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quin-ns · 1 year

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Assigned Seat (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Word count: 2.8K

Summary: JJ won’t sit in the correct seat because it’s not next to you

Tags: fluff, mutual crushes, lots of flirting, JJ being cute, slightly oblivious reader, getting together, everyone ships, just cute fun fr

A/N: binged obx and this is my first fic for it and of course I had to write for JJ- he’s my fave. also, it’s s2 when school starts but let’s say they know that john b is alive before the first day of class bc I don’t want this to be angsty lol

cross-posted to ao3 • obx masterlist • writing masterlist

First day back in your first class of the day—Mr. Sunn’s history class—and you were greeted with a seating chart. Usually, you would just sit with your friends, but now you saw that Pope and Kiara weren’t in the same row like they usually would’ve been when you all shared a class. You didn’t even see JJ at all yet. You wondered if he’d show up. It was the one class that you actually had with him, so you hoped he would. Otherwise you wouldn’t see him until lunch break.

You found your seat with ease, but gave Kie a light frown when she turned around and saw you weren’t anywhere close to her or Pope.

About a minute before class was about to start, JJ walked through the door. He spotted you and grinned. He headed for the empty seat beside you and dropped down in it.

“Hey,” JJ greeted. “I was almost late but here I am.”

You laughed a little (mostly because of how proud he sounded). “Yeah, I see that.”

“So, what’s up?” he asked, side eyeing Kie and Pope. “Are we avoiding them for some reason or…?”

“What? No,” you replied quickly. “Appreciate that you were instantly on my side, though,” you said with an amused tone.

JJ smiled at the comment. “I appreciate the appreciation.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled back nonetheless.

“If you two are done flirting, perhaps Mr. Maybank could move to his correct seat and we can get class started,” Mr. Sunn called out suddenly. You and JJ both were startled, realizing he was talking to you

JJ furrowed his brows. “Correct seat?” he whispered. “What is he talking about?”

“There’s a seating chart,” you muttered back, finally remembering.

“What?” JJ asked a little louder. “That’s lame,” he grumbled.

“Well, tough,” Mr. Sunn replied, clearly having heard. “And according to my lame seating chart, you’re on the other side of the room.”

“It’s an empty seat,” JJ pointed out.

“Actually, it’s Mr. Kane’s seat,” Mr. Sunn gestured towards a boy standing near you guys that you embarrassingly enough just now noticed.

“Well, great, he can have my seat,” JJ suggested with that cheeky smile of his.

Mr. Sunn looked from JJ to you. “You must be something special, Ms. Y/L/N. I’ve never had someone fight so hard to keep a seat.”

All you could do was laugh awkwardly, very aware of all the eyes on you. You gave JJ a look, asking for him to save you from being the center of attention on the first day. The only way he could was by relenting.

With a sigh that you would deem dramatic, JJ stood and grabbed his backpack. Mr. Sunn held up the seating chart paper. Everyone watched as he went to the front of the class and glanced at the paper, and then found his actual seat on the opposite side of the room.

“You can see your girlfriend after class,” Mr. Sunn commented in response to your friend losing the argument.

You weren’t his girlfriend, but neither you or JJ corrected him. You didn’t because frankly, you’d gotten your fill of attention. You weren’t sure why JJ didn’t, though.

Besides, you weren’t totally against people thinking that. It was still weird having a teacher call you out like that, though.

The kid who had been waiting for JJ to vacate his seat gave you an apologetic look before turning his attention to pulling out a notebook.

You made eye contact with JJ across the classroom and he winked.

“Now that everyone is in their correct seat,” Mr. Sunn announced. “We can get started with class.”

Everyone turned to focus on Mr. Sunn going over the first day syllabus, except for Kie. You caught her looking at you and you met her eyes. She raised her brows as if to ask, “what was that?”

You shrugged, telling her that you didn’t know. It was true, you didn’t.

After class, no one brought it up so you didn’t say anything about it either. You all went about your day and soon, the whole seat incident left your mind.

The next day you were reminded of it.

You arrived to history with Pope, chatting about the syllabus and what supplies you still needed to get. Kie was already in class. You said hi and then bye and headed to your seat. JJ was the last to show up, cutting it close again. You gave him a small wave, assuming you weren’t going to get to talk to him until after class.

Except, he walked right up to you and sat down next to you.

You raised your brows at him. “What are you doing?”

“Well, hello to you too,” JJ acknowledged with a light chuckle.

“He’s gonna tell you to move again,” you predicted.

JJ shrugged it off. “Like some seating chart is gonna keep me away from my favorite girl,” he retorted in a playful tone.

You smiled, ready to go along with his flirting. “Favorite, huh?”

He put his elbow on his desk and leaned on his hand. “What, you didn’t know that? I coulda swore I made it obvious.”

You hummed, ready to hit back with a sly comment. Until you were interrupted.

“Is this going to become a daily occurrence?” Mr. Sunn’s voice tore you and JJ away from the gaze you held. You both looked to the front of the class, where he stood watching you two. “I believe you know your correct seat, Mr. Maybank.”

“I forgot, actually,” JJ lied easily. “I’m pretty comfortable here, though.”

Mr. Sunn rolled his eyes and held back any indication that he found the situation as funny as you did. “I can’t have my students revolting,” he decided. He pointed to JJ’s assigned seat, waiting for him to move.

“It’s only 45 minutes, JJ,” you told him. “I think you can survive.”

“Fine, fine,” he told you and Mr. Sunn. He got up and moved to his seat. The boy that sat next to you came out of nowhere and took the seat.

After class, you met up with your friends. You were about to walk with JJ to the hall where both your next classes were, but Kie decided something different.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” she announced. “Y/N- come with me?”

Except you didn’t really feel like she was asking.

“Um, sure,” you agreed and headed off with her in the other direction of the boys.

“Why do girls always do that?” JJ wondered, watching as the two of you turned a corner.

“Girls just do that,” Pope explained. “This time they’re going to talk about you, dude. For sure.”

“About me?” JJ furrowed his brows. “What about me?”

“About how you like Y/N and that it’s totally obvious now. To everyone.”

JJ just shrugged. He thought everyone already knew. The only person he really wanted to know was you, but you never seemed to think he was serious. You always flirted back and that was fun, but maybe he had to up his game.

Oddly, no one brought up the seat incident yet again as a group. Kiara and Pope did observe you and JJ closer, but even if the flirting was a little more obvious, it didn’t go beyond that.

Next day in history, it was a repeat of the previous days.

“I’m starting to think you like me,” you joked to JJ when he sat down beside you.

“It took you this long?” he responded teasingly. You tried to not read into it, not wanting to get your hopes up. Not realizing that he was hoping you would read into it.

Mr. Sunn looked up from his desk when the bell for class to start rang. Immediately, as if in a force of habit, his eyes landed on you and JJ. Once again he would have to start the class period by telling JJ to move.

“You must have amnesia,” Mr. Sunn directed towards JJ. Everyone knew that, he didn’t have to say his name.

You and JJ exchanged a look and a small laugh. You’d gotten over any level of embarrassment that came from people chuckling and eyeing you and JJ.

“Can’t you just make an exception?” JJ asked. He was bargaining but didn’t have anything to offer.

Kie threw a smirk over her shoulder at you, but you avoided eye contact.

Yesterday she had spent the “bathroom” trip convincing you that JJ really did like you—as more than just a friend. She knew you liked him, but also knew you were avoiding telling JJ. You didn’t want to mess with your friendship by making what you had always assumed was just friendly banter into something awkward and feeling like an idiot for thinking it was some kind of signal if it wasn’t.

If she hadn’t sworn to JJ that she wouldn’t tell you how he felt, she would have cleared it up yesterday. But of course you didn’t know that.

Mr. Sunn’s lips pulled into a tight line. You couldn’t tell if he was genuinely annoyed or amused. “If you’re next to her, how can I expect you to pay attention in class?”

At that, the whole class chuckled. Even you. At least Mr. Sunn had a good sense of humor.

JJ blushed a little at that. You hadn’t seen him flustered like this in… well, it had been a long time. He couldn’t think of a comeback as quickly as he usually did. Too many seconds passed for him to recover, so he had no choice.

JJ grabbed his backpack. “I’ll see you after class,” he promised.

“You always do,” you replied just loud enough for him to hear as he stood. He shot you a smile before walking over to his assigned seat.

Class moved slowly, although at least the subject was mildly interesting compared to your other ones this semester.

When the bell rang, you waited for your friends and you all walked out of class together.

“JJ, are you trying to get in trouble?” Pope asked, almost accusingly.

JJ scoffed out a laugh. “Don’t be dramatic, I’m not gonna get in trouble over a seat.”

“Interesting that you keep going for a seat that’s right next to Y/N,” Kiara mused in a knowing tone.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” you told her, but not in a serious way. You and JJ flirted but you didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable by her comments, implying that there was more.

Turns out it was the opposite. You didn’t see the way JJ looked at you. You were focused on the eye roll Kie gave before saying bye and heading to her next class. Pope followed suit, leaving you and JJ to walk to your next classes together.

“Y’know, if Kie wants to think… that,” JJ started, referencing her very obvious implication. “Or if anyone else does… I wouldn’t mind.”

You stared up at him, a bit taken aback. You and JJ had always been close and flirted, and even though you had a crush on him and all your friends were convinced he had a crush on you, neither of you brought it up or confronted it. JJ was taking the first step.

“I wouldn’t mind either,” you admitted, smiling lightly.

JJ looked surprised, then relieved. “Really?”

You only let out a small laugh, “I’ll see you later,” you told him. You were about to walk to your class further down the hall, but stuck around for a moment longer. “Tomorrow, just sit in your seat,” you suggested. “Mr. Sunn is a chill guy but it’s gonna be a long year if we start off annoying him.”

“We’re not annoying,” JJ faked offense. “But yeah, alright,” he relented. “I guess I’ll just have to stare longing across the class,” he teased.

Your smile grew. “Yeah, I guess so,” you replied smoothly. Then, you walked away towards your class.

“We’re still meeting up with Pope and Kie later, right?” JJ called after you.

“Yeah,” you called back, not looking over your shoulder.

You hung out with your friends later and gone about your day. You and JJ of course flirted, but nothing more than usual. Pope didn’t bring it up again and Kiara just shot you knowing smirks.

Next day in Mr. Sunn’s class, much to your surprise, when JJ walked into class he gave you a light wave and continued on to his assigned seat. He was following your advice, which was a hard thing to get JJ to do. You looked over and realized he was standing near where his seat was.

And that someone was already in it.

The guy who was supposed to sit by you was in JJ’s seat. Meaning there was an empty seat right beside you.

JJ looked over his shoulder at you and grinned. He waltzed over, suddenly in a much better mood.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked you cheekily.

You looked past him to see the guy in JJ’s seat. He gave you a shrug and a look that said, “you’re welcome.” You almost laughed.

“I guess not,” you answered JJ, looking back at him with a smile of your own.

He sat down in the seat, victorious.

Mr. Sunn walked in when class started and went to the board.

“I see my words mean nothing to you, Mr. Maybank,” Mr. Sunn said, spotting JJ.

A smirk crossed your friend's face. “Actually,” he started, perking up. “My seat was taken.”

Mr. Sunn looked at JJ's actual seat and sighed. The kid looked a little guilty but didn’t say anything. He looked back at JJ. “Fine, you win,” he decided. Then, he began to write on the board.

After class, you and JJ parted from Kie and Pope to walk together to your next class.

“I can’t believe he finally gave in,” you said with a laugh.

“I can be persuasive,” JJ replied smoothly.

You let out another laugh. “That was not persuasive. That was…I don’t know what that was,” you admitted.

“Fine, but I got what I wanted,” JJ revealed. It was no surprise, but there was something underlying in his tone.

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” you held your hands up in surrender. The two of you stopped outside of your class and faced one another.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “I would hope not.”

“I’ll see you later,” you told him. “Don’t miss me too much,” you decided to add on.

“Oh, baby, I always do,” he played along casually.

Your face felt warm at the nickname, but you didn’t say anything more. When you all hung out later, the interaction played through your mind.

You were too distracted to realize JJ was staring at you all night—or at least that’s what Kie had told you later.

The next day in Mr. Sunn’s class, JJ was there before you. You couldn’t remember the last time he was ever in a class before you. You walked to your seat and he smiled up at you.

“Hi there,” you greeted, sitting down beside JJ. “For once you actually came to class early,” you pointed out.

“Well, I had a reason to,” JJ replied with a smile. “I wanted to ask you something.”

You chuckled, thinking of a joke. “Do you need an alibi?”

“Ha ha,” he said sarcastically. “I’m serious though.” Your expression turned confused. “Not like, serious serious. Don’t look so worried.”

“Alright, what is it?”

“After school today would you wanna hang out? Just me and you?” JJ asked with a hint of nervousness.

“We hang out all the time,” you started knowingly. “So if you’re asking…” you mused, suppressing a smile (you were having a hard time with that, though). “Is this you asking me on a date, JJ?”

“Maybe,” JJ said with a tad of nervousness. “Would you want to?”

“Yeah,” you answered without hesitation. You could’ve held out longer and maybe messed with a little, but you decided against that.

JJ looked pleasantly surprised. “Really?”

In your head, you were beaming with excitement. Out loud you confirmed, “it’s a date.”

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Mr. Sunn called to you and JJ, interrupting. “But since it seems important, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind sharing with the class.”

“Well, I’ve got a date later, so that’s pretty great,” JJ practically bragged, not missing a beat. “As for how that goes, I don’t kiss and tell.”

JJ shot you a wink after that, Kie and Pope looked over their shoulders so fast you thought their heads were gonna spin, and Mr. Sunn actually looked impressed.

“About time,” someone in the class spoke up. It was an unfamiliar voice. When you located the source, you found it was the boy in JJ’s old seat.

And what did you do? Well, all you could do was let out a laugh and share a smile with JJ.

You had a feeling this class was going to be much more fun now—although, maybe not as much fun as your date with JJ.

#quin-ns writing #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank #outer banks #jj maybank imagine #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfiction #obx #rudy pankow

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wildlife4life · 1 month

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Fuck-It Friday Coda

Here is my 7x01 coda that I'm also counting for Fuck-It Friday! So thank you for the tags @theotherbuckley @wikiangela @jesuisici33 and @diazsdimples! Posted to ao3 here.

“How the talk with Chris go? He still seeing being a two timer?” Marisol asks with a sly smile.

Eddie blows out a harsh breath, “There wasn’t much of a talk on my end.”

She quirks an eyebrow, “Oh? You just letting him work it on his own?”

He shakes his head, “Oh god no. That would have just made an even bigger mess.” Eddie has to look away from his girlfriend as he admits, “Actually I asked Buck to talk to him. He has some um... experience with the whole ‘player’ thing.”

Marisol’s wine glass smacks loudly on the coffee table in the silence that follows, and Eddie barely holds back a wince. Still, he doesn’t look at her. He never does when speaking about Buck.

“You had your newly single best male friend, with a history of getting around, talk to your son about not doing the exact same thing?” Marisol sound appalled and it has Eddie whipping around to see her actual reaction. His girlfriend looked upset and disgusted? What is that about?

“Um, yea. Buck has the insight into all of that and he’s reformed and all that.” Eddie tries defending.

She scoffs, “Reformed? Didn’t he just break up with his last girlfriend because he got bored.”

Well, that was a very poor recount of events that had already been poorly told by Buck and Eddie felt the low simmer of burgeoning anger, “Buck did not get bored. He was trying to live, move on from his death, and all that woman was doing, was being a constant reminder of it.”

The anger rises at Marisol rolling her eyes, “Like I said, bored. But that’s not really the point here.”

He grinds his back molars, “What is the point then, in your opinion?”

She narrows her eyes at his tone, “The point is Christopher isn’t going to learn to respect women, be a courteous young man by talking to a man whose disastrous dating history is printed in a best-selling book by someone from said history. He’s Christopher’s fun friend, the guy he goes to when he doesn’t want to get in trouble and you’re feeding into it.”

Eddie slams his beer to the coffee table, making Marisol’s almost empty wine glass wobble from the force, and rises his feet, “After me, Buck is one of the most important people in Christopher’s life. You have not a single understanding of what they are to each other, what they have been through. What Buck has personally been through. He is not some womanizing asshole corrupting my son. He is Christopher’s best friend; my best friend, and the person I know I can turn to when I need help with Christopher. With anything.”

Marisol rises to her feet, “And you’re allowing him to continue take up the space I am trying to get into. I thought we we’re getting somewhere when you invited me to chaperon Chris’s date with you, when you opened up about your worries about him. But instead of letting me try to help you ran to a person you can’t bring up without looking away.”

He immediately proves her point and puts his gaze on the fireplace mantle, eyes roaming over every photo. There several of just him and his son, pre-LA to just last year before Christopher’s school dance. There are pictures of their family back in Texas and the entirety of the 118. Then there are photos with Buck. Christopher and Buck at the zoo. The trio of them at the mall fountain. Eddie’s graduation. Christopher’s 10th birthday. And second to last, Eddie and Buck, arms around each other’s shoulders at Hen and Karen’s vow renewal. At the end of all those photos sits the last family picture of Eddie, Christopher, and Shannon took at the beach.

Eddie thinks back on the picture Christopher turned down on his desk and the letter he almost didn’t read. He thinks about how his first instinct was to turn to Buck and not the girlfriend who witnessed Christopher’s player antics, someone who could give insight on how those girls felt. And then he realizes, Christopher wouldn’t have opened up about his mother to anyone, but Buck.

That space Marisol is trying to fit herself into, is too large, too broad, and perfectly Buck shaped. She would never fit.

With a sense of déjà vu, Eddie drops his gaze to floor and softly states, “I think you should go.”

💜🩷💜🩷

Wine glass rinsed out, beer bottle in the recycling, and a reusable tote bag just barely filled with Marisol’s few items left at his house sat near the door, Eddie relaxes back into his couch.

Marisol put up a lack-luster fight to leaving, but eventually she drowned the last of her wine and called an uber. “He’s not going stick around forever. He’s going to break both yours and Christopher’s hearts.” She warned, “And you’ll be just as alone as you were in the hardware store.”

Eddie held back a harsh retort and simply told her, “I haven’t been alone since I met him and I never will be if either one of us has a say about it.”

He opened the door, Marisol got into a little gray sedan, and she went back to the home Eddie helped destroy.

Picking up his phone from the coffee table, Eddie pulls up his contact favorites, smirking humorously at Marisol’s missing name, and presses the person at the very top. It rings twice, before, “Hey man, thought it was date night?”

“Asked her to go home.” Eddie replies.

Silence on the other end for a just a moment then, “Man, you really need to find a better way to break up with women.” Buck teases.

Eddie chuckles, “Well at least there was no mess to clean up this time.”

Buck hums in agreement before softly asking, “You doing okay?”

Not a single lie passed his lips when he answered, “More than. But you know what would help?”

“What?”

“Go-karts in the dessert.”

A laugh that makes Eddie feel warm all over, “It’s a date.”

Hope you all enjoyed! Tagging (no pressure): @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @fortheloveofbuddie @rogerzsteven @disasterbuckdiaz @tizniz @lemonzestywrites @evanbegins @buck-coded @devirnis @glorious-spoon @thekristen999 @spotsandsocks @cal-daisies-and-briars @aroeddiediaz @hippolotamus @sunshinediaz @watchyourbuck @lover-of-mine @hoodie-buck @elvensorceress @gayedmundodiaz @giddyupbuck @jeeyuns @bekkachaos @buddierights @try-set-me-on-fire @rainbow-nerdss @thewolvesof1998 @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @eddiiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @doublecheekeddiaz @prosperdemeter2 @transboybuckley @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @loserdiaz @perfectlysunny02 @dangerpronebuddie @missmagooglie

#fuck it friday #tag game #coda fic #7x01 #my fic #911 abc #911 spoilers #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #shannon diaz #marisol #anti marisol #break up #buck is christopher’s other dad

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netherfeildren · 7 months

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My Whole Life : A Fear of God Story

(Joel Miller x OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary: The family celebrates Joel's birthday.

Content Warnings: Fluff and smut (like the fluffiest fluff ever); Miller Family Fun; Joel being overrun by wild little girls; Dirty old man & inappropriate groping; Established relationship; Joel Miller is a Wife Guy; Competence kink; Breastfeeding; Lactation kink; Oral sex (M! & F! receiving); Come eating; Pregnancy kink; Size difference; Daddy kink; Possessive behavior; PIV sex; Ass play; Romantic anal :) ; Body worship; Dirty talk; Pussy slapping; Over stimulation

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Happy happy happy birthday to our bestest and most beautiful old man. This might just be some of the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever written, and it’s all for him :)

Word Count: 9.8K

Read on AO3

MY WHOLE LIFE

And you’ll always love me, won’t you?

Yes.

And the rain won’t make a difference?

No.

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell To Arms

He’s still asleep. Laying on his side, bent elbow tucked beneath his smushed cheek, messy curls strewn across his pillow, overly long and floppy against his forehead. It’s time for a haircut, but he’s been distracted and busy lately, evading your managing fingers and scissors. The quilt is pulled up high over a thick shoulder, and that soft, full mouth is slightly parted, the near silent whistle of his breathing passing through each exhale. You close your eyes and listen for a moment. When you open again, you reach up to run the tip of your finger along the damp edge, and he puckers his lips slightly, mouthing at your exploration. Ah, awake then. You lean forward to press your mouth to his briefly, taking his breath into yourself.

Tell me you love me, you whisper the words onto his tongue.

“I love you, Birdie,” voice like falling stones; graveled, sluicing into your ears, eternally familiar. An everyday thing that’s a small miracle each time it’s whispered into the small shell.

“Happy Birthday, Joel.” And he finally opens his eyes, long lashes squeezing tight and spiky for a second before he blinks open, bleary with sleep. His half smile unfolds for you, slow and lazy, the lines around his eyes going deep and grooved, and your fingertips skim over the whiskered plane of his cheek, feeling the proof of his happiness around his eyes. Pulling his hand from beneath his cheek he reaches for you, skims the back of his hand down the front of your belly, undoing the buttons of his old, worn to softness flannel as he goes. Backs of his knuckles following again, skimming down the soft swell, dipping into your navel, and then sneaking around your waist to pull you into himself. Belly to belly he sighs deep and rumbly, closes his eyes again, nods his head just a smidge, settling back into the pillow. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

You know that if he could skip this day every year, he would. Sleep through the whole thing of it, erase it from history. You know that it’s endlessly painful, eternally terrible, and that even after almost three decades it never hurts any less. Five years now, you’ve been married, and you’ve tried to make every year as special as possible. Not necessarily peaceful, an unachievable thing in a house full of four loud and scrambling little girls, but always special, always infused with as much happiness as you can give him.

The sallow purple light from early dawn seeps in through the sheer blue curtains over the wide bay window of your bedroom, and as he presses you to him, the course hair of his chest and belly rubs against the skin of your own stomach, your overly sensitive breasts, full and extra tender from nursing. You’d made his gift extra special last year, your last baby, little Connie, now nearing six months old.

“Another one?”

“Well, baby, that’s what happens when your husband can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs, head falling back on his neck as he runs his palm over his mouth, two fingers tucked into his belt. Dad pose.

“We’re getting a nanny, Joel. Someone to help us – you go out there and find anyone, I don’t care who. There’s too many of them, we’re being overtaken. And we can’t keep asking Ellie and Dina – they’ve got JJ now, they’re busy too. You’ve saddled us with a whole kindergarten here because you can’t seem to stop getting me pregnant,” voice hitching with equal measures of anxiety and happiness, and an overabundance of hormones and love.

He sidles up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist to hug you tight to his chest, one of his hands coming up to squeeze your full, heavy breasts gently, you gasp, extra sensitive already. He coos right into the soft shell of your ear, “Poor Birdie. S’just so fun makin’ ‘em baby. Can’t help myself.”

You roll your eyes at him even though he can’t see, and you kind of want to claw at his face and rip all his clothes off, all at the same time. This is all his fault. All of your sense gone out the window, can’t get pregnant while you’re breastfeeding, as if you didn’t know better. Too desperate for your husband to be more careful. And now look at the two of you…

Your ass perks up, grinds back into his already growing erection, fucking beautiful, he murmurs with his forehead resting on your shoulder to look down at you, palming your ass. His hands sweep over you in an arc, skimming the soft dips and contours of your skin.

Then shyly, head tuning over your shoulder to press your temple to his forehead, “Are you happy?” Because you still just need to make sure, you still just need to hear it.

“You’ve never given me the option to be anything else but, my love.”

He’d gotten up in the middle of the night when he’d heard her fussing, bringing the baby to you still half asleep, cuddling her tiny, pink form against his naked chest, so that you could nurse her back to sleep. He’d sat at the edge of the bed, big hand cupped at the back of your skull as he’d looked down on you feeding his child from your breast, the look in his eyes like nothing you’d ever imagined before him. The birth of your children had infused a sense of tenderness, an intimacy so acute it brought tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much, into your relationship that had made the two of you closer than ever. More in love with each other than you’d ever thought possible.

The memory of your parents was worn and faded with time, but you remembered they’d always approached each other with a sort of comfortable respect. Never ones for overt displays of affection or physical intimacy. So you’d never expected that the love of a man like Joel Miller, stoic and reserved and brusque, could be like this; an overwhelming sort of thing, scalding and suffocating in a way you needed.

His hand skims back to your chest, undoing the rest of your buttons to get at the warmth of your breasts, rough palm gently, gently cupping the full weight. The dry abrasion of calluses catching at your sensitive nipples, handling you with such care. A low rumble in his throat, eyes still closed, “Gimme another kiss, little bird. It’s my birthday,” he whispers before sliding forward, taking your mouth with his. He starts off slow, a soft brush of damp lips, before he takes your upper lip between his, pulling gently, his hand moving back and down now, cupping your lush bottom to pull you up and into himself. Your hands flutter over his chest, still after all this time, easily overwhelmed by the heat and feel of him. You never want it to end, you never want it to lessen.

The sex is still filthy, but everything else is pure.

You can feel the hardening heft of his cock under his boxers between the two of you, and you skim your hand down the length of his soft belly, fingers tucking beneath the elastic to run the backs of your knuckles against the burning hot skin there, feel the tickle of his hair. He makes another one of those deep sounds, warm and masculine and smelling faintly musky from sleep, and you bring your knee up against his hip, pushing further into his boxers to feel the rapidly thickening base of his cock against the back of your hand, you brush the pad of your thumb there and his kiss becomes hungrier. Bringing his palm to the nape of your neck he rolls the two of you over suddenly, trying to take charge, licking deep and wet into your mouth, pressing his now full-on erection into your cupping palm. “Taste so good, Birdie. Is my little cunt wet and ready for me?”

“Joel–” you whisper, drawing your hand up to his shoulder to try and keep him at bay. His wet mouth moves down to your throat, cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples, settling more heavily between your spread thighs to grind his cock into your warmth. “We can’t,” you moan as his hot mouth pulls gently at your tit now, nipples dark and swollen. It’s been several hours since you’d nursed, and you feel the warmth of your milk as his tongue swirls around you. He groans, rough and hungry at the taste, bringing his knee up to lever himself over you, readying to rip your clothes off and take your cunt for himself, but as he moves to balance himself on one arm and knee while his other hand reaches for your panties, you press him off balance, dislodging him and rolling over as he goes, so that you’re left straddling the wide breadth of him. His eyes flash, provoked, and he jerks you forward, ripping the flannel off your shoulders so that your breasts are left bare and swinging heavily. With a rough grunt he bends his knees, shoving you up further on his stomach to wrap a big hand around your tit and bring it to his mouth. Mine, he growls, with your flesh in his mouth. He pulls on the taut peak again, another warm rush of your milk, his eyes locked on yours as he sucks from your nipple. It should be wrong, maybe it is, but like you’d said, the sex is still filthy, everything else is pure.

“We can’t,” you whisper, carding your fingers through the long locks of his messy curls, the strands cool and soft at the ends, but hot and damp at the roots. You can feel your pulse thrumming at your throat, the insides of your wrists, the back of your knees. The slide of your wet cunt against his abdomen has the heat between the both of you ricocheting up to a sweltering dampness, and despite your protests, you moan as his hands roll you against him. “They’ll be up soon and banging on that door, you know it. Ellie and Dina can only hold them off for so long.” The girls had spent the night, not only so they could be here for birthday breakfast, but so that the two of you could spend a few extra peaceful moments in bed without three raucous monsters climbing in with you.

“Don’t care – need you now.” He levers his head up off the pillow, following the swing of your breast until he can catch it with his mouth, teeth gently scraping across the bud. Joel, you whimper, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He makes a self satisfied noise low in his throat, crushing you to himself and sucking hard on your skin, pulling a strangled moan from your throat. Trying to pull away, grabbing his marauding hands, you try to pin him down with your entire weight, small fingers clasping around the thick of his wrists and pressing them back into the pillows. The two of you pause to take each other in for a second, I love you, he mouths up at you, silent, eyes on fire. You can’t help the deep flush, trying to swallow your smile and shake your head at him in mock disapproval, pinning him harder. “That isn’t gonna work, little thing. Got the strength of a butterfly.”

“Shut up.” You lean forward, pressing your mouth to the thick bulge of his bicep, dragging your teeth across the swell. “You’re mine – I do what I want.” He gives you a soft, conceding laugh, and you press kisses along his shoulder, across his collarbone, letting the long tresses of your hair snake like water over his face, his chest, his stomach. Scooting down his belly to nuzzle at the springy hair covering his chest, little tongue darting out against his nipple, smiling at the sound of his soft gasp. Further, further down, kisses to his soft belly, thicker around the middle now, sympathy weight, he calls it. But he’s so strong, and so endless, and you need him so much. You wiggle between his legs, forcing him to spread his thick thighs to make space for you and nip at the sensitive inner slope there. Nuzzling his hairy limbs, you pause to look up at him, cheek resting there, feeling the restrained strength of his muscles. The two of you go quiet for a second, taking each other in, and there’s so much said in his gaze. He brings his hand to the crown of your head, cupping the small bowl of your skull in his palm, and smiles a little, a teasing crook of his eyebrow, and you can’t help but laugh, turning your face to hide your own smile in his thigh.

“What’cha gonna do, baby?” Hmm, he croons down at you, sliding his fingers through your hair. You sneak your fingers below the waistband of his boxers again, tugging them down to free the straining, thick cock and heavy balls. You press a barely there kiss to the skin just beside the base and watch as his length jumps, flushed head starting to leak. You give him another wry look, and he runs his fingers along the line of your jaw, up the slope of your cheek bone, hot touch following the wing of your brow. It’s all soft caresses and the sort of comfort that only comes from knowing another person almost better than you know yourself. You finally bend down and press a kiss at the tip, opening your mouth to let your tongue flutter along the soft, spongey curve. He lets out a long, restrained breath through his nostrils, fingers still roaming along your face, through your hair as you start to take him deeper into your mouth, levering yourself up over his groin so that he has a better view of your breasts and hair dragging over his thighs. A desperate groan, and you smile around his cock, you know him too well. You drag the flat of your tongue along the ridged base, a swirl around the fat head, his hand cupped at the nape of your neck. You can feel the pulse and throb of him against your tongue, and you moan around him, fluttering lashes tickling your cheeks, you want to feel that pulse at the core of you, deep where he owns you. “Yeah, baby,” voice soft and strained, trying to swallow the sound of his own pleasure in the hollow quiet of your still sleeping home. “Hum a little song around daddy’s cock, little bird.” And your eyes flash hot and desperate up to his own. A wash of heat spreads from the crown of your head to the tips of your curling toes, backs of your knees smarting, pussy going tight and desperate as a knot. You wrap both hands around the length of him and focus your suctioning mouth at the head, moaning wantonly, twisting your palms around the slick spit left by your tongue.

“Fuck, yes – yes, yes yes. That’s perfect, you’re doing so good, Birdie. Just like that.” He bears his teeth at you, a wash of color spreading across the crests of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. You slide your slick hands down to cup his balls and take him to the back of your throat, moaning ragged and choked around the too thick length, swallowing repeatedly, trying to breathe through your nose, eyes smarting and thighs clenching. His fingers twist in your hair painfully, and he swells almost impossibly bigger in your mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come, baby. Don’t swallow, don’t swallow.” He hasn’t stopped looking at you, eyes wide and frenzied. You pull back, squeezing his sack as he starts to spurt, thick and salty into your mouth. “Don’t swallow, lemme see. Gimme my birthday present, show me–” You pull away from his soaked cock, mouth sticky with semen, and present your tongue for him, the milky viscousness dripping sloppy while you continue to jack his still spitting length. He sits up suddenly, cock still fisted in your working hand to grip your jaw in his strong fingers. His eyes are filled with a sort of mania only you know how to bring out in him now that he’s been mostly tamed, and you bring your other hand up to your face, scooping the spurted drops of come on your cheeks onto your white splattered tongue. “Perfect fucking thing,” he growls. “You do what I say,” he gives your captured jaw a rough, little jostle. “Swallow now.” You close your mouth and obey, “Open again – lemme see,” sticking your now pink tongue out at him, he leans forward and licks into you, tasting himself. Filthy, filthy, filthy. I fucking love you, you can’t tell who says it, it doesn’t really matter.

The farmhouse is a short ways outside of Jackson. He’d picked it after Lena was born, Kate and Clara had been two, and Connie would soon be on the way. The family needed more space, four children was a lot to manage, and he wanted his girls to have room to grow and play. You’d let him do as he pleased, and made the trek into the clinic every afternoon at first, but had taken on a partner two years ago, Jamie. She’d come to Jackson with her own medical background, and with four babies at home, the help was more than welcome.

The house is old, but made of strong bones that Joel had painstakingly refurbished and now cared for meticulously. Filled with sturdy furniture he’d mostly made by hand, thick rugs and soft glowing lamps and books, books everywhere. And something else, something unknowable and invisible, but that was immediately obvious, nonetheless. A sort of love that was in such overabundance; it was an unbelievable sort of thing that a creature that had lived as he had could have ended up here, surrounded by all this goodness. Joel knows it is only because of you, all only your doing, his ending up here like this.

As you step into the large dining and living space you stop abruptly, his chest bumping into your back, hands going to your hips to steady you. Your head cocks slowly to the side as you take in the new addition to the kitchen. “What’s that?”

He presses his face into the warm, fragrant skin of your neck, smiling against the tender slope. “Made it for you.” It’s a kitchen table, long and thickly built, the warm oak color polished and cured to a glowing sheen. He’d snuck it in from the barn last night after you’d gone to sleep.

“It’s your birthday, you’re not supposed to be giving me gifts today.” He wraps his arms around your middle, his hand spanning across the soft swell of your postpartum belly. The change your carrying his children had wrought on your body was something that he’d not known would have such an effect of him. But the sight of you most days, wearing nothing but one of his oversized flannels, and his favorite itty bitty, pink, polka dotted panties. Swollen, leaking tits and the lush softness of your belly and hips underneath. Long hair, a tousled mess of a cloud around your head. Too fucking tempting. It brought out something not entirely civilized in him. How was he ever supposed to behave when you were prancing around your home together, surrounded by all your children, being the best mother the world had ever seen. Sometimes the urge to get you pregnant just one more time was almost irresistible. Soft and feminine and his, it did things to him, made him think unspeakable thoughts that he later acted out on you in explicit detail at night, in the privacy of your bedroom. Things had changed after the birth of your children, he had changed, in so many ways, in ways that Joel had never even thought possible. The intimacy, the closeness was something that he’d never even thought possible, something so vulnerable, so tender, his mind hadn’t had the capacity before this to imagine it. He’d never thought, never thought that he could love with an intensity like this, but you’d taught him so many things over the years. You taught him something new every single day.

“It’s for me too,” he murmurs. “And giving you things makes me happy. Seein’ you happy makes me happy. This is my gift to myself.”

You’re quiet for a second, and he feels you tense and hiccup beneath his touch, trying not to cry. Finally, when you’re sure your voice won’t break, “Don’t be cheesy, old man.” But you turn in his arms, going up on your little toes to press your mouth to his, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. He sighs into the kiss, tasting you slowly, savoring you, feels himself thickening again already, just at the feel and smell of you. When he pulls back to look down at you, sure enough, your eyes are wet and gleaming, a soft flush across your nose. “Thank you, I love it,” A small sniffle.

“Get in there,” he says gently. “Stop provokin’ me.” He gives your bottom a gentle squeeze before letting go.

After he helps you get the girls up and settled, he goes on a long walk with Ellie and Kate, leaving you and Dina to hold down the fort for a while. Sydney, panting along Kate’s gangly, coltish side as they lope ahead of him and Ellie. The old Newfoundland had shown up one day on the front porch, mud and bramble slewn, Kate and Clara had brought her in, told them her name was Sydney, and that had been it, the dog had stayed. The hound, covered in a nearly unmanageable chocolate brown mane, had what he called an old disposition, much like him, Birdie liked to tease, but gentle and slow. The perfect animal to patiently accompany the girls along their misadventures, but large and astute enough to herd and protect when necessary. They liked to wander sometimes, disappearing at any moment, hiding and jumping out to scare the two of you in your frantic searches for them. Trouble the two of them, Kate and Clara together. Clara especially, mind sharp as a whip and an inclination for trouble she could have only gotten from him, if he was being honest. Kate was always the cooler, more level headed voice of the two of them, even at five, nearly six, years old. With those deep blue eyes, like shards of sea glass with the very power of the sun shining through. They’d slipped out of the house a few months ago behind his back, and after his mad search he’d found them wandering, hand in hand, towards the treeline. Short legs setting a slow and stunted pace, Sydney had been following closely at their heels, towering over the two small frames. At the sound of his approach, she’d turned back with an aggressive growl, ready to protect the two vulnerable creatures in her charge, but he’d settled her with a gentle, It’s just me, Syd, and the hound had gone tame and sedate once again. He’d trusted her with them unfailingly ever since.

They were meandering slowly along one of his and Ellie’s favorite paths now, slowly, allowing for child and dog to pause and investigate at will, dew-covered spiderwebs, bright tufts of moss and old, rotted logs covered in bugs Kate begged him to let her bring home.

“Mom gets scared. We don’t want that, do we?”

“Mom doesn’t get scared,” Kate says, scrunching her nose up at him.

“It’s secretly him that gets scared, Katie. Don’t let him fool you,” Ellie tells her. They walk for close to an hour in mostly silence, their ritual of sorts, listening to the sound of the woods around them and Kate’s soft voice going on and on at Sydney, while the dog seemingly pays the closest and most attentive regard possible. The quiet walks, something that calls back to their long journeys all those years ago, a way to remind themselves of where they’d been and what they’d come to.

“What do ya think?” She breaks the silence after they’ve turned back toward home and the breakfast waiting for them.

“‘Bout what?”

“Anything.”

He shakes his head, watching Kate’s short leap over a puddle, sighs long and deep, “Dunno – so many things. Nice walk–” He gives her a wry look out of the corner of his eye.

They reach the edge of the woods and pause to watch Kate breaking into a run towards the house, Sydney matching her pace. “I think we did good, don’t you?” He knows she means everything, all of it. Lena, three years old, bursts out of the propped open front door of the house, Dina on her heels. “We kinda made it, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, kiddo. We did good.”

“I drew you a birthday picture, Daddy,” Clara tells him.

“C’mere, my angel. Let’s see it.” Sitting around the new kitchen table, he pulls her up into his lap, Lena following suit to scramble up as well.

There are seven figures: you, drawn with long hair that reaches your feet, Kate, Clara, and Lena, respectively, what he assumes is baby Connie drawn as a miniscule figure eight at your feet, something that resembles a tumble-weed more than a dog, poor Syd, and then… someone drawn as a big circle, with an even bigger head on top. “Where’m I, baby?”

“Right there.” She points at the big, round thing, “I made him soft like you, Daddy.” And she pats his belly so affectionately, looking up at him with the biggest smile he’s ever seen, poor Syd – fuck, poor me, he thinks.

“Thanks, baby. I love it.” He squeezes her into his chest, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you bent over the kitchen counter trying to strangle yourself in a kitchen towel to muffle the sounds of your hysterical laughter.

After scrambled eggs and hot breads with honey and jam, bacon and fruit and coffee, perfect girl that you are, you’d somehow gotten him a tin of beans as a birthday gift, you bring out what the girls call the pancake cake. A large, wide stack of the fluffiest buttermilk pancakes, all lathered in Dina’s whipped cream, and a mountainous heaping of bright red strawberries. He watches you, a thing akin to awe in his eyes as you set the red and white cloud down in front of him, you’d put on a soft blue dress, robins egg blue, with tiny lace cap sleeves that fluttered with your movements and made his stomach dip and swoop and ache to reach out and toy with them.

“The berries were a gift,” you say with a pleased smile.

“Oh, was it Jeff?” The grocer, Dina asks. “He’s so nice.”

“Who?” Joel frowns.

“Jeff, he works at the market. He–” You pause, a laughing smile playing on your lips. “He wanted me to wish you a happy birthday, baby.” His scowl deepens, your own smile widening.

As soon as the cake’s set in front of him there’s a chubby little hand sneaking forward to stick grubby fingers into the confection. “Lena,” looking down at her, and the hand is immediately snatched back. “Oh, the candles,” you remember as you’re about to take the seat next to him.

“Left them in the back room, with the other stuff I brought,” Dina calls as you head to what’s used as a makeshift laundry room at the back of the house. He gets up quickly, a murmured, I’ll help you look, following you and flicking the door shut behind him, the echoing sound of snickers and Ellie’s hooting, mesmerized by the swish and flow of the blue fabric around your legs, and with a bone to pick.

“You’re not allowed to go to the market anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take Ellie or Dina with you.” He pouts and scowls and fumes behind you as you rifle through the bags they’d brought with them.

“Excuse me?” You say again, voice soft and patient, infused with just a tinge of laughter.

“You want me to say it again?” He steps forward, fingers ghosting through the ends of your long hair, hungry, possessive. “And who gave you permission to talk to other men?” And you snicker, not taking him seriously even a little bit. He wraps his arms around you, pressing you forward to squeeze your tits in his big hands, he’s obsessed, grinding his groin into the soft round of your ass. He drags his hands over the dips and contours of your body, squeezing lush curves as he goes, reaching to wrap around the delicate architecture of your jaw and pull your face around to look at him, taking in the beautiful heart shape of your mouth.

“Joel–” you chastise.

“Five minutes.”

“Behave, they’re gonna–”

“Don’t care. It’s my birthday.” He nuzzles your hair, searching for the small shell of your ear. “Just want a kiss, Birdie bird.”

“It’s never just a kiss with you,” but you turn in his arms anyways, pressing your mouth to his, licking into him before you’ve even fully got the words out. He gropes you, sliding a knee between your thighs to press against your mound and roll you against himself. Cupping the nape of your neck, he eats at you, sliding his tongue along yours. He can hear the desperate sound of his breath rattling in his own chest, and he slides his mouth down the slope of your neck, a soft nip to the tiny pulse there. He groans low in his chest, cock hard and straining against his jeans. “They takin’ them for the night, still?” He asks panting.

“They are,” voice a whimper, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging in frustration. You push him back by the shoulders, laughing gently, as you wiggle out from between his steaming, hard body and the counter. “Come on. Ellie’s gonna give you hell.” He braces his palms against the edge, head hanging trying to will his erection down and catch his breath. Jesus, Birdie.

“Mama, why did Daddy go in there with you?” Clara’s little voice sounds as he steps back out into the kitchen behind you.

“He was helping me–”

“They were making you another baby sister,” Ellie supplies unhelpfully, big fucking grin. Joel drags his thumb across his throat, staring daggers.

“How do they do that?” Kate asks.

Ellie’s mouth opens, readying to worsen the situation, “Ellie–” Joel warns.

Dina, ever the voice of reason, tells them patiently, “They write a letter to a stork, sweet. And then nine months later, he brings a baby.”

The girls are all quiet for a beat, digesting this newfound, eternally fascinating piece of information, until Kate says, in that solemn and level headed way of hers, hands primly set at the edge of the table, “I think the stork has come to our house too many times.”

Ellie cackles uncontrollably, Bridie’s giggle following suit, until the lot of them are caught in a net of laughter. Joel lets his head fall back, thumbs tucked at his belt, letting a long sigh out. “Jesus.”

“Jesus!” A little voice yells out in imitation.

“What is a stork?”

“A bird,” Ellie provides.

“Is that why mama is Birdie? Because she makes the baby come?”

“Yeah, baby. That’s why,” You tell Kate, smoothing a gentle hand over the crown of her bright blonde head. Inquisitive little thing. With your other hand you flick Ellie in the back of the head. Mother fucker, you mouth at her affronted look.

“Father fucker,” she mouths back with a snicker.

Once the candles are securely in the cake and lit, and Clara’s added her ever helpful, Mama, we need one thousand more candles, Daddy is so old, he nudges his head at you. “Come be a good girl, and sit on my lap,” he says quietly. You perch on the strong expanse of his thigh, one arm around the back of his neck, the other coming to entwine with the fingers of his hand at your waist, twisting the gold band of his ring round and round his finger.

The girls sing Happy Birthday, Daddy, at the top of their lungs, and you watch him watch them, the clenching of his jaw, those fine little muscles that wrap around his mandible, fluttering as he grinds his back molars together, the ripple of his throat as he swallows again and again. The corners of his eyes go a little wet, tears lining the edges of those gorgeous hazel eyes as he stares into the flames of his birthday candles while the girls sing to him – off key, off harmony, so full of love. Clara clambers up onto his other knee midway through, plants herself on the endlessly strong surface of her father’s thigh, the safest place in the whole world. “Happy birthday, Daddy. I love you,” she whispers up at him, laying her little head on his shoulder, gazing at him with those same hazel green eyes that reflect his own image back at him, remind him of another little girl he’ll never stop missing, and he brings his hand up to cradle the back of her skull in his large palm, presses his lips to her forehead, love you so much, baby girl, whispered into her skin. Your first baby. His eyes fill further, and they flutter closed, trying to contain all that you know he’s feeling right now. Your hand on the back of his neck strokes softly at the overly long curls, soft and thick. You press your thumb into the notch of his skull, anchor yourself there, I’m here, I’m here, we are here together, look at all we have, and he turns to look at you, his cheek resting on your daughter's head. “Thank you,” he says, and you know that he means for all of it.

Cheering squeals, laughter, and the padding rush of little feet over the floorboards as the rest of them start to run around the table, shrieking fills the air as they scramble over him, trying to climb up as well. He buries his face in your hair and shudders as he presses a tiny kiss to the soft lobe of your ear. Look at all we have. The whole world right here at our kitchen table.

The birthday of a perfectly happy man is spent like this: a long breakfast with the woman of his dreams and all his daughters surrounding, a lazy afternoon, trying to doze on the deep, lumpy couch, intermittently interrupted by a knobby knee and a sharp little elbow to the gut or thigh, lunch and peach cream popsicles on the porch, watching the clouds, searching for shapes like treasures in the deep blue sky.

He thinks of Sarah, as he lays there surrounded by her sisters. The sweet shape of her face, the dove green of her eyes surrounded by the thickest, darkest lashes he’s still ever seen to this day, Lena’s eyes are the exact same shade, the texture of her curly hair beneath his palm. Her memory is faded now, after so long, but he works it like a muscle in his mind every day, a staunch refusal to ever let her go. And no matter how far away he moves from that day, he still asks himself sometimes: How does one grapple with the loss of something that big, something that essential? He’s lived with a hole in his heart in the shape of a little girl for so long, decades, but now, with all of this surrounding him, he also has so many things that leave his heart so full he’s almost bursting with it. The two opposing feelings often leave him feeling bloated and without space within himself, and yet, he always finds another nook or cranny for more. Even when it’s left him tired, when his remembered past hangs over his head so that he feels, sometimes, like his edges are disjointed, not glued together symmetrically, you’re there to put him back to rights.

And the memory will always be painful, it will never not hurt. It’ll never not be agony. But it’s easier now, to recall all the wonderful, all the good. Sometimes, he almost feels afraid of the intensity of this happiness, but in those moments, when that old fear returns you’re able to recognize even that, like everything else in his heart you know as well as your own, and you take him into your arms, reminding him that his whole life is right here in this house now, that you’ve saved him.

“Look at the clouds, Daddy. There’s shapes.”

Sprawled in the lush grass in front of the house, the three girls surrounding him. He presses a kiss to Lena’s soft curls, “Look at that one,” he says, “What d'ya see there?”

“A bunny,” Kate says with all the self assurance of knowing she’s the eldest sister, and thus, the wisest.

“A bunny? You sure?”

“Yes, Daddy. Don’t you see it?” Clara interjects. “He has big ears and funny whiskers just like yours.” Raucous giggles and screeches after that as they jump over and across him, with claims that he needs reminding how a bunny hops and leaps.

Eventually, when they settle, Birdie brings out more cake, leaves the four of you to sit in a huddle criss-cross-apple-sauce and discuss the woes of kindergarten at the school house in town.

“Mama told me I’m not allowed to bite,” Clara gives an exasperated huff, abandoning her cake to melt into the grass and crawl into his lap. “She bites a lot,” Kate adds. Irritated, pushing unruly curls out of her strawberry red face, “But– but I don’t like that Mama said that to me, Daddy,” she continues, looking at him very seriously, “I like to bite so much,” followed by the most conniving smile he’s ever seen, besides Ellie’s, blooming proudly across her angel sweet face. He’s forced to swallow his laugh and explain the merits of listening to her mother, something they must all do. When he turns back to look at Lena, she’s licking the spilled whipped cream out of the grass. They have to go inside for baths after that.

At Kate’s behest, they have spaghetti and meatballs for dinner that night. Tommy, Maria and their son joining the family alongside Nancy, so that the table’s chock full of the people who care about him, all coming together to celebrate one more year of Joel’s life. By the end of the meal, he has all three girls perched on his lap, eating spaghetti off of his plate because, Daddy, it just tastes so much better from yours, obviously. He’s never been able to say no to them, and he isn’t about to start tonight, and you roll your eyes, but you also look at him with that gleam that tells him that if he asked you for another baby tonight, you’d probably not say no. They eat his food and yank on his hair and stab him with pointy sharp elbows in the ribs repeatedly, at one point someone sticks their finger up his nose, pulling his nostrils apart to look inside.

“Daddy, why do you have so many hairs all over?”

“It’s so dark and scary in there, Daddy.”

Clara nods so fast her curls bounce up and down around her head, “I feel scared when I look up there,” green eyes wide.

“What are they for, Daddy?”

Questions volleyed at him so fast he doesn’t have a chance to answer a single one of them. “If you eat spaghetti, will your boogers taste like spaghetti after?” Ellie, ever brilliant and helpful, suggests they try some to verify the theory.

“What is verify?” One asks.

“And what is seery?” Another calls. Birdie’s red in the face with laughter, and Joel feels very tired and very old and very ready to take his wife to bed.

“A theory is when you think about something,” Tommy says, and gives him that look he’s wont to throw his way when he’s about to make fun of Joel for not being able to keep it in his pants and stop procreating.

“And verify is to make sure,” Joel tells them.

“What is to make sure?”

“To know something.”

Kate nods solemnly, while Clara pauses, and then says, “I don’t think I know anything.” That worried sort of look only a five year old can get when an idea is just too big, crossing her little face.

Chuckles sound around the table, “That’s alright, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about it.”

As they say good night, the girls packed and ready to spend the night at Tommy and Maria’s, Ellie and Dina taking baby Connie, Ellie pokes and prods at you.

“Would you quit, you little shit.”

“Dinner was nice, step mommy,” giving you a smarmy little smirk.

“You know, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“It’s serious.”

She cocks an eyebrow at you, “Spit it.”

“Well, I was wondering if you’re going through something right now? If you’re okay?”

“What? What do you mean?” Face twisted in confusion.

You snicker, pulling on the ends of her recently shorn hair, “Then what’s up with the new fuck ass little bob you’ve got going on?” She slaps you away, swatting at your arms, reaching down to get at your thighs too.

“Fuck you, mother fucker,” she laughs, trying to yank on your hair too.

“Stop it. You have to respect me. I’m your step mother, remember?”

“You’re so annoying.” You hear Joel call at the two of you to knock it off, but goes entirely ignored.

“Poor Dina’s gotta look at this mess. Let her know if she ever needs to get away from it, she can come stay here any time she likes.”

“I hate you,” she laughs, and you pull her in for a tight hug, another pinch to your side before she hugs you back.

“Tough shit, I love you.” She squeezes you tight, grumbles a little before returning the sentiment.

“Thank you,” she whispers into your shoulder, “For making him so fuckin’ happy.” You squeeze her tight as you can before she shoves you away, pretending not to sniffle and rolling her eyes at you. “Now stop being so fucking weird and sappy, and say good night to your football team.”

“Blood Meridian again?” You ask him from where you’re standing at the kitchen island, snipping the ends of the flowers Nancy had brought with her and arranging them in a vase. “How many times’ve you read that?” He’s sitting on the sofa, facing you, reading glasses sitting crooked and bent on his nose from where someone’s little foot had crushed the frames. You watch the flicker of his gaze as he peeks at the page number, and then snaps the book shut. He never uses a bookmark, always just remembers.

“Dunno–” big sigh, long stretch, “More than I can count now, I suppose.” He settles back into the couch, pushing his hips forward to slouch deep, tired, spreading his thighs wide, tempting you. You finish with the flowers, walking the vase to take center stage on the new table. At the far end of the table, right by your spot, he’s carved a tiny little sparrow into the surface of the oak. The etching so fine, so delicate, in comparison to the sight of him, big and brusque. It would be almost unbelievable to someone who didn’t know him as you do, who didn’t know the violence he’d endured to make him so gentle, someone who hadn’t watched him pull your newborn daughters from your own body, who hadn’t witnessed the incredible sight of him cradling those tiny little babies in his infinitely strong arms. You turn back to look at him over the hill of your shoulder, taking in the sight of him watching you, appraising your form. The slow rove of his eyes starting at your bare feet, moving up your legs as if his gaze was a physical manifestation of his hands on your skin, over the swell of your bottom, the slope of your spine, the fine crest of your shoulder, landing on your face. You can see his eyes moving over the planes of you, your chin, your mouth, cheeks, your eyes. He lands there, stays. You know he’ll be hard beneath his jeans when you go over to him.

“C’mere – come sit on me,” voice soft and sultry.

“Sit on you?”

“Mhmm, come tell me how much you love me.” He pats his thigh, and you move towards him slowly, shaking your head at him.

“Needy.” You reach him, hitching your knee over his lap to straddle him, and he pulls you close and tight against his warm, wide chest.

“So needy.” He nuzzles into the fine tendrils of hair over your forehead, his breath hot and soft on your skin. “Need ya so much, Birdie.” A soft kiss to your temple, another to the flared end of your eyebrow, and you squirm on his lap, hot and restless and needy also, a fine thrumming ache flaring throughout the various pressure points in your body. Your throat, the inner curves of your elbows, the backs of your knees, deep in the pit of your belly. You feel weak and trembling, and he fills his hand with your hair, bringing it to his face and rubbing the soft curls against his cheek. “It’s time I take you to bed, isn’t it?” You hum against his collarbone, taking in the scent of his skin, fresh and clove-like, cedar sap and sage and Joel, you nod slowly against him.

He runs a bath for the two of you, filling the deep clawfoot tub in the master bathroom. He’d outfitted the house from the get-go with the same system for electricity and water that Jackson ran on. And he pulls your clothes from you slowly, running rough, caressing hands over the sensitive slopes of your curves, gentle pinches and squeezes to the places he likes most which is all of you. When the two of you sink into the tub, he sits between your legs, wide back leaning back on your chest so that you can run your hands along the strong breadth of him. You taste the water off his skin and listen to the sound of him rumble and purr like some sort of overgrown wolf beneath your touch.

“Did Clara tell you what happened at school yesterday?”

“Said you told her no more biting.”

“Did you tell you she punched some poor boy?”

“She did what?” He tenses, long fingers wrapping tightly around the circumference of your ankle in his lap.

“She called one of the boys in her class, and I quote, a little fucker, and then socked him in the nose.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Clara,” he sighs, laying his head back on your shoulder. “Why in the hell did she do that?”

“She’s your daughter.”

He hums as if he can’t bring himself to disagree with the reasoning. “Little fucker probably deserved it.”

“You’re not supposed to call children fuckers, Joel.” He grunts. “She also told him that her dad was going to beat up his dad.”

“Oh my God. I’m too old for this shit.”

“They’re heathens because of you. I hope you know this.”

“They ain’t heathens. They’re perfect.”

“You weren’t saying that last week when they painted your face blue.”

“Jesus, you’re right. Thought it was never comin’ off.” You snort, rolling your eyes at him, but hugging him closer. The best father anyone could ever want for their children, surely. “Gotta teach her how to throw a good punch,” he adds to himself.

You wash each other’s hair after that, taking turns lathering each other up, rinsing out the suds, and when he’s finished with you, he carries you to bed. Lays you out like his own personal feast and tastes you everywhere. The pads of your water-wrinkled toes, the backs of your knees, the crest of each hip bone, cruelly bypassing the place you need him most. Dragging his mouth over your stomach, tongue savoring the silvery streaks left behind by the growth of your daughters inside of you, over your nipples, dark and swollen. His mouth rests at the notch of your throat lightly, and then, whispered against the moist spot he’d made with his tongue, “You’re the only dream I’ve ever had. You know that?” And you tell him that you do, you do know, your husband who is, in his own right, like a dream figure.

Finally, taking pity on you, he slides down between your thighs, making room for the incredible breadth of his shoulders, and gently as possible spreads you apart with his thumbs, takes in the sight of your embarrassingly slick, untouched cunt. He blows a slow stream of cool air over your pulsing clit, and bends his head to lightly drag his tongue over the swollen bundle. And you’re going to cry, real, desperate tears. “Joel, please, don’t be mean.” But he’s never been very good at that.

“Oh, I know,” he tuts, “My poor baby. Been waitin’ all day haven’t you?” He’d purposely not made you come all day. This had been his plan all along, you know it. Another, light as air slip of his tongue, his mouth, sliding down to your leaking opening, mouthing against it, barely there. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the whole world, little bird. You know that?” And he licks your clit for real this time, the broad, flat of it pressing against you in one long, slow swipe. You can’t answer, ragged moan clawing up your throat. You reach for his dark head bent to your sex, one small foot propped against his thick shoulder to anchor yourself as he starts to eat you. Sucking hard and fast on your poor, throbbing clit, moving down to spear the strong muscle of his tongue into your pussy. You want more, you want his cock, you want it, you want it, you want it. He sucks the orgasm out of you, lapping and kissing at your cunt until you’re shuddering and shivering, clenching around that terrible, painful emptiness, leaking onto his tongue, and then surging up quickly. Massive fist around his cock, he presses the drooling head at your clit, teases you there slowly, watches the heave of your breasts as you struggle for breath. You bring your knees up, spread wider, inviting him in, and he notches the head slowly, giving you nothing more than the flared crown. He pauses there, thrusting shallowly, watching your swollen, red pussy swallow him, and head catching on the blushed rim, he spits, rubbing the flat of his fingers over the crest of your sex, the unsheathed length of his cock, and then presses in, in, in, in, all the way. You give a warbled whimper, trying to twist away, clawing at the sheets. You’ll never be used to it, never not enjoy the twinge of hurt when he gives you the whole thing. “Fuckin’ love it when you sing for me, little bird,” he moans. And he doesn’t give you a chance, doesn’t give you a second, he never does, setting a hard and brutal pace, riding your cunt like he owns it, because he does.

He wraps his hand around the round of your breast, squeezing, but still careful of how sensitive you are, thumb flicking at the tender nipple, and you spread your legs wider, one hand hooking beneath the sweaty back of your knee to pull yourself open, your other hand reaching down to cup the swinging weight of his balls as he thrusts up into you. He bares his teeth at you, wide palm landing with a little snapping slap low on your pelvis to press down, feel himself from the outside as you squeeze his balls. He shakes his head at you, fire in his eyes, “You’re gonna end up pregnant again, Birdie,” voice chastising, a little like a threat.

You close your eyes, back arching to take him deeper, don’t care, you want to say. “N– no, noooo, can’t” you pant instead, “Can’t get pregnant – breastfeeding.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said last time, little girl.” He lets himself fall forward, the bone of his pelvis grinding against your clit, and your cunt goes tight and so, so fucking wet, throbbing and fluttering around him, trying to suck him deeper, working around the hard invasion as you start to come. His sweaty, steaming head falls to your breast, mouthing wetly, fucking you through it, just like that, he murmurs, my perfect girl.

“Don’t– Don’t come in my pussy then.”

“No?” He slows his thrusts once he’s felt the trembling of your walls around him settle, lets his hips seesaw in and out slow and languorous, long provoking strokes. “Should I fill that sweet ass instead?” And despite the fierce blush that washes along the length of your body, you nod shyly at him, running your hands down his belly. The fact that he still possesses the ability to drive you to shyness after all this– “Say it, baby. I gotta hear it.” You flush impossibly deeper, little toes curling in humiliated excitement and lust.

“Please, daddy, please– I want it in my ass.” He pulls out suddenly, the lewd wet squelch of your cunt closing hungry around nothing. He spreads his fingers over the length of your sex, slick, gleaming cock, flushed so red it’s almost purple, veins pulsing along the length. “Gorgeous thing,” he murmurs as he starts to pet at your ass gently, thumb swiping, giving you light pressure, and then pushing in slowly, slowly. Your mouth falls open, gasping, eyes wide and wet and probably, definitely, a little pleading. “Lemme in, Birdie. Let me have this sweet little hole.” You nod, a marionette caught on his string, hips starting to hitch and follow the thrust of his invading thumb. “I’m gonna fill it with my come, and then watch it drip out of you. That what you want, baby?” Yes, yes. He pulls his thumb from you, slides his slick hand over your leaking sex again, and then fists his cock, the dull pressure of the wide head at your back entrance, pushing in slowly, making you feel the stretch and burn of it. Your fingers claw and scrape against his chest and abdomen, trying to pull him towards you, push him away, legs shifting restlessly at his sides until he’s buried to the hilt, heavy sac pressed against the curve of your bottom. Sweat slides in steaming rivulets down his temples, his neck, and a bright red flush moves across his chest and up his thick neck. You watch a violent shudder jerk through him, lashes fluttering closed, and then screwing shut tightly as he tries to control the rush of his oncoming orgasm. He runs his hands up your stomach, the dips of your waist and hips, wrapping around your breasts. “You’re doing so well, my little love.” He opens his eyes to take you in, pulls his hips back, and then pushes in again. “Taking my fat cock in this tiny hole. Look how messy and wet your greedy cunt is. You want me to fuck you here too?” He pulls your lips apart, wide, thrums at your swollen clit, and then starts to press a single finger slowly into your pussy. And oh, it’s too much, it’s too much, stretched and stuffed so full of him everywhere, the play of his fingers also on your clit, he starts to fuck your ass in hard, jolting thrusts, growling your name through clenched teeth.

“Look at it,” he spits, “Look at where I’m fucking you open. Look at how you’re all fucking mine.” Your heart beating out of your chest, insides twisting and throbbing, you take in the sight of your blushed sex stretched to obscenity around him, his soaking fingers, two of them now, pressing slowly in and out of your cunt as he slams into your ass. You let your head fall back, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come – oh God.” You cross your arms over your face to hide the sight of your overwhelmed tears, and he pulls his fingers out to slap the top of your cunt in a single stinging swat that you feel reverberate in the place he’s impaling you with his cock. “Nuh uh, you let me look at that gorgeous face when you come all over me.”

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t – it’s too much.

He doesn’t give you a choice. There’s never been much of that where he’s concerned. Everything below your navel goes painfully tight, white light streaking across your eyes as you twist and writhe beneath him, and he follows suit, starts to fill you in thick pulses, the heat of his spend coating your insides with a savage snarl of your name, the breath nearly knocked out of you with the intensity of your shared orgasm. He lets his weight fall over you, pressing you into the bed, massive body shivering and jerking, buried deep inside of you, and after the last spit of his cock, he pulls from you slowly, moaning softly and rolls the both of you over. Draping your listless form over his chest, arranging your limbs how he pleases. You shiver and feel the sweat cool along the slope of your spine, enjoy the tickle of your lashes catching in the coarse hair of his chest. You feel him play with the long tresses of your hair, draping them over his chest and shoulders, rubbing the smell of you against himself. Picking up the hand curled over his shoulder, he absently draws the backs of your fingers against the edge of his jaw and his ear, kissing and sucking on the soft tips.

“Tell me you love me,” you tell him.

“I love you, Birdie.”

Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

“Tell me that you’ll always love me.”

“I’ll always love you. For the rest of my life, as long as I live, I’ll love you.”

Nights later, after the excitement of celebration has died down, and the family’s settled back into peaceful routine, you think about when you’d first realized you were pregnant with Clara, and how you’d worried the news would disturb the happiness and peace he’d fought so hard to find for so many years, terrified that in some way, you’d force him into a situation he didn’t want, wasn’t prepared for. Now, looking across your large bed, two dark, curly heads, another bright, blonde as a star, separating the two of you while he sleeps deep and peacefully, Connie in her crib at your side, you are once again, like so many other times, hit with the full appreciation for the miracle this family is, how wrong you were to ever worry about it being anything but.

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astarion-approves · 8 months

Note

Ahh okay so I've never actually requested anything before ever so this should be fun. You know the scene where Tav hugs Astarion and it lasts for like .2 seconds before they pull away? I was wondering if you could write something where either the hug lasts longer bc Tav just doesn't want to let go or where Tav just keeps hugging Astarion for the smallest little things. I just need to hug him more that hug was not enough. Also your writing is so freakin good and cute and I love them all sm <333

Astarion x GN! Tav - Forever

Tags: Hugging, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Blood Drinking, Established Relationship, Drabble, Soft Astarion, Short & Sweet, Some Spoilers, Act One spoilers, gender neutral reader, 400+ words (very short.)

Read below or on AO3

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“Mh. You’re so warm…” Astarion whispers into your ear, his arms wrapping around you tighter, your head resting against his shoulder as he holds you. “I can never get enough of this… Of you.”

You sighed softly, choosing not to reply and simply allowing yourself to live in this moment with him. A hug, one that you never wanted to end.

Weeks ago, you hugged Astarion for the very first time. The vampire was stiff then, unsure of how to react and what to do with his hands… But he returned the hug, allowing himself to melt into your arms and welcome the embrace.

Now, it’s all he asks for.

He strokes his hand up and down your back, massaging you through your shirt with lazy little squeezes. His eyes are closed as he inhales your scent, breathing deeply, and allowing himself to indulge in everything that’s you.

Little kisses across your neck and down your throat, sighs of nothing but content as he gives in to your scent and he sucks gently at your skin.

You gasp as his sharp teeth nick you, his fangs nudging across your skin, just for a quick taste. His tongue running over the scratch, lapping up the small pooling of blood, his hands now digging into your back as he holds you tighter still.

Your head rolls to the side, away from him, granting him permission to keep going. Astarion hums and leaves a light kiss against your skin, thanking you without words before he bites down.

In the night, Astarion would feed from you, his bite careful not to wake you, and not to take any more than he needed. It was a favor, a gift, one that you had no problem giving.

But now— with his arms around you and his teeth buried into your skin…

This was something else.

He was treating you like the most precious of glass, afraid that you would break, and that he would be the one to break you. Releasing his bite, he continued to suck, hardly taking any blood at all, only enjoying the intimacy that you willingly shared with him.

“Astarion?” You whispered, your hands moving from his shoulders to sink into his hair, his hair soft like velvet.

He pulled back, just for a moment, your blood decorating his lips in the prettiest display of your love for him. “Yes, my sweet?”

“I love you.”

Astarion smiled, his eyes closing. He took a deep breath before opening them again, those red eyes of his filled with all of the love and passion that he could hardly contain any longer.

“And I you, Tav. Forever.”

Then he tucked head back into the crook of your neck, holding you still, well into the night.

——-

Gale and Shadowheart in the background—

Gale: That’s not even sexual, is it? He’s just openly feeding from them, right there… in front of all of us.

Shadowheart: I think it’s sweet.

Gale: Ah yes, nothing more romantic than drinking the blood of your loved one… Where everyone can see it.

Shadowheart: You eat magical items because of your history with your past lover, Gale.

Glae:….

Gale: Fair enough.

---------

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shadowkoo · 8 months

Text

Ten out of Ten

→ Summary: For the past three years, Kim Taehyung has made it his mission to annoy you relentlessly on campus, finding every possible way to drive you up the wall during your shared classes. However, as you both enter your senior year, something strange happens. Taehyung begins to sense a shift in his energy, realizing he might just have some secret feelings for you. What unfolds when you make this earth-shattering discovery too?

↠ kth x f.reader | 8.6k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, humor, college au, enemies to lovers, fratboy!bangtan

→ Warnings: explicit & unprotected sex, consensual drunk sex, shower sex, ‘revenge’ sex (all fun and games), alcohol consumption, party crashed by police, dirty talk, soft kissing, rough kissing, hard dom!taehyung, soft dom!taehyung, grinding, fingering, sloppy oral sex, cock swallowing, choking on tae’s cock, throat fucking, slight praising, begging, sense of ownership, size kink, taehyung has a huge dong, belly bulge, reader gets dicked down almost too good (if that’s a thing), breast & nipple play, riding, reversal, biting, teasing, cockwarming, creampie, cum play, cum eating, cum stuffing, spanking, choking ft. tae’s beautiful hands, pussy slapping, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, multiple sex scenes

→ Author note: Inspired by this popular post!! If you’d like to read this on ao3 instead it’s been crossposted here! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3

“This is wrong. This is so wrong.” He moans after pushing you up against his closed bedroom door, “Are you sure? Are you drunk?” You roll your eyes.

“Stop trying to talk me out of this,” you whisper while leaving wet kisses along his jawline. You’ve waited too long. There’s no way in hell you’re stopping now. Lifting your head up and looking into his eyes, you continue, “I didn’t drink that much. I want this. I want you.”

He groans and presses his lips into yours yet again. “I swear this wasn’t my intention,” he says after pulling back.

You kiss him hard, but your quick attempt to shut him up doesn’t work.

“I promise it wasn’t,” he blurts, “I was just being honest, you know the rules of the game.” He pulls you close again as his lips flutter around your neck, causing an airy sigh to escape from your parted ones.

“No more talking. Please.” You pull his face back up and let his lips harshly reattach to yours. He proceeds to kiss you, slowing down when you try to speed things up.

“I just need you to know that I didn’t plan for this to happen,” he repeats.

“Taehyung!” You whine as your eyes tell him to stop worrying about it, “Shut up and kiss me.”

“I need to hear you say it. I need to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

You pull back slightly from his embrace to tug your shirt off, “Tae please,“ you beg between kisses, the slick from your heat seeping through your thin underwear, "Just fuck me already.”

Earlier that day…

“Taehyung! You asshole!” you holler while chasing after the guy who’s currently running along the sidewalk with your history paper in hand.

You finally catch up to him by the fountain that sits at the campus’s center, watching him nervously as he jokes around, holding the most important five thousand words you’ve ever written.

“I will kill you if you get a single drop of water on that! It’s due in ten minutes!” you threaten as he tosses the stapled paper between his hands. “Taehyung, please. I was up all night writing this. It’s worth forty percent of my grade,” you beg, really hoping he’ll take a step down before anything bad happens.

“Quit freaking out, I’m not going-” his words are short-lived as a gust of wind steals the paper from his loose grip. You both watch, completely horrified, as it flutters through the air in slow motion and falls directly down into the clear water.

“Oh no. No no no. Oh my god. I swear to god that wasn’t supposed to happen! I was just teasing!” Taehyung panics as he jumps through the fountain, slipping and thoroughly soaking himself further as rushes over to your sunken assignment. He wipes away the water on his face and retrieves the soggy paper lying on the vibrant tile below. Drops of ink run off the paper, smearing the barely legible words even more.

You feel as though you've momentarily forgotten how to breathe.

“Okay. It’s okay,” you say to yourself, trying to calm down, “Everything’s fine. It’s fine. I can just head back to the library and reprint it, I’d rather be a few minutes late for class than get a zero on this.”

“Uh, hmmm, yeah…” Taehyung clears his throat nervously, scratching the back of his neck while doing so. “About that…”

“Don’t say it,” you threaten anxiously. You internally beg that what you assume he’s going to say next is not true. It can’t be. You will it not to be.

“The library closed twenty minutes ago. It always closes early on Thursdays and Fridays,” He says sheepishly with a face full of remorse, though you doubt he actually feels it.

“Great,” you huff, “That’s just fucking great.” The calmness dissipates as rage takes over your body. “I honestly cannot believe you sometimes. Will you ever grow the fuck up? We’re not freshmen anymore! You can’t just dick around like this. Wrecking each others’ projects was funny three years ago when our grades didn’t matter but we can’t keep doing this. Just-” you take a deep breath to regain some of your calmness, “Get. The fuck. Away from me.” You rip your destroyed paper out of his hands and storm off in the direction of the building where your class is held.

Maybe that was a little rude. Actually, no, it wasn’t. He deserved it. He ruined your history paper. Intentionally, too.

“I’m coming with you, I’ll explain what happened,” Taehyung persists, somehow keeping up with your angry stomps as you head to class.

“Quit following me, I’m screwed enough as it is,” you grumble, knowing that he’s trudging along behind you even without turning around to confirm it.

His footsteps slow once you reach the outside of the history department.

Maybe he finally got the message.

“Ahhh, Miss Y/N. You’re late,” your professor says as you enter the quiet classroom and try to make your way to your empty assigned seat. He stops you before you can sit, “Do you have your paper ready to turn in?”

You shamefully drop what’s left of your paper into your professors’ hands.

“Is this your submission?” he asks, holding it up with his fingers, watching as the remaining water droplets fall to the floor. Your classmates snicker as they watch the scene in front of them unfold.

Yet, just as you're about to respond, the classroom door violently swings open, instantly capturing everyone's attention in unison.

“It’s my fault,” Taehyung pants after barging in.

“Excuse me, sir, who are you? And why are you dripping in my lecture?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” you quietly seethe.

“I considered heading to my class but I just felt too bad,” he says to you before turning to your professor. “It’s my fault her paper is soaked, I mean look at me. I am too. After an unfortunate turn of events - events that neither of us anticipated - it fell in the fountain and so did I. But you can see that…because I’m wet. Wet like water wet, not like the other kind of wet. That would be weird, considering… But probably more awkward than anything though. If I’m being honest. You know, my mother taught me that honesty is the best policy. So that’s what I’m doing here. Being honest…about me…and her paper, being, uh, you know, wet…”

It's unclear who is more astonished, you or your professor. Is this really happening right now? You’ve never heard Taehyung ramble like this. If you weren’t so stunned or feeling secondhand embarrassment for him, you would’ve probably laughed hysterically.

The older man gives Taehyung a once over, his eyes peering over his reading glasses as they travel up and down the damp clothes stuck to the twenty-something’s figure. Displeased, he turns to look at the disintegrating mess of your so-called paper that’s stuck between his fingers.

“Haha, yeah…so uh, I’m gonna go now,” Taehyung says as he finger guns to the door before anyone else can get a word in, “I hope this is resolved. And um, I’m going to make sure I never sign up for one of your classes, Mr. uh, I don’t know your name. But that doesn’t matter. Trust me when I say you won’t ever have to see me again.” And with that, he exits the class with the same amount of speed as he entered.

Your professor shakes his head in disbelief. “Email me your paper once you get seated and I’ll only dock you ten percent off from your original grade, as long as you promise that won’t ever happen again.”

“Deal.”

“He did what?” your roommate’s voice echoes from inside her bedroom as she makes her way into the kitchen where you’re reheating leftovers for dinner.

“I know! I could’ve killed him. I don’t know what it is lately, but he’s been irritating me more than usual. The way he just went on and on, rambling like a complete idiot. Ugh!” you mutter while waiting for the microwave to beep. The whole situation still has you mildly irate.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“What?” you squint your eyes at her, “What does that face mean?”

“When are you two going to realize that you’re like, in love with each other? It’s always Taehyung did this or you did that. FYI, we’re all tired of hearing about it. Girl, I adore you and your little rants most of the time, but it’s exhausting listening to you two complain about each other literally all the time. We’re in the same friend group and it’s just so obvious to us all that you guys like each other, but are just stubbornly ignoring the facts that are so obviously right in front of you.”

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just say that. Dinner is done,” you say, brushing aside what you just heard. It’s too crazy to even think about.

You liking Taehyung? Taehyung liking you? Absolutely not. No way! That’s ridiculous, that’s just…almost crazy enough to be true.

The thought surprises you.

Sure, Taehyung is nice to look at. You’ve never questioned his attractiveness. But you drew the line a long time ago, knowing better than to allow yourself to grow any form of attachment to the guy who prefers to drive you batshit crazy.

It’s just easier that way. Yeah, sure, playing around and pissing each other off gives you some kind of satisfaction, but you don’t need him in your life. He isn’t that significant.

Or is he?

The more you think about it, the harder a time you have imagining your life without the messy-haired asshole who you’ve somehow grown to…love?

“Whatever, give me a bowl,” Sana says, pulling you from your thoughts before you’re able to dwell on the ‘L’ word very much. “I’m starving. And we need to eat quickly so we have enough time to get ready.”

“Oh, fuck me sideways,” you moan, annoyed with yourself for forgetting, “It’s Thursday.”

Sana’s boyfriend’s fraternity hosts a party every other Thursday night. There’s no way you’re getting out of it either, seeing as you promised her two weekends ago you’d go to the next since you bailed.

“Uh-uh! Don’t even start,” Sana warns. “You’re coming tonight whether you want to or not!”

A frat party is the worst kind of party in your opinion. Memories of the last one you attended float around your mind; wannabee rappers holding their phones by your ear so you can hear their ‘latest diss track’, girls arguing over a guy who doesn’t deserve either in your opinion, drunk couples practically fucking on the couch.

Oh, don’t forget about the pick me girl begging for attention or that guy who gets so fucking obnoxious and is willing to start a fistfight with anyone within an arm's distance. And lastly, the typical fuckboy that will say anything to get you into his bed. Yeah, frat parties are so not your thing.

But you promised Sana, and she’d hold it against you until the end of time if you didn’t go tonight.

You made a plan anyway. Show up, say hi to a few friends, have a few drinks, and disappear before anyone can notice you’ve made a run for it. Fingers crossed that you can pull it off.

The party is in full swing when you arrive, or so you are assuming since you had to step over someone passed out on the lawn on your way toward the front steps. The door is wide open, and Sana immediately spots her boyfriend Joon from across the room. His face lights up when he notices her waving dramatically and makes his way over to you two.

“She actually came? In the flesh? Y/N, is that really you?” Namjoon teases, obviously not expecting you to make an appearance.

“Hi, Joon. Good to see you too.”

“I was surprised, she didn’t even put up a fight about it tonight.” Sana giggles as soon as Joon pulls her into his arms for a sloppy kiss. You look away and scan the room, searching through the crowd of familiar yet vague faces.

“Sana! Get a room, girl!” one of them hollers, cheering her on as she shoves her tongue down her boyfriend’s throat.

She pulls back and flips off Yoongi, the culprit and one of Joon’s frat brothers, and walks further into the house, scanning the audience for tonight.

“Hey, think you could bring some of your single friends over? Preferably a random group of them with one specific person we all have in our mind. She needs to go home with a guy tonight,” she says to Yoongi as he walks over with drinks in hand for you and Sana.

Everyone seems to understand what she’s saying, other than you, who of course is oblivious yet again as to who they’re referencing.

“I heard you had a rough day,” Yoongi says, handing you one of the plastic cups with a sideways grin as you give Sana an agitated look after smacking her on the arm. But she doesn’t seem to acknowledge either and instead, smirks at Yoongi’s remark. “I have a certain person in mind. Let me see if I can find where he ran off too.”

Joon laughs knowing all too well what happened, "We’ll do our best, see you in a few.”

"Oh my god, Sana! I can’t believe you sometimes,” you whine after the guys are out of earshot.

"What? It’s not like I’m wrong! You need a good time tonight just to relax. You don’t have any Friday classes anyway so have some fun.” She shrugs her shoulders and walks away to say hi to some of her other girlfriends.

While she’s gone and the guys are hunting, you spot Taehyung leaning up against a bookshelf filled with novels you bet haven’t been touched in decades. You try your hardest to weave your way through the crowded area before he can notice you, but unfortunately, your eyes lock with his just as you’re squeezing through a group of girls you’ve never seen before. Freshmen, probably.

“What are you doing here?” you question, not even attempting to hide the annoyed tone in your voice when you feel his presence behind you.

“What do you mean, ’What am I doing here?’ I live here. What are you doing here? I thought you hated these sorts of things.”

"You live here?” you ask, ignoring his question as your head whips around. “I didn’t know you were in the same fraternity as Namjoon.”

“I didn’t know you didn’t know. Sorry?” He laughs as you take the last sip of your mystery drink. “Need another? I’m heading to the kitchen.”

“Uh, whatever you’re having,” you say. Alcohol is alcohol.

“Sure thing. Oh hey, Sana! Where’s Joon?” Taehyung asks, acknowledging that your sidekick returned, but without her significant other.

“Hey Tae, he’s in the Blue Room. Which is where I must drag you to,” she smiles devilishly, grabbing your arm to pull you away. Though unbeknownst to her, you would gladly go anywhere that’s away from Taehyung right now.

“Ahhh, is it already time?” he wonders out loud. “I’ll meet you there,” he says and leaves for the kitchen to grab drinks.

As you’re being pulled away, the only thought parading through your mind is how much you want to rip his head off for the stunt he pulled earlier, but also the multiple ways you can get your revenge on him for costing you ten percent on a paper that would have otherwise been an A+.

Sana pulls you into the second living room, the Blue Room as it’s ‘famously’ known for its somewhat derogatory, yet exclusive, activities. If you could call them that.

Only those invited are allowed to enter. You’re not sure why, but the guys take their rule pretty seriously.

You recognize nearly all of the people already in here, the majority being Namjoon’s frat brothers;

Seokjin; the one that’s always surrounded by both girls and guys. His presence easily fills the room and even without saying a single word he demands their attention.

Yoongi; the one that loves to start shit and can smell drama and sexual tension from a mile away. He knows how to push the right buttons to hear precisely what he wants.

Hoseok; the one who is always smirking about something that no one else seems to know. Not really a gossiper, but definitely knows everything about everyone.

Namjoon; the guy who everyone respects but still teases for being totally whipped for Sana. He’s a softie but can still kick anyone’s ass in mere seconds.

Jimin; the sweet one with a dark side you never want to get on. You’ve heard stories that will haunt you for a while.

And finally, Jungkook; the one who never knows what’s going on but is having a great time regardless. A happy dork who can make you laugh no matter what.

Somehow Taehyung fits into this group too, but you don’t know exactly where he stands yet.

The rest of the room consists of girls you’ve seen around campus and guys attempting to gain Seokjin’s total attention but would probably never get it. Although there are a handful of faces you haven’t seen before, which is refreshing.

It looks like everyone is getting ready to play Ten out of Ten, which is basically a drinking game to initiate party hookups, a ‘how much do you like me’ sort of thing.

To play, everyone in the room writes their name on a little piece of paper and it gets thrown into a bowl. The bowl then gets passed around and each person draws a name out of the bowl, but can’t look at the name until it’s their turn. One person starts and says the name on the paper they pulled and then rates the person a number out of ten if they would sleep with them or not. So then the person whose name was called would go next, and say who they have and rate them. Like a chain game, and you just have to say a number out of ten if you would bang them or not. It’s not really supposed to be a drinking game but somehow it’s become a tradition to take a shot after you say your rating, and especially if someone says ten out of ten - then everyone takes a shot.

Sana grabs two slips of paper and hands one to you. You write your name and hand the pen to her. ‘So much for a couple of drinks and dipping,’ you say internally, realizing that the game will last a while with this many participants. Hopefully, Taehyung remembers your drink. You’re going to need it.

You sigh and sit on the arm of the chair Sana is in as you wait for the game to start.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Taehyung walking towards you with, thank god, a rather large cup in his hand.

“I hope this satisfies your alcoholic needs,” he jokes, “I made it the same way as mine, but with a little less alcohol since I didn’t want to fuck you up a lot."

You take it from him and raise the cup to your mouth. The scent is strong, and your eyes twitch after taking a small sip. He laughs at your quiet sputtering.

“I’ll be good after it hits me. Thanks.”

"Yeah, sure. No problem. And sorry about earlier, again. I know you’ll get me back soon enough and it will be well deserved,” He grins before walking over to sit next to Jungkook.

“Alright, alright.” Jimin starts as he walks around the room with the bowl in his hands, letting everyone grab a piece of paper while he goes over the rules for the newbies invited. The bowl makes its way around the room, and everyone tosses in theirs before Jimin shakes it up and starts letting people pull out a folded piece of paper.

Once everyone has one, he sets the bowl aside, “Everyone ready?”

“Wait, I didn’t get one,” Taehyung says looking around, somewhat confused and a little suspicious. Something’s going on. He just doesn’t know what exactly.

“Oh I didn’t know you were back already, this is the last one,” Jimin says, handing him a name slip, failing to hide the evil grin on his face. “Okay, let’s get this started!”

About ten minutes into the game, you are already feeling the buzz. Whatever Taehyung gave you is pretty damn good now that you’re drunk enough to not taste the alcohol. Meaning, you’re drinking more than you’re paying attention to the game.

Needless to say, you’re a little spaced out until you hear someone say your name. You look up and make eye contact with Taehyung from across the room.

He chuckles awkwardly and sits up. “Of course,” he mutters under his breath, not-so-silently cursing Jimin at the same time.

Taehyung has my name?

“Oh, please go on. We can’t wait to hear what you have to share,” Joon grins as Taehyung responds with a death glare.

The room goes silent in anticipation of what he’s going to say, especially your shared friends. They’re watching very intently as Taehyung takes a swig of his drink and curses again.

“Ten out of ten would bang,” he announces, pausing for a quick moment to take a shot along with everyone else, but you. You’re too awe and unable to do anything but gawk at him as he continues.

“But also ten out of ten would care for you afterward, ten out of ten would let you stay over, ten out of ten would tuck you in, ten out of ten would cuddle the shit outta you in bed, ten out of ten would make sure you fall asleep okay, and ten out of ten would make you breakfast in the morning.”

You’re sure you look crazy with your eyes popping out and your jaw nearly on the floor. Everyone else’s reaction pretty much mirrors yours. Everyone except Sana who is squealing like crazy next to you. A few of the girls glare at you as the guys whoop and holler.

You’re unsure how you feel about what just happened. If it even happened. Or if you somehow hallucinated the whole thing.

Did Taehyung just confess? Does that even count as a confession? Or was he just playing along with the game? Did the room get smaller? Why the hell is it so hot in here?

You take a deep breath, remembering that everyone’s eyes are still on you since it’s your turn, and yet you’re frozen in your spot.

Do they expect you to say something before you take your turn? Do you even want to say anything? Maybe he was joking, maybe you could laugh it off. Or maybe he meant it… What if he meant it?

You fiddle with the piece of paper between your fingers before deciding to unfold it and get on with it so you can get the hell out of this small room.

“Um. Woojin, six out of ten,” you spit out as quickly as you can and immediately get up to leave. You don’t even know where you are going, just following where your feet are taking you.

You have two options; you can either leave and face the wrath of Sana when she comes home - if she comes home - or you can hide somewhere until you can come up with a better plan while you attempt to sober up. The latter is what your subconscious goes with as your body stumbles upstairs to find an unoccupied bedroom to hide out in.

The first one was not locked but definitely should have been. Thankfully you didn’t see too much of the two who you found in a compromising position, and thankfully they probably won’t remember the incident in the morning either.

Fortunately, the next room you barge into is free. After shutting the door, you lean up against it and close your eyes while you focus on your breathing. Your heart is still racing as you try to not think about what happened downstairs.

Feeling calmed down enough, you open your eyes and look around. The first thing that catches your eye is the band posters that cover the wall. Everything from Sinatra and Dean Martin, to The Doors and The Rolling Stones, to Bad Omens and Bring Me The Horizon.

Whoever this room belongs to has good taste. For being a boy's room, it’s pretty clean too. Yeah, there are clothes spewn here and there, but it isn’t any worse than the state that you left your own room in.

Sighing, you sit on the edge of the bed and cover your face with your hands.

What now?

"Yeah, sorry to ruin your moment or whatever, but my room is off-limits. If you’re gonna puke or pass out I’d rather you find somewhere else to do it.”

You lift your head to see the one and only person you did not expect to see in your current confused state standing in the doorway. “Taehyung.”

“Oh,” he says, “It’s you. How did you know this was my room?”

“I didn’t. I was hiding.” Shit, you weren’t supposed to say that.

“Oh…” he says again, shutting his door so the noise of the party lessens. He walks over to sit next to you on the bed, "I was looking for you. After you, uh, ran out.” He hesitates to see if you say anything. You don’t.

“Look,” he begins, “I don’t want to make things awkward. I know we’re friends. Sort of. When we’re not trying to murder each other and all that. But I’ve been into you for a while now and I just can’t hide it any longer. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take you out sometime."

Once again, you’re gawking.

"Oh god, are you gonna puke or something?” His eyes are panicky as he looks around the room for something you can use in case you do.

“No! No, I just, ahh…” It’s now or never, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am.”

"And did you mean what you said earlier?” You say, referring to his confession in The Blue Room. You try to hide how hard your heart is pounding inside your chest. Just as you would have to hide how hurt you’re going to be when he says the inevitable.

“Well…” He trails off, and you prepare for the worst.

He wasn’t serious, it was some kind of joke, you misheard him, there was another person with your name in the room-

“Hello? Are you sure you’re not going to puke? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine, was it a lie, just for the game?” you say leaning towards his body, his inevitably doing the same. “Or were you being honest?”

“I was being one hundred percent honest. And I still am. I like you, a lot. As hard as that is for me to admit.” His hand grazes yours and rests on top of it. He was half expecting you to pull away and run out of the room but is more than happy to realize that isn’t the case. Maybe you feel something too. His eyes burn into yours as he awaits your response.

It’s hard for you to admit your feelings as well. If you weren’t both so perfectly stubborn and bull-headed, you might have made this conclusion a long time ago.

You hate to admit that. You hate being wrong.

But Taehyung doesn’t feel wrong to you. His hand on yours feels so…right.

"Good,” you sigh in relief, finally giving in to your heart. You lean in closer and lightly brush your lips against his, pulling back to gauge his reaction.

Taehyung’s breath hitches. The moment you pull away he hastily stands up and moves to his door, his back pressed flat against the wooden surface while the angel and devil on his shoulders argue.

Fuck, he wants you. But he knows you’ve been drinking. And he would never put you in this position and knows how much he would hate himself if you woke up the next day regretting your drunk self’s impulsive decision.

“Don’t do that to me, fuck. I won’t be able to resist. I want to take you out first. You deserve to be taken out on a date first,” he says, running his hands through his hair. You get up and walk towards him. “Several dates. Shit.”

“You still can. But, you know, after you fuck me*.*” Feeling confident, you take another step closer to him. And then another. Until you are pressed up against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as your lips hover over his neck. Finally, his hand grabs the side of your face, pulling you in before he unleashes his lips onto yours. Teeth, tongue, and all.

“This is wrong. This is so wrong.” He moans after pushing you up against his closed bedroom door, “Are you sure? Are you drunk?” You roll your eyes.

“Stop trying to talk me out of this,” you whisper while leaving wet kisses along his jawline. You’ve waited too long. There’s no way in hell you’re stopping now. Lifting your head and looking into his eyes, you continue, “I didn’t drink that much. I want this. I want you.”

He groans and presses his lips into yours yet again. “I swear this wasn’t my intention,” he says after pulling back.

You kiss him hard, but your quick attempt to shut him up doesn’t work.

“No more talking. Please.” You pull his face back up and let his lips harshly reattach to yours. He proceeds to kiss you, slowing down when you try to speed things up.

“I just need you to know that I didn’t plan for this to happen,” he repeats.

“Taehyung!” You whine as your eyes tell him to stop worrying about it, “Shut up and kiss me.”

“I need to hear you say it. I need to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

You pull back slightly from his embrace to tug your shirt off, “Tae please,“ you beg between kisses, the slick from your heat seeping through your thin underwear, "Just fuck me already.”

And just like that, the switch in his mind flips.

Taehyung wastes no time lifting you, bringing your clothed center up against his. You moan into his mouth feeling his hardness pressing into you through his jeans.

Your senses tingle, from the way his hands are holding your jaw, how his scent encompasses you, the roughness of hips grinding against yours, and finally - from the way his kisses deepen with urgency as he carries you back over to his unmade bed.

Once there, he leans you down gently before hovering over your body, letting his hands run along your hips as they make their way to the front of your pants. His fingers tease the skin alongside the waistline of your checkered jeans as he frantically works to undo them, pulling them and your panties off simultaneously.

Your eyes meet as his hand slides slowly up the inside of your legs, right up to your center. One of your hands covers your mouth as his fingers weave their way through your dewy folds, and dive deep into your core.

He grins wolfishly as they curl with each small thrust into you, and soft mewls pour out from your parted mouth. “That’s it, let me hear you,” he praises as his fingers continue their divine torture.

“Oh my god, Tae,” you cry out, reaching for him as his fingers quicken. “Closer. I need you closer to me,” you pant, grabbing his shirt in the process and ripping it open, giggling unapologetically as you hear the small buttons hit the floor.

His lips close around your earlobe, sucking slightly as his fingers continue gliding in and out of you, “You owe me a new shirt.”

“Consider it payback for the fountain.”

“Payback, shmayback,” he grins while pressing his thumb up against your clit, pulling a gasp from you.

“Oh shut up already and put your mouth somewhere it matters,” you say slyly while non-so-subtly pushing his head down your torso until he understands your intention.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes before tasting you. His tongue sliding between your folds is nearly enough to send you spiraling. And as if it isn’t enough already, Taehyung reinserts two fingers into your heat as he laps at your delicate clit, bringing you closer and closer with each lick.

The taste of your sweet center has his rock-hard member twitching in anticipation, but he refuses to rush this. He wants nothing more than for you to come all over his face.

He deserves it.

You deserve it.

Soon enough you’re shaking from your very core as the waves rip through your body. Taehyung presses your hips down as he takes all your body has to offer him.

“Holy shit,” you pant, that was undeniably one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had.

He releases your center with a loud smacking sound and leaves delicate kisses on the inside of each of your thighs, admiring the goosebumps he causes on your velvety soft skin, before moving upward to reattach his lips to yours in a sweet, yet needy, embrace.

Taehyung wraps his arms around you to unclasp your bra while you catch your breath, giving special attention to the soft mounds now held in his hands. Your fingers twist through his hair as his tongue decides to flick one of your nipples before covering it entirely with his mouth. He swirls his tongue around them slowly and gently biting down just enough to hold the hardened nub between his teeth.

“Mmm, I want you,” he whispers, working to undo his own pants this time.

You breathe heavily, “I want-,” the rest of the words caught in your throat as you take in his length. You never expected him to be lacking in that area, but he definitely is larger than what you had anticipated.

“Like what you see?” he smirks, rather enjoying how you gape at him.

“Yes.”

Taehyung swallows hard; your honesty turns him on even more, if that’s possible.

“First things first,” he says, pulling away to grab a condom from his nightstand. You stop him.

“No, I want to feel you. All of you.”

He looks at you quizzically.

“I have an IUD, there’s nothing to worry about. Unless this is your way of telling me you’ve got…something?”

His eyes burn into yours, and he growls “No condom then,” quickly shutting down your question.

Grabbing your hips and holding them in place, Taehyung runs the head of his cock through your damp folds, then slaps your center with his throbbing tip, teasing you once more before he sinks deep into you without another thought.

Watching the way your lower stomach fills out as he pushes all the way into you only adds fuel to his fire. Right now, in this single instant, he owns you. And he’s going to make sure you know it.

Your fingernails dig into his biceps while he stretches you out in the most perfect way, gasping when he quickly removes himself and slams back into you.

“Oh fuck,” he moans, “You feel so good baby, so much better than I could have ever dreamed.”

You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him in deeper if it’s even possible. Taehyung shifts his weights and thrusts into you at a new angle, one that practically makes you see stars.

“Right there, yes. Yes!”

Biting into his shoulder when it becomes almost too much, you use your legs and push on his chest to flip him over so you’re on top, riding him at your own naughty pace.

Taehyung’s hands rest on your hips as you glide on top of him. His thrown-back head and mouthful of colorful words should be enough to prove how much he’s loving this, how much he’s loving you.

But as much as he adores watching your beautiful face twisting and turning with pleasure from below, and your perfect tits bouncing with each swift movement of your hips, he needs to be in charge right now before he loses his mind this early into the long night that awaits you both.

Whipping you around, he hovers over top of your backside and pulls your ass up against him. “Tell me you’ve never had better,” he demands while wrapping an arm around your waist as he pounds into you again from the new position. “Tell me how much you’ve needed me and my cock,” he growls into your ear with one hand moving up towards your neck.

Words are impossible at this point, your head is spinning with too many thoughts of how wonderful you feel and how hot he is in bed.

“Tell me!” he says again, gripping your neck tighter, his long fingers wrapping around your jawline.

“N-no one’s cock is better than yours,” you gasp, his pace picking with your obedience to answer just how he wanted. “No one’s,” you repeat, your eyes rolling back into your head as your insides start to coil.

He releases his hand from your neck and you forget about its whereabouts until there’s a sharp sting on your ass, that’s when you realize the sound that echoes through the room is from his hand cracking against your cheeks. “Mmm, again,” you beg, loving the after effects his spanks have on your body.

Taehyung doesn’t have to be told twice and marks you again, softly massaging the area where his red handprint remains afterward.

Your heated breaths blend as your bodies dance together on the edge, waiting to fall into perfect bliss. He flips you over one last time, wanting to face you as you come undone around him.

Taehyung leans over and nuzzles into your neck, letting his senses take over his body as he pulls you closer and closer toward white, hot pleasure.

“Oh my god!” you scream as the coil deep inside you finally snaps, sending electric sparks through your body.

Taehyung could have died and gone to heaven feeling your insides spasm and clench around him. He grits his teeth as he pumps his seed deep inside you.

His body weight falls on top of yours, energy totally spent.

You find yourself drifting off to the sound of his breathing that matches yours, and fall into a light slumber with your bodies still entwined.

The sound of sirens abruptly awakens you. Rubbing your heavy eyelids, the room flashes between red and blue as the police car lights shine through Taehyung’s second-story windows. You try to sit up but are pulled down by a heavy arm.

“Mmmm,” Taehyung mutters beside you, “Party’s crashed, it’ll quiet down again in a sec once everyone’s out.” His raspy voice tickles your neck and his hand slides down your side, resting on your hip.

A loud crashing sound followed by mumbling voices and footsteps moving outside his door wakes Taehyung up more.

“Everyone out besides residents. Time to go home!” an officer yells in the distance, and more footsteps echo as the house empties.

He sits up and listens, falling back down into bed next to you when he hears the familiar sound of the squad car door closing and driving off to find the next college party to bust.

Thinking it’s probably time to leave yourself, you reach for your shirt that’s hanging from the desk chair near his bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it time for me to go?”

“No.” He leans on a bent arm, the other reaching for you to pull you back into his warm embrace. “Do you want to go?”

“No,” you breathe.

“Then stay,” he whispers before kissing you again.

The rest of your late night together is soft and sensual, filled with loving gazes, slow movements, and shallow panting as you lay together as one.

You find yourself getting lost in his touch, every nerve in your body blazes with pure passion this time.

Taehyung whispers your name and wraps your hands in his, pulling them up above your head.

Each roll of his hips draws silky moans from your parted lips. Heat radiates from where hands gently grip your thighs as you writhe beneath him.

You claw at his back, completely and utterly lost in the pleasure as you take the plunge into another mind-blowing orgasm.

He loves how your body reacts to his touch. He loves how you squeeze around his cock, quivering uncontrollably around him as he finds his own wonderful release.

He pushes into you once more before letting himself go. Your head swirls as he fills you with his seed, while your heart pounds to the same rhythm as his.

Taehyung’s pace slows as you tremble around him, he finds it hard to quit thrusting. He doesn’t want to forget this, doesn’t want to waste a moment where he’s not buried deep inside you.

You feel the same way, feeling full in more ways than one, and your heart flutters when you make this realization. Taehyung completes you.

Once his breath returns to its normal rate, he pulls out slowly and watches in admiration as his seed leaks out from your center, dripping between your folds.

He freezes with his eyes glued to the mess he created inside of you, wanting to burn this image into his memory forever.

Taehyung gives in to his sudden urge and uses the pad of his thumb to massage your sensitive heat. Sensually, he pushes the remaining cream back into you, wanting it to stay inside you forever.

He eventually lays back down and pulls you on top of him, the exhaustion starting to set in. His lips leave precious kisses along your cheeks, jawline, and neck before attaching to yours. He sighs contently and rests his hands on the curve of your lower back, satisfied with the way your body conforms perfectly against his.

You lay there, enjoying the blissful moment until you take in what just happened. You have no regrets, Taehyung was everything. But your head is still spinning as thoughts like ‘what does this mean’ and ‘where do we stand now’ float through your brain.

Your heart rate picks up as you start to feel a small sense of panic take over. You need to clear your head and clean yourself properly. A shower. That’ll help.

You’re sweaty, sticky, and still covered in a combination of yours and his cum, yet Taehyung refused to let you roll off of him, "Stay, you’re warm.”

“I’m gross, and I could use a shower,” you say, glancing at him, “if that’s okay…”

“Yeah, absolutely,” he nods as you move off of him. He gets up, presumably grabbing you some clothes. He digs around in his dresser before pulling out a pair of clean sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Here, and there’s the bathroom.” He says pointing to the door that’s to the left of the bed, “Make sure you lock the other door, it’s attached to Yoongi’s room. I’ll join you in a few.” There’s a sudden skip in your heart as you watch him slip his jeans back on and lean down to kiss your cheek. Biting down a creeping smile, you give him one final wave before leaving his room.

Taehyung heads downstairs to grab a glass of water. The party is long over now after the bust and he steps around empty cups scattered down the steps.

As he makes the turn into the kitchen and reaches for a glass, to say that he was surprised to be greeted by Jimin and his know-it-all face would be a straight-faced lie. Exhaling, he closes the cabinet door.

“Don’t even say it,” Taehyung warns. He has more important things to listen to than Jimin’s ‘I told you so’s’.

"Say what? I have no idea what you mean…” he smirks. “Okay I lied, I told you! I totally told you she was into you. You’re welcome by the way.”

It takes Taehyung a few seconds to comprehend where his friend is going with that.

“Oh my god! I should have known. You purposely gave me her piece of paper during the game!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t you have someone waiting?”

“You think you’re so sneaky, don’t you?”

He grins coyly, “Maybe just a little bit.”

Feeling the sunshine’s warmth on your skin wakes you up at daybreak. You stretch and snuggle back into the cozy bed. Taehyung is still snoring softly beside you, unbothered by the sound of the birds awakening.

You admire his face as he sleeps, while memories of your steamy shower late last night drift through your mind. He took extra care of you, washing your body head to toe, massaging your scalp as he shampooed your hair, and leaving warm kissing on your skin after drying you off. Of course, that was all after he held you against the glass wall of his shower and did more sinful things to your writhing body. Shuddering as you remember the filthy things he whispered to you while doing those things.

You ignore the heat pooling between your legs from the recollections of Taehyung’s long fingers and where he put them, among other things, and internally groan instead realizing you need to make your escape now before the rest of the house wakes. Before you’re caught.

And if Sana stayed over too, you’ll never hear the end of it.

The walk of shame is not something people typically look forward to, especially when you’re leaving a frat house of all places. It’s a double-shame kind of moment.

You have one leg over him and are almost able to touch the floor to make your great escape.

Taehyung peeks between his barely parted eyelashes and smiles slyly at how unaware you are. His arms close around you quickly just as your foot skims the floor, immediately pulling you against him so your face is only a mere couple of inches away from his.

“And where, pray tell, do you think you’re going?” he says with a gruff morning voice that sends another wave of heat to your center. Your cheeks flush pink as you squirm, feeling his morning wood along your thigh.

"Oh, um. Hi-”

“Oh don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you ask as you try to wiggle out of his arms, but his iron grip doesn’t allow for that.

“Acting all shy. Nuh-uh. Not allowed. Not after last night,” he announces, tugging you in for a quick kiss while his fingers tickle your side, which causes you to wriggle against him even more.

He lets out a groan and his hips involuntarily buck up into yours. That’s when you really feel him.

It’s your turn to grin wolfishly. “Oh, sorry about that,” you taunt as you press your center down onto him again and circle slowly before sitting up on your knees, leaving him between your legs wanting more contact, needing more of you.

“Fuck, you can’t just grind on me and then stop, baby. Please keep going,” he begs as he juts his hips up looking for some kind of friction.

Taehyung stills and moans uncontrollably as you palm his hardening length through the fabric of his sweatpants, and it’s nearly enough to make him see stars when you reach inside to feel him.

His voice shudders when you pull him out from the waistband of his pants. Your pointer finger glides along his satiny skin, across the vein popped out from your touch, and up to his tip to wipe the small, white dribble away.

“Ready so soon? Thought you’d be spent after last night,” you tease, knowing very well he’ll pounce on you at any moment once given the okay. He watches in awe as you bring your finger up to your lips to lick it clean.

“Mmmm,” you hum, “maybe I should take another taste first…” You bend down to lick along his length this time.

“Oh god,” he grunts, his husky voice full of desire.

Taehyung thanks the universe for not coming undone the second your sweet mouth encompasses his length. He pushes the hair out of your face so he can watch you bob up and down, your hands covering the lower part of his shaft that won’t fit in your mouth.

You press down into him as far as your body lets you, swallowing his hugeness with pride.

His hand grips your hair to your head still as he moves inside you. Slowly at first, not wanting to hurt you, but picking up the pace nonetheless, loving how you choke around him.

He pulls out of your mouth and you gasp for air, drool dripping uncontrollably from your swollen lips.

“Open,” he rasps, holding back until he’s able to place his throbbing head on your tongue and shoots his release into your throat with a loud moan.

His body trembles as the tip of your tongue dances along the underside of his head. He gasps when your lips close around him and you work to suck the rest out of him.

His whole body shudders when you release him, the pain of being overstimulated mixing deliciously with the pleasure you make him feel. He lets out one last breath before collapsing beside you, totally drained.

You lay in bed as the sun rises up high in the sky, holding each other as you talk quietly about whatever crosses your minds, laughing every so often when one of you disagrees with the other, all while you wait to regain the energy to start your day officially.

Meaning it’s nearly noon by the time you crawl out of bed.

“C’mon, I’ll make us something to eat. You like french toast?”

The boys on the sofa ignore you as you walk behind them on your way to the kitchen with Taehyung, or so you think they do.

“Oh yeah, just like that Tae. Oooh,” Yoongi teases once you’re out of the living room, using a girly voice that is supposed to mock yours.

“Fuck, keep going, baby.” Jimin tries to imitate Taehyung but does so very poorly. Still, the overly smug look on his face taunts you childishly.

Taehyung grabs something out of the fruit bowl and whips it at them. “Go fuck yourself with that damn banana Jimin,” he hollers, muttering curses under his breath.

Awkwardly, Jimin picks up the banana that hits him in the back of the head and frowns, “Way to ruin bananas for me. Thanks.”

“As if that’s gonna stop you,” Seokjin laughs as he comes down the steps, joining the conversation. Jimin scowls. Namjoon loses it on the recliner, laughing so hard he’s not making a single sound, which in turn causes everyone to laugh with him.

“Don’t mind them, they’ve clearly lost too many brain cells,” he tells you after lifting you onto the counter next to his workstation. He turns to grab the ingredients he needs out of the fridge, and you realize with a sense of adoration, you could get used to this.

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lipglossanon · 8 months

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Magic Man

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

boyfriend’s dad!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (one shot)

ao3 request from do; I hope you like it! And thank you for your patience! 😭 💜

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, cheating, dirty talk, grinding, kissing, slight noncon (but reader’s into it, just pretending to be reluctant), nipple teasing, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread ✌️

title from Magic Man by Heart (seemed fitting haha)

PSA: I definitely don’t condone cheating; find it vile to be quite frank. In this case reader is breaking up with the guy just hasn’t talked to him yet when stuff happens (not saying it’s right but she’s not going to stay in the relationship at the least)

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Since an extended holiday weekend’s on the way, your boyfriend invited you to stay with him at his dad’s place.

“He’s been bugging me to visit for ages and I thought it’d be fun for you to meet him,” he tells you over the phone.

Frowning at your history book, you tap your pen against it, “You sure this isn’t too fast? Or weird? I mean we’ve only been dating for a month.”

He laughs flippantly, making you frown harder even though he can’t see it.

“It’ll be fine,” you hear a muffled voice from his end, “Jeremy’s here with pizza, gotta go. We’ll talk more later!”

The line beeps letting you know he hung up before you could even say goodbye. Opening up your calendar app, you mark off this weekend. At the very least, it would be nice to leave campus for a bit. Although you have a good feeling this’ll probably be the last time you’ll spend any quality time with Keith.

He’s a nice enough guy, but still acts really immature and you’re not really interested in that especially when you’re only dating casually.

The weekend rushes up on you and before you can say bon voyage, Keith picks you up and drives you the couple of hours upstate to his dad’s house. It’s a nice neighborhood and his dad has a lovely home.

You know it’s lovely since Keith basically ditched you here to go hang out with some old high school buddies for the evening.

“Promise I’ll be home tomorrow and I’ll show ya around!” he kisses your cheek as he heads out the door, “my dad will be home shortly so you can get to know each other.”

You give him a tight smile as he shuts the door, muffled laughter and talking dissipating as he gets into his friend’s car.

You flop down on the couch and scroll through your phone, certain now that you’re dumping Keith as soon as you guys get back to campus.

Later, the doorknob jiggles and you raise up to look over the couch into the entryway. All of the spit in your mouth dries up when you actually see Keith’s dad for the first time. He’s built, big biceps and thick forearms, not to mention his chest and shoulders and thighs and—

You pull yourself away from ogling your boyfriend’s dad, even if said boyfriend’s a complete ass.

“Hi, you must be the infamous girlfriend I’ve heard so much about,” he walks further into the house after kicking off his shoes, “the name’s Leon.”

“Hi,” you clear your dry throat, “yep, that’d be me.”

You give him an awkward little wave as his gaze roves around the living room before settling on you, a more serious look on his handsome face.

“Where’s Keith?”

“Ah,” you give him a bashful grin, “he wanted to hang out with some buddies so he—“

“Ditched you?” His blue eyes narrow as he drums his fingers against his leg, “just a second, sweetheart.”

He steps back outside and you feel your heartbeat amp up from the nickname. Straining your ears, you can sort of hear Leon’s low voice but not what’s actually being said. After a few minutes, he comes back inside looking irritated.

He walks over to the couch and rubs the back of his neck, “I’d like to apologize for my son’s shitty behavior. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to convince him to come back and actually spend time with the pretty girl he decided to bring home.”

Your fingers tingle as shyness steals over your demeanor, “Not your fault. Thanks though, I appreciate it.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose letting you steal this moment to take in his chiseled jaw and spot a few freckles on his neck that you’d love to kiss.

“Well, I can order takeout and we can watch something,” he offers with a half smile, “not the company you probably planned for.”

You smile at him, “That sounds really nice, Mr. Kennedy.”

“Oh uh,” a small pink blush fans put across his cheeks, “please just call me Leon.”

The afternoon passes pretty lazily between Chinese takeout and some cheesy action movies. Leon’s a lot of fun; way more interesting than Keith, but you try not to dwell on the fact you’re starting to crush on his dad.

Leon eventually offers you something a little stronger to drink which you gladly take him up on the offer. He must carry some high shelf liquor cause you feel the effects pretty quickly with a nice little buzz. At least, it’s the excuse you give when you slide into Leon’s lap and grind your wet cunt against his thigh as you kiss his neck.

“Baby, what about Keith?”

He doesn’t move you away but holds your hips still on top of him.

“Gonna break up with him,” you murmur, “he’s a shitty boyfriend. No offense.”

“None taken,” he laughs, kissing you softly, letting you lick into his mouth.

From there it’s a sloppy makeout session on his couch as you dry hump his thigh. He picks you up to let you straddle his chubbed cock, rocking your hips back and forth until you find the rhythm he likes.

His phone rings and although he ignores it at first, with the constant noise he pulls away to check the caller ID.

“It’s—I’ve gotta take this, honey,” he pats your hip and helps you move off of him.

Embarrassment floods your body as you see how wet his pants are from your dirty grinding.

“I’m so sorry,” you shakily stand up, “I’ll—it won’t happen again.”

“Wha—“

“I’m going to get out of your hair,” you give him a wobbly smile, “it’s slutty of me to not at least breakup with Keith first. It’s pretty fucked up actually.”

Reality’s a cold shower wiping out your arousal in a flash.

“Goodnight, Mr. Kennedy.”

You disappear up the stairs toward the guest bedroom Keith pointed out earlier; you definitely weren’t going to share his room with him now since you practically fucked his dad on the couch. Grabbing your luggage from Keith’s room, you beeline it for the guest room.

You change out of your clothes feeling horny and gross. As much as you don’t like Keith, you feel a little bad to just do something so scandalous.

You hear two pairs of footsteps out in the hall making you pause as you shut the light off.

“Fuck off, dad, what does it matter if I got a little drunk,” Keith slurs, “I wasn’t driving!”

“You’re irresponsible is what,” Leon’s deep tone makes your thighs press together, “you even left your girlfriend here alone for god’s sake!”

“She’s fine,” he scoffs, making you roll your eyes, “‘sides where is she?”

“In the guest room,” Leon states bluntly, “I heard her go in there a little bit ago.”

You hold your breath as you hear Keith stumble closer to your door.

“Go to your room,” Leon’s sharp tone stalls Keith’s footsteps and you listen as he stumbles back over to his room.

“You’re a fucking buzzkill, y’know that?” Keith mutters as he shuts his door hard.

“What a fucking brat,” you hear Leon mumble to himself.

Your heartbeat picks up when he pauses outside your door but then smooths out as he walks off down the hallway.

“Wow,” you whisper to yourself, turning off the light and climbing into bed.

You toss and turn for what seems forever until you settle on your side. Cunt still thrumming with arousal, you slowly slide your hand into your panties, teasing your fingers across your swollen clit.

Losing yourself to the sweet pleasure drifting through your body, you miss the door opening until a warm, bulky body slides in behind you.

“Want some help?”

Before you answer, a hand slips down your body to cover the one you have in your panties.

“Gotta keep quiet.”

You press your lips together tightly as Leon spoons you from behind. He puts his hands inside your panties to push yours away and slowly touches your clit. You’re laying on one arm so with the one he shoved away you try to grab his wrist to stop him but he pinches your clit roughly.

“So wet,” he whispers hotly in your ear. “What were you thinking about, huh?”

“Nothing,” you whisper back, “now s-stop and get out please.”

“Nah you like it too much,” he gloats letting his fingers circle your wet clit over and over.

You can’t really argue with him as you find yourself pressing your hips into his hand. Your hand is still gripping his wrist only now it’s to hold his arm while his fingers tease across your cunt. You honestly don’t mind picking up where you left off, even though it feels dirty.

“Mmm so fucking sexy, y’like your own boyfriend’s dad playing with your pussy, huh,” he mocks.

“N-no s’wrong, L-Leon,” you hiss, eyes clenching shut as he pinches your clit again.

“Didn’t seem to think so earlier when you were grinding that wet pussy on me.”

Slick gushes from your cunt, feeling hot embarrassment and arousal from the truth of his words. You feel his dick press against your ass as he rolls his hips to grind against you.

Leon groans into your neck, hot breath fanning across your skin causing goosebumps.

“Roll over and show me your tits you little tease,” he rasps in your ear.

You ignore him and try to shove his arm away, but he grabs your hip and forces you to your back. He slides an arm underneath you then throws a leg over your hips to keep you from moving or pushing him away. His hand goes back down and dips underneath your panties to play with your clit.

“C’mon, sweetheart, show me your tits already.”

As much as you try to fight it, arousal is flooding your body. And it’s not like you aren’t interested in him. You feel more slick leak into your panties to coat Leon’s fingers.

Your arms and legs are limited in their movement, but you’re able to do as he says. Feeling hot, you pull up your top to expose your breasts and hard nipples to his dark gaze.

“There we go,” he groans, “look at those sweet fucking nipples.”

He grinds his dick into your thigh as his fingers rub across your swollen clit.

“Really wanna taste’em,” he murmurs in your ear, “just suck on those pretty nipples til you’re creaming my fingers.”

You moan and arch your back, pressing your heels down into the bed.

“C’mon, I’ll treat you right if you just let me,” he stops teasing your cunt and drags wet fingers up to flick your hard nipples.

You’re panting now, hips writhing from the stimulation.

“Let me suck’em baby.”

You bite your lip, brows furrowed with worry.

“If you keep me waiting, I’m not gonna be nice,” he bites at your shoulder, blunt teeth scraping your skin.

“O-okay,” you agree, feeling a sick thrill at the low groan Leon lets out.

He moves his leg and helps twist your body towards him so you’re facing each other. Ducking his head, he drags his mouth across the swell of your breasts.

“Hang on a sec,” he mutters into your chest.

Leon’s hand moves to his boxers and pushes the band down until his cock’s free. He grabs your panties and pulls them down until he can slip his dick inside. You gasp at the feel of his hot cock rubbing all along your pussy, slipping in between your wet folds to drag against your clit and leaky hole.

“There we go,” he grins at you, “try not to let me slip inside that wet little cunt. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

Wide eyed, you shake your head no even if the thought of your boyfriend’s dad plowing you in this bed is driving you a little crazy. His eyes never leave yours when his mouth dips down to suck on your sensitive nipples. As you feel the hot wet suction, your eyes slip close with a whine.

You grind yourself down on Leon’s cock, dripping slick all over him. You feel him moan into your breasts as he slowly drags his dick back and forth inside your panties. The head of his dick leaks precum making your panties even stickier.

Your hands drag through Leon’s soft hair, nails scratching at his scalp, as you sigh and mewl from his mouth suckling at your sensitive buds.

“G-good, so good,” you arch your back, pressing more of your breasts into his face.

The next time he catches your gaze you can see his pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes and a pink blush spread across the bridge of his nose. Leon bites and sucks a hickie under the curve of your breast, teeth digging into the soft skin.

You gasp at the dull ache, hands tightening in his hair to pull him away.

“Don’t be like that,” his voice is low and raspy, tongue lapping at the bruise he left, “you were just gonna leave me with blue balls earlier, weren’t you honey? So mean to tease me with that wet drippy cunt.”

You whine and arch up into him more, “We really shouldn’t do this.”

“Why?” his grin is wicked as he kisses across your breasts, “don’t want my son knowing your little pussy’s aching for my cock?”

You gasp sharply as he roughly sucks on your nipples, swapping back and forth until they’re puffy and sore. As he works his teeth and tongue on your hard buds, he slips your panties off leaving your lower half completely naked.

He grinds his cock up against your slick hole making you part your legs further.

“Want it, sweetheart?” he moves up to whisper in your ear as he rubs the tip of his dick against your clit, “want my fat cock splitting you open? Show you how a real man fucks a gorgeous girl like you.”

His words make your brain feel like mush, nodding up at him before you can think twice.

“Please, Mr. Kennedy, want you to fuck me,” you whimper, nails digging into his shirt.

He groans and eases the head into your slick cunt, “Just call me Leon, baby. Y’r gonna make me cum too soon calling me mister.”

Your body goes hot all over as he rocks his hips against yours, fucking himself deeper into your clenching heat.

Wanting to tease, you pout up at him, “Sorry Mr. Kennedy— I mean Leon.”

Growling, he thrusts hard and buries himself balls deep inside your pussy, making you squeal.

His palm covers your mouth, “Wanna get us caught? Want him walking in to see his dad fucking his girlfriend’s tight little cunt?”

You clamp down on his dick hard and he clicks his tongue.

“What a slut,” he murmurs, making you buck your hips up.

He keeps your mouth covered as he slowly fucks your cunt, really drawing your attention to how split open your pussy feels. You constantly whine and moan as his dick bullies into your fluttering walls again and again.

“You’re so fucking tight, honey,” he grunts, “never had a cock this big stuffing this slutty pussy?”

You shake your head no as best you can and he chuckles.

“S’okay, you got one now.”

He moves his hand away to drop his mouth down onto yours. Trading sloppy, wet kisses between your moans, his fat dick ruts into your squelching pussy, dragging all along the spongy spot of your cunt that makes you clench down on him.

Your mind goes fuzzy, completely oblivious to everything but the orgasm slowly coiling in your belly.

“Cockdrunk already?” He laughs, “nothing but a sweet little hole to dump my load into, right pretty girl?”

You shiver and cling harder to him, “Yes, please, want you t’cum in me.”

“Mmm don’t worry, your hot little cunt’s getting creamed,” he kisses you messily, hips snapping harder against you.

Leon fucks you quick and deep now, plunging his cock into your sopping wet hole making him have to cover your mouth again for being too loud. His other hand moves between your bodies to flick and rub your sensitive clit. Your head thrashes back and forth, tears running down your temples as he drives you closer and closer to climaxing.

“That’s it, sweet girl, let that little pussy squeeze down on me, bet it feels so good,” he goads you, fingers rubbing over your pudgy clit until your back bows off the bed.

You cry out behind his sweaty palm, eyes fluttering shut as the coil in your belly snaps, orgasm hitting you. Legs clamping around his waist, your cunt clenches down on his cock like a vice, milking him as slick gushes around his throbbing length.

“Oh so good, such a good girl for me,” he pants, hands grabbing your thighs to press you open more, “gonna fucking cum in you baby, watch it spill out of your tight hole.”

You whine pitifully as he rails his dick into your sensitive pussy until, with a low groan, he thrusts deeply and spills, hot and sticky, all in your pulsing walls. He sighs as he rocks against you, stuffing your cunt with jizz until it leaks out around his cock.

Pulling out with another sigh, he looks down at you with a sly grin.

“Nice that we’ll be spending the weekend together, huh sweetheart.”

#lipglossanon #Ao3 request #lipglossmasterlist #one shot #boyfriend’s dad!leon s kennedy #boyfriend’s dad!leon s kennedy x fem!reader #boyfriend’s dad!leon s kennedy smut #boyfriend’s dad!leon s kennedy x fem!reader smut #boyfriend’s dad #fem!reader #leon s kennedy smut #cheating

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doggone-devil · 2 months

Text

How (Not) To Summon a Demon: Chapter 1

I’m attempting to write my first Hazbin Hotel fanfic. I don’t know how it’s going to go as I don’t normally write so much as I draw. I’m nervous but I’m also having fun with it so here’s the first chapter of my first fanfic titled “How (Not) To Summon a Demon”. Also, I’m writing this solo with no beta reader so sorry for typos, mistakes, etc. If you point them out, I’ll go back and fix them. Thank you!

Alastor x Reader

Warnings: demon rituals, stupid decisions, ghosts, paranormal activity

Feedback is welcomed! I might also move this to Ao3 depending on how well it does. 😊 Enjoy! 😊

Summoning rituals have been a pain in the ass for demons everywhere in Hell. Even lowly sinners with barely a sigil to their name could be summoned should a mortal find the right way. It was worse for those with higher power, demons who ruled over certain humanely aspects such as fertility, hearth, or revenge. Throughout the decades, as humanity build past the spiritual and focused more on science, less and less demons were being summoned. Now, the denizens of hell could roam peacefully, spending their miserable afterlives how they saw fit without the worry of being dragged topside.

That is, until one curious mortal just so happened to stumble upon such a book.

—

“Veronica, this is stupid!” you claim, cringing at the dust covered debris you were stepping over. For some god awful reason, you had decided to entertain your roommate and follow them into an abandoned house. Normally, old houses didn’t bother you. You were intrigued in the history, thinking about the people who might’ve lived in them before Mother Earth took them back. Yet this one in particular was just unnerving.

Nestled in one of the many bayous of south Louisiana, this old plantation looking home was wrapped in moss and vines, the swampland quite literally devouring the structure. The floors were barely holding your weight, groaning with every step you took forward as you tried to keep up with your very enthusiastic friend.

Veronica turned her flashlight at you, blinding you momentarily. “This isn’t stupid! It’s experimental!” she moved the light off you, using it to scan the room you were in, a bedroom on the second floor. It was filled with a bed, a dresser missing drawers, and a nightstand. The wallpaper was peeling and the light fixture had fallen years ago. You mindfully step over the glass.

“Just imagine what could be in here,” she spoke, examining the nightstand. “Not just the memories, but the potential of ghosts!”

“Ghosts,” you scoff. “The only thing here is trash, trash, and more trash.” You wonder why you even came. She thinks so, too, as she glares at you.

“You didn’t have to come you know,” she comments.

“And miss you pissing your pants? Fat chance,” you joke, making her smile. True, you were reluctant to come along when she had asked, you still felt reluctant, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying this even if just a little.

“Oh hey! Check this out!” You move over to where Veronica is hunched over. Just below the nightstand, tucked in between it and the bed frame, is a book. She brings it out and sits it on the bed, using her hand to wipe away the dust. The cover is old, leathered, and the markings on it are too faded to read.

“Maybe it’s a dirty novel,” you say, wiggling your brows at her. “You know, some chicks back in the day had to get off with those. They didn’t have internet like we do.”

“That’s just gross.”

“Honey, that’s truth.” You chuckle as she rolls her eyes, opening the book. The pages are worn but readable as she flips through them. You watch from over her shoulder, frowning at the contents. There’s pictures depicting people being beheaded, of demonic creatures drinking blood. It creeps you out.

“I think it’s a book on summoning,” Veronica says. “Look.” She points at one of the pages, a paragraph instructing on how to set up a circle. It then has some kind of image on the next page, a circle with a bunch of symbols that you can’t recognized. A cold shiver runs up your spine.

“I think we should put it back,” you state. It’s suddenly very cold in the room and you swear you can feel something watching you.

“Don’t be such a pussy!” Veronica closes the book and tucks it into her bag.

“What are you doing?”

“Duh, I’m bringing it back with us!” She looks at you as if she didn’t just say the dumbest thing ever.

“Have you not watched horror movies?” you ask in disbelief. “Two dumb chicks find demon book in abandoned bayou home and then get slaughtered as sacrifices to Satan. Am I making any sense to you?”

“You make it sound like you believe it’s real.”

“No,” you defend, “I’m still a hardcore skeptic, but even I ain’t stupid enough to invite that shit into my home.” You turn to head towards the door, ready to leave this hell hole behind. “Put it back and let’s go.”

“Fine,” she sighs. You leave the bedroom and quickly make your way down the stairs, checking behind you to make sure she’s coming. When you confirm that she is, the two of you make your way out of the house and back to your car that’s parked a few feet away.

—

The ride back home is quiet and within minutes, your entering your shared apartment. You go to make your way to your kitchen when Veronica speeds past you to the living room. She’s quickly flittering around, grabbing spare candles and setting them up. You eye her with suspicion and groan when she pulls the book out of her bag.

“Veronica, you didn’t.”

“I did,” she giggles, tapping the seat next to her. You cross your arms over your chest.

“I am not participating in this,” you state, firm in your decision. You didn’t believe in ghosts or the paranormal, or even demons, but you’ve seen plenty of horror movies to know that this is how it starts. In no way were you going to be another victim in a paranormal mystery compilation.

“Please,” Veronica pouts, giving you the puppy eyes. You bite your bottom lip, trying to resist. She even goes as far as clasping her hands together, blinking up at you. You give in with a deep sign.

“Fine. But I’m waking you up if something comes into my room later tonight,” you declare. She nods in agreement as she moves to let you join her on the couch. You eye the book, then the candles. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Not a clue!” she answers. “But, the book has clear instructions. I just need three candles,” she pauses to point at the candles, “and two participants!”

“Well would you look at that,” you mock. It’s a coincidence, is all, as candles are in nearly every home and most households consist of two people.

“Stop being a party pooper and hand me that lighter.” You lean over the couch and grab the BIC, placing it in her open palm. She lights the candles one by one, then straightens up, suddenly looking serious. It takes effort not to laugh.

Veronica starts reading from the book, something about calling the corners and inviting those who wish to join as witnesses. You look around, waiting for something to happen, but so far, nothing does. She continues, beginning to speak something in what you guess is Latin. It sounds wrong as you remember your old high school Latin teacher being strict on pronunciation, but you don’t correct her. When she finishes, she claps her hand and looks expectantly to the empty space in front of her.

Nothing.

A minute passes.

Nothing.

“I don’t get it,” she sighs, slouching back into the couch. “I did everything it said to.”

“Have you thought that maybe it’s just not real?” you offer.

“Ok, but just once, I was hoping it was. I mean, look at the book! It’s so old and weird, I thought it could be legit, ya know?”

“Yeah, but sadly, we live in a place I like to call reality!” you say, using your hands to make a fake rainbow in the air. She huffs a laugh and sits back up, standing off the couch.

“Well, since a hot and sexy demon didn’t appear, how about I go grab us some food?” she asks, already going to grab your keys.

“Oh, pizza?”

“Pizza it is! I’ll be back in like, thirty minutes.”

“Cool, drive safe!” you call out as she leaves. Once it’s just you, you look back at the book, smiling at how silly it all was. Demon summoning. As if. You pick up the book and look at the Latin she had read. It was fuzzy and you’re only able to recall a few phrases. It’s less an incantation like you thought and more of further instructions. It tells the reader to place their finger once pricked on top of the signal and recite the summoning phrase.

You look at the front door then back at the book. It’s silly. You know for a fact demons aren’t real. This book was just some kind of occult hoax. So then, why did you want to give it a try?

Sighing, you reach into the drawer of the side table next to the couch, pulling out of the mini sewing kits you had for emergencies. You pull out a needle and prick your finger, wincing as a drop of blood pooled to the surface. You pick the book up with your other hand and press your finger down into the middle of the sigil. With a deep breath, you recite, “Daemon avaritiae, voluntatum et actuum, te voco. Veni et da mihi desideria mea.”

You close your eyes, waiting for something to happen. There’s just silence and still air. You can faintly hear the hum of the refrigerator. Your shoulders relax and you let out a nervous laugh. “Knew it,” you mumble to yourself, “just a stupid - .” You stop as your eyes stay fixated on the candles. The flames are flickering, raising higher then dropping back down, higher again, like they’re dancing. You feel the temperature drop, just like it did at that house.

“Ok, this isn’t funny,” you whisper, moving your legs to that they’re pulled up to your chest. You gasp when the flames go out, along with the electricity, submerging you into darkness.

“Oh, darling, I can ensure you I’m not laughing,” a voice deep responds and you scream, jumping off the couch. You can’t see anything, trying desperately not to trip over furniture. Of course an intruder decides to show up now when you were attempting to summon a demon.

“W-Whoever you are, I-I have a gun!” you shout, trying to sound tough but failing as your voice cracks and falters. You weren’t lying, you had a gun for just this occasion, but it was tucked safely away. In your bedroom. Where you were not. Great.

A deep chuckle rumbled in the darkness and you gulp, reaching around blindly to try and find purchase on anything. You felt your back press against something cold and felt behind you, relieved to find the wall. Now you just had to find a door, something to bring a barrier between you and whoever the fuck was in your house.

You’re searching for a knob when light suddenly fills the room, a figure stepping in. You scream, making the other person scream, too.

“The fuck is wrong with you!” Veronica shouts angrily, flipping on a light switch. You squint as light hits you. “Are you trying to scare me half to death?”

You run over to her, trying to push her out the door. “We have to go! There’s someone in here!” you warn her, pushing harder, but she won’t budge.

“Girl, what are you talking about? There’s no one here!” You turn to protest, to point at the man who had been talking mere seconds earlier, but she’s right. As you scan the room, there’s no one to be seen.

“No, no, no. He was just there. I was on the couch, doing the ritual, and he -“

“Wait, you actually tried it, too?” she asks but you ignore her.

“- he spoke behind me when the lights went off! He was, he was…,” you trail off, feeling frantic, panicked. Had you just imagined it all? Had you paranoid yourself that badly from the ritual that you hallucinated the whole thing?

Veronica called out your name, making you look at her. “I think you need to go lay down. You don’t look to good.” You nodded slowly, agreeing with her. You did feel tired.

“Y-Yeah, I‘ll just…go lie down.” She sat down the pizza and held your hand to your bedroom, making sure you made it to your bed before bidding you goodnight. Once the door was shut, you were left alone in your room. You looked around it, suddenly aware of the darkness creeping in around the edges. It unnerved you and you quickly turn on your lamp next to your bed. It fills in the empty spaces, bringing clarity as you took note of every little detail of your room. It eased your mind, being able to see everything.

You shoved the blankets back and crawled under them, exhaustion hitting your hard once your head laid on to the pillows. With a stifled yawn, you close your eyes and attempt to forget about the whole thing as you fall asleep.

Masterlist ; Ao3

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor #the radio demon #alastor hazbin #Alastor x reader #Alastor x you #Alastor fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfic #fanfic

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slytherizz · 10 months

Text

A Different Kind of Wager - Sebastian Sallow x Female!MC/Reader

Summary: Sebastian makes a wager with his girlfriend that will make the outcome of their final Crossed Wands duel before their graduation far more interesting.

My main fic has been sucking the life out of me with the angst and suffering. So here is some shameless smut I've been working on!

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, duelling as a questionable form of foreplay, Lucan Brattleby runs an illegal gambling operation

You can find all the tags on Ao3 :)

She nibbled idly on the end of her quill her brows drawn together in that cute little frown as it always graced her features when she was deep in concentration. With their NEWT’s closing in fast Sebastian felt like he’d barely seen anywhere but the inside of his dormitory and the dusty shelves of this library for weeks.

Not that he was getting much work done.

The blazing summer sun pouring through the windows made even the normally cool library stiflingly hot. Her tie was pulled loose where it hung around her neck, the top buttons of her blouse undone exposing the heat and blossoming beads of sweat on her clavicle were more than a bit distracting.

Over the last few weeks, Sebastian barely had enough time to sleep around his revision let alone spend any quality time with her outside of the library. Which had left him more than a bit frustrated that even a glimpse of skin was enough to have his thoughts so far from his own Potion’s essay.

So, he’d settled himself into the comfortable position of twirling her hair around one of his fingers whilst staring directly down her shirt. Sebastian hoped if he kept this up for long enough she’d eventually snap at his annoying prodding. If he got her wound up enough it would more often than not end in a frustrated fumble and if he got her seething which with how badly her history of magic revision seemed to be going was likely he’d work her up enough that she’d let him fuck her in the restricted section to release the tension.

A loud bang rang out echoing through the library as the heavy oak doors slammed pulling Sebastian abruptly from his fantasies. Sebastian cringed internally for the poor sod who had surely invoked Scribner’s wrath. He heard muffled apologies answer Scribner’s shrill scolding which rang through the echoing library like a bell. He’d been on the receiving end of one of the aged librarians foul moods more times than he cared to remember and did not envy the recipient.

Flushed with embarrassment, Lucan Brattleby scouted sheepishly once Scribner was satisfied he’d had an earful and moved her attentions elsewhere. Although taller now the fifth year was no less baby faced the scarlet of his robes accentuating the flush in his cheeks. As he spotted them from the far side of the library and hurried towards the back table where they’d sequestered themselves away.

“Ah, there you both are! Been looking all over the bloody castle for you.”

“Seventh-year Lucan,” she sighed rolling up her parchment with a smile “If we’re not in the library we’re crying in the toilets.”

“Not too busy for tonight I hope,” he smiled nervously, eyes wide in a pleading stare.

Sebastian had forgotten, between preparation for NEWT’s and spending the week desperately trying to get his girlfriend alone a final match of the Crossed Wands was far from the top on his list of priorities.

“Don’t you worry we’ll be there,” she smiled before Sebastian could disagree with more than a few ideas of what he'd rather do with her in his free time.

Lucan breathed a sigh of relief “Good that would throw the entire betting pool out of sorts. Not that I can let you two in on the fun I’m afraid. Can’t have one of you throwing a match and making off with the pot,” he grinned, brown eyes alight with mischief “I have some class as to not allow insider betting…that and the Ravenclaws would have my head.”

“Surely you can spare a kickback for old friends?” Sebastian quirked.

“You do it for the glory Sallow and you know it,” she grinned at him.

“Touché.”

“Slight change of plans for tonight,” added Lucan blushing clearly seeing it painted across Sebastian’s face exactly what he’d rather be doing tonight. “We’re in the Astronomy Tower. Too many close calls with Professor Weasley in the Clocktower Courtyard.”

“Don’t you worry we’ll be there. One last hurrah before exams completely destroy our social lives,” she sighed.

“I’ll see you both tonight!” Lucan clapped his hands together with glee looking between them conspiratorially before hurrying off.

If Sebastian was frustrated with their lack of time for each other now, he realised that would only get worse with exams looming over them edging closer. Sebastian leaned back in his chair and sighed dramatically, and he swore he saw her roll her eyes.

“It’s been ages since we duelled. It’ll be nice to do something apart from our usual verbal sparring,” she encouraged. But Sebastian’s thoughts were far from duelling when the idea struck him.

“Shame to let Lucan have all the fun," he said slowly leaning in close enough so his breath could disturb the loose hairs around her face "Care to make this more interesting?”

“I know that look. What are you plotting?”

“How about a little wager?”

“What kind of wager?” she narrowed her eyes at him.

Sebastian's eyes flicked around the room, as Lucan slammed the door a second time sending Scribner once again on the warpath. Directing her spitting rage towards some poor Gryffindor second-years who had tried to smuggle pumpkin pasties into the library and had gotten crumbs and oily fingerprints all over their books.

Satisfied they were secluded away from any prying eyes he hooked his finger under the hem of her long skirt where it had ridden up over her crossed legs. His hand stroked purposefully up the bare skin underneath, ghosting up the inside of her thighs teasing the soft skin with a gentle scratch of his fingernails that sent a shiver through her.

She looked at him half amused, but he could see how her pupils had been blown wide from the lightest touch that promised everything.

“I have some ideas.”

***

Even Sebastian was baffled at the sheer number of students who’d managed to sneak out of their common rooms to make the long trek to the Astronomy tower that night. Whoever had done the imperturbable charm had done an impressive job not a sound could be heard from outside of the classroom, despite the deafening din inside. There had to be at least fifty students crammed into the observation deck. They clang to the railings hitching themselves up high to get the best view.

“Last call to get your bets in. Come on don’t be shy!” Lucan shouted over the hectic crowd that had surrounded him. Students jostled each other as they attempted to push forward to get closer to the board. “I’ve got some 20:1 odds-on Prewitt - put your money on the Underdog and you could walk away with half the pot.”

Lucan was truly in his element. His left fist clutched full of betting slips, he scratched frantically with his chalk at the betting pool he’d meticulously crafted on the blackboard he must have nicked from the arithmancy classroom and lugged up to the tallest point of the castle. Students inspected the match-ups before shoving galleons into his waiting hands.

Sebastian really did admire his entrepreneurial spirit. Taking over an unsanctioned duelling club in your third year was one thing but making a profit off of it was a stroke of genius. He’d begun his enterprise last year started in with a few well-meaning bets and had now spiralled to a size where even students who’d never participated in the duelling themselves would attend every match just for a piece of the action.

Sebastian cast his eyes over the crowded room, a couple of overeager fourth years were stretching relishing that they’d made it this far in the tournament at all. A few Slytherin second-years in their pyjamas who looked very pleased with themselves for having managed to sneak out of the common room to watch the show were whispering huddled in the corner.

His eyes connected with hers across the far side of the room. She was leaning against the rickety balcony he suspected was only still standing due to magic embedded in the castle. She was smiling at him, the moon high in the sky illuminating her features bathing her in an ethereal glow. Despite the commotion in the tower, the nerves of competitors were so palpable Sebastian felt he could cut the tension with a knife she looked beautiful and serene. For a moment he considered doing away with the tournament and their wager all together and dragging her off to her secret hideaway opposite the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy.

Sebastian battled against the grain of the crowd towards her. Weasley tried to grab his attention and pull him into a conversation about some combat-enhancing potions he was brewing but Sebastian patted the redhead on the shoulder placatingly never letting his eyes leave hers.

She smiled up at him a devilish glint in her eye as he came to lean against the banister beside her.

“You know if you want to back out of the bet I’ve thought of some creative forfeits,” he nudged her arm. She rolled her eyes; at the smug look he knew was plastered over his face. But he liked the way the small smile played on her lips. Lips that if he had his way wrapped around his cock before the night was up.

“Not scared of losing are you, Sallow?”

“Oh, not at all,” he leaned in closer, wrapping a strand of her hair around his finger to push it behind her ear. The smell of mallowsweet that always clung to her hair and clothes invaded his senses only making him more impatient to have that scent coating his skin “Just giving you the chance to save your knees while you still can.” He whispered into her ear low enough that only she could hear, relishing in the way she licked her lips instinctively at the thought. Despite the cool night breeze that came in through the open sides of the tower Sebastian could feel the heat creeping up his neck. Just as he’d decided to sack off the duels entirely and drag her away Lucan’s voice sounded over the muddle of raised voices.

“Right that it - Bets are closed. Sallow. Prewitt. Duellists take your marks for preliminaries!”

“See you in the final,” she winked and pushed him towards the middle of the tower. The red-head was already waiting looking insufferably smug as ever. Despite Sebastian’s general disdain for Prewitt, he did often find it amusing how even though he’d never once bested him in a duel he could delude himself into thinking this time could be any different.

“This is my year, Sallow,” he called across from him taking an offensive stance.

“Sorry Prewitt, I have too much on the line to go easy on you tonight,” Sebastian replied not meeting the Gryffindor’s eyes instead turning slightly to wink at her.

***

It wasn’t fate that landed her opposite him in the final duel that night. Sebastian had been quietly confident when he’d made his wager with her that it would always come down to the two of them. As much as Lucan insisted that his matchups were done completely at random, and he’d never sully his reputation with such cheap tricks. Lucan also knew people liked a show of seeing their two best duellers face off against each other. Having them knock each other out in the first round, well that would be bad for business.

Sebastian was certain he could live a hundred lifetimes and still remember the way she moved. As if it was seared into his brain that first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. She was like a raging storm, and he was a lost ship being pulled out to sea. That ancient magic in her veins practically glowing like an azure snake crackled amongst her fingertips like the poised lightning of a vengeful god ready to send his sails and crew to a watery grave.

Their dance began. She still duelled as if she was some untamed wind whirling reactively and unrefined. Her wand lashing out from her fast like a whip, she cast with her whole body. The wand was not just a tool but a very extension of herself. Never one for fancy charms she sent a confringo towards him that singed the edges of his cloak and sent the crowd quickly leaping from their view around the railings as the curse hurtled towards them. She’d leave her left side fully exposed and just as fast as he’d send a curse flying in her direction, she’d pivot so quickly the vulnerability was lost in a flurry of robes and hair. He parried and struck with his wand missing his mark again and again as she moved like a knife through butter. As they twirled around the moving iron plates marked with stars, they used this new terrain to their advantage. Taking cover when the discs shifted blocking their opponent and their spells from view only to spring from the other side with curses of their own. Sweat glistened faintly on her brow, and a wide grin spread across her face that he knew was mirrored on his own.

His eyes met her across the devilish glint in her eyes practically stopping his heart for a moment. The rest of the world, the crowds slipped away and there was only her. Her fire, her perfect storm.

It took his brain a moment to right itself and realised he’d been hit, and he was now meeting her piercing gaze with his arse firmly on the floor. Her brow gleamed with sweat, hair tangled and wild, blazing with victory. A goddess of war, triumphant. And she was his.

As suddenly as they disappeared the crowds seemed to come flooding back in a riotous cheer as they surrounded her. Weasley slapped her on the back his face broken into a wide toothy grin. He peeled off from the crowd hand outstretched to assist Sebastian to his feet. He gratefully took it dusting himself off, chuckling to himself.

“Tough luck mate,” he smiled placatingly. “I would say there’s always next time but that was your last shot. I’m afraid you’re out of the history books now. I lost eight sickles betting on you as well.” He ran his fingers through his ginger hair frowning to himself stewing over his lost winnings.

Sebastian smiled at him apologetically despite the fact he couldn’t give two shits about Weasley’s shrapnel not when he had a debt of his own, one that he was eager to pay.

Sebastian leaned against the railings in wait for her. The crowd swarmed around her dragging her this way and that, chattering over each other each eager to get her ear. Some cheered some muttering reluctant congratulations looking away enviously as Lucan handed those who had bet on her their winnings. Not nearly as much as the house would take however as Lucan lined his pockets.

Sebastian was beginning to grow impatient, it felt like an eternity as he waited for the crowds to finally disperse. This earned him a few smirking looks, everyone thought he was embarrassed, and Hogwarts' self-proclaimed ‘best dueller’ had been bested yet again. He played the part of the good sport despite his growing frustration, laughing off the snide little barbs from the likes of the insatiably competitive Imelda and most shockingly even a mocking glare from old Puffskein Dunkein. The audacity of a man afraid of puffskein to look at him like that Sebastian almost laughed out loud.

When at last a pair of gushing fourth-year Hufflepuffs girls had finally left her side whispering and giggling as they left the tower to follow the rest of the crowd. Sebastian slipped up behind clearing his throat as she turned to him eyes bright with triumph.

“So…what was all that about saving my knees?”

“No need to show off, pet. It doesn’t suit you,” he grinned slowly encroaching in on her. The once deafening tower was now quiet and still. The only lights left were the soft moonlight and glowing stars. Sebastian thought if he listened hard enough, he could hear her heartbeat increase with every step he took towards her.

She released a loud undignified snort of laughter “That’s rich coming from you.”

Sebastian silenced her pressing his lips hard against hers in a desperate kiss that ignited a fire in his bones. With the pressure of NEWTs, he hadn’t realised how starving he was for her touch. He nipped at her bottom lip and she gasped parting her lips just enough so he could slip his tongue between them to tangle with her own. His hands ghosted down her sides wrapping around her so he could pull her flush against him. He knew she’d already be able to feel his already hardening length exposing exactly where his thoughts were as they pressed into her. He pulled away from her a little breathless, freckled hands coming up to clasp her cheeks.

“A debt is owed, pet. Ready to collect?”

“What now? Here?”

“Did I not mention it’s a time-sensitive offer?”

She huffed out a surprised laugh as she met his eyes. But he noticed that telltale way she bit down on the inside of her cheek, noted how even in the low light her pupils were blown wide as saucers. He kissed her again more passionately this time, edging her towards the small table in the corner covered in ripped-up betting slips from sore losers and broken astronomy equipment.

In his haste, Sebastian swept the papers and objects littering the table a telescope clattered to the floor with a loud metallic clang. He gripped her hips forcefully and lifted her to plant her on the edge of the desk. He kissed up the column of her throat savouring every rasping vibration against his lips as her breathing caught in her throat.

“You were excellent, darling. Thought you might actually finish me off,” he murmured against her skin as he loosened her tie around her neck as he had done his own. He could already see a flush creeping up her clavicle as he worked the buttons exposing more of the stained flesh beneath. Her skin was salty on his tongue but after a week of nothing but longing looks and stolen kisses it tasted like ambrosia. He pulled the offending garment from around her shoulders throwing it unceremoniously to the floor. He pulled at the ribbons letting her stays flutter open before pulling the thin silky chamise over her head. Her nipples pebbled fully exposed as the night air swept in through the tower, mussing her hair. He brought the crown between his teeth tongue flicking out to tease the flesh and she groaned. Her hand came to settle on her neglected left breast pinching the twin between her own fingers. Wickedly gorgeous a movement that he knew meant she ached as much for him this last week as he did her. He released her from his teeth and kissed her quickly. Grinning Sebastian ran his hands up her thighs fingers pressing hard into those sinfully tight trousers she wore.

He hooked his fingers into her waistband as she lifted her hips assisting him as he peels her trousers and knickers off of her legs. She wriggled her feet out of the bottom and Sebastian discarded them next to her shirt in a pile on the floor. Bare and laid out before him he cursed himself for ever letting her wear clothes at all.

Dropping to his knees Sebastian coaxed her legs apart by peppering kisses along the inside of her thighs. Pausing momentarily to nip and suck small bruises on the tender flesh as he worked up towards the apex of her thighs. He bent her knees up to rest them on either side of his shoulders, he pulled her hips sharply forward spreading her out before him like his last meal.

“Did you like seeing me on my back as much as you do between your thighs?” he goaded. Her lips parted to reply but all that came out was a low whine as Sebastian flicked his tongue across her bundle of nerves. Her hips jolted forward in search of reprieve. More pleasure only he could give to her. A pleasure he now owed her.

He dragged his tongue across her clit more purposefully this time. Her hands shot down to knot almost painfully in his hair, as he kept him close to her aching heat demanding the payment that was due. Sebastian was a lot of things; ruthless at worst, an insufferable show-off at best but he was not a sore loser. He sealed his mouth over her aching heat, burying her tongue in her folds.

The sight of her above him he doubted there was a more perfect sight in this world. She was bare and spread out like a nymph from some Greek tragedy and he was a mere disciple who had come to pray at her altar. He chased her sounds, swirling his tongue around her nub lapping up every drop she offered to him. He dragged his tongue across her weeping entrance, a broad stroke with the flat part of his tongue. From the way her legs had already begun to tremble, he knew she had been aching for this, for his touch just as much as he had. He always marvelled at how quickly she came undone when he used his tongue, but with how much he’d been driven practically mad with need all week he wanted to savour this. Every flash of skin, the sway of her hips, when she leaned in too close, and her scent seeped into his mind had him as pent up as he had been before they were together and all thought of her had been a mere albeit all-consuming fantasy. So, he wanted to take his time with her, use that control he had over her and bring her to the brink and back until she was a crumpled mess.

She writhed sinful curses and breathy moans slipping from her lips as she ground her hips forward seeking relief on the flat part of his tongue. He was teasing her he knew. Edging her closer and closer towards that summit of bliss and that wasn’t part of their deal. But after a week of nothing but stolen kisses and fumbles above their clothes in quiet classrooms and hidden alcoves, he wanted her to come crashing down when she was near breaking and begging for release.

Just as he felt her legs begin to clamp together practically suffocating him between her thighs he ceased his ministrations of his tongue, sucking small bruises on the inside of her thighs. Not that Sebastian thought suffocating between her thighs was a particularly bad way to go out. He released her clit switching between sinking his teeth into her soft skin before swiping the marks with his tongue.

“Seb- what the fuck?” she groaned in protest, she bucked her hips towards him practically at breaking point in need of her release. Her fingers smoothing his mop of chestnut hair he guessed now looked even more tangled and wild than usual as she desperately tried to pull him back towards her aching heat.

Sebastian released his grip on her thighs, skimming his fingers along the inside of her thighs leaving goosebumps in his wake before he slid his fingers into her tight heat. Her eyelashes fluttered as he teased her open with two freckled fingers. He crooked his fingers and grinned as her light panting transformed into keening mewls as he hit that sweet spot inside of her that made her crumble from the inside out. He knew it was cruel to make her wait, she had earnt her prize fair and square, but he’d been starving for her for all week, and he wanted to feel her come undone harder than he ever had. Even if it took all night. He pumped his digits slowly coaxing her towards the brink again with each purposeful thrust. She was practically vibrating, so dangerously close to the edge Sebastian thought he saw the ghosts of tears in her eyes as she writhed desperately.

“Sebastian, please. I can’t- Fuck,” she groaned desperately. Sebastian sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked - devouring the quivering nub.

The combination of sensations must practically set fire to all her nerves. Even if no one had heard the unsanctioned duelling tournament he still wouldn’t be surprised if they heard her now. The loud unabashed cry that she released as her earth shattered even her legs clamped around his ears did little to muffle her glorious sounds. Despite his own need twitching almost painfully in his trousers at the sight of her shuddering release; all Sebastian cared about was prolonging her bliss. He lapped purposefully at her swollen flesh as she rode his fingers forcing her hips down onto them. Each thrust is more forceful than the last. He’d gladly let her wake the whole castle with her strangled cries. Let them all hear the pretty sounds the Hero of Hogwarts only made for him.

Her legs at last went boneless panting hard as she collapsed back on her elbows. Her head lolled helplessly to the side as she gazed at him through hooded eyes of admiration and desire. She looked practically drunk at the sight of him still buried between her legs.

“My congratulations to the victor,” he said smugly. Licking the residual wetness that still coated his lips as he at last removed his fingers from her tight heat. His tongue laved at the bruises he sucked on the inside of her thighs soothing their ache. He travelled up her pausing only to run his nose through the sparse hairs at the apex of her thighs which made her groan again as his heated breath tickled her still-sensitive nub. Impatient at his torturous pursuit up her body her hands clasped his freckled cheeks to pull him towards her. She claimed his lips not caring to wipe his mouth. She nipped greedily at his bottom lip her tongue flicking out to meet his won as she tasted the need her body had for him still sweet on his lips.

Her hands ghosted across his hipbones that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The scratch of her fingernails had Sebastian’s hips instinctively jerked towards her. Chasing his own need for release rutting forward his still-clothed member twitching against her exposed heat. She captured the grunt he released with her lips her deft fingers frantically working the buckle of his belt. He encircled her wrists with a large hand stopping her pursuit.

“Ah- Ah. You won fair and square. No need for that,” he grinned. He could practically feel his own body cursing the part of his mind that wasn’t completely overcome with desire for the witch spread out before him and was still capable of rational thought. He focused on the need his cock had to claim her into his lips fastening his teeth over her fluttering pulse.

“Don’t make me beg,” she groaned. With the little room she had to move her hands in his grip she pulled him forward by his belt loops more forcefully until his hips were flushed against her. Even through his trousers, he could feel the heat from between her thighs that made his cock twitch demandingly.

“But I so love it when you do.” His hands buried into her hair in a possessive grip to pepper kissed along her jaw.

“Shut up and fuck me already,” she practically growled, palming his cock through the fabric. Sebastian knew he would grant any request from her lips. Taking her hips in a bruising grip she yelped as her backside was pulled sharply over the edge of the rickety table. He didn’t let her fall instead letting her weight pass to him flipping her around so she could take a firm hold of the table and steady herself. She turned to look at him, her eyes hooded pupils blown wide biting so hard on her bottom lip he thought she might draw blood. To the world, she was a triumphant warrior, a heroine forged in fire and bloodshed but for him and only him in secret moments stolen under darkness and moonlight, she would shed that armour. And give herself to being his to claim and conquer.

Sebastian shucked his trousers down forcefully kicking them off from around his ankles. His cock sprang free of its prison, arching proudly in front of him. Sebastian swiped his fingers through her still soaking folds coating his fingers in her slick and his spit.

“Please Sebastian-” she whimpered at the contact, desperate to feel more than just his fingers inside her. He teased her kiss-swollen bottom lip down, pushing his digits roughly into her mouth. She closed her mouth greedily around his fingers languidly dragging her tongue to clean them off. Her pupils were blown wide as black as the night sky; he almost came completely undone just at the lusty look she was giving him. He could wait any longer to be inside her and feel her around him. Sebastian angled his hips and breached her walls with a strong deliberate thrust. She released a strangled cry her head lolled against her shoulder her desperation to finally be filled by him satiated.

“Fuck-” Sebastian hissed. He didn’t wait for her to adjust to him as he took her hip in a bruising grip thrusting his hips forward. Still tender and swollen from how he’d already made her quake her oversensitive walls fluttered around his cock as she took the entirety of him. As he rocked his hips into her Sebastian thought he could rename every star in the sky with the speed with which filthy moans and praise to him and everything he made her feel tumbled from her lips. Each is more wonderous than the last.

He hastily undid the remaining buttons on his shirt to admire his incessant plunges into her warmth. Only caring about how she practically swallowed him whole.

“Taking me so well,” he grunted, rough and low. Her spine curved at his praise drawing him in deeper. The head of his cock teased that sweet spot inside her. The more of her weight shifted backwards the more she arched towards him until she was flushed against him and rutting her hips back frantically in search of more friction. He slowed his pace to draw himself almost fully out of her before filling her again with a languid thrust. “Tell me how it feels darling.”

“Incredible. Fuck- I’ve needed you all week- inside me. Please Seb more,” she whimpered.

He wondered how many students dreamt of having her and how even they in all their wildest fantasies couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like to take her under the stars.

He pressed his forehead into her shoulder, wrapping his arm around her to settle on the curve of her stomach. Holding her in place so he could increase his tempo slamming home hard. Each thrust into her tight heat drew keening mewls as he edged her closer towards her second climax.

Sebastian could feel that coil inside him tightening threatening to snap. He wanted to feel her crash down around him. He didn’t just crave it. He needed it. Like a man lost in the desert and she was his oasis gulping down water greedily until he was sick with it. Sebastian curled his hand around her throat, squeezing just enough that a choked whine could still escape from her lips as her head began to spin. Each finger that pressed around her delicate neck said the words his sex-addled mind couldn’t make his mouth form.

Only I can make you feel like this. You are mine. I am yours. I love you.

He pulled her backwards harder onto his cock by her throat, spearing her with brutal efficiency. Curling his fingers tighter his other hand slipped down the planes of her stomach to apply soft pressure to her hooded bundle of nerves sending a shock through her like a burst of electricity. He could feel her body begin to clench and tremble around him in a way that was maddening. Whatever words she tried to speak came out as little more than a garbled cry over the grip around her delicate neck.

“Come for me, darling. Please- I can’t hold back any longer. I need to feel you come undone all over my cock,” Sebastian groaned into the shell of her ear as he began to tease furious circles over her still-swollen clit.

Sebastian doubted there was a more beautiful sight than the witch he loved unravelling under the full force of his fingers and his cock. Her walls clenched around him. Spasming and contracting as they sucked him in impossibly deeper into her cunt as she let out a shriek. With a final uneven snap of his hips that coil inside him snapped and his own release spilling inside her. His hips spluttered, pumping it deeper into her, her name and filthy praise erupting from his lips in a sound he could only liken to a primal whine.

Her body was flushed with a thin sheen of sweat that coated her glittering under the moonlight. His forehead came to rest between her shoulder blades he released his hold on her throat to wrap his arms around her as she struggled to stay upright on weakened trembling legs. He peppered soft apologetic kisses across the small bruises that were beginning to bloom around her throat. Still buried deep inside her his thumb stroking her nub gently, she whined and bucked her hips to try and shake off the overstimulation. She chuckled against her skin, and at last, releasing the small bundle of nerves she sighed with relief.

He removed himself from her aching core and she groaned at the loss of him inside her. As if she only felt whole when he was filling her completely. On shaking legs, he guided her over to rest gently on the edge of the desk again. He kissed her more gently now and she hummed against his lips. A pleasureful little sound that even despite being completely spent had him wondering if he could muster up the energy to take her again as his tongue flicked lazily out tangling with her own.

“I love you,” he smiled and she practically glowed. To him, she was brighter and more beautiful than any star that any astronomer could find in the farther reaches of the cosmos.

“You let me win, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mused, pushing her hair behind her ears absentmindedly.

“Either way the result was the same. You’ve been looking up at me from your back since you were fifteen,” she smiled slyly, her eyes twinkling with mirth. She bent down to scoop up her trousers before shimmying back into the tight material that he still had no idea how she got away with wearing the wildly inappropriate attire on the school grounds.

“Oh- You want a rematch? I’d be more than happy to take my winnings.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would be.”

“Care to make it more interesting?”

“I’m listening,” she grinned. His little witch had always been a thrill seeker, but their rematch was a contest he wasn’t willing to lose. He didn’t just want her mouth. He wanted her hand.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x mc #Sebastian sallow x female reader #sebastian sallow x f!mc #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction

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justagalwhowrites · 6 months

Text

Yearling Ch. 18 - Reverse

Joel leaves for a longer patrol. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-17 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut :D. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only

Length: 7.7k

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It was surprisingly easy to fall into a life with Joel.

It probably helped that he was the person you spent the most time with, anyway. Since you’d started borrowing the guitar, you were at his house nearly as much as you were at your own. You’d had to earmark time to spend with Ellie - who wanted so little to do with Joel that even sitting on his front porch was out of the question - but otherwise, you were at least near him a lot. Add in patrol time, the fact that he talked you into movie nights and mess hall dinners and you realized, suddenly, that you were already living alongside him.

It just became more purposeful now.

You were dreading the next time Joel went on patrol - he went out far more frequently than you did - because it would mean a change in this new, comfortable but somehow still exciting way of being.

“I’m only gonna be gone three days, baby,” Joel said as you leaned against him over lunch at the stables, the two of you sitting on the ground with your backs against a wall, your legs straight in front of you so the toe of your boot would brush his leg when you moved. You frowned, eating another berry.

“I know,” you sighed. “Still gonna miss you.”

“Careful,” you could hear the smile on his voice. “Might think you like me or something.”

“Ugh,” you smiled a little. “Can’t have that. It’ll go right to your head, you’ll be insufferable.”

“According to Tommy I’m that already.”

You laughed a little.

“What’s the movie tonight?” You asked. “If I’m giving up alone time with you just before you leave, it had better be worth it.”

“Might have talked Maria into Titanic…”

You shot up off his shoulder to look at him and he smiled.

“Really?” You asked.

“Really,” he smiled a little bigger.

“I haven’t seen that movie since before the outbreak!” You were damn near giddy. Joel laughed. “Hey, don’t make fun of me, not all of us had the luxury of fuckin’ electricity over the last two decades alright?”

“Not making fun,” he was still chuckling and you glared. “Swear I’m not, Sweetheart. You’re just very cute when you’re excited.”

“OK first of all, I ain’t cute,” you said, getting on your knees next to him. “I’m intimidating.”

“Very,” he agreed, trying not to laugh.

“I am!”

“Not arguin’, Baby,” he said. “You’re very intimidating. Just also very cute and very sexy.”

You snorted.

“Now you’re making fun,” he said, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling him. “Don’t get to just make fun of my woman without consequences.”

“Oh, I’m your woman now?” You raised your eyebrows but your heart swelled with it.

“Ain’t you?” He cocked his head, his hands moved to your thighs, the wide spread of them sinking into your flesh through your jeans.

You kissed him instead of replying and he stretched up into it, tugging you closer, your arms going around his neck, his tongue sliding past your lips to meet yours.

“Alright,” he panted after a minute. “Not sure the movie is worth it now, should just get you home as quick as possible…”

You laughed and kissed him again, lighter this time.

“Brought this on yourself,” you said, smiling against him. “Shouldn’t have tried to be so nice to me.”

“No good deed,” he kissed you and you laughed before you sat back from him, lacing your fingers with Joel’s.

“Now that you’ve promised me Titanic, we have to go,” you toyed with this hands. He smiled.

“Not THAT good a movie…” he teased.

“Excuse you,” you said. “It has action and history and romance. It’s the perfect movie!”

You leaned forward so the tip of your nose brushed his.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” you smiled.

He laughed a little.

“Never thought you’d be talkin’ me into movie night,” he said. “But since you really wanna go that bad…” You smiled. “Can’t go drooling over that Leonardo whatever the fuck his name is, though. Gotta draw the line somewhere.”

“That’s fine,” you smiled wider and kissed him one more time, grinning mischievously when you were done. “Always thought Kate was hotter, anyway.”

You got up and helped him off the ground before he slung an arm over your shoulders and pulled you close enough to kiss your cheek and you smiled again. Smiled because it was Joel and anything with him seemed to make you happy. Smiled because you wanted to do so much more than kiss him. Smiled because touching him like this didn’t scare you.

Proximity and touch still set you off with almost everyone else - Ellie the only other notable exception - but with Joel, it was a comfort. It meant he was close and you knew he was safe, so different from the men who had tormented you he may as well be a separate species. You wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with at least one of his hands on you all the damn time, some physical representation of the connection you felt toward him there for you to ground yourself in.

“Meet you at yours before dinner?” He asked and you nodded.

He separated from you before you got to the door of the stable. With the exception of Tommy, no one knew that you and Joel were together now. Jackson was a small town, you’d rather everyone wasn’t talking about you behind your back. It felt too new to share with all these people. You hadn’t even bothered to label it yourselves, never explicitly discussing any of it. You’d just both assumed that you’d be spending as much time as possible together now and touching when you did. That was fine by you. It was nice, having the feelings be quiet and private. You didn’t want to share them before you had a chance to fully understand them yourself.

“See you then, Sweetheart.”

Joel looked at you for a moment before he went to go back to work, a soft look in his eyes that made your heart race and heat pool low in your stomach. Like he wanted to just keep looking at you for a while, like he wanted to do nothing more than just be next to you.

You watched him go, his broad shoulders and shaggy hair, and a thought settled comfortably into your skin. You loved him. You likely had for a while, you realized, just too afraid of what that meant to see it properly.

You’d never loved someone you hadn’t lost. You’d just started to accept it with Justin when you had to kill him. Marisa moved on while you stayed behind, heart aching and desperately lonely, praying that she’d made it, that she was safe and happy and had found someone who could love her the way she deserved. Mark you’d never even had a chance to say goodbye to.

The love you had for Joel felt different and the life you led here felt different, too. You’d only ever been in love during the end of the world, all of it tinged in desperation and fear, knowing there was a very real chance that the two of you might get torn apart or shot or changed into an infected, mindless thing. It made things desperate and needy and intense.

Jackson was different. It had given you the space to start to come back into yourself, find the version of you that had been buried by fear and pain for years. It let you feel secure enough that you could grow to love Joel instead of being thrown into affection only to have no choice than to fight against drowning in it.

But you were still apprehensive of it. You were in love with Joel. More in love with him than you’d been with anyone else. What if fate decided to take him, too? What if Jackson had lulled you into a false sense of security and he was in just as much danger here as he would be in the wilderness?

You tried not to think about it as you got back to work. You’d lost so much, you weren’t sure you could survive losing Joel, too.

You tried to focus on movie night, on taking Joel to bed after and not on the fact that he was going to be leaving Jackson to look for trouble.

It was Joel. Everything was going to be fine. It had to be.

***

“You’re pushin’ it,” Joel whispered in your ear as you pressed closer, your hand on the inside of his thigh.

“No idea what you mean,” you whispered back. “Watch the movie, Rose is about to get naked, don’t want to miss that…”

His lips trailed over your cheek, your temple until they were close enough that they brushed your ear when he spoke.

“Be better if it was you.”

You turned and raised your eyebrows at him.

“Bullshit I’m hotter than Kate Winslet.”

He didn’t respond - even though you were. Instead, he lifted your chin and kissed you, trying not to think about undressing you, sinking into your wet heat, swallowing your desperate little sounds as you came.

He was still amazed that he had you. He hadn’t even really considered something like this before you. That part of his life seemed long over. But he’d never imagined someone like you and now he couldn’t imagine life without you. He didn’t want to.

You pulled away from him and he could just make out the needy look in your eyes in the light from the projector.

“Wearing only this,” the movie said and you elbowed him.

“Stop distracting me.”

“Not doing a damn thing.”

He tried to not kiss you again, just let his hand trail up and down your bare arm as you pressed closer to him but after a few minutes you twisted in his arms and reached up, your fingers knotting in his hair and pulling Joel’s lips to your own.

“Thought you wanted to watch the movie,” he said quietly between kisses, happy the two of you had sat tucked in a slightly more private corner.

“Shut up.”

He laughed and kissed you one more time before you turned back to the screen.

As much as he wanted to get you home and get you naked, it was almost as fun to watch you watch the movie. You were more relaxed than he’d ever seen you at movie night, the usual tension in your body nowhere to be found. He couldn’t help but look at you, your eyes wide and bright as you watched, every emotion playing out, unguarded, on your face.

Definitely better than Kate Winslet naked.

He walked to your house with an arm slung around your shoulders, your hand dangling from his like being against him wasn’t quite enough for you.

“As good as you remember?” He asked and you laughed.

“So fucking good. I’d forgotten a lot of it, almost like watching it for the first time. Shouldn’t have been too surprised about that, though. Lot about life here is like that.”

“Yeah?” He asked, looking at you and fuck you were so damn pretty.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I heard the electricity in the walls for the first week or so I was here. Weird as fuck and then one day I woke up and I’d just gotten used to it, my brain learned how to tune it out again. Took a while to remember that I could just flip a light switch when it was dark, that I have a fridge to keep things cold and that I don’t need a fire if I want to heat something up.”

You made it to your door, the light on in your entry way, a little stained glass lamp that glowed in the night. You unlocked the door and pulled Joel inside, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your warm, soft body against him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that, the feel of you against him, wanting and beautiful.

“Lot of that with you, too,” you said, your eyes gentle and earnest. It was a look, Joel thought, that was reserved just for him. You looked only at him with your guard down, looked only at him in a way that made you vulnerable and open. He liked that part of you seemed to belong only to him. It felt like so much of him belonged only to you.

He kissed you, slow and easy.

“For me, too,” his nose brushed yours and you turned out the light before taking him upstairs.

Joel liked undressing you, more than he remembered liking it with anyone else before. He liked that he took his shirts off your body, sliding the sleeves down your arms after untying it from your waist, revealing the smooth skin of your shoulders and neck, just the hint of your breasts spilling over the top of your tank top below.

Your breaths got needy, panting around quiet little moans as your fingers deftly opened Joel’s shirt, movements getting rougher as you shoved it down his arms, frustrated groans when you couldn’t get it off right away.

“In such a hurry,” he said quietly, breathlessly.

You nipped at his lower lip.

“Want you,” you said. “Can’t help it.”

You gave up on the shirt, instead moving to his jeans, unbuttoning them, your hand reaching inside, finding his hard length with a contented sigh. Your thumb brushed his head and he moaned into your mouth, your touch sending a shudder through him, the hot ache of want flowing out from the root of his cock through the center of him, through his limbs, his fingers, his whole body driven toward you.

You gently spread the precome leaking from his head over his cock and he had to fight to focus on something else - anything else - to avoid the risk of spilling into your hand.

It took effort, conscious fucking effort, to not come too fast with you. Part of it, he was sure, was the fact that no one but himself had touched him in years. But the fact that it was you made it worse. You’d overwhelmed him on a level he’d never known before, in a way he wouldn’t have thought possible. The lightest touch from you was more intense, like he was hyperaware of it, every sensation reaching more than just his skin but instead to the very center of him.

He’d backed you into your bed and you pulled your mouth from his, eyes wide and needy.

“Can I try something?” You panted.

“Course,” his hand went to your face, his thumb tight along the ridge of your cheekbone, his fingers slipping into your hair. “Told you before, you can do whatever you want with me.”

You nodded and and turned with him, so he was against the bed instead of you. You pulled away from him enough to push his shirt down his arms and cast it aside before sliding off his pants, too. He stood, bare and exposed, in front of you as you looked into his eyes before you kissed him, nudging him down into sitting up on the edge of the bed.

You followed him down, your hands going to his thighs to spread them and settle yourself between them. Your lips left his and trailed down his neck, his chest as you knelt in front of him, kisses cutting a burning path to the root of him.

“Baby,” he groaned through gritted teeth. “Don’t have to do this…”

“Thought you said I could do whatever I want?” You looked up at him, sitting back on your heels. You pulled your tank top up and over your head before you unhooked your bra, revealing your full breasts, nipples peaked with need. “Well, I want to taste you.”

Your hand wrapped around his length before you brought your mouth to his tip, pressing just your tongue to it and giving the head of him a delicate lick, your eyes on his the entire time.

“Fuck,” he panted, his hands clutching onto your blankets. The edges of your lips curved up, almost smiling before taking the head of him in your mouth with a delicious moan. He watched, enthralled, as you took him into you, your tongue pressing into the thick underside of him as you went. Joel resisted the urge to move his hips, to fuck into your soft, warm, wet mouth, fought to let you take him at your own pace. And then you were damn near swallowing him, his head pushing into your throat as you moaned around him, the vibration of your pleasure igniting the heat deep inside him. “Jesus Christ…”

You sucked him harder for a moment before you started moving over him, sliding your mouth up and down his shaft. He had to stop looking at you for a moment, had to tilt his head back to look up at the ceiling, the sight of your lips stretched around him too much for him to take. He fought the drive to tangle his fingers in your hair and guide your mouth over him.

But it was like you read his mind, your hand leaving his thigh and finding his, guiding it to your head and leaving it there as your hand returned to his leg.

“God damn,” he managed. “Just… fuck, squeeze my legs if it’s too much.”

You moaned in response and his fingers latched onto you, moving you up and down his cock at his own pace. You sucked and worked your tongue around him as he did, pressing into the thick vein along the bottom of him. He was getting dangerously close to coming in your mouth, right where he didn’t want to come. He needed to be inside you, needed to feel you coming around him, needed to fill your pussy with him, so much of him that you’d feel him inside of you for the days he was gone.

When it felt like he was inches away from finishing he pulled you from him, whole body tense and aching. You looked up at him, eyebrows knitted together.

“Don’t want to come before I properly have you,” he panted. “Need inside you.”

“Good,” you wiped your mouth on the back of your wrist, messy with your spit and his precome. “Because I need you, too.”

You stood between his legs and went to take your pants off but he brushed your hands aside, pulling you close so he could kiss your stomach, your hips, your scars as he unbuttoned your jeans and slid them and your underwear down together. He heard your breath catch as his hands slid around the back of you, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he looked up at you, his lips against your skin.

You moved to straddle him, your knees bracketing his hips and you aligned his head with your entrance, your wet heat so close he could feel you over him. Your eyes searched his for a moment as he held you close, the sensation of you threatening to overwhelm him. You kissed him with a moan, hard and deep, as you sank onto his cock.

“Fuck Baby,” he moaned, feeling you stretch over him, the velvet vise of you as you made room for him inside of you. “Fuck, you feel… Jesus Christ.”

You took him fully in you and settled on him for a moment. He could feel every twitch of your muscles as you adjusted to his size, feel the thrum of your pulse, the wetness that covered and enveloped him. You were heaven incarnate and it was impossible to not feel like a trespasser inside something as good as you.

He watched you as you started to move over him, slow at first, steady, the rise and fall of you in line with your shaking breaths. Joel couldn’t help but marvel at you, that you trusted him enough to be with him this way, that you were willing to share yourself with him this way.

He knew this was no small thing. That you used to shock away from his touch and that now you reached for him, took him inside yourself into your most intimate and vulnerable place seemed nothing short of miraculous and something in him, even now, was terrified of losing this with you. Joel wasn’t sure why you’d picked him of all people to trust but he was going to do everything he could to keep it.

You increased your pace, your hips moving over him so his head was catching against a soft place deep inside you, a place that made your breaths stutter.

“Joel,” you moaned, pressing your ass back into his hands and his grip got tighter. “Fuck, you’re so deep…”

He helped leverage your thrust down and he felt your core tighten around him, a sharp little spasm, as he did.

“I know Baby,” he groaned. “Can feel you getting close, feel you wanting to come on me.”

“I do,” you almost winced as you came down hard on him again. “Fuck, I’m so close. Want you to come too, Joel, want to feel you…”

“I’ll come when you do,” he said, his teeth gritted, his hold on you tightening. “Just come for me, come for me and I’ll fill you up so good, Sweetheart, promise I will, just come for me.”

You rode him faster and harder for a moment before you thrust him deep and he felt you come apart around him, your walls fluttering over him as you cried out with it.

“Atta girl, fuck,” he thrust his hips up to press himself ever so slightly deeper as you milked his cock and he gave himself over to the orgasm it felt like he’d been holding off for an eternity, spilling into you deep and hard.

Joel collapsed back onto your bed, taking you with him so you were draped over him, his softening cock still deep inside you.

“Think you should talk Tommy into letting you stay home,” you said, voice sleepy.

Joel laughed a little, his hands splayed wide over your back.

“Only a few days,” he kissed the top of your head, feeling the weight of you on his chest as he breathed, the reassurance that you were close.

“I know,” you sighed. “Just gotten used to you being here. I like you in my bed. Or being in yours.”

“Me too,” he said softly, moving to trace the line of your spine.

“You’ll be safe?” You lifted your head from his chest enough to look at him, your eyes wide.

“I’ll be safe,” he tucked you back against his chest and kissed your head. “Nothing gonna stop me from comin’ home to you.”

The next morning, you stayed closer than usual as the two of you got ready to go. You pulled him into shower with you, pressing your body tight to him, working his cock with your hand as he gently circled your clit until he came on your stomach and you all but collapsed with the force of your orgasm, Joel holding you close, keeping you both from falling to the tile floor.

But after, it shifted. He washed your hair, fingers gentle on your scalp as he worked the shampoo through it. You cleaned his chest, your soapy hands running over his skin, tracing little patterns on him. Once you were both clean, you pressed yourself against him, the hot water running over both of you, and you reached up to knot your fingers in his hair and kiss him, seemingly just happy to touch him with nothing between you for a while.

“You go on ahead to the stables,” he said as the two of you left your house, your still damp hair braided, one of Joel’s shirts on with the sleeves rolled up and the bottom knotted around your waist. “Know you’ve got a lot to do and I’ll be a few minutes, too busy spendin’ time with you to get packed.”

“But…” you frowned but he kissed your forehead.

“See you in a few.”

Joel watched you continue on to the stables before he went inside.

He really did need to get packed but there was one other thing he wanted to check on, one you didn’t know about and he didn’t want you to until it was done.

Joel packed his bag quickly and went into the small workshop on the back of the house. The guitar he’d been making for you for months now was sitting there, propped up so the finish he’d applied had a chance to dry. He delicately tested the wood and his finger didn’t stick. He smiled a little. He’d cut it close but it was done.

You so loved playing, it seemed wrong that you didn’t have a guitar of your own. But Joel still wanted you to have some connection to him when you played, even if you weren’t using his instrument anymore. So he made you one. It had been slow going, things seeming not quite right or just not good enough for you. But he’d focused on getting it finished up for you, spending what seemed like every second he wasn’t with you or working finishing it up.

He got some strings he’d set aside for it and the tuning pegs and bridge pins before heading for the stables, finding you there saddling up horses for the patrol team.

“Still the first one here,” you smiled over your shoulder at him.

“Good,” he said, coming over and kissing your temple. “Like getting another few minutes with you. Think I can have your attention for a minute?”

“Think I can manage that,” you smiled, turning to properly face him, your hands in your back pockets. “Don’t think we can get up to much trouble in here, though, no time…”

“Not lookin’ for trouble,” he said, lifting the guitar by the neck and holding it out to you. You frowned and took it. “Thought you’d like something to play while I’m gone.”

“This isn’t your guitar,” you said, your eyebrows knitted together as you looked over the instrument in your hands.

“No,” Joel smiled. “It’s yours.”

Your head flew up, eyes wide.

“You’re joking.”

“M’not,” he smiled. “Made it for you.”

“You made this?” You gaped at him. He laughed and nodded. “Joel… I… this is…”

“You get it on one condition,” he said. You nodded eagerly and he tried not to laugh again. “You still come by even though you don’t need to borrow mine anymore.”

“Think that can be arranged,” you said, misty eyed as you looked back down at the guitar. “This is so… Joel…”

“Just take care of yourself while I’m gone,” he said. “I’m comin’ back to you as quick as I can.”

You threw the arm not holding the neck of the guitar around his neck and kissed him.

“You better come back in one piece,” you said, breathless. “Gotta thank you properly for this.”

Joel felt good as the patrols got underway, the pairs of horses leaving Jackson with him and Tommy bringing up the rear. Just a few days and he’d be back. Back to you and the life he was finding with you here.

“Joel!”

Ellie’s sharp voice stopped him. He looked back over his shoulder to see her standing at the gate, her arms crossed, looking upset.

“One minute,” he told Tommy, riding back to Ellie and dismounting. “Baby Girl, everything OK?”

“You just had to take her from me, didn’t you?” She stared him down.

“What…” he frowned but she cut him off.

“You know how many people I have that aren’t yours in some way?” She demanded. “People who can help me who aren’t also just trying to fucking figure everything out?”

“Ellie, I don’t…”

“I had someone!” She looked hurt. “Bambi was mine, she was my fucking friend and now that you’re doing… whatever the fuck it is you’re doing, she’ll pick you and she’ll leave me.”

Joel sighed and closed his eyes for a second. This wasn’t how he’d wanted Ellie to find out, he should have been more careful at the movies the night before instead of making out with you like some damn teenager in the back row, he was sure that’s what had done it.

“Kiddo, I know how much she cares about you, she wouldn’t…”

“Does she know?” Ellie snapped cutting him off. “Does she know about all the shit you’ve done? Does she know everything you did in that fucking hospital?” Something on Joel’s face must have told Ellie the answer, the horror there. She smirked. “Didn’t think so. You really think she’ll still want you after that? After everything you’ve done? Because I don’t.”

His heart sank. He’d never told you about what he’d done for Ellie, didn’t want you to know the whole truth of what he’d been before he went to the QZ. He wanted to be something different for you, something better, wanted to pretend like who he’d been before was dead and gone because, in so many ways, it felt like he was.

“Ellie.”

“Good luck on patrol,” she turned on her heel and walked away.

“Joel!” Tommy yelled as he watched Ellie leave. “Let’s go, you’re holdin’ everything up!”

He debated, for a moment, telling Tommy that he couldn’t go. That something had come up, that he had to stay and handle it.

But the patrol needed to happen. Things had gone too long already, the new horses only recently to the point that the further flung checks could happen. Him staying back would leave a vital place unchecked.

He got back on his horse and followed Tommy, trying not to think about Ellie’s unspoken threat. She might hate him but she wasn’t cruel, would she really do something like that just to hurt him?

It was all he could think about. How to fix the damaged relationship with the girl he felt was his daughter, how to tell you the truth of everything he’d done, how he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he lost you the way he’d lost her.

He didn’t sleep well the first night out on patrol and he was still distracted the next day.

Distracted enough that he was missing things, Tommy the only one of the two of them catching any signs of infected.

Distracted enough that he didn’t know anyone else was there until the shooting started.

***

Joel made you a guitar.

He made you a fucking guitar.

A whole instrument, just made it for you. Because he wanted to give you something you so desperately wanted.

You weren’t sure you’d ever been so touched by anything.

Once you were done at the stables for the day, you went straight home to string your guitar and play it. You’d had to force yourself to actually do your job for the first time since you’d started working at the stables, the instrument sitting in the corner, a constant reminder of what you’d rather be doing.

You’d already decided to skip dinner, didn’t care much about doing anything but this. You just got the guitar set, started playing the first chords the instrument had ever had, when there was a sharp knock on your door. You groaned and considered ignoring it before you set the guitar next to you on the couch and headed for the door, Ellie looking upset through the glass.

“Hey Kid,” you frowned. “Everything OK? I know Joel’s gone but I can help if…”

“Can I talk to you?” She asked. “Inside?”

“Sure,” you stepped aside and opened the door. “Come on in.”

You led the way to the living room and picked the guitar back up, playing random chords as Ellie paced. She stopped after a moment, looking at you.

“Nice guitar.”

“Joel made it,” you smiled, couldn’t help it. “Just now breaking it in…”

“So you and Joel,” she cut you off. You froze for a second, your hand hovering over the strings. “Thought you said you weren’t fucking him.”

“Pretty sure I also said that whatever and whoever I did in bed was none of your business,” you replied.

“There’s shit about him you don’t know,” she said.

You shrugged.

“Shit about me he doesn’t know, too. We’ve both lived a lot of life, I’ll never know everything about him.”

“You should know this,” she said, sitting next to you on the couch. “You deserve to know the kind of person he is.”

You frowned, the look on her face making your stomach clench.

If it had been anyone else, you’d have brushed it off. It was Joel. You knew Joel. He was a good man, the kind of man who loved a child who wasn’t his, who hadn’t judged you for everything that had happened to you.

But you also knew Ellie and you’d never seen her like this. She was a kid but she was a smart kid, a kid who had survived a lot.

And something had driven her and Joel apart.

“Alright,” you said, setting the guitar down gently on your coffee table. “Tell me.”

She looked at you for a moment before she took a deep breath and rolled up her sleeve. You frowned and she held it out to you, her wrist to her elbow covered in scar tissue.

“What did Joel tell you about me?” She asked.

“That you’re from Boston, an orphan,” you said. “Had some family out west, he was hired to get you to them, they were dead before you got here…”

“He lied.”

She took your hand and guided it to a spot on the scarring, making you trace it with your fingertips.

“What’s that feel like?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “Like scar tissue… Ellie, did Joel do this to you?”

“No,” she almost laughed. “No, I did this to myself. Most of it. Except the part your touching.”

“What?” You frowned, looking at her. “Why would you do this to yourself, I don’t…”

“Does that feel like a bite?” She asked. Your frown deepened. “Because that’s what it is. It’s a bite from an infected.”

You took your hand back and you glared at her.

“That shit isn’t funny, Kid,” you said, probably sterner than you should have. “You weren’t alive yet during the outbreak but I lost people to shit like bites, everyone fucking did, it’s not a goddamn joke.”

“I know it’s not,” she said, her face open and honest. She took your hands. “I know it’s not a joke, it’s not a joke to me either, I lost people, too, OK? That’s how I got bit in the first place, I was goofing off in a place I shouldn’t have been with… we got bit. She turned. I didn’t.”

You just stared at her for a moment.

“Ellie,” you shook your head. “No, that… that’s not possible, you’re wrong, you weren’t really bit or…”

“Trust me, I was bit,” she said. “I’ve been bit twice now, actually. I get bit, it hurts but nothing happens. I don’t change. I’m immune.”

“You’re…”

You couldn’t say it. Instead you just looked at her arm again, gingerly reaching your hand out to trace your thumb over the odd pattern of bumps below the scarring. The one that was shaped like a bite.

“No one knows,” she said. “No one except Joel and Tommy. I have to keep it a secret, who knows what people would do if they knew. So I gave myself a chemical burn to cover the bites.”

You looked at her again. Whether this was true or not, you weren’t sure, but Ellie believed it was. That you could tell, that was the part that mattered.

“What does this have to do with you and Joel?” You asked, taking your hands back again.

“Joel was hired to take me across the country,” she said. “But not to my family. He was hired to bring me to a research facility where they were developing a cure, they wanted to use me to fix everything. They had a doctor who knew how to do it, who could find a way to set everything right.”

“That’s incredible,” you said. You knew nothing about medicine beyond basic first aid to keep yourself alive but it sounded impossible. If it was doable, it seemed like someone would have done it by now. “So what happened? There’s not a cure floating around out there, right? I’ve been pretty out of the loop but…”

“He got me this far,” she said, her jaw clenched tight. “And we found the facility. We went through a lot to get there, we almost died so many fucking times, I had to keep him from fucking bleeding to death on the floor of a goddamn basement, I… The point is, we came all that way. We went through all that shit and…”

She took a deep breath, like she was centering herself.

“We found the facility,” she said again. “And the doctor was there, he was ready to take what he needed from me and ready to make a cure. I don’t know how but he was. And Joel stopped him.”

You stared, your mouth open, trying to process what she was saying.

“That…” you began but stopped. “What do you mean Joel stopped them? That doesn’t make any fucking sense, Ellie, why would he stop them? What do you mean he stopped them?”

“I mean there’s no fucking cure now because of Joel,” she said, her voice hot.

“Why,” you said it more than asked it. “Ellie, there has to be a reason, there has to be, he wouldn’t have stopped them for no reason there has to be a reason. Was it going to hurt you or…”

She looked down, her jaw tense. You could see the muscle of it twitching near her ear.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” You asked. “It would have hurt you and he wouldn’t let them.”

“It would have killed me, OK?” She snapped. “They needed my brain, my brain has cordyceps and they needed them to make it and Joel wouldn’t let them take my stupid brain.”

You just looked at her for a moment.

“Ellie,” you said quietly. “Is that why you hate Joel? Is that why you won’t speak to him, because he saved your life?”

“He saved me from doing something that would have fucking mattered!” She yelled it, tears in her eyes. “My life would have fucking meant something! Instead I’m just here, going to fucking school and playing fucking music and…”

“You’re living a life, Kid,” you said gently. “You think that doesn’t matter? That it’s not important?”

“Know what he did to get me out of there?” She was crying now, not even trying to stop it. She yanked her sleeve back down, covering the burn on her arm. “I’ll tell you what he did, he killed them. Dozens of people, he murdered them. Including the doctor who could have made the cure. He’s dead. He’s dead and there’s no hope for a cure because of fucking Joel.”

“Oh honey,” you pulled her against you, her head dropping to your chest, her tears soaking your shirt. You just held her for a bit. “It’s OK, Kid. You’re alright.”

After a few minutes, she sat up, wiping her tears on the backs of her sleeves.

“You can’t think what he did was right,” she said. “It’s fucking evil, he can’t…”

“Ellie,” you said, keeping your voice calm and even. “That’s not evil, that’s what a parent does. They do everything they can - everything - to keep their child alive.”

“But…”

“Doesn’t matter what it is,” you said. “You’re Joel’s kid. Of course he did whatever was necessary to keep you safe, that includes killing. It would include killing before, too, but especially now.”

“No,” she shook her head. “No, I wanted them to make a cure, I don’t care that it would have killed me, I wanted to do it! He took that from me!”

“You really think there’s any part of Joel that would have just let them kill you, no matter what it meant?” You asked. “That he’d let someone hurt you?”

“To save the fucking world?” She snapped. “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

You smiled a little sadly at her, trying not to cry yourself. You tried not to think of the pain Joel must have been in, thinking he brought his child to someplace that was going to hurt her, kill her. That he’d led her to the end and given her to people who would destroy her.

Your chest was tight.

“That’s not how it works, Kid,” you said. “You think you’re saying that he had a choice but you’re not. He didn’t, he never did. When you love someone that much, it doesn’t matter what the other choice is. If one side is that person’s life, you do whatever it takes to save them. It doesn’t matter what it costs.”

“But…”

You cut her off.

“Do you think he could picture a world without you?” You asked. “Do you think he’d see anything worth saving without you? He was never going to be able to save the world, not unless you were part of it.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” you shrugged. She opened her mouth to argue but didn’t seem to come up with something to say. You kept going. “Do you think I’d do anything different? That I wouldn’t kill to keep you alive? That I wouldn’t do the same in a second for my kid? That’s how it works. You love someone enough, you do anything for them.”

Her eyes looked a little glassy and she dabbed at them with the insides of her wrists.

“You’re close with Tommy and Maria, right?” You asked. “With William?”

“Yeah,” she sniffed.

“If someone came to you and said they could save the world as long as you would let them kill William, would you let them?” You asked. “Would you hand him over to them? Or would you fight to protect him?”

“That’s….” She shook her head. “That’s different, he’s just a little kid, that’s different.”

“Is it?” You asked. “Do you really think it would be different in 10 years? That there’s a magic number where you’d let someone hurt him? Kill him?

“What if it was reversed?” You kept going. “If it was Joel, do you think you’d have let them murder him? Done nothing if you were in his position? Kid, if this is the reason you’re mad at him, I think you need to think about it more. You may not be able to fully understand it but I know him. He loves you so much, I don’t think he could have survived you dying. I’m not sure any parent really does if they lose a child. And you are his child, Ellie. Hate him or not, that’s who you are to him. And there isn’t a single parent on this planet who wouldn’t have done the exact same thing he did.”

She slumped back on the couch. She looked exhausted. You settled in next to her and her head dropped to your shoulder before she sighed.

“How do I forgive him for taking that from me?” She asked. “The chance to matter?”

“He didn’t take that from you,” you said. “You always mattered. Still do. You don’t have to save the world to matter.”

She sighed and looked numb.

“Hungry?” You asked.

“Yeah,” she laughed a little. “Yeah, I am.”

You left her on the couch and got some jerky and fruit from the kitchen, handing some of it to her before flopping back next to her. She bit into some jerky and sighed.

“How you feeling?” You asked, taking a bite of jerky yourself.

She sighed again.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know that I can forgive him.”

“Do you need to?” You asked.

She frowned.

“What if you just tried to think about why he did what he did,” you said. “Don’t worry about if it was good or bad, just think about what it would have been like for him then. It’s over and done with, Kid. Can’t go back and change it now. But do you really want to spend the rest of your life pissed at the man who loves you so much that you’re the whole world to him? After everything you went through, I’m pretty sure you care about him, too. Don’t make your life any harder than it has to be. Don’t try to fuck up the thing he did all that just to give you.”

You convinced Ellie to dance party with you and listened through some albums before she decided she wanted to sleep over instead of going home to be alone.

“Wait,” she said after the two of you were in your bed. “Have you two fucked in here?”

“Kid.”

“Ugh ew,” she groaned. You laughed at that. “He told me he was leaving and when he was getting back but I kind of blocked it out. Guessing you know since you guys are all… gross now.”

“He’s back day after tomorrow,” you smiled a little, even though it was too dark for her to see it.

She sighed heavily.

“I guess I can maybe think about talking to him then,” she said. “And before you get too excited, I said I’d think about it. I might still hate him.”

You didn’t think she’d ever really hated him.

“Sure, Kid.”

Ellie rolled over and pressed her back against your front. You froze for a moment before putting your arm around her.

“Thanks, Bambi,” she said quietly.

“Any time,” you replied. “Love you, Kid. And I know Joel, does, too.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

You drifted off, counting down to when Joel came home. Hoping he’d come back safe, ignoring the nervous pull in your stomach that told you he might not.

It was Joel. He had to be OK.

He just had to.

Next Chapter

A/N: Y'all, I promise this isn't the big angsty bit yet. Just a little angst. As a treat.

Thanks for putting up with me and for being here and spending your time with these characters. It truly means so much to me.

Love you!!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust@ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost@beccerjune@mumma-moonchild@netonetoneto@mellymbee@purplelye@n7cje@flugazi@evyiione@randomhoex@aliengirl99@orcasoul@reds-ramblings@pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel@jenispunk@panda-pascal@sarap-77@flugazi@your-slutty-gf@daniegraceg@partyofone3413@cumberpegg@noisynightmarepoetry.@fifia-writes@grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #yearling #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #smut fic #joel miller x oc

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inneedofsupervision · 11 days

Text

So, you got Detention

@berrys-hide-out Hey Berry, I hope reading this cheers you up a little, hope you like it <3. @cantsaythetword I didn't forget to tag you, here you go :)

Summary: Getting detention sucks. Getting detention for something you haven't done sucks even more. Getting detention and getting scolded through a Captain America PSA for something you haven't done and going home to have said man looking at you disappointedly is the bad-tasting cheery on top that Peter didn't need on this absolute disaster of a Monday. At least he gets the satisfaction of telling the rest of the team about Cap's PSAs. That's going to be fun.

Read on Ao3

"Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you," sings Peter softly before his face turns into a grimace. "I'm never getting this song out of my head now. Thanks for that, Ned," mutters the teen without any bite, stepping out of the subway station. Despite Rick Astley uninvitedly declaring his love inside Peter's head, his lip twitched upwards for the first time today. He was glad to be finally heading to the Avengers Tower. Peter was ready to lock himself into the lab with Mr. Stark and ask the man what they would work on today. Him needing to bring distance between himself and the rest of the world doesn't come off as much of a surprise, taking into account that today had sucked until now. Immensely. At least in Mr. Stark's lab, nothing could get on his nerves, breaking the continuation of a bleak day.

It began with oversleeping.

The shrill sound of the alarm had cruelly torn Peter out of a dreamless slumber, and with a soft moan, the still sleep-drunk teen had aimlessly patted for the clock to end the obnoxious sound. As soon as silence had fallen over the bedroom, Peter's eyelids dropped, and although telling himself that it would just be five more minutes of lying down, he promptly fell asleep again. If Spiderman had stuck to his curfew and not exploited his aunt working overtime, there might be a chance getting to school late could have been avoided. When Peter woke the second time, tiredly checking his mobile phone, he sprung up in shock as he caught the time. Twenty minutes before the bell would ring. With no time for breakfast, he had washed up as quickly as he could, shoved the next best sweater and jeans he could find into his backpack, and sprinted out of the apartment. Peter usually avoided swinging to school, but drastic times called for drastic measures. He just hoped there wouldn't be any posts or articles of people wondering what Spiderman was doing, swinging this early in the morning cause that always prompted a rather unwelcome interview with Mr. Stark, or worse, Aunt May.

In his hurry to get to school on time, the boy had packed the wrong folder, thus having to scribble the history homework onto a paper two minutes before classes started. MJ had caught him sitting on the floor before the classroom, rushing to copy Ned's answers as if his life depended on it. She had pulled up an eyebrow before rolling her eyes. The girl didn't have to say anything for Peter's ears to grow red, embarrassed to look this unprepared in front of their decathlon team captain. Classes were relatively uneventful. Well, apart from the Spanish vocabulary test that Peter might have forgotten. Luckily, he could answer everything, although the boy was sure he spelled at least two words wrong. At lunch, Peter had felt the aftereffect of not eating breakfast as his stomach was rebelling, threatening to start eating itself from the sounds of it. The teen swore he could eat at least three portions until he had seen what they served today. To clarify, Peter isn't a picky eater. At all. Living years with Aunt Mays cocking trained him into trying everything deemed edible, and the hunger did the rest. But today, out of all days, the cafeteria ladies decided to let their presumable hate for the students show in the manifestation of the most disgusting-looking meatballs the boy had ever seen.

"Are those capers?"

Ned had glanced from his fork, where a with sauce dripping green ball of something pierced on, over to Peter, who, in return, squinted down onto his plate. He pushed the greens covered in watered-down sauce with his fork around before looking at his best friend with a frown.

"Could be. But to be honest, I don't really wanna find out."

The food had tasted just as it looked, and Peter was glad he was enhanced because he was sure if that weren't the case, he would have gotten food poisoning. How Ned got the funny-tasting excuses for a meal down was still a mystery to him. Having no money to buy something else to eat and knowing that his metabolism wouldn't let him go on without eating, Peter hadn't had much of a choice other than to force the stuff down his throat.

"If I don't show up to school tomorrow, you know what has happened to me," Ned had said with a slightly pained expression as he pushed his empty plate away to put a safety distance between himself and his lunch.

"Same," agreed Peter as he stood up. He had thrown a look at the leftovers, suppressing a shudder as he collected the food tray. They quickly left the cafeteria and the traumatic lunch experience the place brought with it behind. On their way to biology class, Peter had hope that this was the point where his day would finally turn, where it would start getting better. But of course, no day at school could end without Flash strutting up to them, holding onto the need to be insufferable. Flash had been making a beeline for Peter. The intent to bump his shoulder into Peter had been painfully obvious. Flash's nearing presence had sent Peter's spider-sense off, and it took the vigilante some willpower to let the impact happen.

"What, not apologizing for blocking the hall with your stupid face, Parker?"

Not wanting the situation to escalate, Peter tried to overlook the provocation. He wasn't looking forward to a confrontation, minding his business and continuing walking away when Ned whispered. "Don't mind him. Flash probably ate one too many of those meatballs and now feels like crap." Peter was aware that his friend only meant to lighten up the mood. He couldn't help heaving a sigh when their classmate turned around with an icy glare. "What did you say about me, Fatty?"

Apparently, Neds whispering had not been as quiet as intended. Flash had snarled, hand reaching out to grab Ned's collar but grasped at nothing as Peter anticipated the action and pulled his friend out of reach. He had shoved himself between the two and tried to calm Flash down when the teen grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him closer.

"Listen, Parker, one more word from your friend and I-" The rest of his threat had gotten cut off by the booming voice of Mrs. Warren echoing through the hallway, causing the students standing near her to jump at the sound.

"Parker, Thompson! Detention!"

"Fuck you, Parker."

With a glare, Flash had let go of him and stomped away under the watchful eye of Mrs. Warren. Ned had turned wide-eyed to his friend, carefully laying his hand on Peter's arm where Flash had grabbed him.

"Are you hurt? Peter, I'm so sorry, you shouldn't get detention because of me. I'll talk to Mrs. Warren."

Peter had pulled Ned back with a tired sigh. "Don't bother, Ned. You know Mrs. Warren won't change her mind. She's not exactly my biggest fan. I'll message Mr. Stark that I'm going to be late."

Ned was quick to protest. " But you did nothing wrong! Dude, that's just not fair!"

"It's alright, Ned. It's only detention. It won't be too bad."

By the time Peter finally got to step out of the building, he felt the urge to shake his head at his naivety. Detention had been downright awful. The second the supervising teacher had rolled in the antic tube television, Peter had an odd foreboding of what would come. The old device had flickered to life, and the speaker began playing with a static noise that made Peter wince inwardly. Peter swears he could see Mr. Stark before his inner getting an aneurysm at the sight and sound of their school equipment. Peter had ignored the burning pair of eyes trying to bore into the back of his head, courtesy of Flash, the latter trying to get his attention by calling him names but got told off by their teacher quickly. Peter had also noticed the lack of MJ, who chose today out of all days, not bothering to sketch someone's questioning of their life choices, and maybe detention would have been a tiny bit less terrible with her in the classroom. His eyes had flipped back to the TV, where a star-spangled, all too familiar-looking man sat down on a chair and began talking.

"So, your body is changing. Believe me. I know how that feels."

Peter had sunk deeper into his chair with a groan, the need to bid his lunch goodbye stronger than ever. Sixty painful minutes of unwanted advice from America's most popular and still living icon later, Peter is on his way to the Tower when his mobile phone vibrates inside his jeans pocket, Ned's name greeting him on the display.

"Hey, Peter. I'm still really sorry for earlier. But look what I found! This article is about Spiderman!"

Peter was glad his headphones were on as he clicked on the link Ned had sent him, as Never Gonna Give You Up blasts into his ears. It took him a few seconds as he stared down at his mobile phone, where the singer cheerfully danced behind his microphone, only for him to realize what happened. A surprised chuckle makes it out of his mouth as Peter holds his mobile phone up and whispers, "Dude, did you just rickroll me?". The grin was evident in his voice before he sent the audio message. It doesn't take Ned a minute to answer with a series of laugh emojis. Peter continuously chats with Ned on his way, his Spidey sense keeping him from bumping into anyone during the bustle on Manhattan's sidewalks.

Despite being late, there is the hint of a smile tugging Peter's lips upwards as he steps out of the elevator, amused about something Ned had written. Someone clears their throat, and Peter startles at the sound, quickly using his stickiness to catch his phone. The device dangles from the tip of his ring finger while Peter wonders why he has not felt their presence when a pair of familiar black dress shoes comes into view. Realization washes over Peter at their sight, the owner the only other person apart from his aunt, that his spidey sense doesn't go off to.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," greets Peter and puts on a polite smile as he takes in the frown displayed on his mentor's face. Maybe he should have written more than, "Hi, Mr. Stark. I'm going to be late. Happy doesn't have to drive me."

Peter's smile must have looked as forced as it felt by the look Mr. Stark gave him in return. The man stays quiet as Peter walks past him towards the guest room to put his backpack away. Walking into the living room, the teen gets greeted by the rest of the Avengers lingering around. Peter makes a beeline towards the couch where Clint is sitting, hoping to avoid the confrontation with his mentor just a little longer.

"Hey, Pete. How was school?"

"Please don't ask," mumbles Peter, taking a pillow to hug it while he sinks further into the cushions, trying to be one with the furniture. He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling while Clint chuckles next to him. "That bad, huh?" asks the man, and Peter hums. He closes his eyes, relishing that he finally gets to rest when the sound of footsteps grows closer before halting in front of the couch. Peter suppresses a sigh.

"Care to explain why you happen to be late?" Mr. Stark doesn't sound too bothered, which Peter takes as a good sign. He ponders if he liked Mr. Stark better when the man had been more indifferent but quickly pushes that thought into the back of his mind. Mr. Stark is just worried. But still, Peter didn't like the curiosity and concern in the older man's voice, the tone making him feel like a little kid getting scolded. The boy hugs the pillow closer, successfully muffling his voice by pressing it against his face. He really wasn't in the mood for this kind of conversation. Pushing his face deeper into the pillow, he grumbles, "I had detention."

"What was that? I didn't quite catch that, Spiderling."

Peter is pretty sure Mr. Stark did catch that. Something cold presses against his forehead, the only part of his face not hidden behind the pillow. Peter peeks from under it up to Natasha, who holds a can of Coca-Cola above him, a tiny smile on her lips. She nodded toward Stark with a reassuring smile, and Peter felt a bit better, knowing someone was there to step in if Mr. Stark became too overbearing. Taking the drink from her, the teen sat up properly and put the pillow down, facing his mentor.

"I hung out with Deadpool after school," he deadpanned, his last attempt to stir away from the topic. Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow, sending a side eye at Clint, who dared to snicker at the kid's comment.

"Funny kid, but just to let you know, I have a pretty little monitor in the lab telling me that you haven't left the school building until twenty-five minutes ago. Oh, and I hope for my and your aunt's sanity that you haven't been around Deadpool without at least a ten-mile distance between you two. That man is a nutcase, Peter."

Ignoring the jab at the merc with a mouth and Peter's secret "Thursday is taco-day" partner, he raises an eyebrow. "Should I file a police report for stalking, Mr. Stark?"

"Kid, I don't need two spies and Snowflake around knowing you are deflecting. Now, out with it. Why were you late?"

Peter picked up on the silence around, aware that, by now, everyone in the room and the kitchen were probably listening in. A little embarrassed by the attention, the teen's eyes wander toward his lap, where he absentmindedly fiddles with his web shooters, a sense of shyness overcoming him.

"I had detention," he repeats, a little timid.

The silence only lasts a few seconds.

"Ouch, detention. I knew there had to be something about you, man. No one can be such a goody-two-shoes all the time," teases Sam with a smile, patting Peter's shoulder as he walks past to sit next to Bucky. Peter's lip twitched at the comment, relief flooding him when he looked around and saw no one looking disappointed. Catching Mr. Stark studying him, Peter fumbles with his web shooters again. Although the man didn't seem mad, the way he was looking at him made Peter nervous. Before the teen knew what was happening, he was already throwing a lengthy explanation the man's way, a sudden flood of words hastily chained together to form a somewhat coherent report of what had happened.

"Those meatballs were seriously bad, Mr. Stark. It reminded me of the time you made me try oysters. I'm not sure if I should ever forgive you for that, by the way. That had been kinda traumatic." Peter was painfully aware he was full-on rambling at this point, but Mr. Stark silently listening was unnerving him greatly, so he pushed on, eyes everywhere except Mr. Stark.

"Flash walked up to us and tried picking a fight. I just wanted to go and ignore him, seriously Mr. Stark, I didn't even look at him, but then Ned said something about Flash feeling crappy cause of those meatballs, and it was a joke, but Flash heard it, and he was going to grab Ned by the collar."

Peter goes on, and by the looks Bruce and Rhodey are throwing him, he should probably take a second to breathe before freaking out the adults in the room. But Peter couldn't waste time caring about who he was freaking out because he was going to freak if not managing to make Mr. Stark understand that he didn't get detention on purpose.

"I put myself between them when Flash grabbed me instead when Mrs. Warren came by. She saw us in the hallway and gave us detention."

"Hold on," says Sam, sitting up as he looks at Peter, wearing an incredulous expression. "You've got detention 'cause you avoided your friend getting roughed up by that Flash kid? Is that what I'm getting?"

Before Peter could answer him, Mr. Stark had already his Stark phone out. "I knew that Flash kid meant trouble. That's it. I'm going to get that gremlin expelled."

"Wait, you can't do that, Mr. Stark!"

The man raises an eyebrow, and Peter backpedals quickly. "Okay, you could, but please, you don't have to. He didn't hurt anyone, and it's only detention!"

"He was about to hit your friend, Peter," comments Clint, and Peter did not doubt if Mr. Stark wasn't about to call his school, then the archer would be the one to do it. Clint could get weirdly protective at the most random times.

"He does dumb stuff, yes, but if you expel him, it could get him in serious trouble. I know he has problems at home, and getting expelled isn't the solution." By the pointed look he's receiving from several of the Avengers, Peter had a hunch that his arguments weren't cutting it. He needs to pull out the big guns. The teen leaned forward and looked up to Mr. Stark with the saddest puppy dog eyes he could muster. "Please, Mr. Stark. Don't call the school."

If he hadn't been panicking about Mr. Stark trying to expel his classmate, Peter would have found it funny how quickly the hero calling himself Iron Man crumbled. Tony rolls his eyes with an excessive sigh passing his lips as he pockets his Stark Phone. "Next time that hooligan starts something, I will have him expelled faster than you can say, Mr. Stark, got it?"

Peter grins at his mentor. "Got it, Mr. Stark," he chirps back, leaning back into the couch and feeling content for the first time that day. He catches onto the amused glances the others send him and Mr. Starks way.

"So, how many pizzas should I order?" asks Rhodey, the man successfully breaking the silence. With the promise of Pizza and the knowledge that no one minded him getting detention, Peter takes out his phone to text Ned, the smile from before back on his lips. He looks up, feeling someone looking at him, and meets Bucky's eyes.

"Still can't believe they give you detention without clearing up the situation," says the man, crossing his arms over his chest, a sour expression on his face. Peter was about to tell Bucky that it was alright, honestly touched that the man got bothered on his behalf when Captain America chose that moment to walk in. A groan builds up in his throat as the man settles next to Bucky. Steve's brows are furrowed in concern as he glances around the room, lines on his forehead deepening before his eyes turn to the teen. It takes only a second for Peter to guess that Steve had only picked up the detention part of the conversation.

"You've got detention?"

Steve says it so seriously it makes Peter want to throw the pillow at something. Or someone. Too tired to retell the event, Peter merely shrugs his shoulders. "It wasn't that bad."

He had hoped they would leave it at that, but who was he kidding? He's talking about Steve Rogers, after all. Peter's good mood starts deflating when Steve puts on his disappointed Captain America face.

"You're a good kid, Peter. You shouldn't get in trouble."

The teen's expression turns sour at Steve's comment.

"Steve, leave him alone," begins Bucky, frowning at his friend and leaning forward to intervene when the teen sinks into his seat with a low groan. Tony shoots him a worried glance. "What's wrong, Pete?"

Peter ignores the question in favor of sending Steve a glare. Steve dared to look baffled by the look sent his way. If today hadn't been so bad, Peter wouldn't even consider rolling his eyes at Steve, but now he couldn't be bothered to be polite to Captain Popsicle. "I had to listen to your lectures for sixty minutes today, Steve. Sixty. Minutes. I think I had my fill, so please don't bother starting another lecture about what is right and wrong if you don't even know what happened!"

Mr. Stark looks highly amused, not bothering to stop Peter from throwing his sass at Steve, which the teen usually kept for being alone with him in the lab, not often showing it in front of the rest of the team. Bruce raises an eyebrow, head slightly tilted in question. "Peter, Steve had been here all day while you were in school. When should he have lectured you?"

"He wasn't, but I had to listen to his PSA during detention, and I don't feel like hearing more now," answers the teen with something that might, under some circumstances, resemble a pout. Not that Peter would be pouting in front of the Avengers.

"PSA?" asks Clint while Bucky carries a thoughtful look before glancing at the blond sitting next to him.

"You shot PSAs? They still do these?"

Taking in all the puzzled faces around them, Peter quickly realized something that filled his inside with nothing but delight. It was like someone turned a switch, the not-pout on the teen's face morphing into a grin bright enough to lighten the room while Steve's face darkened with every new question asked, their expression the complete opposite of each other.

"They don't know," whispered Peter under his breath, eyes locked on Steve. He lets out a surprised laugh, a grin wider than ever.

"Oh my god, Steve, they don't know!"

He sits upright, the tiredness completely wiped off him as he beams at the blond, eyes gleaming with mischief rivaling Loki.

"Peter," says Steve slowly, the warning heavy in the undertone of his voice. Said warning meets deaf ears, Peter not even thinking about stopping any time soon. He had felt like crap the whole day. Nothing went his way, and Peter knows that that's not on Steve. But having to listen to Captain America's lecture when he did nothing wrong only for the man himself to assume that he did something the second someone uses the word detention in context with Peter without giving him a chance to explain rubbed him the wrong way. The teen isn't a fan of revenge and retaliation and holding grudges, but today, Peter felt petty. If Steve thought he could spoil the rest of the day after school had been that bad already, then he could buckle up. Peter knows his behavior is childish and petty, traits no one would connect with Spiderman, but the teen isn't Spiderman right now. He is Peter Parker, a feeling wronged fifteen-year-old who holds the perfect blackmail material of the person who wronged him in his young, inhumanly sticky hands.

"So," begins Peter in the most serious voice he could muster, giving it his best Captain America impersonation. The way Steve's expression contorted into a grimace was worth it. "you got detention."

"I give you one chance to stop, Peter," warned Steve, eyes narrowed dangerously. Peter only grins wider at that, having way too much fun rilling the blond up while the others could only share confused glances.

"Something tells me this goes over my head," stage whispers Clint.

"Doesn't everything?" shoots Sam at him simultaneously as Tony throws a, "Nothing new, then."

"Harsh," says Clint, rubbing his chest in mock hurt, causing the others to chuckle. "But back to Spider-kid and Cap, does anyone know what those two are on about?"

Choruses of no clue and a beat from Rhodey are all he gets before all eyes are on the pair, who are now challenging in a silent stare-off. Peter leaned forward, openly enjoying teasing the older man. Steve is ready to jump at him by the looks of it, but Peter isn't intimidated in the slightest, knowing he could outrun the older man. "You screwed up. You know what you did was wrong. The question is, how are you gonna make things right?"

Peter's grin widens at the same time Steve narrows his eyes.

"Last warning, Pete."

The blond raises his eyebrows, caught off guard when the teen leans back into his seat. He watches with surprise how Peter fishes his phone out of his pocket, taking a short glance at it before calmly placing it on the coffee table.

"Okay, I'll stop here," says Peter mercifully, stretching as he stands up and walks towards the kitchen. The blond's eyes follow the teen's movement, and Sam snickers how his friend's body deflates at the tension vacating his shoulders, amused by the power a teenager holds over Steve's head.

"Oh, by the way, Steve," Steve's heads shoot up at the tone in Peter's voice. He locks eyes with the teen, who wears the cheekiest grin any of the Avengers ever had seen him carry as he beams at the man.

"Maybe you were trying to be cool. But take it from a guy who's been frozen for 65 years... The only way to be cool is to follow the rules."

Peter's grin was about to reach his eyes. He couldn't help himself.

"Are you following the rules, Steve?"

In hindsight, Peter should have anticipated that the super soldier wouldn't let go of it without some retaliation. It had been too much fun to watch the man's patience thinning than to think what the outcome of that scenario would mean for Peter. He ducks at the same time his Spidey sense peaks, blocking the pillow flung at him just in time. The low buzz had begun to surr in his ear since he started teasing Steve and was growing into a shrill ringing when the man got up from his seat incredibly fast. Peter turns around while stepping out of reach, avoiding the hands reaching for him by vaulting over the couch, including Clint.

"Hey, no jumping over my furniture!" scolds Mr. Stark, but the crinkling of skin around his eyes betrays the stern act as he watches his mentee chased by Cap, wearing a grin on his face.

"Sorry, Mr. Stark!"

The sincerity of the apology suffers under the smile lying in his voice.

Peter stands still, eyes not leaving Steve, who hovers on the other side of the couch, waiting for him to move. Despite focusing on the blond, Peter catches onto the excitement in the room, their little chase entertaining the others immensely, followed by the cheering they receive from the rest. The whole situation was so silly. Peter couldn't help but laugh when he feinted a step to the side, causing Steve to flinch as the man was ready to pounce but narrowing his eyes as he caught on Peter trying to fool him. He couldn't wait to tell Ned that he had teased Captain America, the thought alone bringing a grin about to split his face.

The excitement in the room only increases, so much that Peter doesn't notice the new presence of a person before nearly bumping into them. Thanks to his sixth sense, he barely keeps from barreling into Mrs. Potts. He comes to an abrupt halt despite wearing socks, only possible thanks to his stickiness. Pepper holds a hand over her heart, the surprise written all over her face when Steve takes the chance of Peter not paying attention. The last thing Peter catches is Pepper's green eyes widening, her mouth forming a silent o before something slams into him at full speed, turning the world upside down.

"Whoa, careful Steve. I don't want squished spiders on my clothes."

Clint scowls playfully at the blond, who ignores him in favor of wrestling with a laughing teen on the couch. The archer rolls his eyes at being ignored and points his thumb at the pair.

"Children. It's like herding cats." He snorts at the sight of Peter with his back pressed into the couch, one foot pressed against the super soldier's chest, and pushing the 240-pound weight off of him without much difficulty. "So, your body is changing," begins Peter, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face despite Steve looming above him, looking ready to throw him out of the next window. The blond reaches out to cover Peter's mouth to block more parts of his most embarrassing PSA coming out of the teen, the panic in his eyes causing Peter to break out into laughter. Steve narrows his eyes at the laughing teen, who half-heartedly shoves him off of him.

"Can someone please tell me what is going on here?"

Peter perks up at Mrs. Pott's question, glancing at Steve with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh, I was just about to tell the rest about Mr. Roger's PSAs, Mrs. Potts," he chirps, ever so helpful. He was about to elaborate when Steve finally managed to clap his hand over Peter's mouth, successfully shutting him up.

"Noo, why did you turn him off?" complains Sam with faked disappointment. "It was just about to get interesting."

"Since when do you believe anything Peter tells you?" counters Steve, struggling to hold the teen down and keep him from spilling another word. Despite Peter's small size, the teen was powerful. Steve needed to trap him in a hold, somewhat resembling an uncomfortable back hug, to keep a hand over his mouth, but the teen with his freaky flexibility didn't even seem too bothered.

"Well, the kid can be very persuasive. And he did sound like he had something important to tell us. Isn't that right, Peter?"

Peter nods vigorously despite the hand still covering his mouth. They watch the teen worming an arm out of Steve's bear hug, tugging on the hand that kept him from talking. Sam grinned as he observed Steve's face fall at the ease Peter pulled his hand away. The older man tried reclaiming the position, but the teen had it in a tight hold, successfully keeping him from putting his hand back on his mouth. Peter grabs Steve's other wrist and pushes the man's arms away, wriggling out of the hold. A bright grin adorns the teen's face as he pushes Steve away, who is back on his heels in a second. Peter jumped off the couch as a hand seized his leg, causing him to fall over. Several surprised gasps could be heard, along with a rather colorful curse directed at Steve from Tony as Peter catches himself, keeping from faceplanting into Mr. Stark's pristine white living room floor. In contrast to the glares Steve receives at the rash action, Peter openly cackles as Steve tries pulling him back by his leg.

"There is a perfectly equipped gym two floors down, and they decide to do this here?"

"Don't be harsh on them, Tony. They seem to be having fun," appeases Pepper, surprisingly one of the few people along with Bucky and Natasha who weren't shocked by seeing Peter fall.

"Where does that look like having fun?" He asks, but one look at his mentee's face tells him his fiance was right. The kid is enjoying himself.

Meanwhile, Peter plants his palms on the floor, his upper body hanging off the couch. He sticks onto the tiles, sticking one hand down at a time, and crawls away while Steve still holds onto one of his legs. He keeps moving forward, laughing at the strained huff Steve lets out as he avoids Peter's free foot from kicking him in the stomach. The super soldier bats the flailing limp away, shortly loosening his hold on the teen's leg, which the latter quickly uses as a chance to create some leeway.

He doesn't get very far.

"No!" shouts Peter as a hand wraps around his ankle and pulls him back half a meter. "Sam! Bucky! Help!" pleads the teen half-heartedly, reaching out for the two men sitting on the opposite couch.

"What do you say, Buck? Do we help the munchkin?"

"I know Steve long enough not to interfere when he gets like that. Punk is a mad dog when he throws a fit. Sorry, kid, you're on your own."

Peter is about to give the men a piece of his mind when he gets pulled another good amount of inches back before he gets back to stick on the floor. He crawls away again, but Steve has none of it and reaches for the teen's other ankle. Thanks to his spidey sense, Peter avoids the grip by turning on his side, but it causes him to roll further towards the couch than away from it. Steve quickly takes the opportunity to reach down and hook his hand under the teen's side, attempting to heave Peter off the ground. The teen twists in his hold, and Steve curls his fingers into Peter to keep a hold of him when an honest-to-good squeal escapes the teen.

An eerie silence hangs over the room, no one daring to speak as Steve stares at the frozen teen in his hold who avoids meeting his face as best as he can, but he catches onto the reddened tips of his ears. Steve's lip twitched knowingly. He knows that kind of reaction. He squeezes his hand abruptly, lips forming into a grin as the body on the floor jumps like a fish on land at the action.

"Oho," says Clint, sounding way too gleeful, the first to break the silence, having watched the silent realization come over Steve with amusement.

"What a way to reveal your secret, kid. At least I won't have to keep this to myself anymore," comments Tony with a grin.

Now was Steve's turn, carrying a mischievous grin.

"A secret? What kind of secret could that be, Peter? You like sharing information. How about you enlighten us about this, huh?"

Peter feels his heart jump at the tone in Steve's voice. He kind of regrets having made fun of the man. Peter begins crawling again, but this time with more vigor than before. He doesn't get very far as Steve instantly pulls him back but meets resistance as the teen sticks to the ground. The problem resolves itself quickly as Steve releases one of Peter's legs to reach forward and claw at the teen's ribs. With a shriek, Peter's left hand unsticks, arm shooting down to protect his side. Steve's hand darts to the teen's other side, repeating the procedure and efficiently getting the teen off the ground. From there on, it was easy to throw the already laughing boy back onto the couch.

Never one to back down quickly, Peter instantly tries climbing over the couch, but an arm sneaks around his middle and prevents him from escaping. He tries reaching for the backrest, but a hand worms its way into his underarm, and every attempt to reach his arm out to grasp something becomes futile. He quickly gets pushed down, back pressed into the couch cushion as Steve looms over him for a second time that day, but this time, Peter could crawl out of his skin at the grin on the older man's face.

"Dohon't do this," says Peter, voice void of any conviction as nervous giggles accompany his words. Not knowing what to do with his hands, the teen awkwardly holds them in front of him, half shielding his upper body and half waiting to catch any hands that were about to attack. Steve watches with growing amusement how the boy's eyes jump from his face to his hands and back as if he were unsure what was more important to keep track of. He had never seen such an amount of nervous energy radiating from the teen. It was adorable to see him this unnerved about something harmless as this.

"This? What do you mean, Peter? Is this about the secret Tony mentioned?"

"I don't know what you are talking about. I don't have any secrets. Apart from being Spiderman, I mean," Peter stumbles over his words, lips twitching upwards when Steve raises an eyebrow at him. "No secrets to share, no information to keep. I have nothing to hide, so you can let me go. Please?"

Steve turns towards Clint, who hasn't moved an inch, even with the literal wrestling match happening on the seats next to him. "What do you say, Clint? Does he tell the truth?"

Peter throws a pleading look towards the archer. Clint grins at the pair.

"You see that face," he asks, pointing at the teen. "As a spy and a father, I can tell you that's the face of a liar."

"That's not true!" protests Peter as Steve turns back to him. Catching onto the look the man bestows on him, Peter snatches the next best thing he can get his hands on, a decorative pillow, and uses it to shield himself, a giant grin about to split his face. Steve cracks his knuckles.

"Seems like I have to get the truth out of you."

"Noho!" shouts Peter with a laugh as Steve pulls at the pillow. Nervous giggles are pouring out of him as he tries to make himself as small as possible, and it is faint, but Steve's enhanced hearing could pick up on the wild pace of the kid's heart beating.

"Let go of the shield, Spiderman," commands Steve, eyes gleaming playfully at the boy.

"In your dreams," says Peter, only fastening his hold onto the pillow, the only thing keeping him safe from the fingers getting closer. Steve catches a movement out of the corner of his eyes, lips twitching ever so slightly. He focuses back on Peter, the boy watching him with his whole attention, unaware of the hands reaching for his feet. A shriek escapes the vigilante, eyes widening at the feel of blunt nails running over his socked soles, causing him to flinch and pull his legs up at the ticklish feeling. Steve uses the moment of surprise to tear the pillow out of Peter's hand, depriving him of the last thing to shield himself from his attack.

"Thanks, Clint."

"No problem, Cap."

Peter sends a glare Clint's way, but the archer only needs to reach for his feet for the teen to let the glare turn into a panicked grin, quickly tucking his legs close. "That's what I thought," says Clint with a smug grin. Steve uses the moment of inattention, poking the teen's stomach in quick succession. The reaction didn't disappoint.

"Hey! Stohop it!"

Peter tries glaring at the blond while his hand fails to catch the poking fingers, jumping when one poke lands dangerously close to his lower rip. The motion doesn't go unnoticed by the soldiers' trained eyes, a sly smirk forming on the man's face. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"Yehehehes! Stahahap pokehihing me!" complains Peter, but it was hard to take the teen seriously with the constant giggling. Steve does stop at that.

"Alright, I'll stop. Would you prefer this instead?"

He skitters his fingers over the teen's stomach, grinning at the squeal escaping Peter before he tries curling on himself, hysterical giggles pouring out of him, unaware that the sound causes amused smiles to appear on every face in the room.

"Nahaha, gehehet your hahahands of mehehe," Peter manages to bring out between his laughter as he twists on his side, addressing the others.

"Sohohomebody hehelp!"

"Anyone here knows who that somebody is he's talking about?" asks Sam, feigning ignorance.

"I hahahete you, Bihihirdman 2!"

"Yeah, I can't take anything you say seriously giggle-bug."

Peter is about to counter, but a set of fingers dug into the part where his ribs and upper back meet, sending a ticklish shock throughout his body. He jumps at the touch, and Steve latches onto the reaction, taking both hands to claw at his ribcage and digging his fingers in on the search for that spot. Peter's giggles had long ago turned into bright laughter, now accompanied by an occasional shriek and a whole-body jump as Steve found what he'd been searching for.

"Oh, what's this?" he asks, voice full of glee.

"NOHOHOTHING, IT'S NOTHINIHIN!"

"Something tells me you're onto something, Cap," comments Rhodey with a grin, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, amusement written all over his face.

Peter shakes his head at the words, chanting "Stopstopstopstohohooop," while trying to catch the hands that are way too skillful in sending ticklish sparks under his skin, leaving him in stitches. "Why? Is this the spot I have to go to to get you to tell me about your secret? Although I think I can already guess what it is."

Steve grins down at Peter who tries so hard to scowl at him but fails miserably. It leaves the man wondering where all the strength has gone, and while the idea of tickling being Spiderman's big-bad weakness sounds fun, Steve knows for the better that this couldn't be the reason for the teen's failure to escape.

"OH MY GOHOHOHOD, NOHOHO!" Peter kicks his legs, wriggling from side to side and throwing his head back when Steve finds a way to slip his hands into his underarms. He presses his arms down, quickly rendering Steve's fingers immobile, but the feeling of them simply touching his armpits tickled like mad.

"Peter, I kinda need my hands back, or we're stuck here until tomorrow," teases Steve, amused when the boy shakes his head with a giant grin.

"Buck, a little help here?"

The other man huffs a small laugh. "You're seriously stuck?"

Steve grins at him. "I can't move a single finger."

With a shake of his head, Bucky makes his way over to the couch. He assesses the situation before glancing at Peter, the latter trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Bucky clasps both hands on Peter's thighs just over the kneecap, squeezing and massaging his thumb into the muscle. Peter kicked like mad at the action, breaking into loud belly laughter, and Steve could pull his hands away as the teen was busy twisting and wriggling, trying anything to get Bucky's hands off his knees.

"How did you know that would work?" asks Sam, impressed, as Bucky walks back to sit on the couch as if nothing had happened. Bucky shrugs. "It works on Steve," he answers cooly, but with a smirk playing on his face. Steve glares at him but quickly focuses on Peter, who uses the moment to try crawling in the other direction of the couch. Clint only watches with amusement as he has a lap full of enhanced teen trying to crawl over him as if that was your normal Monday afternoon thing, only to get caught by the shoulder and get dragged back.

"We're not done yet, Queens."

"Steheheheve, pleaahahse. I cahanah't tahahake anymhohore!" whines Peter, but Steve catches onto the playful spark glinting in his eyes.

"Okay, I'll stop here," says Steve, mimicking Peter. "But there's one thing I'll have to tell you." The teen narrows his eyes at the blond, not trusting one word coming from Steve.

"What I tell you now is about one of the most valuable traits a student or soldier can have."

Peter's eyes widen comically. As soon as his brain registers the words, he gracelessly flails in his place. The teen tries to throw himself off the couch as he knows where this is going, but Steve, having anticipated the action, jumps forward and catches the teen around the waist. He keeps his arm wrapped around Peter's middle, hugging the teen against his chest and kneading his free hand into Peter's side without further ado.

"Nohohohot anohohother one! Steve pleahahahase! Dohohohon't do thihihhis! I-I'll goho insahahane!"

Steve keeps a stoic face despite the madly giggling and protesting fifteen-year-old half-sitting squirming in his lap, batting and pulling on the arm holding him in place. He continues his speech with his Captain America voice, causing several eyebrows to raise in amusement.

"Patience." he begins, while his hand slips under the teen's shirt, skittering his fingers over bare skin, "Sometimes, patience is the key to victory."

Peter doesn't know if it's the teasing or the fact that Steve keeps dragging his fingers over the bare skin of his sides, but he can't help kicking his legs into the air and throwing his head back into Steve's shoulder as his whole body shakes under the force of him laughing. Steve takes advantage of Peter's head being this close as he speaks the following words right into his ear, earning him the cutest giggle he had ever heard as the teen desperately tries to scrunch his shoulder up and shield his ear from the tickly air. "Sometimes, it leads to very little, and it seems like it's not worth it, and you wonder why you waited so long for something so disappointing."

At his last word, Steve changes his tactics and uses his free hand to poke every place he can find that Peter isn't poorly trying to protect. The boy can't do anything in his hold but giggle his head off, and Steve wonders once again why Peter doesn't escape since he certainly could until he realizes that, maybe, Peter doesn't want to escape. The thought sparks his interest, and he might as well test that theory while the opportunity's still there.

"STEHEHEHEHEHEVE! NO! Anywhere but there! Please please please, please not thihihis it's so bad. Seriously, dohon't do it! STEHEVE NOHOHO, WHY AREN'T YOHUHU LISTENIHIHIHN! AHAHAHAH NO STAHAHAHAP!"

Peter trashes in his hold as the super solider gets another chance to dig into that sweet spot between his back and rips, sending the kid into a laughing fit, face reddening as he squeezes his eyes shut, the corner wettening with tears of joy before his laughter turns silent.

"Steve, I'll think he got the message," interrupts Tony, having caught onto the change from silent laughter to coming out a tad bit breathless. Not wanting to overdo it, the blond stops the tickling but keeps his arm around the teen, afraid Peter will fall if he lets go of him. The boy hangs slack in his hold, trying to catch his breath.

"You good, Queens?" asks Steve, a little worried he might have overdone it as he carefully loosens his hold on Peter. The latter let himself slip to the side, landing with a groan on the couch. Feeling Steve's eyes on him, Peter turns his head but keeps lying on his side. He sends the man a tired grin.

"I think now I know the true meaning of patience. And ruthlessness."

With a smile, Steve reaches over and ruffles Peter's already messed-up hair.

"You need another lecture, and you know where to find me," he jokes, smirking at the dramatic groans it earns him.

"Yeah, no, I think I pass. You know what I would rather listen to?"

Steve raises an eyebrow in question.

Peter grins at him.

"Some Captain America PSAs."

#ticklish! peter parker #ticklish spiderman #lee peter parker #ler steve rogers #marvel tickle fic #peter parker #spiderman #captain america #steve rogers

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grainjew · 1 month

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Nikaposting Pt 1: Crypto-Religion

This is the first of a series of posts about Nika & associated religious practice in the One Piece world. As I write and post the rest of the series, I’ll add links to this header.

Pt 2: Symbology & Syncretism | Pt 3: Joyboy was Shandian | Pt 4: Sun God Tropes

Enormous credit to @oriigami for being my discussion partner through all of this and having a substantial influence on the final product. Check out our ao3 series Joyful for a narrative rather than analytical take on the Nika tradition, and definitely go read her OP blog @kaizokuou-ni-naru for meta and translation fun facts.

The Nika Cult is a Crypto-Religion

Terminology note: I will be using cult in these posts in the sense of “cult of worship,” rather than in the modern pejorative sense. Additionally, I tend to use “tradition” rather than “religion” as a general term, because “religion” is a messy and difficult to define concept, while “tradition” is much more inclusive of traditional practices, folk beliefs, and cults of worship that may not be considered religions by Western scholarship.

Raise your hand if you saw Kuma’s church and Bible, concluded “oh, the Nika stuff is basically One Piece Christianity,” and moved on with your life.

It’s an easy assumption to make, and for all I know authorial intent may well stop there. I’m not Oda. I’ll never be able to guess what goes on behind those fish eyes of his. But a second look at the worldbuilding around both Nika and Christianity in One Piece brought me to a very different conclusion: that the Nika cult is a crypto-religion and is, in Kuma’s case, using the outward appearance of Christianity as camouflage.

First of all: We have ample evidence that Christianity (or some variation of it- I’m fascinated by the implied existence of such things as One Piece Jerusalem and the One Piece Council of Nicea) does exist in the One Piece world, and is both fairly widespread and quite legal. Flevance was pretty explicitly Catholic (Law went to church as a kid), Miss Monday and Mother Carmel masqueraded as nuns to imply harmlessness, many if not most of the graves shown in the series are crosses, whatever Usopp was on about with that exorcism equipment, and, yes, Kuma’s church and Bible.

Even mentioning the Nika cult, on the other hand, is grounds for the government to assassinate you with extreme prejudice.

A crypto-religion is what happens when a religion is suppressed to the point that its practice is grounds for exile, torture, and/or execution: Some people will convert. Some people will flee into exile. Some people will die. And some people will outwardly adopt the dominant religion, but will continue to practice their own traditions in secret; ie, they’ll create a crypto-religion.

One of the more famous examples of this is the post-Spanish Inquisition crypto-Jews of Spain and Portugal, who converted to Christianity in public but kept what Jewish traditions and rituals they could in private. To this day, descendants of these conversos whose families have been Catholic for centuries are discovering that their family tradition of lighting two candles on Friday or not eating pork on Saturday are in fact the legacy of a violently suppressed heritage. There are countless other examples of crypto-religions throughout history, both among Jews (my own personal field of knowledge) and among other traditions (for an example that would be known to Oda, the crypto-Christians of Japan).

There’s no way the Nika cult could have survived except in cryptic form. If it ever had physical infrastructure in the form of temples or pilgrimage sites, the government would have sought them out and demolished them long ago if they were not adequately disguised, especially in World Government member states like the Sorbet Kingdom. Likewise, anyone foolish enough to speak publicly about Nika will be summarily assassinated.

In fact, I have doubts that the Nika cult ever existed outside cryptic form, at least in a significant or long-lasting manner. It was specifically introduced as a slave tradition, likely nigh-exclusively oral, practiced in secret either from its inception—if Nika was a figure created by slaves, including the buccaneers—or for a very long time—if it was the cultural or ethnic tradition of the buccaneers, which spread from enslaved buccaneers to non-buccaneer slaves because Nika was a figure that resonated with them. I tend the favor the second option, but either has merit.

As @oriigami said when we were talking about this, Kuma has a church. Kuma has a bible. Kuma worships a god about whom absolutely nothing is written except in the oldest texts.

Additionally, I’ll expand on this more in pt 2 of this series, but the pendant Kuma leaves for Bonney, a large circular sapphire surrounded by eight smaller circular sapphires, matches the circular symbol inset into the crosses of his church. Bonney immediately identifies the pendant as a sun even though it really doesn’t look like one, and it can be surmised therefore that it’s a Nika amulet, and the sun with disconnected rays a Nika symbol. Following this read, and especially because this symbol occurs across the world in other contexts (see pt 2 for my thoughts on that), its presence in the church is a very careful bit of architectural sleight of hand on the part of whichever of Kuma’s ancestors built the place- echoing a very common practice of real-world crypto-religion adherents to mark the true nature of their allegiances and houses of worship in ways only those in the know might recognize.

And on a storytelling level, Kuma’s entire presence in the narrative and in the world has been a tragic saga of appearing to be one way until he’s revealed, again and again, to be the opposite. It makes thematic sense for him to be fooling the world about his faith as well!

#nikaposting #sun god nika #gear 5 #opmeta #bartholomew kuma #meta tag #zephflix original #if i hadn't dropped out of college i'd be a religious studies major and this tag is how you know

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steddieunderdogfics · 1 month

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This week’s writer spotlight feature is: Pricklywhicket/@messessentialist ! Prickleywhicket has four fics published to AO3 -- All in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by pricklywhicket:

so let's sneak in from the cheap seats, honey

it's supposed to be fun (turning twenty-one)

start by pulling him out of the fire

"Sadie is so super talented in the way she describes literally everything. She is so good at writing and it's a shame that she's flown under the radar because she's not the quickest at putting things out there." -- Anonymous

Below the cut, Pricklywhicket answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Why do any of us write anything? Because we want the story to exist in the world, and it doesn’t yet, so we gotta hike up our pants and do it ourselves!

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Hurt/Comfort. I’m always a sucker for the blorbos taking care of one another, in whatever form that takes. This has always been true, across a truly astronomical number of fandoms I’ve found myself dabbling in over the years.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

…actually, probably hurt/comfort! I just need to get those little dudes some validation and unconditional positive regard, okay?

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I’m sure I won’t be the first one to say this, but: I HAVE TO PICK ONE????? Okay, alright. I can do this. I’m gonna say…Sanctuary by SpicedSage.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I’ve only written canon or canon-adjacent fic so far, so I’m eager to work on something that’s completely AU. I think there’s a unique challenge to keeping characters recognizable as themselves in a world that might not have all the same contexts that made them into that person.

What is your writing process like?

I would love to say it’s super organized and well-planned, but the truth is it’s mostly about routine and responsibility. I set aside time to do it every day, even if I can only tap out a few sentences. I’m not very strict about writing in a straight line - I can stop a scene if it’s giving me trouble, write a note about what I think happens in some [brackets], and move on to something that I have more fully fleshed-out ideas for. Sometimes writing the next scene helps you know more about what needs to happen in the current one.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I'm sure my betas would say yes 🙃 I tend to write a lot of dialogue - a lot of my revision process is going back through and realizing I have two pages of a conversation with no indication of what’s physically happening in the world around the speakers.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Definitely when I’m finished. Prior to my ‘23 bang fic, I had never written anything chaptered. I knew going in that I could NOT start posting if it wasn’t finished, because I’ve been burned too many times by abandoned works. I didn’t want to do that to people reading my fic, and the best way to avoid it is to finish before you post.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Easily start by pulling him out of the fire. The biggest, most ambitious thing I’ve ever attempted - I still kind of can’t believe I wrote 85k.

How did you get the idea for start by pulling him out of the fire?

Like most terrible ideas, it was spawned in a fandom discord chat. We were discussing the tendency of Steddie fics to centralize the party at Steve’s house, because his parents are never there anyway. And then someone mentioned what if the parents came home and found their house occupied, and someone else mentioned Wayne being there, and it just sort of…spiraled out from there.

When writing start by pulling him out of the fire, what was something you didn’t expect?

I had no idea, going in, that I was going to write a comprehensive history of the Wayne and Eddie Munson relationship. I started writing it where I did to give some background on Wayne’s existing distaste for the elder Harrington, and then I just…kept writing. Over the course of a month or two I wrote 20k of WayneAndEddie that I had no idea was in me - it just kept coming.

What inspired it's supposed to be fun (turning twenty-one)?

@wynnyfryd. It was a gift for her birthday. We were talking about our mutual love of Letterkenny, and she mentioned that the episode was her favorite and wouldn’t it be funny if someone wrote… and the rest is history.

What was your favorite part to write from it's supposed to be fun (turning twenty-one)?

I had an unreasonable amount of fun with that one in general. But I think my favorite part was Eddie polling the party about what Steve means to them all. It was fun to sort of put myself in each character’s shoes and think about how they would answer. Plus y’know, any excuse to unironically love on Steve Harrington.

How do/did you feel writing so let's sneak in from the cheap seats, honey?

I believe my exact words upon deciding to write it were “jingles miserably to a blank google doc.” This was a classic case of saying “god I wish there was a fic where—” and having friends tell me that it was now my responsibility to write it. I’m glad I did, though. I love that story, and it proved to me that I could write sex and publish it and not burst into flames. I also just really, really love summer storms. And Wayne’s use of the singular ‘herpe.’

What was the most difficult part of writing so let's sneak in from the cheap seats honey?

Getting over the fear of publishing something E-rated. It was just something I hadn’t done, and I had a lot of anxiety that people were not going to respond well to it. I made three people individually review the sex scenes before I even asked anyone to beta the full fic. Of course I was worried for nothing, the reception for that fic was super lovely and gave me the confidence boost I needed to attempt start by pulling him out of the fire!

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

This is like asking me to pick a favorite child. I’ll say this: most of my favorite lines in start by pulling him out of the fire were taken directly from conversations @wormdebut and I had about the fic. She’s my number one cheerleader and sounding board, and sometimes she’s so goddamn funny that I just have to include it. You have her to thank, for instance, for Steve quite literally dropping his croissant when he first sees Eddie in glasses.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I have a couple of irons in the fire, but nothing I’m ready to share just yet! I’ve been taking a breather from writing (blame baldur’s gate 3, okay) but my WIPs are still very much IP. Stay tuned!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Not that I can think of!

Thank you to our author, Pricklywhicket, and our anonymous nominator! See more of pricklywhicket's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#writer's wednesday #writers on tumblr #steddie writers #steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things

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brokeitwiththepowerofmathamatics · 5 months

Text

Fanfic - Ghost of the Cards

This was written for a "back to school" fic challenge on a DP server I'm in. It was beta read by HeroineofTime!

For the challenge, we had to write a fic that was around going back to school, and had to include in some way homework, detention, backpack, friends, and bells.

(ao3 here) (ff.net here)

Danny knew that Dash and the A-Listers would probably try to find some way to make his life miserable, but he had to admit this was actually kind of funny.

Danny huffed as he ran up to the school doors. Yes, he could have just flown in using his ghost powers while invisible, then pop out of one of the bathroom stalls or something, but after the summer vacation, and the multitude of close calls of almost being caught by… well… everyone… (no Jazz, he was not being careless because he wanted to be caught and freed from the burden of secrecy) he decided not to risk using his powers at school today.

In retrospect, that didn't help anything.

Danny walked through the school doors, he was greeted by the sight of one of the lunchroom tables laid out in the school entryway. Star and Paulina were sitting at the table, greeting all the students as they came in, and handing out little boxes.

Danny resolved himself to ignore it, but he didn't get a chance to.

"Hey! Fenton!" Star called out. Danny sighed and walked over. Star glanced over at Paulina and the two of them started giggling.

Danny already had a bad feeling but now it was worse. "Hey, Star," he greeted.

"Hello!" Star said, sitting up straight. Her posture was perfect, not leaning in any friendly manner, but she wasn’t leaning away like she normally would. (At least, while people could see her) "Here! Take this!" she said, handing him one of the boxes. Her voice was oddly chipper for a typical interaction with him. "The art club kept meeting over the summer, and we came up with something fun! The teachers are all helping out with this!"

"Uh… thanks? What is it?" Danny asked, tilting the box over in his hands. It was a cardboard box that was printed to look like the outside of Casper High, with a large ‘TCG’ floating over the school's name. There was also a piece of masking tape on the back, that Danny noticed wasn't on the others.

This box had been marked for him.

"It's a card game! You should know all about those!"

Danny sighed. "Not really? Look, I know I'm a nerd, but I like video games and space." Danny shook the box around. "Card games haven't been my thing."

Star rolled her eyes. "Whatever, look, I gotta keep handing these out." She looked past him and raised her hand. "Kwan! Over here!"

Where Kwan was, Dash soon followed, so Danny dashed away.

Danny checked where his locker was supposed to be, before running up the stairs to the top floor. Fighting the urge to pump a fist as he did so. Not only was it the top floor, but it was close to a janitor closet, and in a dead end part of the school. Not many people would be coming by here unless it was specifically to drop stuff at their locker, or go to the history teacher's room that was on the other side of the wall.

And more importantly, Sam and Tucker were apparently next to him as well.

Thank Clockwork for small mercies.

"You're welcome," Tucker said as he took a stack of cards from Sam.

"Don't mention it, I don't want to see it, I don't want to hear about them, and the moment I’m allowed to get my hands around Paulina’s little neck I’ll-"

Danny jogged up and interrupted their conversation. "Whoa, what's going on?" he asked. He couldn’t help but be proud of himself, this was about as far as you could get from the school entrance, and despite jogging the whole way, he wasn’t out of breath at all. Apparently, the early morning jogs with Sam were actually helping.

Sam whirled toward Danny, and then zero'd in on the box in his hands. "It's that stupid card game that Star and Paulina started.” she spat, pointing at it with about as much hate as she had for the pink dresses her mother kept buying her. “They started with- hey wait, Danny, don't-"

But, Danny kept opening the box. "I just want to see what the big deal is." He opened the box as Sam stammered. She opened and closed her mouth multiple times before giving up and biting down on a knuckle.

The box contained several booster packs of cards, each wrapped up in foil, and a booklet that was probably the game rules. In all honesty, Danny was impressed. He wasn't a connoisseur of playing cards or anything, but this seemed very much like the cards he'd see at the big box stores.

Danny tore up the first pack and looked at the cards. He frowned when he saw the first card that greeted him was a picture of Dash. It was a picture of his bully at what was probably last year's homecoming football game, with two golden stars above it. Underneath the picture were two boxes, one with a red sword along with a 5, and another with a blue shield with an 8. At the bottom of the card was a big box saying, "Teamplayer, for every other card on the field with the text teamplayer on, this card gains 1 power and 1 toughness."

Danny rolled his eyes and flipped through the cards. Obviously the reason why this box was marked wasn't because he was supposed to see Dash's ugly mug. Sam continued to stare nervously as Danny went through the cards.

Danny paused on another card, this one wasn’t a photo, but a drawn art piece of Ember. Instead of the stars, there was a green letter ‘G’ above the picture. Ember had a 10 for the sword, and the shield had a 10 as well.

At the bottom of her card was a similar box as Dash’s card. “Leader, when this card is played, take a card from your hand and put it in one of the lanes next to this card. It must follow normal summoning rules.”

Danny huffed. “Ember would hate this card, she doesn’t do duets.” The comment got a laugh out of Tucker but Sam continued to look nervous. She wouldn’t be worried if it was a ghost (other than him) being upset, that meant this wasn’t what had gotten under her skin. So, Danny continued flipping through the cards.

Then he found it.

It was a picture of him, looking panicked. Danny recognized it as around one of the times Skulker really had it out for him from last year during prom. His card was lacking any of the stars, but it also had a big fat 0 next to the power and toughness stats.

The only saving grace to his card was the bottom text, which Danny read aloud. "Moving on, when this card dies, play another card."

The hall was silent for a moment as Danny processed what he was seeing. Sam reached out carefully towards Danny, almost like she was afraid he'd break down in front of him.

Danny couldn't take it anymore.

He started laughing. Full blown laughs, the ugly ones that made you wheeze cause you weren't able to breath properly.

"Danny?" Sam asked, bewildered.

"Oh my gosh, this is perfect!" Danny got out before gasping for air. "I can't believe- oh my god- they did- I can't- I can't breathe, oh my god I can't breathe! I'm laughing too hard!"

"Okay, Danny, seriously…" Sam said, folding her arms and tapping her foot against the ground. "This isn't funny."

Danny took several big gulps full of air. "Sam, it's really funny." Sam continued to glare and Danny leaned forward and whispered. "Sam, my card's power is going ghost." He frowned. "Wait, do you think-"

"That the A-Lister's know?" Tucker interrupted, shuffling his cards around, "Nah, if they did, Dash would be worshiping the ground you walk on, not talking about how he can't wait to see your face when you see your card."

"I think he's gonna be pretty disappointed."

Sam huffed and leaned against the lockers. "You're both taking this pretty well considering the school is basically systematically bullying Danny." She turned toward Danny and her eyebrows rose slightly. "I'm gonna be honest. I'm not okay with this. I'm not. I know you're saying it's funny, but Danny… the school made a card that said your only purpose is to die… That's really messed up."

Danny shrugged and checked that no one was coming down the hall before shoving his hand through his locker door and hanging up his backpack. "I mean, they're not wrong."

"Danny!"

Danny turned to face Sam. "Sam, I'm a straight D student… I'm also the-" Danny checked the hall again and still didn't see anyone coming around the corner, "-the local super hero. Literally, my superpower is to die on command. It's really exactly wrong... Also, where is everyone else? School starts in like… thirty minutes doesn't it?"

Sam's eyes narrowed and she turned toward Tucker, Tucker however was laughing. "Jazz moved your clocks ahead so you'd make it on time. We got like an hour and half."

"What! I can't believe she'd do that!" Danny paused then shrugged. "Well, actually I can and I think that's worse."

Sam reached over and pulled on Danny's arm. "I'm not letting this drop," she said, holding eye contact with Danny and holding onto his wrist. Her grip was surprisingly tight, and her arm was shaking slightly. "It's not okay that the school did this, you know? You're allowed to be mad about it."

"I'm not though! Sam, I really don't care."

"Well, fine, but I do… I'm not okay with them doing this. I'm gonna tear the school a new one," she said, grabbing Danny's arm with her other hand. "When I get home, I'm talking to my grandma and I'm finding the best lawyer I can and then Mr. Lancer can kiss every bonus he'd ever get goodb-"

Danny sighed and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, interrupting her litigious rant. "Sam, aren't you the one always telling me not to worry about what other people think?" His hand slid from the top of her shoulder as he ran his hand up and down her arm, trying to get her to calm down.

Sam shook her head, though she leaned into his touch. "This is very different, and you know it,” she whispered.

"Hey, guys?" Tucker interrupted from his spot on the floor. "I hate to end this tender moment, but it gets better." Tucker waved the booklet around in front of Danny and Danny snatched it out of his hands.

Danny read for a few moments before his eyes went wide. "Oh… oh!"

Tucker smiled and started nodding. "You're seeing it too, aren't you?"

"Dude, there's no way-"

"I read the whole thing back to back, yeah, no, it's EXACTLY what you're thinking it is!"

Sam frowned. "What on earth are you guys-"

"Danny!" The trio turned around to see Jazz marching up to them. "Danny, did you-" She froze as she saw the rule book in Danny's hands. "Oh, you opened the pack, didn't you?"

Danny waved the cards around. "Yeah, I did. Why?"

Jazz frowned and straightened her back. "Cause I did too, and I got one of your cards."

Danny perked up. "Really? Can I have it?"

Jazz took a step back, and folded her arms across her chest. "Uhh…" She glanced up at Sam who walked over to Jazz's side. "No?" it shouldn't have sounded like a question, but it definitely did.

"He's already seen it," Sam groaned. "I'm telling him he can be mad about it-"

"Guys, guys, listen, my card's power is dying. It's objectively hilarious."

Jazz glared at Danny. "No, the card is… I mean… it's…" Jazz's righteous anger slowly fizzled out as she stammered, unsure of exactly what she was saying. Obviously she knew the implications of what the card was saying, but she didn't want to say it herself.

"Wait, wait…" Danny interrupted, shaking his hands about in the air. Before he pointed at Jazz and raised his voice. "You moved my clocks forward! I could have been sleeping!"

Jazz rolled her eyes. "You'll be thankful since you can actually get your textbooks because you got here on time." She huffed and ran a hand through her hair. "Danny, I really don't think you're getting how serious this is."

This time it was Danny's turn to roll his eyes. "The A-Listers made a stupid card game, tried to make a joke about me being useless, accidentally made a joke that is so accurate that probably every single one of us has wondered if the secret is out." At that, everyone else suddenly refused to make eye contact.

"I mean…" Tucker began scratching under his beret.

Sam coughed. "Paulina for all her faults is pretty observant."

Jazz huffed. "It's better than what this actually is."

Danny just raised an eyebrow at them and folded his arms. The silence stretched for a moment before Sam walked up to Danny. "Danny, you're my best friend. Sorry Tuck, no offense."

"Some taken," Tucker responded cheerfully.

"And because you're my best friend, I don't care if you are or aren't bothered by the stupid card. 'Cause I am. The school told my best friend he was worthless, and I'm not okay with that. Maybe they didn't mean that, maybe it just slipped through. But that's what this looks like to me, and probably looks like to all the kids in the school."

"Except for all the card nerds," Tucker chimed in.

"What?" Jazz asked, turning towards Tucker. "Why?"

Instead of an answer, the four of them jumped as screams came from down the stairs. The four exchanged glances before running down the stairs. They followed the screams and fleeing students back towards the school entrance, where almost everyone was fleeing from a terrifying ghost.

"I AM THE BOX GHOST!"

Terrifying if you hadn't been paying attention the entirety of last year, that is.

Five students groaned, Tucker, Sam, and Jazz all turned to see that Valerie had appeared. The four of them froze as one, realizing they were not as alone as they thought they were, and they started to think about how to get the others to leave so that one of the two ghost hunters here could fight the ghost in peace.

Except Danny was not having it.

"For the love of fudge and Clockwork!" Danny shouted, marching towards the Box Ghost. He snatched up one of the card boxes as he marched toward the floating annoyance. "You, Box Ghost. I have a box here, a shiny cardboard box. I give you this, you leave. Okay?"

The Box Ghost floated closer to Danny. "That is indeed a splendid box most shiny…" The Box Ghost mused as he rubbed his chin. Inspecting the box for blemishes and appropriate squareness.

Danny reached up and grabbed the Box Ghost by his shirt, pulling him down to eye level. He then whispered to him, "If you don't take the box and make like a ghost and disappear, then the next time Phantom sees you, he's gonna shove his fist so far down your throat you'll be tasting rubber for the rest of your afterlife.” The Box Ghost’s eyes widened, perhaps sensing that Danny was very much serious. He snatched the box out of Danny’s hands before floating back out of reach. “HA HA, the BOX GHOST accepts your tribute! He shall now go far away and uncover the secrets of your mysterious cardboard-!”

“We get it,” Danny growled.

The Box Ghost jumped back about three feet, before shouting, “BEWARE!” as a final farewell, and then flying through the walls.

Danny huffed and wiped his hands on his jeans before turning back towards his friends. He took two steps before he heard someone say, “Fenton?”

Danny turned to see Star peeking at him from behind an overturned table, apparently that was the source of the spilled boxes that Danny had picked from. Good to see that the training from the last year or so had stuck when dealing with ghosts. Danny reached down and picked up a couple of the boxes. Of the three he grabbed, one had masking tape on the back of it, like the one that had been given to him.

Danny juggled the boxes around to get a free hand to lift the table back upright. “I don’t know why you two are freaking out, it’s just the Box Ghost…” At their incredulous looks and Jazz clearing her throat behind him, Danny coughed and quickly added, “I mean… even I’ve stopped running from the Box Ghost over the summer.”

Star and Paulina looked at each other as Danny put the boxes down, though the marked box he kept. He ran his fingers over the masking tape and then gave a pointed look at each of them. Paulina looked at the box then at Danny, before recognition lit up in her eye. It was replaced a moment later as she realized that he knew what that meant. Her eyes widened and she glanced at Danny’s friends. Tucker and Valerie were picking up boxes, but Sam and Jazz were steadfastly not.

If looks could shoot ectoblasts, Paulina and Star would have gone ghost right there.

Paulina took a step back as Star held out a hand for the box, giving him her nicest, warmest, and fakest smile. “Well, thanks, Fenton!”

Danny pulled back and said, “I’m keeping this one.”

Star’s smile dropped just slightly. “Oh? But you already got one?”

Danny tapped on the masking tape with his index finger. “It’s got my card in it, doesn’t it?” At that Star’s smile dropped and her eyes went wide. Danny turned around and started walking away. He walked over to where Valerie, Jazz, Tucker, and Sam were all talking. “Hey, Valerie!” Danny greeted.

Valerie shifted uncomfortably. Glancing between him and the others.“Hey, Danny,” she greeted back hesitantly. Before he could ask what was bothering her, she barreled on. “What’s that about your card?”

Jazz turned toward Danny as he started tearing into the box. “The school made that card game, and everyone has a card.” She explained. “The A-Listers used the opportunity to try and bully Danny.”

“What?” Valerie gasped.

“Sweet!” Danny exclaimed after tearing open the packs. “I got two of mine!” He held them up in victory, but Valerie snatched them out of his hand. “Hey! Give me those! I fought a ghost for them!”

Valerie scoffed. “Yeah, right. Anyone with a brain can deal with the Box Ghost.”

“Which explains why the A-Listers were hiding from him.”

Valerie did not continue the quippy back and forth, instead her jaw dropped as she read the card. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

“I don’t make a habit of lying,” Sam lied. Lying was second nature to all of them at this point, though Danny would admit he still wasn’t good at thinking on his feet. “The card’s only purpose is to get on the field and die.”

Danny snatched the cards back. “Guys, you’re making it out to be so much worse than it is.”

Valerie whirled on Danny. “Danny! This is awful! Look, I’ve looked past a lot of Star and Paulina’s stuff, but this is bad…”

Danny shuffled through the cards. “Guys, seriously drop it. I’m sure the A-Lister’s weren’t thinking, cause if they were they wouldn’t have made my card so strong.”

Everyone except for Tucker, who had actually read the rule book, looked at each other confused and managed to ask, “What?”

Then the doors of the building got thrown open. Some people screamed and dove for cover, others started running without thinking, while a few others turned to look at the new threat.

Maddie Fenton walked into the school building with fire and fury behind her. Her eyes sweeped the entrance hallway before falling on Jazz and Danny. She marched over to them, and Danny immediately went ramrod straight as he recognized just how pissed she was. He hadn’ seen her this mad since he had broken the vase she had bought.

(In his defense, it was haunted.)

“Jazz, sweetie,” she began, her voice icy cold. “May I see what you were calling about?”

Jazz produced one of the cards and handed it over to her mother. “Yeah, I got one right here.”

Danny opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it as he saw the look on his mother’s face. She growled and turned. “Come along kids, I’m going to have a talk with the school principal, right now.”

No longer in his mom’s sight, Danny found his voice, though his feet followed after her like a duckling. “Mom, please, listen to me. This is not that big of a deal!”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that, sweetie.”

“No, seriously!” Danny turned to Jazz as his mom marched through the school halls. “Jazz, please back me up!”

Jazz sighed and gave him a look like he should know better. “Danny, I’m the one who called her over this.”

Danny tried to argue his case with both of them, but made no progress. It wasn’t much longer before Danny was running a hand down his face as his Mom towered over Principal Ishiyama. “I would like to speak to whoever was in charge of the school’s card game.”

The principal looked behind her at Danny (who was mouthing an apology) and Jazz (who was trying to develop ghost powers to immolate someone with her brain) before meeting her gaze. “Uh… is there a problem?”

“Yes,” Maddie stated. “The teacher?”

“Well, the card game was made by the school’s art club so-”

“The art club has a supervisor. Who. Is. It.” There was no inflection in her words, Danny had heard her speak kinder to the ghosts she had captured.

The principal wavered for a moment before reaching over to her phone. She pressed a few buttons before the school’s P.A system turned on. “Would Mr. Lancer please come to the principal’s office immediately?”

“Sit, children.” Maddie ordered, and Danny and Jazz jumped into the chairs that were set across from the desk.

Once they were sitting, Danny frowned and noticed something. “Uh… should we leave a chair for Mr. Lancer?”

Maddie didn’t break eye contact with the principal. “No.”

They sat in an awkward quiet with Maddie glaring at Principal Ishiyama the entire time before Mr. Lancer stepped into the office. “You wanted to see me?” He asked, “I’m still setting up for class, so-”

Maddie turned toward him. Slowly and insidiously, Danny wouldn’t have been surprised if he heard the sounds of hinges creaking as her head carefully and measuredly turned toward his teacher. “You were in charge of the school’s card game?”

“Uhh, in a manner of speaking? I was just supervising, ensuring the students weren’t misusing school property, or fielding questions.” Lancer answered as he walked over toward the principal’s side. By the looks on their faces, neither knew what this was about.

“Hm,” Maddie vocalized, and Danny winced. That was not a sound of acknowledgement, but the sound of you-have-done-exactly-as-I-expected-you-would-and-now-I’m-disappointed-in-you which was a lot of information given in a single syllable but he was quite familiar with it. “And just how were the card’s strength and health determined?”

“Well, the rules are using power and toughness, but a card’s power was how many clubs and after school activities a student was in, while toughness was a base of 5, with an additional 1 for every grade of B or 2 for A, and a loss of 1 for every detention that a student had.”

The principal leaned forward and cut in. “Ms. Fenton-”

“Doctor,” Maddie corrected, and both Danny and Jazz winced. Their mother usually didn’t care about her title, stating she was a mother and wife first and foremost. She only insisted on being called doctor when she wanted to make a point.

It obviously threw Ishiyama for a loop. She cleared her throat and continued. “Dr. Fenton, perhaps you should explain what exactly-”

“Ms. Ishiyama, were you aware that Mr. Lancer here allowed the school to produce a card that implied my son had no benefit? That all he could do was die?”

Mr. Lancer’s eyes widened. “Excuse me! That is-”

Maddie refused to look in his direction. Instead holding up a hand to cut him off. “And that my son’s special ability is called moving on.”

At this point, Danny jumped up. “Hold on, can I get a say in this?” Danny waved his hands and stood next to the principal, who was beginning to turn pale. “Mom, that’s an inside joke of the school. You know I’ve had to go to the bathroom a lot ever since the accident, so when I have to interrupt class to, Mr. Lancer will give me permission and then say, ‘Moving on’. I know it looks bad, but it’s just an inside joke of the school.”

Mr. Lancer raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, Mr. Fenton, I-”

Maddie whirled on him. “Shall I also point out that you are also exposing students’ grades to everyone as well? You must have shared them if the cards are a reflection of their grades.”

Mr. Lancer folded his arms. “I did not, the students asked for a formula for making the numbers, and I ran it myself. The students don’t know anyone’s grades.”

“Yet, you have my son having a zero for his health?” Maddie snapped.

“Even if he had turned in all his homework with 100% grades, which everyone in this room knows he has not, with the number of detentions he has received the last year, he’d still be at a zero.” Mr. Lancer said, shooting Danny a look.

Maddie slammed her hands on principal Ishiyama’s desk. “Do not blame my son for this!”

The principal raised her hands. “Dr. Fenton, I acknowledge that we have done you and your family a major disservice. Even if it was an inside joke, the context is important,” she said, shooting Mr. Lancer a withering glare. “Dare I say, our English teacher should be more than aware of something like that.”

Jazz cleared her throat. “May I ask a question?”

Maddie leaned back and answered for everyone. “Go ahead, sweetie…” even as Danny was shaking his head no.

“Mr. Lancer, did you have any inkling of what was going on?”

“Excuse me?” He said brow furrowing.

“Were you or were not aware that it was very likely that the A-Listers, Star, Paulina, Dash, and Kwan were using this as an opportunity to bully my little brother?”

Mr. Lancer opened his mouth to respond before taking a moment to clear his throat and respond. “I did not know that they were intending to do this, no.”

Maddie frowned and Ishiyama let out a sigh of relief. But Jazz continued, “But did you suspect it? Did you have reason to believe that they were going to do this?”

Lancer was quiet and didn’t answer, instead he chewed on his lip for a moment.

It was a moment too long, and Maddie turned to the principal. “I want him fired.”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement that doesn’t-”

“He’s either fired, or Fentonworks stops funding the school repairs and anti-ghost tech.”

Danny put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle. “Okay! Okay! No! Mom!” Danny clapped his hands in front of his chest before pointing at her with them. “They can’t fire Mr. Lancer, the school already is having enough trouble finding new teachers because they’re quitting the moment they hear about ghost attacks. Not only that, but if you stop helping the school, the school is gonna have to shut down!”

“Daniel,” Maddie started, her voice deceptively calm and collected. “If this school is not a safe space for my children, then it can burn for all I care.”

“OOooookay!” Danny shouted, holding up his hands. “I understand you’re upset, but-”

“Daniel. I get upset when your father eats more than his share of the mashed potatoes. I get upset when my experiments get ruined by ghost attacks. I get upset when you kids forget to do your chores.

“I am not upset. I am furious.”

“But I’m not,” Danny groaned, pointing at himself. “Look, I know what the card looks like, seriously, I do. Everyone is telling me to be mad about it, but…” He trailed off as he looked out the door and he ran to the door. “Hey! Hey! Mikey! Yeah, come over here real quick.”

He led the quiet nerd into the office and then closed the door behind him. “Okay, this is gonna be quick. You got the school game, right?”

Mikey adjusted his glasses. “Uh, yes, Star gave me a box this morning when I walked in.”

“Right, okay. You read the rule book right?”

“Of course! Front to back three times! I wouldn’t be a proud member of the game club if I didn’t!”

“How many Danny Fenton cards do you have?”

“I’ve gotten my hands on ten so far.”

“How much would I need to pay you in order to get you to give me those cards?”

“If Paulina came in here and asked for a date in exchange, I still wouldn’t give them up. You can pry them from my cold dead and nerdy hands.”

“No, seriously. I think I got like forty bucks in my pocket-”

“No.”

“Thank you, that is all.”

The principal frowned and watched as Danny pushed Mikey out the door and closed it again. “What was the point of that?”

Danny took a deep breath. “Mr. Lancer… do you have a deck?” At his teacher’s nod, Danny then asked a question. “You have several of my cards in your deck, don’t you?”

Mr. Lancer threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t. The art club wouldn’t let us cheat and build our decks with the cards we wanted. We had to draft them.”

“The point?” Maddie said huffing.

Danny sighed. “Yes, Dash, Star, Paulina and Kwan… I’m not sold on Kwan here, all tried to bully me by making a bad card. They failed so so hard.” Danny blinked. “In all honesty? The card is very accurate. The card game is about fighting ghosts. So, obviously I’m the most intelligent person in the deck, the moment ghosts show up, I’m outta there.”

“Into the graveyard,” Jazz snipped.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Fine, how about this? They can release a new rule book, one where the graveyard is called the discard pile instead?”

Maddie pursed her lips. “Danny, you’re really insistent this doesn’t change. Why?”

“Because I’m not gonna be happy if I don’t get to beat my bully at literally his own game.” The school bell rang and Danny started inching his way to the door. “Okay, Mom? You can hash it out with the principal, but no asking for Mr. Lancer to be fired, no threatening the school, and definitely no changing my card's effects? Okay? Please?” Danny thought for a moment and then tacked on, “I love you?” The fact that sounded like a question probably didn’t help his chances in getting her to calm down.

Maddie sighed and looked toward the ceiling. “Alright, alright.” She stood up. “I will let Principal Ishiyama here discuss with Mr. Lancer what they should do, but tomorrow I will be back. This time, with my husband as well. And I assure you, he won’t be as calm as me.”

The threat definitely worked, as both of them paled as they thought about what a rampaging Jack Fenton would be like.

The Fentons left the room together, and Maddie handed Jazz back the card. “I really don’t like this.” She said, though she didn’t seem surprised when Danny snatched the card from Jazz and put it in his pocket. “But you… seem to know what you’re doing?”

“The only request I have is that Jazz records it when Dash realizes how dumb he is.” Danny turned and then started running back down the hall. “Gotta get to class! I’ll see you guys later!”

Danny ran back to his locker, put the cards in his pocket away, and then ran to class. He turned the corner before a hand grabbed his shirt and slammed him into a locker. “Heard you went crying to mommy, Fenturd.”

“Dash, we have got to stop meeting like this.” Danny said, rolling his eyes. “And for the record, I didn’t. You pissed off Jazz, who then called my mom. I tried to tell her it was not a big deal.”

Dash hesitated, trying to slot the square peg into the round hole. Danny could practically see the thoughts slip out of his head before he got mad again. “Well, I guess I gotta crush ya before your mom ruins the fun. Lunch time, bring a deck.”

“See you then!” Danny saluted. His hand fell back to his side and he looked down. “Dash… aren’t you gonna put me down?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Well, I know this is gonna be hard, but can you think faster? I want to be on time to class for a change.”

A few moments later, Danny phased his way out of the locker he had been stuffed into. He sighed and brushed off shirt. “Man, I really hope I start taking more after my dad soon. I would love to not fit in lockers anymore.”

***

Lunch time came around, and Danny walked in with his head held high. Mikey might not have traded his cards for a date with Paulina, but Phantom signing the Phantom card (which was a 10/10 by the way, with both Teamplayer and Leader keywords) was worth the trade.

It seemed like the entire school was there waiting for this fight. Danny walked down an aisle flanked by students on either side of him that closed around him as he approached Dash sitting at a lunch table.

Danny stopped at the tablet. “Seriously, did you really pick the table furthest from the door? Are you sure you’re not one of the drama kids?” He turned toward Star, who was actually looking pretty uncomfortable. “Star, you’ve been in the school plays right? You should totally try to get Dash to join in this year, looks like he’d have fun with it.”

Star didn’t answer; instead she stepped behind Kwan, who looked a little sick, and Paulina, who was shifting around as the entire school stared at them.

“It’s time to duel, Fenton.” Dash said, slamming his palm against the table.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Alright alright, if you’re that ready to lose” he said, sitting down at the table. Danny took his deck out and started shuffling it. It wasn’t much to shuffle; the deck size was only twenty cards after all.

Dash frowned, but then drew his starting hand. “Good, I’m ready. As the cool one, I’m going first.” He smiled at Danny. “Okay, for my first card, I’m playing Danny Fenton!” He threw the card on the table, “Oh, whoops! He died.” He laughed and Danny looked over at the other A-Listers who were taking a slight step back.

“Well, moving on,” Dash chuckled. “I get to play another card. So I play Mikey! A 3/10 with supporter!”

“Ooh, look at you, already talking like a card gamer!” Danny crowed.

“Shut it, Fenton! I’m not a nerd like you!” He folded his arms. “It’s your turn now. I can’t attack on the first turn.”

Danny nodded and raised an eyebrow. “Did you remember to draw at the end of your turn?” Dash quietly reached over and refilled his hand before Danny made a show of thinking. “Hmm… which card, which card…” He tapped his chin and then shouted. “Ah! I know!” He put a card down in front of Dash’s card. “I play Danny Fenton!” He paused. “Oh shit! I died! Oh well. Anyways.”

Dash blinked. “You really used your stupid card?”

“Hey, it’s my turn still! Jeez, I can still do something awesome!” Danny thought for a moment longer. “Oh, okay, let’s try this! I play Danny Fenton!” Dash’s brow furrowed as Danny continued. “Oh shit, I died again! I hope it was a quick one! Like maybe my neck snapped. I’d hate for it to be a slow one.” The rest of the A Listers took another step back and tried to blend into the crowd as Danny made a big deal of his card dying. “It’s okay, thanks to moving on, I get another shot! Umm… Okay, okay, I got it. I play Danny Fenton!”

Dash scoffed. “You really put three of your cards in your stupid deck?”

Danny laughed. “Three? No. Dash, my deck uses fifteen of them!”

Dash looked around, seeing confusion on most of the nearby students. “Wait, wait, you really used half your deck for your dumb worthless card?”

Danny stared at Dash for a moment. “Okay, Dash, you wanna repeat that in your head and see where you went wrong?” Dash froze like a deer in headlights before Danny sighed. “Okay, I’m pretty sure your card is bunk because wow are you bad at math. That’s not half my deck, that’s three quarters.”

“Why?”

“Tucker, please explain to the man.”

Tucker stepped out of the crowd holding up the rule book. “Cards are broken down into four categories, zero star cards, one star cards, two star cards, and ghost cards. In order to play a one star card in a lane, that lane must already have a zero star card in it. In order to play a two star card, there must already be a one star card in that lane already. Ghost cards require a total of three stars worth of cards in the lane. For every card in the graveyard, the number of stars needed for a ghost card to be summoned is reduced by one by removing those cards from play.”

Danny pointed at the three Danny Fenton cards in his graveyard. “I needed fifteen to ensure my draw chances are good enough. Which they obviously are. Oh, and by the way… moving on. You know her, you love her, let us hear you scream her name-”

“Please don’t.” Sam called out from the sidelines.

“It’s Ember McLain!” Danny shouted as he put down an Ember card slightly to the right of the Mikey card. “Ember has the Leader keyword, which lets me put down another card. So let’s hear it for her backup singer, Danny Fenton!” he said, putting down his card again. “Oh, shit, she killed him! That bastard! Oh well… moving on.” Danny held up his hand. “Now, I only got one card left, so I have to play it, it’s Danny Fenton!”

Danny paused as he put down his card. “Okay, so I’m hoping you’re seeing where this is going.”

Dash stood up. “Hold on, you’re out of cards!”

“Tucker?”

“In a situation where you are asked to play a card but don’t have any in hand, then you draw another card.”

“So, I draw and let’s see, am I feeling lucky? Dash, can you do math? What are the chances of me drawing a Danny Fenton card? Come on, I know you can do it.”

“Fuck you!” Dash shouted, beginning to move around the table.

“What’s the matter, Dash?” Valerie called out. “Can’t win a card game?”

“A card game you helped make?” Sam jeered.

Dash froze, and Danny took the opportunity to draw. “Yes! I indeed drew a Danny Fenton card! So, let’s continue…” Danny flipped through his deck, drawing his card multiple times, before finally he drew a different card.

“Sorry Mikey!” Danny shouted, “You’re about to get stepped on by Ember!”

“Awesome!”

Danny pinched the brow of his nose. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that. Alright, Ember’s card doesn’t actually play a card, it’s using special wording so I guess that’s it.” He snapped his finger. “Oh, wait! It isn’t! I attack! Ember steps on Mikey, removing him, and then Ember swings and hits you in the face.” Danny smiled and leaned back. “Now it’s your turn.”

Dash stared down at the table, which hadn’t had his Mikey card removed yet. But it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t beat Danny. Danny had, on his first turn, effectively defeated Dash. The game wasn’t over, and it wouldn’t be for a while. It’d take multiple turns for Danny to win the game. But anything Dash could play would be immediately doomed to be crushed under Danny’s ghost team.

The rest of this game would be Dash getting wailed on as Danny chunked his health over the course of several turns, with the entire school watching.

Dash scoffed. “It’s a stupid game anyways,” he said, turning around and pushing his way through the crowd.

Danny stood up and grabbed Dash’s deck and waved it up in the air. “Wait, wait, Dash! Don’t you want your deck?” Dash predictably didn’t respond. Danny scoffed as Sam and Tucker approached him. “Yeah, that tracks,” he said, grabbing the hand Dash had left on the table.

“So, did Dash fill his deck with A Listers?” Tucker asked.

“Well, let’s see…” Danny said, flipping through Dash’s deck. He continued until he came across one card. “Oh come on!”

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, looking over his shoulder.

Danny held out the card that was bothering him. “There’s an Inviso-Bill card!”

Sam gave Danny an unamused glance. “Really? You’re bothered by that, more than the fact that Dash set up a card that you instantly die?”

“Well, yeah!” Danny said, “My name’s not Inviso-Bill!”

“What do you mean your name?”

Danny turned toward the speaker. And as Star stared at him confused, he realized that he had completely forgotten people were watching. “What? I didn’t say that. I said his name isn’t Inviso-Bill.”

“Wait…” Valerie said, stepping forward, pushing a finger into his chest. “Is that what you meant by your superpower is to die on command?”

Danny turned toward Sam, who was the best liar out of them. “I don’t know what she’s talking about, do you?”

Valerie folded her arms. “My locker is just around the corner of the hallway where your locker is. I heard you say that.”

“And my cards! Phantom was asking for them earlier!”

Star gasped. “Wait wait wait, is THAT why you’re not scared of the Box Ghost?”

“...Uh oh…”

#danny phantom #dp fic #fanfic #Hazafic

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