m gonna just,” He held up his lockpick toolkit out to show Roman, “help you out bud. See this? If you promise not to eat me, I’ll let you out.”

Remus didn’t know how much awareness Roman had in wolf form. He was gonna go with not a whole lot. Still didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try and communicate.

Roman sniffed at it curiously. He then stared at Remus, tilting his head. After a moment, Remus decided to take that as a permission to continue onwards. He touched the end of the chain to which his brother growled. Rude!

“Ok, look, I’ll respect not touching you, but I have to touch the chains to let you out.” Remus raised an eyebrow. He waited a few seconds before touching the chain again. Roman didn’t growl. He kept staring at Remus, watching his every movement.

“Good boy, good boy,” Remus said, fiddling with the lockpick, “okay, is that patronizing? Am I being demeaning? Please tell me if I’m being demeaning—”

Remus kept rattling on, working on the clasp until it finally released. An angry red band circled Roman’s leg where the chain had been. Roman lifted the paw up and down, tail wagging. He lunged forward, best as he could with three limbs still chained down, and licked Remus’ face. It was rough and coarse as sandpaper.

“Whoa, I haven’t even finished the other three just yet!” Remus protested, laughing. He pushed the wolf’s head away as he started work on the second chain. Roman whined but complied upon seeing what he was doing. The next three came off in quick succession once Remus figured out the locking mechanisms. When the last one came off, Roman bounded about the room excitedly. At one point he started chasing his tail to entertain himself.

Remus watched, deep in thought. His brother seemed so happy to be able to roam and chase his tail to his heart’s content. He’d only growled at Remus because he felt threatened and afraid of his presence. Once he understood his intentions, he immediately lavished affection upon him.

Just how long had his brother been a werewolf? This couldn’t have been going for more than a few months at least. In any case, Roman was so terrified of himself to the point of self-isolation. Which surely made the situation worse, because his wolfy side probably needed proper care and attention that Roman was neglecting.

Something tugged at his jacket sleeve. Remus looked down to see his brother looking at him, whining.

“What? You want some food?” Remus asked, “Damn, if I’d known I would’ve brought the roadkill I have in my freezer to you—”

Roman headbutted him with enough force to send him sprawling. This seemed to satisfy the wolf, because he then proceeded to lay on top of him.

“Hey no fair!” Remus said, trying to wiggle out to no avail. Roman licked his face in response before laying his head down. Remus tried a few more times before giving up. He sighed, finally resigning himself to his fate as a wolf cushion.

“Man, this is gonna be weird in the morning, isn’t it?” Remus asked, yawning.

It was.

He woke up to a scream. By the time he managed to open his eyes, he was greeted to the sight of a human Roman huddled inside a blanket.

“Morning, Ro. What’s for breakfast?” Remus asked casually, sitting up to stretch. If there was one downside to adulthood, it was that sleeping on the ground now resulted in stiff backs.

Roman looked at him like he was a ghost.

“H—how are you not dead?” Roman asked, “The chains—I—it escaped—did you get bitten?!”

He reached forward, searching for a bite mark of any kind. There weren't any. Remus grasped onto his brother’s hand, squeezing it firmly. Okay mushy emotional talk time. Remus wasn’t great at this, but Roman knew this. Hopefully he didn’t fuck it up too much.

“I’m fine, Roman,” He said, “I didn’t get a single scratch, I’m mostly hurt that you didn’t tell me you could turn into a hugeass wolf. Do you have any wolfy traits outside of Full Moon? Ooh, can you eat raw meat? What about your sense of smell?”

“Remus,” Roman began, his eyes wide, “why aren’t you scared of me?”

Remus cocked his head, “Why would you think that I’d ever be afraid of you? If anything I’m jealous of you! I can’t believe you’re better at turning into a wolf than I am. You know I spent half of middle school thinking I was a wolf.”

Roman stared at him, lips wobbling. He then shook his head and laughed. All choked up and wheezy like a broken squeaky toy as he slung both arms around Remus’ wiry frame in a tight embrace. He kept on laughing—his fingers digging into the fabrics of Remus’ shirt and jacket. Remus held onto him, massaging his scalp the way their mother did to comfort them growing up. Eventually Roman’s laughter died down to quiet, stifled sobs.

“I know you care a lot about appearances but you’re not a monster you know,” Remus whispered, “Dukey’s honor that you’re still your princely, heroic self, wolf or not. Besides you and I both know the monster in the room and that’s me.”  

“You put pineapples on your pizza.” Roman hiccupped.

“It’s delicious! And there’s much worse cursed things to put on pizzas. Like gold and squid ink!”

“You wear crocs unironically.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You practiced bagpipes in front of my room at 2AM in high school.”

“Yup! See? I’m a certified genuine monster.” Remus beamed.

“No you’re not,” Roman made a strangled noise, “You’re my brother who’s weird and kooky at times but I--I…”

“Aw Roey. Don’t make this a mushy Hallmark movie,” Remus said, “but if it was, you’re still my brother regardless of how many times you get on my nerves.”

He almost addressed the chains–now that Remus knew, they were going to eventually need to have serious talk time about ways to properly care for one’s wolfy self. In a very un-Remus-like move, he bit his tongue on that one though. That was an argument for another time. One that was inevitable to happen if Roman kept transforming into a wolf every full moon.

For now? He was content to start teasing Roman with the latest thirst tweet he stumbled across.

[starkraivennemad]

Mistletoe for Le Rois

Mycroft Holmes quietly stepped from the lift at NSY and walked across the busy floor to his destination. It always amused him most on the floor will glance at him then quickly turn their heads in fear he might notice them. None but two people on the entire floor know exactly who or precisely what he does, but people know someone with power when the see it.

And Holmes Mycroft knows he exudes POWER in his three-piece suited glory. Still, he could not help the trite pleasure in watching their unconscious displays of fear and respect from them as he passed.

Luckily for them, unlike his incalcitrant little brother who deduced the worst in them and publicly aired their trivial affairs for sport, Mycroft did not. Oh, he certainly deduced them to the core, but he could not be so bothered with airing it. He was at NSY to see one person and one person only.

Detective Inspector Gregory  Lestrade.

Mycroft could have easily passed the assignment to one of his minions to give to Lestrade. But being honest with himself he could not. Work being what it was for both, they have not had an update dinner in nearly a month. They have spoken on the phone, but it was not the same. He wanted to see the man. He just could not say those words, among others.

Words like I want you and I have been in love with you for well over a year.

Mycroft Holmes knew who he was – a powerful man, cold, exacting and yes posh. Blessed with an intelligence that put him so far above Mensa level to make being a member comical. Yet cursed to not have the patience to deal with the rest of the normal world that even Mensa level geniuses find inept.

Yet Gregory Lestrade, though not Mensa, was still amazingly intelligent. He was a hard-working cop who earned every accolade and above all he was a genuinely good man that people naturally gravitated to.  Gregory had the patience of Job. He had to, to have put up with the likes of his brother and by some miracle, become someone that Sherlock calls a friend. That he was naturally handsome who aged beautifully where his premature silver hair only added to his allure did not hurt.

He remembers the days when they first met, and he had not so much as looked at the man fully before he dismissed the then sergeant. He thought Lestrade would just be another bribed minion to spy on his brother. Never in his life was he happy to be proven so wrong. His underestimation of the man left Mycroft unprepared for Gregory’s slow but sure chipping away at the ice that surrounded himself and his heart. The who had told Gregory on several occasions that caring is not an advantage discovered that cared oh so deeply for the detective inspector.

He cared so much he cannot go so much as a month without desperately wanting to see him.

Thus, Mycroft the Moth headed to straight to Lestrade the Light's office and internally grinned when he saw the man.

Like the squad floor itself, the DI had decorated for the holidays. Only instead of his desk or his walls he had decorated himself.

Above his head a sprig of artificial mistletoe hung from the ceiling with a sign that read "Stop trying to get me under the mistletoe!" while an arrow pointed directly down. Red and green tinsel was wrapped around his arms. While gold and silver tinsel was draped from his neck like floral leis.

The tinsel was one thing, things had been very busy at NSY of late and the levity was need. But Mycroft knew the mistletoe, especially its specific location, had to be against Human Resources rules somewhere. He also knew, Lestrade would not care one whit and would feign innocence if reported, not that anyone would. The charming  copper was well-liked knew and all would take it for the humor it was.

It did not stop Mycroft from wishing he had the guts to put that mistletoe to use, but down-to-earth men like Gregory Lestrade did not desire high-handed, admittedly high maintenance, stalwarts like himself. So, like the words he won’t say he keeps that wish to himself.

The Gregory’s head was down concentrated on the mounds of paper and computer work. At some point Gregory had run his hand through his hair making it stand on end. Mycroft’s hand literally itched to touch it. Whether to finger comb it back in place or muss it further

Mycroft stood at the open door and watched the furrowed brow for a moment before he knocked.   

“Ya?” Gregory had barely glanced up from his desk in acknowledgement, but that mere glance made Mycroft’s heart stutter. Because his mind had been busy on work, Gregory’s whole mien had changed at the sight of him. For a moment Mycroft knew that Gregory was happy to see him before he pulled his professional façade in place. Mycroft was not sure what to make of that.  

“If you’re busy detective inspector, I can come by another time.” He turned as if prepared to leave even as he silently prayed to deities, he does not believe in, that he got to stay and nearly swooned in relief when that prayer was answered.

“Get in here, Holmes. You do not casually come by these offices. What can I do to -erm- for you?” 

Mycroft had far too many answers to that near Freudian and tamped them down. He knew Gregory thought nothing of it as by rote he automatically closed the blinds and the door to Lestrade’s office when he visited so no one would enter without knocking as they got to the business at hand.

An hour later Mycroft found himself standing oh so close to a seated Gregory as he went over something on the man’s computer. He did not need to look on the computer for what he wanted, but it got him just that much closer to Gregory. Close enough that though Gregory had moved over to give him some space Mycroft could still feel the body heat the man radiated. He realized they both were under the mistletoe and clearly Lestrade had realized it as well if he was reading his sudden pinking correctly.

It dawned on Mycroft then, that was not the first time he had seen Gregory slightly flushed in his presence. He knew the possibilities it could have meant with others, but this was Gregory(!) it could not mean what he thought it meant. Mycroft dismissed for the impossibility it was.

Then Gregory opened his drawer and pulled out a little figurine.

“Oh, one thing, Mycroft...”

Read the rest o AO3

@mystradepromptsandscenarios