#collaboration fic

[katiexpunk]

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice | Pairing Neighbor!Joel Miller & Fem!Reader

Summary:  Part 3 of @sydneyinacoma's Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice series. Joel is your new hot neighbor and after a sexy night alone with him on Halloween (where he literally makes you squirt (!!) on his couch, you run into him after a long week at work and you two finally go on a proper date. You two eat burgers; go to a fair, and then he fucks you like it's his last day on earth. Yep <3

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~6.7K Warnings: Pining, flirting, 2000s style (needs a TW lol), Joel is a little rough/bossy, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks, or don't idk you're not gonna listen to me anyways), creampie, blowjob, pet names, praise kink, Joel spits in readers mouth, fair date, eating, did I already say flirting, bobbing for apples. Listen, these two are just down so bad for each other. There are no descriptions of reader except for clothing & wet, curly hair. Authors Note: I legitimately feel so honored to have been part of this chapter with my Slutty Smutty Sister @sydneyinacoma -- writing this version of Joel has me creaming, and I wish I could scream it from the rooftops how much I want everyone to read this fic. This version of Joel is all her brainchild and I could cry at being part of it. Pls go follow Syd, she's seriously such a gem and probably the best Moot and friend a girl could ask for. ILY, bb. Sydney's Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~6.7K Warnings: Pining, flirting, 2000s style (needs a TW lol), Joel is a little rough/bossy, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks, or don't idk you're not gonna listen to me anyways), creampie, blowjob, pet names, praise kink, Joel spits in readers mouth, fair date, eating, did I already say flirting, bobbing for apples. Listen, these two are just down so bad for each other. There are no descriptions of reader except for clothing & wet, curly hair. Authors Note: I legitimately feel so honored to have been part of this chapter with my Slutty Smutty Sister @sydneyinacoma -- writing this version of Joel has me creaming, and I wish I could scream it from the rooftops how much I want everyone to read this fic. This version of Joel is all her brainchild and I could cry at being part of it. Pls go follow Syd, she's seriously such a gem and probably the best Moot and friend a girl could ask for. ILY, bb. Sydney's Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

NOV 2005

You can’t stop thinking about that night at Joel’s a week ago. The way he touched you, pleasured you in a way that you've never experienced before. The way he kissed you, fervently yet soft. You could kiss him for hours and never tire. 

Not only are you craving his touch, but you also find yourself wanting to learn more about him. You want to know him. The things you’ve learned about him through Sarah and what you’ve picked up on are tiny crumbs, leaving you starving for more. 

You hope he feels the same. 

You haven’t had a chance to talk to Joel since that night, as you’ve been drowning at work. You started working for this publishing firm in college, first, as an intern, and now that you’ve finished school, you’re an editor. You agreed to take on extra responsibilities due to your coworker being out on maternity leave, which has exponentially increased your workload, on top of your boss being a micromanaging asshole. Joel’s been burning the candle at both ends. He’s working against a tight deadline on a big project for a persnickety client and Sarah’s soccer team is in the playoffs for the district championship; he’s incredibly proud but attending her neverending roster of games has left him a bit preoccupied. He never thought he would end up being a soccer dad, but life has a funny way of keeping him on his toes. 

Much like you, he’s replayed you squirting on his leather couch in his mind over and over, a never-ending lascivious reel that plays in his head as he fucks his cock at night. Joel longs to hear those saccharine sounds you make while you ride his cock, your tits bouncing in tandem with your movements. He’s kicking himself for not getting his hands, or mouth, on your pillowy breasts. The cheekiness of forgoing a bra in your bunny costume revealed a side of you that he wants to unleash. 

He wants to know everything; what keeps you up at night, what makes you double over in laughter, your ticklish spots, which movies make you cry without fail, all of your little quirks. Hell, he even wants to know if you believe in aliens. 

+++

You pull into your driveway after a long, grueling day at work. Your brain is so fried you didn’t even turn the music on for the drive home; a rarity for you since you always have music playing in your car, whether it be the FM radio or one of the various CDs you’ve collected over the years. A true indicator of your current state of being. You can’t wait to veg out on the couch, rid your mind of this shitty week, and huddle into an antisocial ball. 

After a few moments of idly sitting in your car, you peel yourself from the driver’s seat and go to retrieve your work tote from your trunk when you hear a deep voice calling out to you, one you’d recognize anywhere. You turn in the direction of the sound and find Joel. He’s clearly working on a renovation project; a miter saw, lumber and a plethora of other tools are set up in his front yard. There’s another man with him, bearing a slight resemblance to Joel. Brothers, maybe? 

“Hey, neighbor!” Joel immediately regrets his word choice, finding it oddly stiff — considering he’s had his face between your thighs. 

“Hey Joel!” You manage to shout back, despite your energy battery being crucially depleted. 

He waves for you to come over. Unfortunately, or fortunately, you’re unable to resist him. Not when he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, hair tousled, and coaxing you across the street. 

Though you feel drained, being in close proximity to Joel makes your body thrum in nerves. You’re being energized by anxious attraction. 

Joel and the mystery man greet you at the edge of the yard. 

“This is my brother Tommy. Tommy, this is my neighbor.” 

“So, this is the pretty neighbor you were tellin’ me about,” Tommy says, his southern drawl identical to Joel’s. 

Joel glares at Tommy. If looks could kill. 

Tommy holds out his hand, you tell him your name and give him your hand for a brief shake; much like Joel’s does, his palm size is large in comparison to yours and envelops your full hand. You survey the man in front of you; handsome, dark curly hair like Joel, slightly longer and free of the grays his brother sports, deep brown eyes, similar to Joel’s. The Miller genes are super fucking strong. 

“Nice to meet ya, sweetheart,” he says, nodding his head in acknowledgment, his eyes dragging over your figure just a second too long. 

“I’m gonna start packin’ these tools up,” Tommy announces to Joel and then shoots him a wink. It’s obvious he wasn’t aiming for subtlety, clearly wanting to give you and his brother a moment alone. 

Joel shifts his broad frame to face you directly. You wish you didn’t feel so bashful in his presence, but it’s hard to breathe evenly when he is standing so close you can smell him - earthy and a hint of his deodorant wearing off. It should be gross to you, but you want to put his scent in a candle. You’re fucking deranged. 

“Sorry, ‘m all sweaty…” Joel apologizes, looking down at himself, remembering that he probably reeks like a locker room. 

You wave off his apology, giggling at his self-awareness. 

“I wanted to ask you somethin’,'' Joel says, gently wrapping his hand around your arm right above your elbow. Goosebumps erupt on your skin at the touch of his calloused fingers. 

“Okay…” 

“I was wonderin’...” Joel pauses, his fingers now grazing over the soft skin of your arm. 

You gulp in anticipation. “Yes, Joel?” 

“I was wonderin’ if you’d like to go on a date with me,'' he asks, his eyes dropping to his boots for a second before coming back up to meet yours, “a proper one.” 

You’re so giddy at his proposition you think you might burst.

“Well, you know…I’ve gotta check my calendar,” you say, a big grin plastered on your face. You see his face drop, but before he can sulk too much you wink at him and say, “yeah, I’d love to,” you exhale and try to keep your voice level, not wanting to give away how excited you actually are. A date. With Joel Miller. 

“You free tomorrow?” he asks, beaming, revealing the dimpled smile you’re so fond of. 

“Lucky for you, I am,” you say, feeling your skin warm. 

“Pick you up at 7?” he asks, dipping his face closer to yours, his hand now on your waist pulling you into him. 

“Works for me,” you confirm while planting a chaste kiss on his cheek, “see you then, neighbor!” you conclude, being sure to emphasize the neighbor in your words, and before he can convince you to stay, you’re sauntering across the street back to your house.

+++

It’s finally here. Your big date with Joel.

The day went by torturously slow, anticipation pulsing through your entire body. You spent almost two hours getting ready, the majority of the time trying to pick an outfit. You probably changed 30 times, trying to find the outfit that conveyed the perfect balance of sexy, yet subdued. 

You decide on a pair of dark wash flares and a lacy top, both accentuating your figure heavenly. You spritz on a little perfume you save for special occasions. If this ain’t a hell of an occasion. 

Joel, with impeccable timing, rings the doorbell right as you tug your black cowboy boots on. It’s sill relatively warm in Austin, so you decide to forgo a jacket. 

Opening the door, you and Joel take a moment to check the other out, neither of you trying to hide it whatsoever. Joel’s wearing his signature jeans and a green flannel with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, exposing his veiny, strong forearms. You’d hump his arms given the opportunity. 

“Absolutely stunnin’, sweetheart,” he licks his bottom lip while his brown irises roam over your entire body, paying special attention to your waist and tits. You’re mentally patting yourself on the back for your outfit choice. 

“One could say the same for you, cowboy,” you quip back, a smug grin plastered across your face. 

Your smile shoots blood straight to Joel’s cock. 

He swallows as he realizes the night is just beginning. 

+++

Joel takes you to a quaint diner for your date. From the outside, it’s unassuming; an older building in urgent need of a pressure wash, adjacent to a virtually empty shopping center. A true hole-in-the-wall in the middle of downtown Austin. 

“It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but I promise ya, they got the best damn burgers in town,” he assures, seeing the questioning look on your face when he pulls into the parking lot. 

You and Joel slide into a booth in the far corner, Joel insisting that booth seating is part of the experience. You both order burgers, per his recommendation and boy, it does not disappoint. 

Between bites of food, you and Joel learn more about each other. The conversation flows easily, both hanging onto each other’s every word; no awkwardness or feigning interest. You both share parts of your childhoods and you share stories from your college days. Joel recounts the mischief he and Tommy got into when they were younger, earning several belly laughs from you. 

Joel loves the way you laugh; candidly, throwing your head back, your shoulders jerking uncontrollably as you try to catch a breath. 

You’re pleased to learn that both you and Joel have a fondness for 80’s action movies, especially the over-the-top-borderline-cheesy ones, and 70’s artists like Fleetwood Mac and Electric Light Orchestra.

Joel asks about your job as an editor. You tell him the different types of manuscripts you have to read; some you drudge through, others you enjoy. “I love seeing how the story progresses from the first rough draft up until the final copy,” you tell him,” a lot of authors are really full of themselves, so you have to boil down a lot of the flowery language and hubris.” 

In return, he tells you about how he got started as a contractor, hard work rewarded him with promotions until he opened up his own contracting business six years ago. “It’s priceless gettin’ to be your own boss,” he says, “not havin’ to answer to anyone, can be more selective in projects you wanna take on,” he continues, and you swear you’re listening but you’re secretly caught up in the sound of his voice and the way his lips move when he’s talking; hypnotizing you with every word.

Joel opens up about when Sarah came into this world; the happiest day of his life while simultaneously being scared shitless — he was wild and ungovernable, definitely not ready for fatherhood.  

Through the years he’s found his rhythm. He doesn’t talk about her mother and you don’t ask; you’re not looking to dig into that lore on the first date. He tells you what Sarah was like as a baby and the subsequent years. Your heart melts at the adoration and pride that glow in his eyes when he talks about his daughter. 

You both sit in the overused booth, totally absentminded to the world around you. You’re both locked into one another, afraid of missing even the faintest shift in facial expressions. You might as well be the only two people here. 

Taking the final bite of your burger, you tell Joel that you’re inclined to agree that these are the best burgers in town. 

He mumbles something to the effect of “told ya,” before finishing his last bite. 

On the ride home from the diner, you spot an illuminated Ferris wheel, glowing in the distance of the Austin night. 

“Oh, I didn’t know the fair was still in town. I haven’t been in years!” exclaiming a little loudly for a woman your age, “can we…..?” 

Joel can’t say no to you, not when you’re giving him a pleading, pouty look. 

+++ 

Once inside the fairgrounds, you both walk through the selection of vendors, and it doesn’t take long for the funnel cake sign to catch your eye; Joel purchases you one and you continue on your adventure together. 

“Here,” he says, offering you a paper napkin. 

You gently shake your head, shoving another bite of funnel cake into your mouth, “don’t need one.”

He laughs. You look like a stubborn child learning what sugar is for the first time, “you’re gonna get all sticky,” he says, a big grin enveloping his face, your eagerness for the sweetness of the battered dough reminds him of Sarah’s sweet tooth. God, you’re cute – it makes him wish she was with you both tonight. 

Well, that is until he notices it. It’s subtle, but it’s there – a sprinkling of powdered sugar on your cheek and exposed chest.

He knows this is a family event, but he wants to do anything but PG-rated things with you right now.  

He stares at the white dust on your skin until your voice catches his attention again. 

“Maybe I want to be sticky,” you reply, “gives you more to lick off of me later.” 

And fuck, if that doesn’t turn him on. 

The thought of his tongue on you sends a flood of impure thoughts to his brain; much like the ones he had when you first showed up at his door, covered in remnants of flour, all sugar and sweetness. 

He knows now.

You may be sugar, but fuck, if you haven’t got some spice in you, too. 

+++ 

As you stroll, your eyes grow wide when you see it; a yellow wooden sign with the words “bobbing for apples” in Comic Sans engraved into it. 

“Ah! Joel! Bobbing for apples! I haven’t done that since I was a kid – we have to do it!” you say, your voice is a little too eager and a little too high-pitched, but the childlike wonder on your face is all the convincing that Joel needs. He might not admit it, but he’d give you anything you want. You reach out for his hand, and he takes it, letting you lead the way. 

You and Joel make your way up to the station, and a fair worker in an apron and a straw hat shouts to the crowd, “Come one, come all! Test your skills at an apple grab; the winner gets a prize,” his voice is low in octave but loud enough like he’s speaking through a megaphone. 

A line of fair-goers of all ages quickly forms around the barrels filled with water and apples, and you look at Joel with eager eyes as you step up to yours.

The rules of the game were explained by the worker with a chuckle, “Alright, folks, no hands, just your teeth. Lean in, and bob for an apple, and what you catch is yours to keep plus a prize from the booth to the right.” 

“You sure about this, sweetheart? You’re gonna get all wet,” Joel asks, probably just a smidge too concerned about your well-being considering it’s just bobbing for apples. 

“You gonna act like you don’t know that I’ve been wet this entire night?” you say, not waiting  to hear his response as the worker calls out a loud “GO!” 

Giggles and cheers fill the air as you and your fellow participants lean over the barrel. Your face disappears into the water; your competitiveness in overdrive  – edging yourself deeper and deeper into the water; so far that your shirt gets soaked. You don’t care, though, and you gleam from satisfaction as you resurface with a gleaming red apple held triumphantly between your teeth. 

The crowd erupts in applause at your efforts, and Joel stands watching you with his hands on his hips, a smile plastered on his face. As his gaze drops from the apple in your mouth, he notices the wetness of your shirt and shit, you’re positively drenched. 

It takes Joel all of .0002 seconds to notice the silhouette of your nipples peeking out from your shirt, the goosebumps littering your skin, and the tail ends of your hair wet and starting to curl under the weight of the water. 

You drop the apple from your teeth and catch it in your palm. “Well, well…looks like you’re on a date with a prize-winnin’ apple picker. Feeling lucky yet?” you tort, attempting to flirt through the uncomfortable press of the damp fabric on your skin. 

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen that mouth in action, I already knew you were going to win,” he says, “but you know I’d never thought I’d see the day…” he trails off. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, slightly confused. 

“Never thought I’d see the day that I was jealous of a fuckin’ Red Delicious apple,” he says, humor behind his voice, “s’ashame I wasn’t the one you were bobbin’ for in that barrel.” 

“Listen, if you want to get wet and let me put you in my mouth, I am more than happy to accommodate,” you reply back, your voice flirty and suggestive. 

Joel doesn’t respond, but you see him palm himself through the denim of his jeans at your suggestion, interjecting his thoughts. 

You can’t hide the shivers that take over your body from the chill of the night air and the wetness of your clothing. 

“C’mere, baby, you’re freezin’,” he says, brow furrowed, and arms wide open stretched out to you, beckoning you into his large arms. You take a step forward and step into his brace, letting yourself melt into the warmth of his arms and the aroma of his natural scent. 

You stand there, wet in more ways than one, and let him hold you. Your arms wrap around his thick middle, and he rubs up and down your back with both palms in an attempt to warm you up. He releases you momentarily before saying, “Here, take this.”

You step away from him for a second, giving him space to slip off the flannel he’s wearing, revealing nothing but a white t-shirt underneath; the little tufts of hair peeking out through the collar of his shirt almost send you into a tailspin. 

He holds the flannel open by the collar to face you, encouraging you to put it on. You turn your back to him, allowing him the privilege of holding  it as you slip your arms into the sleeves. The fabric of the shirt is warm from his skin, and the moment you put it on you’re flooded with the smell embedded deep within the fibers; all musk, whiskey, cinnamon, wood, and Joel. 

“Come on, now, you little bobbin’ minx,  let’s go get you your prize,” he says, tilting his head to the prize booth. You grab his hand and let him lead the way this time. 

You and Joel make your way to the prize booth, the smell of kettle corn invades your senses; sure, you were already stuffed with funnel cake and your dinner, but the sweet aroma makes your mouth water. Or maybe it’s just Joel, you’re not quite sure, but you don’t really care. 

In the small structure of the prize booth, the shelves were adorned with a colorful array of stuffed animals of all sizes, trinkets, and games. You carefully assess your prize options while the attendant tries to convince you that of all of the random assortment of prizes, you absolutely need the goldfish. Right. 

You look over the options in front of you for what feels like a good ten minutes before the attendant not so subtly grows tired of your indecision. You sigh. You decide on a small puppy dog with beady plastic brown eyes, and you nod in thanks as he hands it to you, and you and Joel walk away from the booth. 

“Had a tough time decidin’ there, didn’t ya, sweetheart?” Joel asks, not really questioning. 

“Well, to be honest, none of the prizes were really appealing to me,” you respond, playing with the fluffy ears of the stuffed plush in your hands. “I only picked this one because I thought Sarah might like it,” you say. Your consideration for Sarah, and your accepting demeanor to her, warms Joel’s heart. 

“But I can think of one I’d really like to claim,” you say, catching his gaze. You see his jaw clench at your words. 

“Oh yeah? And that would be..?” 

“You,” the word comes out breathy. 

You both stop walking and the crunch of the dirt under his boots and the distant sounds of the fair in the background all but freeze as you stand there, seemingly paused in your own little private moment. 

“Take me home, Joel,” you say, planting your palm on his broad chest and stepping closer to him, your chest nearly flush against his. His hands skate down to your waist, and he closes the gap between your bodies, holding you close enough that you feel the growing bulge between his thighs. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, leaning down, planting a kiss on the top of your head. 

And it’s sweet. 

Just like the funnel cake. 

And just like he thinks you are. 

But you have other plans for him tonight. 

And he has the same for you. 

+++ 

You and Joel make your way out of the fairgrounds and to the lot where Joel parked his truck. 

Still wearing his flannel, the stuffed puppy dog intertwined between your crossed arms, you wait for him to open the passenger side door. You all but eye fuck him as he reaches into the depth of the  front pocket of his jeans and grabs his keys. He unlocks the door, and opens it for you; offering you a hand to help guide you in. 

“Always such a gentleman,” you say, placing your hand in his, accepting his offer, using the strength of his arm to help lift yourself into the bed of the truck. 

Joel rounds around the front of the vehicle, unlocks the driver’s side door, and slides in. He turns the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life and the radio turns on, “Come a Little Closer” by Dierks Bentley plays over the speakers. 

Deciding to take a note from the lyrics, you don’t bother to buckle yourself into the passenger seat, and instead slide over into the middle seat of the truck, positioning yourself tightly against Joel’s side. You lace your arm through the underside of his and interlock them, your hand curls around his firm bicep. You lean your head into his shoulder, and close your eyes, taking a moment to bask in the solitude of the strong man beneath you. 

He looks down at you for a moment – god, he could get used to this. He dwells on the thought for a moment longer and then begins to drive away. 

You’re clinging to him and you both ride like that in an easy silence, apart from the faint music and the hum of his truck. It has been so long since you felt so content, so at peace with the moment and yourself; not worried about work or life, or anything. It was just you and Joel, and you like it that way. 

Nearly back to your house, and your shared neighborhood, you let your left hand wander on the expanse of his thigh. The time for sweetness is over. The events of the night, your combined obvious want, and the flirtatious taunts catch up with you. 

Joel keeps his eyes on the road, but you don’t miss the way his grip on the steering wheel tightens as your hand makes its way closer to his belt buckle. You begin to toy with the cool metal there, and his large palm comes down to cup yours. 

“We’re almost home,” he says, holding your hand tight against his stiffening cock, not letting you move. “But I want to feel you now,” you whine. 

“I know, baby, I know you wanna get your hands on this cock, and I would like nothing more,” he says, “but you’re gonna have to be patient, we only have a few more minutes until we’re there.” 

“And why do I have to be patient, neighbor?” you ask, pulling your hand away, slightly keyed up. Greedy. Horny. 

“Because I wanna give that needy little pussy the attention she deserves,” he says, “and because once I get started, I know ‘m not gonna be able to stop.”

“And neighbor ain’t gonna be what you’ll be calling me,” he says roughly, “I’ll fuckin’ make sure of that, sweetheart.”

He takes a turn and pulls into your neighborhood. You catch a glimpse of Mrs. Morrison taking out her trash. She glares at you in disapproval as you drive past in Joel’s truck. 

You sometimes wonder what your neighbors might think; a pretty little young thing like you, the youngest daughter of their good friends, a.k.a your parents, hanging out with the older, single-father neighbor across the way. 

But truthfully, you don’t really give a fuck. 

+++ 

Joel pulls up into your driveway, the engine purrs softly before falling silent.  You both pause in silence. 

Joel turns to you, a smirk on his lips “We’re here,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of invite me in behind his voice. 

You glance out the window, your house bathed in the soft glow of your porch light. You turn back to Joel and say “Thank you for tonight, I really had a fun time. But to be honest, I just realized I never got to thank you properly…” 

Joel looks at you and something dark flickers in his gaze. “And what would you need to be thankin’ me for, sweetheart?”  As if he didn’t know. 

“For the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Come in and I’ll return the favor,” you say, conjuring your sultriest voice, knowing he doesn’t need an invitation.  

You step out of the truck, and the night air is cool, a  gentle breeze whispers through your hair;  your features are illuminated by the street lights in your neighborhood, and the warm glow casts an inviting aura around you. Joel appears at your side of the truck and helps you exit. 

The gravel under your feet crunches as you walk toward the front porch; the air is charged with electricity, a livewire, a magnetic pull drawing your bodies together. 

The porch light by your door casts a warm yellow glow on your faces. You pause at the front of the step and reach for your house keys in your purse. Your porch swing sways gently in the breeze, its rhythmic creaking adding to the undertone of the moment. 

You insert the key into the lock, but before you can fully turn the doorknob to open the door, Joel already has his large palm on yours, opening the door,  pushing you through the door frame and into your house, his hands cradling your face before he crashes his plush lips into yours. 

The second you’re both fully in your house, Joel's hands are on the hem of your shirt,  silently begging for you to take it off. You let him work on getting you topless, meanwhile, your hands are hastily working to undo his belt buckle, the excitement of finally being able to touch him and him not being able to stop touching you has you worked up.  Joel presses his thighs together against yours, drawing little moans from you while he nips at your neck. 

As much as he is trying to distract you, he’s no match for your determination. In record-breaking time you have his buckle undone and the zipper of his jeans is down; you gracefully fall to your knees before him, tugging his pants and his boxers down with you to the floor. Joel’s cock releases from the confines of his clothing and slaps against his tummy, leaving a little trail of pre-cum in its wake. You already knew he was big, but having him in full view makes you realize just how big he really is. 

You lick your lips and reach out to grab his thick cock, affectionately kissing the tip of it; you run your tongue through the slit, lapping up the salty pre-cum that drips out before you circle your tongue along the underside of his head. You let your jaw go slack, and you begin to dip down on his length; a gurgling sound escapes your lips as you pull back up again. You do this a few times before letting his hard cock fall from your lips, now puffy and coated in saliva, some of it dribbling past your chin. 

You pull off momentarily and smile up at Joel. He thinks you look far too sweet and innocent for someone who is absolutely taking his cock deep in your throat like a champ. He intertwines his fingers through your hair and groans, before gently urging you back down onto his length.

“Fuck, sweetheart – can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about having that pretty little mouth of yours on my cock,” he says slightly breathless. 

The thought of him thinking about you goes straight to your core and makes you want to mouth fuck him harder. 

You wrap your lips around him again, and he thrusts his hips to glide himself inside of your mouth to the back of your throat. 

He begins to pick up his pace, holding your head steady by your hair as he fucks into your throat, pressing deeper and deeper until spit pools at the corners of your mouth and slight tears form in the creases of your eyes. He presses you down onto him until your lips are wrapped around the base of him and the course hairs that reside there. You’re drowning in the taste of him, hardly able to breathe, but you don’t care; you want him to chase his high, to use your mouth for his own pleasure. He made you come harder than anyone ever has before; this was the least you could do for him. 

“Jesus – look at you, pretty girl, fuck you feel so good wrapped around me,” he grits out, “takin’ it so well, baby.”

His words go straight to your cunt, the ache now insufferable. 

You begin to work him harder with your tongue, struggling for air, and he inches closer to the back of your throat and you begin to gag. Joel pulls out, not wanting to hurt you, and a strand of saliva trails between your lips and his cock. You blink back tears and look up at him, your mascara now a mess on your face, and your eyes glossy. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his brow furrowed in concern. 

You swallow, and reach up to wipe a tear from your cheek. You are okay. More than okay.  “Peachy. I'm relieved I finally got to return the favor,” you hum, standing to rise to meet his face. 

He wraps his hands around your waist, and pulls you tight against the front of his body; you feel the warmth of his tummy, the hardness of his cock, and the strength of his back behind your grip and it makes your legs turn to Jell-O. Fuck, you need him. 

Joel kisses you for a moment, before pulling away and bringing his lips to your ear “Gonna fuck you now, sweet girl.” 

You feel your stomach swoop and your folds tingle; you have thought about this moment for so long and you yearn for the stretch of him; to know what it’s like to be filled to the brim with Joel fucking Miller. 

He kicks off his boots, steps out of the clothing bunched around his ankles, and takes your hand to follow you down the hallway into your bedroom. 

Part of him wants to take his time; to make you feel good, to taste you again, and feel you come and come on his fingers. Part of him wants to shuck down your jeans and put your pretty pussy in his face. 

Joel doesn’t particularly think of himself as a selfish man, but he has waited patiently, and he needs you. Now. 

As much as he wants the taste of you on his lips, the part of him that wants to shove himself into your addictive cunt until you forget your name until you forget every other name except for his is the dominant one right now. 

Once in the bedroom, he crowds you back until the back of your calves meet the edge of your mattress. He grabs both of your hips in a bruising grip and pulls you tight against his chest, his hips grinding into yours, and you lean your face up to kiss him. You think he might kiss you, but instead, he ghosts your lips and leans forward until your back meets the soft fabric of the mattress with an oof, and he’s on top of you. 

He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head. His grip on you is firm, yet gentle. You’ve seen his brute strength in action and the fact that he could overpower you sends a shiver to your clit. 

“So beautiful, darlin’ – you know that?” he kisses your nose and trails a slew of them down your cheek, jaw, chin, and neck. Once at the nape of your neck, he nibbles on your earlobe and whispers “You ready for me, sweetheart?” his breath is heavy in your ear. 

You can’t nod fast enough in agreement. 

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he practically purrs the question. 

You want nothing more than to be a good girl for Joel. You nod almost aggressively to make up for the fact that you’re unable to construct a single sentence right now. 

He lets out a satisfied moan and drops his grip on your wrists, and drags his heavy hands down your body to the center of your jeans and undoes the button of your pants, and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of both your jeans and your panties and pulls them down in one fell swoop. 

He dips down to place a delicate kiss to your tummy and lets the weight of his head rest on the softness of you. He inhales deeply, the aroma of your perfume comforts him, and he fights the urge to dip his face lower and bury himself in your pussy. 

You drop both of your hands and grab his head, your fingers carding through his hair, and he groans. 

“Thought you were gonna be a good girl for me,” he says, not really questioning. 

“I am being a good girl,” you respond back, not really sure what prompted his statement. 

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough the first time. When I put you in a position, I want you to stay there, until I say you can move. Got it?” 

And holy fuck, bossy Joel turns you on. 

You only hum in response. 

“Need you to use your words, sweet girl. Answer me, or I’ll make you,” he says, voice low, his head closer to your center now, almost to exactly where you need him but not quite. 

“Ye - ah, yes, fuck I understand,” sending all of your energy to string the words together. 

He hums in acknowledgment and pushes your hands back up overhead, telling you to keep them there, and only to touch him when he says you can. When he releases your hands and sees that your arms stay put, he rasps out a “good girl.”

He then reaches down and notches his tip at your entrance, and drags the weight of his thick cock through your glistening folds.

“Mmmm so fuckin’ wet, this all for me?” 

“All for you, J-oel,” you’re trembling, desperate to feel him deep inside you. 

He pauses momentarily, only the tip of him inside you, and god, it’s such a tease. 

You know it’ll sting, but you want him to just fucking bury every inch of himself inside of you. You don’t care about the pain; you crave the stretch of him. 

“Joel – ah, need more,” you moan, “need all of you.” 

“You sure, sweetheart? I ‘don wanna hurt you,” he says, once again concerned about you. 

“Joel, I want you to fucking wreck me. Need you to move, please.” 

After your plea, he obliges. You feel every inch of him, the way he throbs inside of you, and the tip of his head drags against the spongey spot inside of you. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to move in and out of you, he feels so fucking good, and you’re so perfectly full. 

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and gruff, still continuing to saw in and out of you. ‘’Want you to look at me while I fuck you.” 

And his words are like music to your fucking ears. He’s the perfect balance of gentleman and fucking filth. 

He brings a hand down to circle your clit, and with the added sensation you’re not far off from your orgasm. You can feel it growing in your stomach with every circle of his thumb and every thrust of his cock. You open your mouth, your jaw slack, and you begin to moan. 

“Fuck, baby – you shouldn’t open your mouth like that,” he moans. 

“And – fuckkkk, why not?” You respond back, breathless from each of his thrusts. 

“Just a reminder of another hole I need to use,” he responds, and then gruffly says “Open,” while pressing his thumb and index finger into your jaw, holding you in place. 

You do as he says, and he spits into your mouth. Your eyes wide as saucers. It’s hot, dirty, filthy. 

“Taste how perfect we are together, baby” he says, still pounding into you and circling your clit. 

His words send you into fucking oblivion, and you’re gone. Your vision goes white, and despite his order to keep your eyes open, your eyes fall closed and he fucks you through your orgasm. 

Your tight, slick walls pulse and squeeze around him. His hands squeeze your hips, his fingertips bruising your skin as he rocks your limp and shaky body against his cock, chasing his own orgasm. 

Not long after you’ve come, he’s finishing too. He fucks into you at an erratic pace and then shoots his seed deep into your cunt. 

“Fuckkk, baby” – he trails off, letting the final spurts of his cum paint your walls. 

You let out a sigh, and once again drop your hands to his head, intertwining your hands with the hair behind his head. 

You both lay there in your fucked out bliss and then he pulls out of you, taking a dribble of his cum with him, a glob of it landing on your thigh. 

You’ve never felt so satisfied, to be laying there, content and full of Joel Miller. 

He rolls over onto his side and puts his hand on his chest. 

“Shit, baby. You’re perfect,” he says. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get enough of you.” 

You hum in delight and roll over onto his chest, melting into him. 

“You in the mood for some cookies?” you ask, and he grins in response.

He hit the fucking lottery with you. 

END

Tagging some Joel-lovers: @endlessthxxghts @survivingandenduring @darkheartgatita @joelmillersblog @joelsgreys @dins-riduur-anthe @joelmillers-whore @pedroswife69 @hearteyesforjoel

As always, feel free to let me know if do or don’t want to be tagged!xx

#joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedrohub #pedro pascal character #collaboration fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller series

[cellythefloshie]

;; Icebreaker Chapter Three of Cool for the Summer

Table of Contents Chapter Two «« 🤍 »» Chapter Four

Summary: Harper has to work, but that doesn't stop Andrei from trying to get to know her. TW: No triggers apply. Word Count: 4k+

This series to be read in conjecture with @hockeyboysimagines I Loved You Three Summers.

That heaviness your body has when you've actually slept through the night without interruption? Harper had it. It was a fog on her mind as she rolled over in her bed, her hand searching the darkness for where her phone had fallen after aimlessly scrolling through social media when her mind had been too loud to sleep. Blindly, she searched until the covers, her bare legs tangling with the blankets until she found it tucked until one of her too fluffy pillows that had been pushed to the other side of the bed. Her eyes squinted, preparing for the bright light of her phone as she pressed the power nutty again and again, but the light never came. It was dead. 

Cursing, she pushed her blanket aside, her mind and body now suddenly awake as she searched a nearby box for her digital clock. Her hands fumbled over familiar objects, catching corners and awkward shapes before she saw the deep neon green glow of the snooze button. She dropped to her knees; the carpet burning her knees as she fished out the box and read the big bold numbers. Then, as quickly as she picked it up from the box, Harper was dropping it back into her mess of belongings. 

She was late. 

Pounding against her chest, and up into her ears was her heart as she moved through the room like a summer storm. Harper tripped over boxes as she lurched for a light switch, but the harsh fluorescent lights were still not enough to keep her from kicking the bed as she walked by it, nor could she seem to find anything she needed for her workday. Every bit of her life was still packed away in a box in a room that was familiar, yet it didn't feel like her own. 

She stumbled through just as she stumbled through life, on the verge of tears and a veil of self confidence as she pulled on the same shirt she had worn the day before and a pair of yoga pants from the top of one of the boxes. Quick hands pulled her blond hair back in a messy ponytail and for time's sake she would go barefaced. Then, Harper was taking the stairs two steps at a time and moved straight for the kitchen. 

Makeup could be skipped, but coffee could not. 

Passing her sister, who sat propped up on the stool at the kitchen island, Harper envied her for only a moment. If only for her calm in the early morning, and the big bowl of watermelon that sat in front of her on the counter. 

Harper's stomach growled, her eyes shutting as she tried to ignore the feeling of hunger that became all the more consuming as she stood in the kitchen. Her hands fumbled around her cup, ice rumbling in the refrigerator as it spilled down into the cup. Some rattle there. While others missed and fell to the floor. She groaned, so close to swearing and tossing her cup into the sink. But she persisted. Even as the ice tumbled to the floor again, she did her best not to let it get to her - even if sitting in a drive through for an ice coffee just seemed easier. She needed to do it for herself. 

A heavy breath rocked her, the rush of hair blowing loose hair that had fallen out of her ponytail out of her face. 

“I won't be home until after dinner, running club tonight so don't worry about me-” Harper's words were rushed as she rounded the counter, one hand putting her coffee down to pick up her work bag before she was hugging her sister in a quick embrace - hoping that if her shirt stunk, Maddie would be bold enough to tell her before she left. But when they exchanged nothing more than soft, tired smiles and see you later, Harper was stepping into a pair of Crocs and running out the door. 

Stumbling down the steps, she almost lost one of the bright sunshine yellow Crocs. Her steps stuttered as she tried to fit her foot back into it just right as she jogged down the crowded driveway to her Jeep that was parked on the street, out of the way until she could return to U-Haul by the end of the night, hopefully. 

Her hand fell to the handle, pulling it twice before she realized she hadn't unlocked the door. Harper dug through her work bag, searching for her keys. It was with her head down, as she mumbled to herself about how she should just call in and cancel all her appointments to her day, that Harper was greeted by a thick low Russian accent that left her jolting with the sudden realization that she wasn't alone. 

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Harper glanced back over her shoulder and to the driveway that neighbors hers. Seth and Andrei stood in it, fully dressed for their days and smiling. Smiling when she wanted to do nothing more than scream and cry and go back to bed when nothing seemed to be going right. She hated it. 

“Work,” she answered him simply as her hands wrapped around the keys. Her thumb pressed down on the fob, unlocking it with ease. 

“What do you do?” Andrei asked, his hands falling into the pockets of his shorts as he moved down the drive. 

Harper bit the inside of her cheek. He was a good kid; she was sure of it, but she didn't have time for this. 

“Physiotherapy,” she kept her answer short as she climbed into the front seat, leaving the door open as she settled in. Harper needed to go, but she wasn't going to slam the door in his face. 

“When do you get off?”

Second thought, maybe she should slam the door in his face. 

“Late,” she bit out as she reached up to fix her rear-view mirror. 

“So, you'll need a lunch date, then?”

Harper's eyes rolled at his boldness. Oh, how nice it must be to be so young, attractive and used to getting everything you wanted. And no one could tell her Andrei was treated otherwise. Not when the cocky, confident smile he wore said it all. The boy wasn't used to rejection, on or off the ice. 

“If you want to see me between the hours of nine and five, you'll have to make an appointment,” Harper took a breath, the professionalism in her words almost exhausting as her hand dropped to her cupholder where her cup of coffee was supposed to be. 

Harper leaned her back against her headrest, defeated. Her coffee was still on the counter. 

“Are you al-” Harper could hear the concern in Andrei's voice as he stood just outside the front door of her Jeep, her eyes watering, on the verge of tears as she started to get out of the car to rush back inside for her drink. 

But then she sees Maddie practically tiptoeing over the cold driveway, her iced coffee in hand. She's still in her pajamas, an oversized t-shirt that doesn't quite seem long enough and a pair of frilly pink shorts that Harper hoped was a big enough distraction for Andrei to forget that he was so close to seeing her cry. 

“You're a lifesaver, Mads!” Harper sighed, reaching out with one hand for the coffee before forcing a smile and looking up at Andrei, who still lingered nearby. Who still wore a look of concern as he looked down at her perched in her driver's seat.

Her skin crawled under the gaze of the unwanted attention, her hands reaching out to grasp at the steering wheel as she tried to divert his attention away from her. “I work today, but Maddie here, she's free all day,” she spoke quickly, hoping Maddie wouldn't mind. 

“Maddie, this is Seth's friend, Andrew-”

“Andrei,” he was quick to correct her. 

“Right,” she nodded, not even looking at it in fear that he would somehow see in her eyes or on her features that she knew his name, first and last. Or somehow learn that her curiosity had gotten the best of her and that she had spent the better part of her night scrolling his NHL stats page when she couldn't sleep. “You three should do something.” 

The suggestion seemed sweet, sincere, as she reached up and pulled her sunglasses from the sun visor. Forcing a smile, Harper slid them up the bridge of her nose and offered the pair a wave before she left them as nothing but a reflection of her rearview. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Sweat dripped in beads down the back of Andrei's neck. Not the shade of the golf cart, or the ball cap he wore on his head, could save him from the heat of the sun as it continued to rise in the sky. They couldn't have been on the course for more than an hour, but it had already felt like it had been all day. Andrei didn't know why it felt that way. Maybe it was simply the heat, or maybe it was the fact they were only on the third hole and Seth was still busy trying to teach Madison how to hit a golf ball. 

The petite blonde stood in the tee zone, taking her time positioning herself around the tee as she shook out her thick hair that hung down her back in waves. Maddison had an effortless beauty, one that other women wanted and one any guy would have gone crazy for - and Seth was every bit of his attention devoted to her as he guided her every move with his words or a casual touch. But Andrei’s mind was still thinking of Harper. 

Leaning against the back of the golf cart, Andrei sipped back an ice cold water bottle and tried to rid his mind of the sad look in her eyes that she had when she drove to work earlier in the morning. It made his heart sink. He didn’t know her - and it was clear in the short time he had gotten to speak to her that she was far from interested in getting to know him - but that didn’t deter Andrei. A beautiful girl like her deserved to smile, and he wanted to be the one to do it. 

His hand dipped into the pocket of his shorts, grasping at it as he hesitated to draw it out. Andrei wanted to find out where she worked. He wanted to go there, to bring her lunch and try to brighten her day. But he also knew how weird that was. It would be creepy to stalk her out like that, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask Madison about her. Would it?

Leaning into the cart, Andrei put his water into the cup holder before approaching Maddie and Seth at the tee, interrupting the conversation they were having with his own selfish question. “So, your sister, she doesn’t like me. Yes?”

Maddie turned in place, her shoulders tensing, then relaxing as she looked him up and down with a small smile on her lips. “Now, why would you think that?” She cocked her head to the side, her wide blue eyes bright with the sparkle of mischief. 

Andrei’s shoulders slouched, his hands dropping into his pockets in an attempt to seem careless. But his scoff betrayed him. “She knew my name wasn’t Andrew.”

Her giggle was so sweet it turned his stomach sour as he stepped back to give Seth room to fumble around the cart. It left Andrei wishing he had his own distraction as his hands began to sweat as bad as the back of his neck. Maybe he shouldn’t have started such a conversation. 

“You caught that? It’s not that she doesn’t like you. Harper’s just been through a lot.”

Andrei leaned in, hoping to be given even the slightest insight. “Like?”

“I’d love to fill you in,” Maddie told him and he held his breath, only for it to release slowly and sadly, like a deflating balloon, “but that’s Harper’s story to tell.” But she indulged him in the slightest, “For context, her ex is an asshole, and she just moved back home. She’s still a little fragile right now, so if she comes across as being rude, it’s because she’s still hurting.”

There was a clamor in the back of the golf car, curing through the seriousness of the conversation with a swear and another curse from Seth before he joined the conversation. “Who’s an asshole?”

Seth was someone who could insert himself into anything. He had a charisma that was magnetic, and an approachability that left everyone comfortable no matter the situation. Which was probably why Madison was so comfortable as he reached around her to check his phone in the golf card, and why she didn’t even flinch as his body grazed against hers. A part of the entire interaction made Andrei jealous. He wanted a connection like that. 

“Darren,” Maddie told him simply, before her smile grew wider and her hand was reaching out to pat his forearm, “Your friend here has a thing for my sister.”

Seth shrugged. “Not surprising. Everyone has a thing for your sister.” His words had left his lips so carelessly that Andrei could see Seth’s eyes go wide before he could find the words to backtrack. “Not me though. I’ve never liked your sister. That would be, uh- weird.”

“Yeah,” Andrei agreed, his voice then dropping low enough for only Seth to hear, “because she is the wrong sister.”

Seth cocked his arm, ready to throw a punch at him, but it never came. If it had been just the two of them, maybe they would have come to blows. Nothing serious, just roughhousing until one of them conceded. In the presence of Maddie, however, they behaved. Or well, tried to. 

“Harper can be complicated,” Maddie spoke again as she leaned back against the golf cart, her arms folded over her chest casually, “but she’s worth it. She’s got a lot going on, but these last few days I’ve started to see the old Harper more and more. She’s healing, and father than I think anyone expected. She’ll come around. You just have to get to know her.”

“I want to, but she’s making it difficult,” Andrei’s words slipped from his lips in a sigh. His head hung for a moment at how pathetic they sounded. He should have been letting himself get so distracted by her. Not when she was so blatantly disinterested. Not when he had intended to spend his time in Winnipeg training, not yearning after the girl next door. 

And yet, when Maddie smiled, “guess that means you have your work cut out for you. Now, who’s taking me for a ride?” Her question punctuated with the shrill jingle of keys, Andrei was the first to jump at the opportunity because the time alone with her meant time he could use to get to know Harper. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The wrapper of her lunch was left soggy from the steam of what was now a cold burger and fries from the McDonald's down the block. It was the downside of waking up late and having to get lunch delivered, and Harper was suffering for it. Its cheese felt like plastic on her tongue and the fries were stiff. The only redeeming quality of each bite was the extra pickles they hadn't forgotten, for once, and a generous amount of ketchup. But not even that one small feat could distract her from the notifications on her phone as she pulled it from her pocket and placed it face up on the table. 

Three missed calls and seven text messages. They were all from Darren.

Harper had left him the engagement ring. She had packed up all her belongings and left the apartment she had once lived in on her own before he moved in with her. And she had told him countless times that they were over. Yet, he couldn't seem to accept the decision that she had made to move on with her life without him. 

Her fingers danced over the screen, deleting each text and each call from her history. But when her finger hesitated over the last call, with his picture and his name so clear to her eyes, Harper contemplated calling him. She considered listening to whatever half-assed apology or excuse he had crafted for her. Harper even considered accepting it and going home to him just to feel a semblance of normalcy. To go back to a life she hated, instead of feeling so tired, and alone and sorry for herself. Because going back to Darren would be good, at least for a time. He would help cook, and he would clean, even buy her small gifts, just to remind her that he cared. And he would do all of that until he didn't. Those sweet acts of kindness would fade into nothingness, into heartache. So Harper deleted that last call, and his contact in her phone - as if she didn't have his number memorized - and instead, she texted her sister, Maddie. 

Of course, Seth was a nice guy. He always had been, ever since he was a kid- Harper ran a hand over her face, her eyes shutting in a long, tired realization. Madison wasn't talking about Seth. She was talking about Andrei. 

Harper noticed she wasn't blind. Andrei probably looked good in anything. It was the perks of being an athlete and well, good genetics. With his strong jawline, charming smile and soft eyes - if Harper was 5 years younger, maybe she would have considered taking the time to get to know him. But she wasn't about to fulfill Andrei's older-woman summer fling fantasy. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Crouched down in the middle of the sidewalk, Harper fumbled with the laces of her runners that had come untied somewhere between her dark and the sign-in station by the front door. She had swayed the loose lace back and forth as she signed in each runner, some she recognized and others that were new, but with only a few blank spaces on the list and start time drawing near, she needed to be ready to go. There was a patter of feet around her, then there was a rush of voices. So many at once she couldn't make out just one. But there was a sense of excitement in every voice. She could hear it, feel it even as she pushed up off the ground to stand and dusted her hands off on her shorts. And it excited her too, to get started on their run in the early evening, but when she looked at the running group that had clustered together in what looked more like a mob, it quickly became clear that it wasn't the run the group was excited for, but for an unexpected guest. Seth.

No. Two guests. 

Andrei was there, too. 

He was hard to miss, standing a towering six-foot-two in a group that was primarily women and their children who stood no taller than five-foot-nine. And he was a walking poster for the Carolina Hurricanes in black and red team branded gear that not even Seth had thought to put on for the run. For a moment, Harper thought that it might be all he had, but then she remembered the conversation they had in the driveway that morning. Andrei wanted to know where she worked, he wanted to take her out to lunch. He was there with Seth, so brightly dressed in red to be seen, not by the runners but by her. 

Gripping her clipboard tight, Harper left her post by the door where she had been waiting for the final runner to arrive and maneuvered through the crowd with a smile and a soft excuse when it was needed. She could hear the click of the exaggerated noise of a camera lense snapping on each smartphone as pictures of Seth and his teammate were taken. And she could hear each friendly exchange they shared with her runners. 

“-my son is never going to believe this-”

“-yeah let's get a picture to show him-”

“-I used to work with your mother, you know-”

“-I'll be sure to tell her you say hi-”

But not even their politeness could fully rid of the knot that threatened to take her face. They weren't supposed to be there. How they even found out where-

Harper sighed. Of course, they would find out. They spent the entire day with Madison, and if it hadn't been her, she wouldn't have put it past her dad to tell them, either. In the end, it didn't really matter who did it. The pair were there now, and she was being forced to deal with it. 

“Hey guys,” Harper spoke with a false pleasantry, her back and shoulders stiff as she looked between the two hockey players that were smiling as if they were children that had just been caught doing something wrong. “Are you on our participation list?”

Seth pressed his lips together, fighting back the smile she knew could so quickly become a laugh. “Should be. Check under Seth and-”

Her eyes rolled as her gaze dropped to the clipboard in her hands. She scanned over each name and signature and found the two blank spaces at the bottom of the list. They had been late in the day additions, written in her coworker’s scrawl: Seth J. and Andre S.

“Perfect,” Harper spoke through the grit teeth of her smile, “That's everyone then.”

Raising her clipboard up, she flagged down the attention of her coworker and shouted, “we got everyone! I'll take the rear!” 

It seemed like the smart thing to do at the moment. Hanging At the back of the group meant giving her enough time to tuck the clipboard away in the office and lock up. It meant avoiding having to lead the pre-run warm up and only really having to offer support and guidance to those who fell behind. Best of all, Harper thought it would give her the biggest distance between herself and the two athletes that continued to impress the group with their mere presence. But she was wrong. 

While Seth ran with the bulk of the group, his energy contagious and keeping morale high, Andrei fell back, his pace slow and steady to match her own. He ran by her side, silent and focused, only looking at her when he was spoken to two blocks into their route. 

“What are you even doing here?” She asked him, genuinely curious. Did they not have anything better to do with their time?

“Running,” he answered simply, smiling. 

“But why?” Harper asked.

Andrei answered. “It was too late to book the afternoon appointment.”

Harper's head snapped in his direction, her expression softened in disbelief. She didn't want to believe that he had even tried to make an appointment, because Harper couldn't understand why. He had only just met her yesterday, and his interest in her was unlike anyone else. Maybe he was just bored, or didn't like being told no - but he was kind, albeit a little awkward and unorthodox in his methods. 

“Usually, when people make appointments with me, it's because they need help with something. Not because they wanted to buy me lunch, and I said no,” Harper pointed out as a hand raised to push her hair out of her face. 

Andrei's smile split over his features, a low laugh rumbling through him before he spoke. “My ankle. It hurts from time to time.”

“What happened?” 

Sighing, his smile wavered. “Zdeno Chára.” 

“Oh,” Harper didn't press any further, her gaze dropping to the sidewalk to watch as the cracks in the pavement fell in their wake with every stride.

“It's good,” he assured her, and Harper swore she could feel the warmth of his hand reach out to her in a ghost of a touch that didn't reach her shoulder. “No pain right now. I will tell you if it comes. But next time, maybe we can just go out for lunch?”

Harper had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing. She bit down so hard her lip began to swell, and the two ran together, side by side, for the rest of the run in silence. 

She didn't know what, but the kid was giving up on her just yet. Maybe Seth had put him up to it, like some kind of cruel bet to get back at her for making him go to bed early when he was ten. Or maybe Andrei genuinely wanted to take her out and a single rejection wasn't going to stand in his way. 

And would keep declining. She had to. Sure, the Carolina Hurricanes forward was cute, but he was young. Harper didn't know it was by a year or two or five, but her standard wasn't one that was going to be bent for anyone, not even an NHL player. Besides, maybe the second rejection would be enough to show she wasn't inserted. And if it didn't? Harper was sure there would be the opportunity for a third time. 

Taglist: @starshine-hockey-girl , @wingedwheelprxncess , @mp0625 , @misunderstoodwerewolf , @callsign-denmark , @puckmaidens , @xciciix , @cixrosie

#andrei svechnikov #nhl rpf #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #hockey rpf #hockey romance #hockey imagines #seth jarvis #collaboration fic #andrei svechnikov x original character

[wixiany]

Team #5 - Tied

@codywanreversebang​ is here! @nhyhu​ created 3 beautiful art pieces for our fic, and me, @insertmeaningfulusername​, and @embeanwrites​ wrote each one part - the before, the during and the aftermath. We can't wait for you all to see and read it! ♥

Summary:

Qui-Gon is gone and Obi-Wan, freshly promoted to a Jedi Knight, needs to take care of a Padawan of his own, but doubts and insecurities plague him. Elsewhere in the galaxy, Cody and his brothers are struggling through rigorous training on the water planet of Kamino.

They meet and start working together once the Clone Wars begin. They steal comfortable and quiet moments with each other, slowly working their way towards more than just a friendship between Commander and General. But the war is relentless. In a skirmish, Cody is fatally injured. Obi-Wan reaches deep into the Force and into himself to change Cody’s fate, and in doing so, a powerful Force bond is created.

Now, they will have to navigate the war and their growing affection alongside an as of yet unprecedented bond.

or: Obi-Wan and Cody's journeys before and throughout the war and their relationship (in 3 parts)

Find the fanfic here!

The first stunning art by @nhyhu​:

#codywan #codywanreversebang2023 #obi-wan kenobi #cody #commander cody #star wars #star wars fanfic #my fics #cody x obi wan #art #star wars fanart #collaboration fic

[pbnjparker]

entangled hearts | t. holland

an: ahh mine and @iovebug​‘s little baby :,) we both hope you enjoy this fic as much as we enjoyed writing it! this is our official submission for @tshwritersnet​ writing sleepover! (which btw! applications are open for new members!) love u all <3

pairing: tom holland x fem!reader

“I think you’re overdressed, YN. It’s just the reception.”

You looked up at Zendaya who had a goofy smile on her face, “Dude?” you said as you rolled your eyes at her. “I’m kidding!” she laughed as she brought you into a hug.

You sighed, “You scared me for a bit.” you laughed nervously as you flattened out your red silk dress. “Damn girl! Who are you trying to impress?” you felt your cheeks glow red as you looked up and smiled at Jacob. “Obviously, Tom!” Zendaya replied as she lightly tapped your leg.  

“What about me?” Tom asked, “Oh nothing, just talking about how stunning Y/N looks!” Jacob said as he lightly nudged your shoulders.

You looked over at Tom and smiled, “You look great, Tom.” you said, focusing your attention back onto the mirror, “You too Y/N/N, red is definitely your color.”

Tom admired from afar; taken aback by all your beauty, “Thank you.” You smiled softly as you looked over to Zendaya and Jacob who were engulfed in a laughing fit. “What’s so funny guys?” you asked. “Tom your tie. It’s really bad.” Zendaya said in between laughs.

Tom looked confused as he walked over to the mirror, “Holy shit.” he gasped as he tried to fix his tie before looking over to you for help, “I got you, Tom.” you smiled as he turned to face you, “Thank you,” he said, “Don’t know what I would do without you.”

You sighed, “You’d be a 25 year old man who doesn’t know how to tie his tie.” you laughed. “And done.” you said as you smoothed out his shirt, “Did you really wear red to match me?”

Tom laughed. “Yeah.” he breathed out as his cheeks slowly turned a light red, “This isn’t prom, Tom.” You said. “I honestly thought it would be cute,” He shrugged his shoulders, “We’re not dating.”

“Yet!” Jacob said as he walked past the both of you. “It’s only a matter of time.” Zendaya said following Jacob. “Guys!” You scolded as you rolled your eyes, “Stop acting like kids.”

“Okay and that’s enough drinks for you both.” you said grabbing the two glasses that stood in front of Zendaya and Jacob. “You’re no fun, Harrison would want us to get drunk for him.” Jacob slurred. “See, You’re already talking nonsense.” you laughed as you passed the glasses over to Tom.

Jacob gasped. “How come he gets to drink? Is it because he’s your loverrrrr?” he questioned, dragging out the r, “Okay, Jacob that’s enough.” Tom laughed, “I think we should listen to Y/N. She's scary.”

You let out a sigh.  “Please don’t encourage him.” you giggled looking over to Zendaya who was now gone from her seat. “See we’ve already lost one of them.” you said while getting up. “We’d be terrible parents,” he laughed. “I’ll go get her. Take care of this one.” he pointed over to Jacob who was now pretending to sleep. “Oh gosh, this will be fun!” you sarcastically said. “It’s just you and me.”

Jacob laughed to himself “Tom loves you Y/N.” He said before quickly slapping his hand over his mouth, “What?” You asked. “Oh nothing.” he smiled. “Jacob, what do you mean by he loves me?”

“Nothing, I’m drun-'' Tom cut him off. “Found her! She was trying to get another drink.” He sighed as he watched Zendaya sit back in her seat. “You’re both no fun.” she pouted.

As the night slowed down and warm bodies moved to the center of the room, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your seat watching as your friends danced around each other. The care-free way they handled themselves as they moved their arms in tune with the music made you laugh but also left your heart feeling warm. You were so lost in overwhelming gratitude you had felt from your found family that you hadn’t even noticed Tom staring at you from across the room.

It all happened so fast but you understood it like you were fluent in speaking the language of all things Tom. It started with his eyes, dark and glittering under the lights, gesturing towards the door. Then it was the lick of his lips. He only did that when he was nervous. Finally it was his entire body slowly shuffling through the crowd of people toward the back door that led to the terrace, his eyes occasionally looking over at you. He wanted you to follow him outside, and whatever it was that he had to tell you, he was nervous about it.

You got up from your seat, picking up the red silk from the ground to follow him outside. Pushing open the door to the outside you were met with a light breeze and the dim light of the lights scattered throughout the lawn. Tom was leaning along the edge of the marble balcony, his back to you as he looked down on the excessively large lawn of the venue. You coughed to alert him of your presence, which instead just startled him into turning around frantically.

“Hey.” he breathed, a small smile playing at his lips as he gestured for you to come over to him.

“Hey,” you smiled back, making your way over to him with your arms tucked behind your back. “You okay?”

“Now I am.” He tried before visibly cringing and laughing with you as you finally reached him, your hands outstretched to his.

“Was that too corny?” He sighed, taking your hands in his. It was getting colder as the night went on which was now evident by the way you could see each breath he was taking and the now red tip of his nose.

“Yeah, it was a little corny.” you teased, causing both you and him to burst out in a fit of giggles, your bodies radiating warmth the closer you got to each other. “Why are we out here?”

“It was getting too loud,” he started, avoiding eye contact, “and I wanted to talk to you.” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, having no clue what he could want to talk to you about. So you kept quiet, silently urging him along to tell you what was going on.

“I know Jacob told you.” He spoke almost in a whisper, his nervous eyes looking up to meet yours. “He told me when we were dancing and I just thought that no-”

“Jacob told me what?” You cut him off, not wanting him to start rambling out of nerves.

“That I love you.” He stated simply as if he had not just altered the course of your life. Like it was something that was so easy for him that it just rolled off his tongue. Like it was something he had known his whole life.

“You what?” you spoke, slightly stunned and still slightly tipsy.

“Look I know we have been friends for ages and that you might not feel the same and that’s fine but I don’t want to lose you an-” he was quickly cut off by you feverishly pressing your lips to his, doing your best to write “I love you” into him with your tongue. But as quickly as your lips met, you pulled away just to whisper a breathy “I love you.” onto his lips, knowing he needed to hear it.

Before he could pull you in again you noticed the grin spread across his face. Cheek to cheek with his eyelids bunching at the corners, he was truly gleaming at the idea that you loved him back.

#pbnjparker #iovebug #tshwritersnet #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland au #tom holland pr #tom holland prompts #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fan fiction #tom holland fluff #tom holland blurbs #tom holland fluff blurbs #collaboration fic

[tumbledfreckles]

a @tumbledfreckles and @mppmaraudergirl​ collaboration fic

At sixteen, James Potter boarded the Hogwarts Express and knew  without a doubt that he and Lily Evans were not meant to be friends, let  alone more. But little did he, nor Lily herself, understand all the difference a year can make.

Chapter Four: Christmas Decorating 

It was not that Lily wanted to be friends with James Potter. It had never topped her list of things to do, certainly never garnered much of her interest.

Yet…

The words that were spoken in such a clipped and annoyed tone just a month prior still sat in her subconscious.

I'm not the one of us who hates the other, Evans.

She didn’t want to think about it again, but this comment coupled with one from Remus—who stood beside her in the Great Hall presently, arm raised as he levitated a sparkling golden bulb onto a twelve-foot-tall Christmas tree—back in October, were making it impossible to not think about him.

He’s moving on in his own way.

“Lily?”

Read on AO3 || Start at the beginning

#jily #jily fic #jily fanfiction #james potter #lily evans #canon compliant #hogwarts jily #jily sixth year #jily seventh year #collaboration fic #all the difference #writtenbyfreckles #mppmaraudergirl #we back

[sameschmidtdiffname]

I personally choose to believe that the Hunger Games series is supposed to be Katniss's memoir/way of setting the record straight about her and her loved ones part in the Games/war. Meaning I think the entire country of New Panem was going into a FIT with every new chapter they read, let alone book. Just imagine the podcasts for a second.

"SO THE STAR-CROSSED LOVERS OF DISTRICT 12."

"YEAH."

"FATED SOULMATES."

"DESTINED TO BE TOGETHER."

"Role model for all of our relationships, I think it's safe to say."

"Mmhmm."

"It was a SURVIVAL STRAT????"

That baby reveal??? Had the country in SHAMBLES when they realized Peeta was lying. Her editors probably told her to just keep that out and she probably just said "why?? I have actual kids now, it's fine." The tabloids are blowing clear the fuck up all day every day. Peeta's hijacking??? People already knew but they didn't know EVERYTHING. God, those podcasts were LIT.

#lowkey would write a collaborative fic about this #peeta mellark #everlark #katniss everdeen #the hunger games peeta #the hunger games #hunger games series #the hunger games trilogy #the hunger games katniss #thg #cf #mj

[cuepickle]

Here’s my piece to go along with @discodeviant’s fic for this year’s @bigbangharringrove

The fic is beautiful and angsty and absolutely captured my heart. If you’d like to read the fic (which I implore you to do right now‼️) head over to ao3:

⭐️ Highway star ⭐️

#harringrove #harringrove big bang #Billy Hargrove #steve harrington #my art #fic #collaboration

[ticklygiggles]

A date worth remembering| Zayne x Reader

Collab with @otomiyaa

A/N: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! We're early for this one but we wrote it in like one day *applause* we love our doctor that much 😍 we hope you guys enjoy it!

Summary: Chocolate? Check. Gift? Check. Food? Check. A clueless boyfriend? Check! All ready for the perfect Valentine's day!

Words: 2k

You felt a little silly. Your cheeks were red and your heart was about to jump out of your chest as you made your way to Akso Hospital. Night had already fallen over Linkon City, but the streets still looked very alive and vibrant. Everywhere you looked, there was a couple holding hands, hugging and even sharing kisses in the middle of the street, causing your already reddened cheeks to get even hotter. 

Flowers, chocolates, balloons and heart-shaped decorations filled the restaurants around. It was that big celebration again: Valentine's day. You couldn't say you'd ever been drawn to that particular celebration. Thousands of other more important things were running through your head most of the time, but... now Valentine's Day didn't feel so foreign to you. 

With your free hand, you covered the silly but huge smile that stretched your lips. On your other hand, you carried a plastic bag with two lunchboxes, food warm and ready to serve; in your bag were two boxes: a heart-shaped one filled with truffles and dark chocolate. The other, a small rectangular box with a pen with a certain doctor's name engraved on it. It was your first time celebrating Valentine's day, you couldn't help but go a bit overboard.

Your voice sounded funny as you checked in at the reception. They had gotten used to you popping in unannounced, being Dr. Zayne’s partner. You were allowed access and made your way by yourself to his office. You couldn’t wait to see his response… Giggling and humming to yourself, you ended up in front of his door, and you breathed in. 

“Alright then,” you whispered, raising your hand to knock on the door. Right at that moment, the timing magical and so funny, the door opened and Zayne showed up. He looked at you and your raised hand, and then moved back into his office.

“Great timing. I was about to go catch some lunch.” He walked back inside, letting you stumble in with your luggage. You were used to your boyfriend being such an ice queen. 

“You? Lunch, at a regular time?” you asked. 

Zayne shrugged. “I remember a certain someone promising me to eat lunch normally if I did too, so I’ve got to set an example,” he said kindly. You smiled and put the bags down beside his desk.

“Well, good thing I planned my visit just right then. I have something for you, of course,” you said, reaching inside the bag and taking out the chocolates first. You handed the box to him, and he accepted it with a frown on his face.

“Thank you? You know I don't usually eat sweets, but thank you for choosing dark chocolate..." Zayne said, turning the box over and carefully reading the ingredients label. “However, is there any particular reason why you're giving me this? … Is it my birthday? Isn't it during summer?” 

You blinked a couple of times, staring at him. He actually looked confused, his eyes looking at the box carefully and then turning to look at your eyes. You couldn't help but burst out laughing at his expression. You expected nothing less from Zayne, he obviously wasn't going to remember that today was Valentine's Day - it really would have been surprising if he had remembered. 

“What is so funny?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he opened the box to take a chocolate.

You giggled, cleaning a gleeful tear from the corner of your eye. “Oh, Zayne… I'm really hurt.”

That caught his attention. He quickly raised his head and looked at you with slightly widened eyes. You weren't upset that he had forgotten, you expected that to happen, but that didn't mean you couldn't act a little offended, right? 

“Did I do something?” 

“Do you know what day it is, Dr. Zayne?” you asked playfully. 

“It’s Wednesday.”

“Date?”

“February 14th,” he said, and you could see his facial expression change as he said it. He wasn’t that stupid.

“Oh.” 

He turned his head, looking just the slightest bit embarrassed. He was so cute. You strode towards him and grabbed the chocolate box that was still in his hands.

“You are in a relationship with me, and forgot about Valentine’s Day?” you asked him teasingly. He put only a little bit of effort in keeping the chocolate box as a shield in front of himself, but you managed to take it away and put it on his desk as you dragged a chair to sit beside him. 

“I was busy,” Zayne explained.

“So was I,” you hummed. “Mission after mission, but looking forward to this day,” you said, rubbing his stomach fondly through his doctor's suit. Zayne shuddered and caught your hand.

“Don’t,” he warned, but you continued to wiggle your fingers. 

“Don’t what?” 

There was no way he would say it, but the light pink hue spreading across his cheeks only made you feel more playful. Your mind convinced you that he needed to be lovingly punished for his cute mistake. Leaning in closer to him, noses almost touching, one of your hands sneakily moved to his side and your fingers gently wiggled against his flank. 

Zayne gasped and he jerked. “You– I am sorry, it r-reheally slipped my m-mihind- stohohop that!” A giggle escaped his lips when he felt soft wiggly fingers on both his sides, climbing up towards his ribs. 

“Hmm? Stop what?” You tease, smiling warmly at him; the corner of his lips trembled, stubbornly trying not to smile. “Why are you so squirmy? After not remembering it is Valentine's day, now you don't want me to be close to you? Don't you think you're being too rude, Dr. Zayne?” 

Zayne shook his head, trying to avoid facing you as he tried to push your hands away from his body, but a squeeze to that tender spot underneath his ribs had him letting out a strangled sound that made you giggle. 

“Oh? Could it be that Dr. Zayne here is ticklish? Or maybe it's just some reflexes?” 

“I’m nohohot - wait ahahah!” He turned and twisted clumsily, positioned awkwardly against his desk while you continued to tickle him. You gasped dramatically.

“You’re not? Were you going to lie to me too, on top of everything else? I’m so hurt,” you said, grinning like an idiot as you continued to observe the sweet expression on his beautiful face. Even from the funniest joke, Zayne wouldn’t ever laugh the way he did right now. Tickling was like magic, so you couldn’t help but find the smallest excuses to make your lover laugh.

“Ahahalright, that’s enough!” Zayne laughed. You cocked your head.

“I don’t understand,” you whined, your hands lowering to dig into his hips, making him jerk and jump adorably.

“I’m sohorry!” he laughed. “I forgohohot!” Zayne laughed. You didn’t even consider tickling him into an apology, but if he was going to be like this anyway…

“Didn’t quite catch that,” you said, pinching his cute hips again. Zayne let out the most adorable little cackle.

“I’m sorry I forgohohot Vahaha-Valentine’s Dahahay!” 

“Are you really sorry, Dr. Zayne?” You grinned, leaning so close to his laughing face. “Don't forget I haven't used my special weapon yet,” you teased, your hands moving behind him, your fingers gliding across his lower back, making Zayne gasp sharply and jump forwards, your noses now definitely touching. 

“I truhuhuly am sohohorry!” He laughed, his arms suddenly wrapping you in a tight hug. You blinked in surprise, your hands stopping before you wrapped your arms around him too, squeezing him tightly as he laughed breathlessly against your ear. 

How could you deny him a hug when he was letting you listen to that wonderful sound he could only do? Zayne's laughter was definitely the best gift for any occasion. How could you not forgive him? 

“Did you learn your lesson, Dr. Zayne?” You asked, kissing his shoulder. “I'm sure you won't ever forget about it, hmm?” 

Zayne sighed, finally breathing normally. He nuzzled your neck with his nose and you giggled, pressing yourself closer to him. 

“Even though I was laughing against my will,” he said, playfully biting your neck and making you gasp. “My apologies were sincere. I am also sorry because I didn't get you a present… dinner's on me next time.” 

You hummed, the most ridiculous grin pulling at your lips. “That's okay, Zayne. I kinda knew you wouldn't remember it. I know you that well.”

“...” He leaned back to look at you. “And yet you decided to tickle me?” 

You shrugged your shoulders. “It was your punishment!” 

“I see,” he said, nodding slowly. You held your breath when he gave the most intense stare for a few seconds. He then let go of you and moved towards your bag.

“So did you bring anything else, or will we have chocolate for lunch?” he asked. You breathed out. For a moment you thought he was going into revenge mode.

“There’s lunch of course. A healthy one. Warm.”

“Did you pack it well? I hope it didn’t get cold,” Zayne said. You nodded proudly.

“The way I pack it, it never gets cold,” you said. Zayne hummed.

“Good. Then we have a little more time.” Suddenly he had both hands on you, and you jumped up in a wave of surprise and panic as he started to tickle you.

“Hohohold on! Zahahayne!” You tried to make your escape, but he pulled you back. 

Zayne held you firmly against his chest, one arm wrapped around your back, his fingers sneaking under your arm from behind as his other hand clawed at your ribs and then quickly moved to your hips. You laughed against his chest, your cheeks flushing at the thought of someone hearing your laughter.

“Uhuhunfahahair! UHFAHAHAIR!” You cackle, trying to push him away, but it was useless, he had you trapped. “Why ahahare you tihihickling mehehe?!” 

Zayn chuckled, his chest rumbling against yours. “Well, you tickled me first, I guess I'm just returning the favor… you also took away my chocolate. That was mean, don't you think?”

You shook your head, shrieking and laughing as he tickled you mercilessly. How dare he?! He was the one who forgot but he still tickled you?! How was that fair? You wanted to ask him, but you were too busy laughing your head off and the only word that came out of your mouth was his name. 

“Yes, yes,” he said calmly as he lifted your arm a little so he could bury his hand properly under it. “I am right here. You don't need to call me anymore.”

You were blushing so much it felt like your cheeks were on fire. “Plehehease! Nohoho!” you whined tiredly when his fingers wouldn’t let you rest for one second.

“Why not?” Zayne asked, his voice soothing. You shut your eyes and squirmed in his tight embrace.

“It tihihickles,” you laughed, slowly losing strength in your voice and body to protest already. To think you stood the best chances against the strongest Wanderers, yet just a little bit of tickling from Zayne and there was nothing you could do.

“Good.” Zayne’s hand that was tickling your ribs had dropped further down and moved under your clothes where he rubbed your bare tummy lovingly. You couldn’t help but feel blessed and tortured at the same time, relaxing in his hold.

“Shall we have lunch then?” Zayne finally said, slowing down his tickle attack but not entirely stopping it yet. You nodded quickly.

“Y-yehehes,” you giggled. 

“What did you say?” Ah, he even returned your own teases to you, acting as if he didn’t hear it well. 

“Yes!” you squeaked and he chuckled, finally stopping his playful assault. You collapsed against him, breathing heavy and giggling softly. “You're s-soho mehean, Dr. Zayne,” you whined playfully, looking up at him with a little pout. “You truly don't deserve me, I'm too good for you.”

Zayne laughed softly and kissed your rosy cheek. “Yes, yes. I don't deserve you,” he said, rolling his eyes and kissing your forehead. 

“You don't deserve the other gift I have for you either,” you said nonchalantly, slowly moving away to take the lunchboxes out.

Zayn arched an eyebrow and he discreetly looked around, trying to find that other gift. You grinned. 

“Did I make our doctor feel a bit curious?” You teased, placing the lunchbox in front of Zayne, who blushed slightly at your words, but refused to say anything. “You truly don't deserve it, but…,” you said, grabbing your bag and pulling out the little box. “I hope you like this, Zayne.”

Zayne grabbed the box, but he didn't open it immediately. He stared at it, perhaps a little too shy and you smiled warmly. 

“Hey, it's okay, love” you said, placing a loving hand against his thigh. “You can open it. Don't worry about anything! You already gave me a beautiful gift.” He frowned and you playfully poked his ribs, making him gasp. “Your laugh and also your time.”

Zayne stared at you before chuckling softly. “You're so corny.” He opened the box, and he paused for a moment before taking out the pen.

“....That’s…” You hoped you weren’t making him feel burdened, so you quickly leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“Do you like it?” you asked. Zayne turned his head and smiled at you. Without answering, he pulled you closer and kissed your lips. Ah, so that was a big yes. You melted into the kiss and whined a little when he pulled apart. 

“I truly don't deserve you,” he said and you giggled, kissing his nose.

“Don't be silly,” you said, feeling your cheeks flushing. “Now, let's eat before our lunch really gets cold! I'm sure you'll love it. It's soooo healthy! It even has-

“Carrots…” 

“Hmm? Oh! I think that's m-mi-ahahaha! No! Nohoho! Wahahait!” 

You could barely get another word out as a very vengeful yet sweet and charming Doctor Zayne renewed his tickly revenge, and you couldn’t help but love him for it. Well… It was definitely a Valentine’s Day with remembering! 

#love and deepspace #love & deepspace #love and deepspace tickling #zayne x reader #zayne #reader #ticklish!Zayne #ticklish!Reader #tickle fic #mia's things #mia's collaborations #collab

[eternal-reverie]

Two????

#ventus #roxas #xion #kh #kingdom hearts #mi arte #Drew this as fanart for a fic I collaborated with someone on here like 10 years ago??? #as in I drew art based on their fic and made this additional one #it feels that long ago. I drew this with my first ever drawing tablet

[katiexpunk]

Little Mouse | Pairing biker!Joel Miller X fem!Reader

Summary:  Date night. Your favorite. You're dressed up and ready for a good time, only to find out that your sleazeball boyfriend is really just a jerk. Stood up and now alone in a bar on the bad side of town, you quickly come to realize you shouldn’t be there for more reasons than one. An unexpected savior to your shit night, a masked motorcycle rider quite literally saves your life, not caring whose blood was on his hands as a result. His only ask as a token of your appreciation? That you go for a ride with him. What could ever possibly happen? Rating: 18+ Minors DNI, like seriously, this shit is dark AF. I say this with love -- GTFO. Word count: 10K (yeah, we know, wtf) Warnings: Implied cheating (fuck her boyfriend) mentions of being stalked, suggestion of sexual assault/rape (not by Joel!), murder, blood, alcohol (reader is tipsy), switchblades, motorcycles, prey/predator complex, dom/sub, use of ‘little mouse, little one, baby’ also ‘sir and daddy.’ Fingering, female stimulation, dub-con, collaring, leather kink, mask kink, face-fucking, blowjob, praise kink, painful sex, choking, reader crawling on her knees, unprotected sex, brat taming, p in v, cowgirl, size kink, creampie, ownership kink, breeding kink. Authors Note: I AM SCREAMING. This was such a treat to work on with the lovely and talented @josephquinnswhore. This is my first collaborative fic, and the whole time Tay and I were just crying at how much we wish this version of Joel was real. This was truly a labor of love. Whether this is a hit or a flop, it doesn't matter to me, as I was lucky to get a sexy new friend out of it. Tay -- ilysm. Thanks for working on this with me. P.S. to my U.S. followers, you get this earlier than Saturday because it's already Saturday across the world, so enjoy your Friday night smut sesh.

The thudding noise of your fingers tapping against the hardwood of the bar makes for an easy outlet for your anxiety, although the woman next to you gives you an irritating look, obviously annoyed by the vibrations rolling their way down to her elbows resting on the bar top. 

Twenty minutes. That’s how long you’ve been sitting at this miserable bar, the Cadillac Lounge.

It's quite a shit little dive – you had expected something fancier, but your boyfriend insists it’s ‘one of the best’, citing their famous hot wings and heavy pours. If it was truly one of the best, then shouldn’t he be here by now. Where the fuck is he? 

In the 20 minutes that have passed since you got here, not only are you getting uncomfortable sitting at the bar by yourself, dodging glances from questionable patrons, but you've come to the conclusion that not only is he late, but he’s also a cheap bastard, and probably doesn’t think you deserve anything fancier. 

Hell–you're dressed way too nice to be in a bar of this caliber in a sketchy part of town you’d never been to before. It's loud outside, and some people in the bar are too drunk—too rowdy, yet the man behind the bar stays silent as he passes you your second dirty martini. A marvel they even know how to make a martini. His silence makes you think it’s an all-common occurrence in this place; a pretty girl at the bar by herself, waiting for some shitbag guy to walk through the door. 

The dress that clings to your body is one you bought specifically for this occasion; specifically for him – a mid-thigh-black leather dress – hoping he’d take you out somewhere nicer than a run-down bar where the stool legs were uneven and the television hardly caught reception. The soft material hugs every inch of you perfectly, and the spaghetti straps allow for plenty of cleavage to be seen. Your wallet aches as you remind yourself of the price of your black red-bottom heels; the effort you’d put into getting your nails manicured, and eyelashes done.

The floor is mismatched, an ugly shade of dark red wood that hasn't been cleaned in god knows how long; by the way your heels stick to the floor with each step, you can only assume it's been months, maybe even years. The pool tables in the back of the bar are dimly lit, and the floor surrounding them is a dark crème colored carpet, although there are plenty of stains, deep red and mustard yellow from wine and beer spilled in the ‘no drinking zone.’

A ping from your phone alerts you of a text message, and you stop your anxious tapping on the bar, almost dropping your phone onto the floor you were fumbling so fast to see what message you’d received. The woman two seats down finally adverts her irritated gaze from you.

Hey, not gonna make it tonight – I'm going to give Ashley a ride home from work, sorry to leave you hanging.

Ashley, as in his former ex-girlfriend, Ashley. He’s skipping out on date night to give his ex-girlfriend a ride home? What the actual fuck. 

You blink stupidly, the longer you stare at the screen the blurrier the words become. Tears gather in your lash line, and the letters melt together to become large black shapes, eventually becoming unrecognizable, but it’s too late to forget them; they’re ingrained into the back of your eyelids, and when you finally close your eyes, a few tears fall from the outer corners. 

What an asshole. You’re done. This is the last straw. 

You begin to furiously tap out a response to him, leaving nothing but little click click click echos in the air as you do. Hot tears streaming down your face, no doubt ruining your mascara, you hit send on your response. 

You know what – if you’re gonna give Ashley a ride home from work and leave me in this absolute shitshow of a bar, by myself, on OUR date night, you can fuck right off. We’re done. 

Jerk.

You drop your phone back into your purse, and your fingers instinctively grip around the stem of the glass in front of you. You haven't even taken a sip from it until now; the vodka is sharp and bitter, but it slides down your throat with ease. You angrily slam the $15 cocktail, with a mission in your mind. Get drunk and forget your douchebag boyfriend, er, ex-boyfriend. 

“Another,” you say, signaling to the oddly quiet bartender. Seriously, what’s with this guy? He eyes you down before finally nodding, and reaching out his hand to swipe the empty glass from in front of you.

As you sit there waiting, you realize that everything about you stands out, suggesting the way you obviously don't belong here – not in this bar, in this part of town, not even in this dress, the one that clings so perfectly to your frame, hugging your tits just right. You shift in the stool under you, beginning to feel uncomfortable, leather sticking to your now too-warm skin, sticky from your tears and the flush spreading from each martini you’d greedily consumed. 

Mr. Silent I don’t say anything bartender places your third martini in front of you. You take a sip in silence, attempting to forget about the reality you are currently in. 

Suddenly the low hum of the bar’s ambiance is interrupted by an unwelcome interloper. A man, reeking of booze, staffers toward you, his leering, yellow-twinged, bloodshot eyes filled with inappropriate lust as they shamelessly gaze at your breasts. “Hey there hic gorgeous,” he began, his breath a foul mix of whiskey and cigarettes, “looking awful sad over here, ya hic need some company?”

You stiffen, fingers lightly clenched around the stem of your martini glass, and shoot him a withering look. 

This guy is a walking cliche of all things repulsive, like a welcome sign to the shitty part of town you were in. With him closer now, you’re able to really get a good look at him – his dirty and oversized clothes hanging loosely on his skeletal frame, a foul body odor clinging to the material, eyes hungry. The mostly gray and thinning hair that remains on his balding head indicates he’s too old to be interacting with someone your age, and his leathery and wrinkled skin clearly tells the story of a life spent mostly in the bottom of a bottle.

With his tone, you’re able to understand his intentions clearly. You take another sip of your drink and manage to squeak out a pathetic response, one that has no real bite or purpose, “sorry…’m not interested.” The man sits on the empty stool next to you anyway, leering eyes still painfully obviously drinking you in. You gaze at the bartender as if to say a little help here, but it’s useless, he’s not going to be of any more service than what’s required. 

The full realization of the situation you’re in begins to wash over you – you need to leave. Now. 

You slam the cocktail and let out a sputtering cough as the vodka begins to make its way back up your throat, now tinged with the flavor of bile. You grip the edge of the bar and your knuckles bleach white as you try and fend off the sudden wave of nausea that hits you like a freight truck. 

 Maybe drinking three martinis in the span of less than half an hour wasn’t your brightest idea. 

The man drops his forearms to the bartop in front of you and begins to lean into your personal space, before spitting out “pretty thing like you, I bet you taste real fuckin hic good,” he says with a coy, husky laugh, making you shudder. Shivers shoot down your spine in alarm, the hairs on the back of your neck standing in full salute, your instinctual response warning you of the looming threat.

His eyes are dark and his pupils are unnaturally dilated, the thought makes your skin crawl as you note he’s not only a drunk, but also probably under the influence of some kind of drug, which uproots the fear of this interchange turning violent; a dark scenario where your rejection makes him angry and unpredictable. 

The voice in your head shouts at you once more – LEAVE. 

You stand and push your rickety, uneven stool backward, not even bothering to pay for your drinks before you grab your purse and storm out of the building, fighting to move your shaky legs fast as the bottom of your heels stick to the floor once more. You ignore the shouts of the barman telling you to close your tab, but you ignore them. Now he says something. 

Once outside, the night air is brisk, but a welcome refreshment from the revolting encounter. You pause to take a look around at the world around you. The street practically screams danger to a young woman, let alone a drunk young woman. The dodgy streetlights that are functioning emit a hazy glow and don’t do much in the way of helping to light the path around you. 

You walk around the corner and steal a glance behind you before you rummage through your purse, opening the golden clasp, it’s cool on your fingertips and the sensation only adds to your growing anxiety. Your fingers fumble around in panicked haste to find your phone. Finally. You sigh a breath of relief as your fingers grasp the cold metal. You jab at the screen, but quickly find that it’s dead. Shit, shit, shit. Your last sliver of safety snuffed out, leaving you alone – you hope – in the unforgiving night. 

You think you might be sick as the wave of nausea returns. Your belly emits a low grumble and wait… fuck. No, you really are gonna be sick. Your pace begins to quicken as you scramble to find a place to throw up, away from the peering eyes of the residents who live on the wasteland streets that surround you. 

You stumble your way into the back alley of the bar, and the world begins to spin. Your heart pounds in sync with your dizzying head – the sickening laughter from the creep at the bar still ringing in your ears, deafening you to the life surrounding you. The grimy brick walls of the alley offer you little comfort, the rough texture of them leaving small indents on your hand as you lean into the wall for support, and empty your stomach onto the asphalt beneath you. You cough at the secondary burn of the alcohol that now sears your throat for a second time tonight. 

Although your stomach is empty, you continue to dry heave, bent over at your waist and staring at the rocks beneath you, when you hear the thud of loud footsteps behind you. Before you can register what’s happening, a grotesque shadow looms over you, and his smell hits you. 

Oh no. 

“Came out here to make it easy hic f’me, didn’t you, princess,” he snarls. “You knew what you were doin’, wearin’ this leather piece, didn’t ya babydoll?” He lurches out to grab you, but before he can, another figure materializes out of the darkness. His silhouette was hard and sharp against the pale light illuminating the alley, an unlikely savior in this hellish scene. Before you can even blink, he has the creep pinned up against the wall, his large forearm pressing against his throat. “You leave this nice girl alone, yeah?” he says, voice dark and menacing. He presses harder against the man's throat, “or I’ll make you fuckin’ regret it,” he threatens. Your savior spoke evenly, although there was an obvious underlying tone of threat muffled behind the black motorcycle helmet he wore.

“Chill out, man…was jus trying to have a good ti–” before he can even finish the thought consisting of violating you, your savior draws his head back and smashes it forward, the helmet connecting with a sickening crack against the creep's nose. A sharp, visceral sound reverbs through the alley, catching the attention of a few passers-by. They pause to look at what’s happening, but quickly keep moving, knowing better than to intervene. The now bloody man lets out a startled yelp, his hands reaching up instinctively to grab his now very broken nose. 

“What’d you just fuckin’ say t’me?” Your savior grumbles. “You do this often, huh? Come out here into back alleys, whip out your limp little cock, and try and show pretty ladies a good time,” he huffs. 

“I’ll show you a good time,” he says, snaking his free hand into his back pocket. There came a click, a sound as sharp and quick as a viper's bite, and the creep audibly whimpers, knowing what made it. There it was– a switchblade. 

The creep continues to gravel with the man holding him captive in his strong grasp, “listen, man, I was just messin’ around…I swear! I’ll leave her alone, you can have her, fuck, please just let me go! I promi–” before he can finish the sentence, the silver blade was already plunged up into his ribs. The sound of the gurgling man choking on his own blood catches your attention, a result of your savior's expert maneuver with the blade. Still holding the man flush against the wall with his broad upper body, he uses his free hand to open the visor of his helmet. Eyes glaring into the man’s now, he pushes the blade in deeper as says, “Oh, I will,” and a masked grin washes across his face as the crimson red blood begins to pour out onto his gloves and the ground below; your savior moving his feet as not to dirty his boots. 

With a swift movement, he releases the blade, and you watch in shock as the man thuds to the floor, sticky red blood stains his shirt and begins to pool on the pavement below, body limp, eyes glued open like he never saw it coming. 

Is this really fucking happening right now, you think to yourself, rationalizing you’re probably hallucinating or something.

You watch as the man reaches a gloved hand to pull his visor, a smear of blood left behind as he pulls it down, hiding what little identity he had revealed to the creep. He turns his frame to face you and begins to stride forward, little drops of crimson falling from his gloves onto the floor by his sides as he does. 

Eyes wide open like a deer about to be hit by a truck, you stare at him – your savior? You doubt it.

He just murdered a man in cold blood and told him he would have you. Surely that must mean you were going to succumb to the same fate or worse. Your fight or flight response kicks in, deciding on flight, and you begin to quickly back away from the man and the scene that just unfolded in front of you like a fucking horror film. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he says, narrowing the gap between your bodies.

You don’t respond as you continue your trek backward, gait unsteady as you try and keep your heels and ankles steady in your six-inch stilettos. Scared, you step back until your body unexpectedly meets the cool, hard metal of a motorcycle, causing you to let out a small squeak.

His strides are large and it’s not long before he has you trapped against his body and the motorbike; leaving you nowhere to run. 

“Cat got your tongue, little mouse?” The man’s question is rhetorical and humorous. His large figure looks over you, a leather jacket clings to his broad shoulders, preventing you from looking anywhere but him. 

You sure feel like a little mouse – small and defenseless. He tilts his head, looking down at you curiously as if you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. 

And you are. 

“You – you – killed that man,” your heart was in your throat as you spoke, unsure if your whispered accusation traveled the short distance to his ears.

“Yeah, little mouse, I did. Creep like that – trust me, he had it coming,” he says, voice muffled but sure. 

His large palm begins to rise to your line of sight, and your heart sinks to your stomach as you stare at the blood now ever so close to your face. He pauses before he drops most of the bloody fingers into his fist, leaving but one clean finger out as if to point to something. He drags it over your cheek, down the razor edge of your jaw, and uses it to tilt your chin up to face him.

“You know, I probably saved your life – really should be thankin’ me,” he says, presumably gazing back at you, face still hidden from view by the helmet. 

“And you can start by comin' for a ride." 

You gasp. 

He’s got to be fucking joking. 

“I promise, you’re safe with me, alright?” He says, voice soft this time. 

Right. Safe with the dude who just murdered another dude in the alley behind some sleazeball bar. 

You can tell his words aren't a request.

Everything about his demeanor is commanding. 

He demands attention.

Your attention. 

Perhaps it was the heartache or the way he just saved your life, maybe even the three martinis you’d smashed in a short duration of time, your rational thoughts impaired from the alcohol content flowing through your blood, you internally agree to his demands. And for some unfathomable reason you can’t comprehend, his voice melts you like butter, his attention making you feel special.

A pang of arousal shoots through you.

“Okay…” you say, voice sweet like honey, but hesitant. If you’d kept him waiting long, he doesn’t mention it. 

“Good girl,” he says, nodding to the back of the bike. 

He knew you were an obedient one. He could tell. He reads your emotions like braille, it is as if he can feel every single thought running through your brain. 

You need a protector, a savior, someone to tell you what to do and care for you. Someone who would do anything for you. You need him. 

His hands hover over your waist, guiding you to the back of the bike, a safeguard, he would catch you if you slipped. As if he would ever let you fall. 

You swing your leg over the back of the seat, sending your already tight dress higher up onto your hips as you do. The motorcycle's leather seat is cold against your inner thighs, a welcomed reprieve from the growing heat there. His hungry eyes watch as you adjust yourself, slowly gazing at the bareness of your legs, now prickled with small goosebumps in anticipation and response to the chill in the air.  “Here little mouse, take this,” he says, wiping the bloody gloves onto his tight-fitting denim jeans before taking off his leather jacket and handing it to you, revealing a white mesh tank top that clings to his sun-kissed skin. You can’t help but notice that his shoulders are littered with freckles, all over his toned arms and shoulders, and the back of his neck. You find that small detail about such a harsh man a little endearing.

“Leather on leather,” he says, pausing to eye you up and down, “looks good on you,” he finishes. He places his hand on your bare thigh, his touch causing you to hold your breath, making sure you’re stable before he too mounts the bike. 

“Hold on to me real tight,” he commands. You follow his instructions, your arms wrapping firmly around his waist, your fingers coming to a clasp as you scoot forward, your breasts pressed firmly against his warm and inviting back. 

“Atta girl,” he praises.

Fuck. His words go straight to your already aroused core. 

He couldn’t be sure if it was a button from the jacket pressing against him, or your nipples, but he decided it was the latter considering how cold you’d been moments beforehand. 

The thought causes his cock to stir in his jeans. His mind can’t help but wonder, with your soft hands all over his toned body, rousing deep and vulgar thoughts in his head. 

Your sweet little palms, what would they feel like wrapped around his—

He pushes the thought down, adjusts himself slightly, and turns to look over his shoulder at you as the bike begins to rumble to life. He jabs the kickstands with his heel and faces forward once more, palms firmly grabbing the clutch and throttle on the handlebars. 

The loud sound of the engine and the rhythmic vibration it gives stimulate your now aching clit. The only barrier between your sopping cunt and the bike was the sheer lace panties that did nothing to stop your slick from leaking onto his leather seat.

With your body glued to his, you both tear through the inky black of the night. It was apparent that this side of town not only lacks security, but safety too, the buildings are all run down and cars seem to be left on cinder blocks, being stripped down for parts and left to rust. For the first time tonight, you’re grateful you’re not alone – grateful to be with him. 

It seems the government had also neglected the quality of the roads, loose gravel flings out of the crevices of the back tire of the motorbike, and you grasp on tight to avoid the giant potholes that have now become a major problem on this one street. Without much warning, although you could have predicted it would happen, the bike jerked violently beneath you, the rear tire hitting a pothole with an unforgiving thud. 

You gasp and your grip around his waist loosens in surprise. The sudden jolt sends your hand sliding down, and before you can correct it, your fingers brush against his already painfully stiff cock. He freezes in response. The feel of his hard bulge causes you’re already sticky folds to dampen further. You grazed the area for less than a few seconds, eventually finding your common sense and snatching your hand back up to grab your wrist, but the tension in his body tells you he felt you do it. That he liked it. You did, too. 

You have no idea where he’s taking you, and though the streets of the unfamiliar town were a labyrinth to you, he seemed to navigate them with ease. Not before after, the bike comes to a slow as he pulls up to a nondescript warehouse.

Once inside, you take in the smudge and the grime of the shop. There was a surprising order to the chaos around you. The walls, washed with a pea-like hue of green, were the perfect backdrop for the display of tools in every size and shape imaginable, arranged perfectly above the wooden workbench. The air stank of oil, sawdust, and metal, but there was a certain comfort to it, a testament to the hours of sweat and hard work spilled within its confines. 

With the two wheels of the bike are now stationary beneath you, he kills the engine. He swings his leg off to stand at the side of the bike. He offers his hand to steady you as you get off yourself, leaving a little wet spot on the seat from your slick as you do. 

You know you’re aroused, but you don’t seem to notice just how much, but he sure does, eyes glued to the mark of you. The sight makes him shift and he adjusts himself to accommodate for the shrinking amount of space.

Taking in the surroundings, you do a tiny circle, before stopping facing him. 

“Why – why, am I here?” you cautiously ask, not sure if you want the real answer. 

“To say thank you t’me, properly, little mouse,” he rasps, voice dripping with suggestion. 

You wonder what it means to thank him properly. A surge of desire courses through you like a bolt of lightning, your body responding with intensity at the thought. 

He takes a step forward, and his overwhelming presence engulfs you, bringing with it the scent of musk, twinged with sweat and the sickly sweet copper smell of the blood left on his hands. 

It’s absolutely intoxicating. 

In your haze, your fingers reach out to touch the cool plastic of the black tinted helmet visor, curiosity gnawing at you for just a peek of the man that had you enthralled; you hadn’t even seen his face and yet you were completely dripping for him. 

Before you could catch a peek, his fingers gripped your hand tightly in warning.  He tilts his head to the side as if you’d really just tried that.

“What do ya think you’re doin’, little mouse?” The warning in his voice only made the need between your thighs that much stronger. 

“I—I just wanted to...” you whine pathetically, trailing off as your mind begins to fill with obscene thoughts, rendering you unable to finish even a single sentence. 

Although you can't directly see his face, you can feel his harsh stare burning you to your core. His firm grip around your wrist causes your nipples to harden in response to the touch. Everything in your vision blurs suddenly, the room nothing more but a mere haze, you almost don’t feel the right grip on your hips as he maneuvers your body, pushing your chest over his bike. A small noise of discomfort leaves your lips as the fuel cap of the bike digs into your breastbone. It hurts, but you don’t complain, not wanting this to end before it’s begun.

With his hard cock now pressed firmly against your ass, one hand grips your waist and the other holds the back of your neck. His fingers are cool and they send a shiver down your spine at his touch, his grip tightens on the back of your neck, holding you in place – trapped. 

He hadn’t ever let a woman touch his bike, let alone ride with him; you should be grateful. 

He was doing something for you.

“You’ll take what I give you, little mouse, not a sliver more, got it?” He growls. 

You mewl under him; your non-verbal response only adds to your lack of cooperation, in his eyes, you were challenging him to make you submit to him.

He leans down, chest now flush with the curve of your back. You don’t dare to look back at him, feeling your legs tremble as he pushes his hard erection further into the exposed skin of your ass. Your leather dress had ridden right up, making for easy access, which his thick fingers happily take advantage of as they trace the thin lace of your panties.  

He can hardly pry his eyes away from the now-drying stain your slick had left on his seat, and now here you were; pressed under him and fucking soaking for him. 

“Now listen here, little mouse. When I speak, I expect you to answer me, or this all stops. Got it?” he says. 

You tremble at his words and pout as he halts the small glide of his fingers along the lace between your folds. Caught up in the sensation, you don’t respond quickly enough.

“Answer me,” he commands while pulling his hand away and landing a swat over your pussy, the sensation on your clit sends a little shock through your body.

Senses returning to your head now, you nod frantically, eyes widening as you stutter, “Y-yes, sir. I understand.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your response, his fingers resume their tortuous motion of gliding over your still-clothed folds, only taking a moment to recover from the moment you called him sir. It serves a bigger purpose, a large part to play in your dynamic. He rests his helmet on your shoulder and lets out a husky sigh, his own need beginning to catch up with him. 

“How badly do you want it, little mouse?” He asks, a hint of challenge in his voice, hoping to get a ride out of you, and frustrate you further. 

“Fuck–ppp, please touch me…I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll do whatever you say,” you say, realizing your begging is no better than the creeps back in the alley.

Satisfied with your pleading, he decides to take mercy on you, finally soothing the gnawing, aching need inside you. He traces his thick finger over the crease between your folds before he hooks the edge, and pushes the soiled fabric to the side. Your cunt has a visible sheen from the slick that’s spilled over from all of his teasing; a warm invitation for his fingers, your inviting hole sucks two of them in and clenches around him. 

“So wet for me already, little mouse, fuck–,” he trails off. You moan in response, knowing he’ll expect an answer to his comment. He grins as he skillfully curls his fingers inside you to meet the spongey soft texture of your g-spot. He fucks his fingers in and out of you, every prod stretching you, getting you ready for him. 

He can feel you crawling towards the cliff of your orgasm, but he's gonna take his time with you.

He knows you want to cum, that's obvious, and god does he want to know what you look like when you do, to feel it, to be the reason; but still, he continues to tease and let it build. Your face twists, your jaw goes slack, and your eyes close and it all but screams I’m close, make me come, make me come. 

“Stop thinkin’ so damn loud,” he gruff voice circulates inside your head and descends down to your core, sending you spiraling.

Your fingers struggle to find purchase on anything as he continues to drive you closer and closer to your release, fingers prodding in and out, only leaving periodically to circle your clit before going back to their home inside you. The line between pain and pleasure has blurred; being bent over the bike is starting to get uncomfortable, and your neck is starting to ache from his hard grip that keeps you from slouching over. The blood is beginning to rush to your head, the lack of circulating air in the building and your lust cause your skin to heat, and small beads of sweat begin to form on your chest and forehead. 

You're so, so close. When was he going to put a stop to this? 

As if to read your mind once more, he says, “I know, baby. Doing so good. Concentrate on me,” his words bring you back to your surroundings, drawing you away from your demented brain's imprisonment of unease.

Your legs tremble against his groin, and the sweet moans that leave your lips echo through the workshop. You think he might, but he doesn’t tell you to shut up, he doesn’t cover your mouth. The pretty little noises coming from your throat only urge him to ram his fingers into you at a quicker pace, as if it were his personal mission to make you finally come. 

Your mind goes foggy as your whole body stiffens. Your fingers find a tight grip on the leather seat of the bike and mindlessly, you dig your nails into the material, creating several crescent moon-shaped marks into the leather as you do. He rides out your orgasm with you and doesn’t stop until you totally soften under him, legs weak and shaking from overstimulation and pain from the position you’re in.

Now satisfied, you catch a glimpse of your handiwork on the seat. The once perfect material was now marked by your desperation. 

“Tsk, tsk, little mouse – markin’ up my bike left and right tonight,” he says, voice firm, “I ‘otta punish you for that,” he scolds.  

It was already too much, the position he had you in, his taunting and tormenting. What would a punishment look like? you wonder. 

“‘M sorry, shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you sputter, head still dizzy from your release. 

Still inside you, he pushes his fingers aggressively deeper into your hole and he holds them there. The noise is obscene; the squelching of his fingers pushing into you, slick dripping down your legs, coating his fingers. It only made him hungry for more. Beneath the helmet, he licks his lips, clenching his teeth as his eyes roll into the back of his head. What he wouldn’t do for a taste of you. 

“You're gonna be,” he says. The emphasis on his promise he makes you tremble, anticipation eating you from the inside out. 

“Gonna come for me again, little mouse,” he orders. 

Fuck. No. “I–I can’t, it’s too much, I’m too sensitive, and my, fuck, my legs hurt like this,” you say. 

Your words fall on deaf ears, as he ignores your pleading. You were going to come again, and he was going to make sure of that. 

He inserts a third finger and continues to fuck into you. His thumb reaches out to your clit, the small amount of pressure has you lurch forward with a yelp, the nub already extremely sensitive from your first release. The hand that’s gripped the back of your neck jerks backward harshly, forcing you back into his body. He wouldn’t allow you to do that, try to escape him. 

Holding you into his chest, he reaches his free hand around and finds your clit once more. His fingers move antagonizing slowly as he makes soft circles around it, his pace decreasing, the overstimulation going with it. Your pain begins to flourish into something softer, and he once again has you crawling the stairs to your climax. You fight the temptation to jerk your hips, to fuck yourself stupid on his thick fingers, and make yourself come all over his already, soaked and pruned fingers. The added texture to his fingers adds to the sensations you’re experiencing.

“Bein’ such a good girl, there you go,” he sets a stable pace, murmuring to you, rubbing sweet circles onto your clit, and resuming fucking his fingers into you, “gonna give my mouse what she needs.” 

“P-please let me come,” the plea leaves your desperate lips like a need, a key factor to your survival, like if you didn’t come again you were sure to die. The coil inside of your lower stomach winds once more, and your legs continue to shake, the only thing keeping you upright was the strength of his arms and his fingers unraveling you. Each swipe of his thumb on your clit is calculated, like he’s figured your body out already. He knows you’re close, the way you’re trembling and babbling senselessly, the way your hole clenches around his fingers, contracting to tighten around him to keep him inside. 

“You can come, little mouse – come for me, baby, soak my fingers,” he says. 

You obey and feel the taste of your sweet release rush through you like you were nothing but a pool of gas ignited with a flame. Your knees buckle, and he holds you tight to his chest. His sticky fingers leave your hole and away from your swollen clit. 

“Such a good girl,” he praises in your ear. You revel in it, letting his words soak deep into you to your bones. He moves his slick-coated fingers up to your lips, “Now clean ‘em for me,” he commands, once again leaving no room for there to be a question about what he wants. You do as he orders. He presses his fingers into your inviting mouth, and you lap at your release and suck him dry.

He doesn’t give you but a minute to recover to catch your breath, now satisfied with your cleaning job, before he grabs a fistful of hair to spin you around, gently, but assertively. Your eyes drop down to his waist, and you see his hand on his leather belt. He begins to unbuckle it, the metal making a small clank as he releases its clasp, and yanks it off, leaving a whip sound in its wake. 

You watch in anticipation as he uses both hands to make a small loop in the belt. You swallow your anticipation as you realize what he’s doing. It’s not long before he has it perfectly sized to accommodate your head, and he slips it onto your crown, and begins to lower it around your neck. Once there he secures it tightly, leaving enough room for you to breathe, but tight enough to feel its presence before tugging at the makeshift collar and deeming it satisfactory. 

“Get on your knees, little mouse, he gruffs. “ Told you I’d punish ya for what you did to my bike,” he continues, voice lusty and low.  

You pause, slightly dumbstruck. 

Is he serious? 

The little voice that gnawed at you to leave the bar earlier in the night comes back in full force and tells you that he most definitely was and that you’d be wise to listen. 

You drop to the cold cement floor, knees meeting the harsh ground coated with little flecks of sawdust and grease. Your perky tits were practically spilling out of your leather dress at this point. You don’t care. You don’t even care about the bruises that were now forming from the position you were in; you want to be a good girl, give him what he wants – impress him. You were ready to worship at the altar of the man who had saved your life. 

He watches you and palms at his hard cock before turning on his heels to walk away. 

The fuck. Where’s he going?

He walks over to the side of the shop. This side was more empty than the primary workspace, but primarily occupied by a file cabinet in the corner and an aging bed, presumably only used for mid-workday naps. There’s an old rusted heater next to the bed, too close to the wall for comfort, you wonder how many cold late evenings this man had spent in this workshop, every little detail gave you some insight into his life, it felt familiar. Like you know him, that he was just an ordinary man; although you know he was far more intriguing.

He pauses by the grimy mattress. His fingers fumble for the button and zipper of his jeans, and he slowly undoes them, letting them fall to the floor, finally releasing the giant cock that was restrained behind the denim fabric. He takes himself in hand, tilts his head down, and spits for lubrication. 

“Crawl to me, little mouse,” he says, dark gaze fixed on yours, “come get this cock,” he adds, stroking his length up and down, letting his weight lean onto the back wall of the shop as he gawks. 

Crawl to him. 

The words pierce you like a bullet, tearing through your flesh until you have no choice but to tend to the wound to stop the bleeding. You're his little pet, and you’ll do anything to make him happy.  

You tilt forward, placing both palms on the ground so you’re on all fours. Eyes transfixed on him, and god, his cock, you begin to move, slowly crawling the distance of the shop. The already barely secured fullness of your tits gives way with the change in angle, allowing them to spill completely out of your dress. The sensation of the cold ground under your hands and knees, the cool air drying the stickiness on your inner thighs, and the thickness of the makeshift collar on your throat spur you on. You begin to crawl faster, needing to get to him sooner, needing to taste him. 

Once in front of him, he pushes himself off the wall and comes to stand directly in front of you. He continues to stroke at his cock, and you salivate at the sight of his angry red tip weeping beads of pre-cum, veins boldening from the blood rushing through him. You want so badly to touch him, but you wait for him to give you the okay to do so, your palms patiently resting on your knees.

“You want this, little mouse,” he asks, already knowing the answer to his own question. “It’s all yours, come get it, baby,” he says, giving a nod of permission. 

You reach up to take the weight of his heavy cock in your hands, and you admire the way your fingers barely touch. You stroke his length a few times, mouth watering at how silky soft his skin feels and the warmth it exudes. You look up at him from under your lashes and playfully dart your tongue out. You flatten it and lick a teasing stripe up to the tip of him, maintaining his gaze as you do. 

“If you know what’s good for ya, little mouse, you won’t fucking tease me,” he says, the words still bite, but you can tell he’s losing his resolve. As much as he wants to pretend he’s in control, you’re the one with all the cards. 

You slide the tip of him into your waiting mouth, wrapping your lips around, feeling a slight sting in the corners as they stretch to accommodate him. You stay shallow on his length at first, working up to wet him with your spit. After a moment, you feel confident you have enough lubricant to fully take him.

You begin to pick up your pace, allowing his cock to glide down your throat, kissing the back of it as you bob up and down. He lets out a satisfied sound, and you hum in response, savoring the taste of salt and musk that dance over your tastebuds. 

Using the makeshift collar as leverage, he wraps the free material around his fist and pulls it taught, holding you with his cock stuffed down your windpipe. Your eyes begin to water, it’s so much, but you stay put. Spit begins to pool at the corners of your mouth, long dribbles of it spilling out over your lips and down your chin to your chest. 

“Fuck, little mouse – so good, baby. Being such a good hole for me,” he praises. 

His words encourage you to open wider, letting your jaw relax as you do. He pulls the leather strap tighter until you feel him deep in the back of your throat, your lips wrapped obscenely around the base of him, nose flush against his skin. He’s so deep you can hardly breathe. He holds you there a moment longer until you begin to tear up. 

He slightly retreats, allowing you to catch your breath, your lips resting just around the tip of his girth. You look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mascara smudged, and he smirks. He was fucking wrecking you, and he loves every second of it. 

He allows you a second to catch your breath, before he once again pulls at the belt, sending you right back down to the base of him. He lets out a deep, guttural groan in response. He could feel your heartbeat on the tip of him this deep, and it was almost too much. He pulls back and fully retreats out of you this time, bringing with him strings of saliva that fall onto you pristine but red-marked skin.

“Up,” he says, finally allowing you the opportunity to find relief from the cement that turned your  knees and shins cherry red. You do as he says, pausing momentarily to brush the debris from your flesh before looking up at him. He pauses momentarily to admire you before bringing both hands up to undo the buckle of the belt, releasing you from the collar. 

As you look up at him, you can’t help but feel distaste towards the helmet, wishing you could just see the man behind it. You had given yourself to him completely, submitting to this dangerous and exuberant man. Why wouldn’t he show his face? You whine loudly in response to his touch on your sensitive neck, the belt had left a thick plum-colored mark ingrained into your pretty skin, your entire body was sore from the events of the night and he hadn’t even fucked you yet. 

Through his pleasure, his moans and raspy breaths of exhale, each and every opportunity for you to hear him have been tainted, unfairly muffled by the thick plastic. The noises he makes are primal, deep, something you crave more of; he’d been giving you so much tonight, made you cum hard more than once, and fucked your throat raw, but it isn’t enough; you want more of him, all of him. 

You hadn’t been bashful the entire night, but suddenly you aren't confident enough to verbally ask him; multiple attempts have already been made to try and convince him to take it off, which he has quite harshly rejected. 

He seems to sense your shift in energy, the anxiety radiating off of you like a pungent smell. His fingers grip your chin, curling them underneath to make you look up at him. Your mind flashes back to when it did it earlier in the night, only this time his hand wasn’t covered in blood. You suppose you should have felt some sort of relief at that, but your unease only worsens. 

His masked figure continues to glare down at you, looking as if he might offer something sweet in his words, but he doesn’t; instead, he simply says, “ready for a different type of ride, little mouse?” 

His words go straight to your already wet and stretched cunt. He’s finally going to fuck you.

He puts one knee onto the mattress, causing the springs of the frame holding it to scream out, the squeak an alarm that the sheer weight of them might be too much for their rusty coils to handle. 

He pulls you flush against his chest and reaches his arms behind you to unzip your dress, and you're grateful, the leather fabric had pooled at your hips at this point and you were starting to sweat under the heavy folds. You sink into the warmth of him, the side of your face flush with the cool plastic of the helmet. As he works to release you from your cloth prison, the dress you were once so excited to put on, your gaze drops to the back of his neck, and you notice a patch of sweaty salt and pepper curls under the bottom edge of the helmet. You reach your arms up around him and intertwine your fingers around the locks. You had thought maybe he was older, but seeing the greying hair was the confirmation you needed. 

With him now so close, you take in the opportunity to smell him, and fuck it was absolutely invigorating – like fresh coffee in the morning, the smoke from a campfire, and wait…is that, patchouli? Fucking patchouli? Because of course, your masked, murderous savior would smell like patchouli. You take a deep inhale through your nose, and hold it at the top, as if to commit his scent to memory. 

He finishes with the dress, and you step out of it, also deciding to ditch the scrap of panties that no longer serve their intended purpose. Now bare, you stand in front of him innocently. You were nervous, unable to see his expression, unsure if he likes what he sees. 

It doesn’t take much for him to give you the confirmation you need that he in fact, does, his rock-hard cock practically staring at you, begging for something to bury into. His rough and calloused palm traces over your arm, leaving goosebumps as it trails down. He latches onto your wrist, pausing to gently trace the blue veins and feel your pulse. His gentleness causes you to melt. 

He takes a seat on the mattress, pulling you with him. 

For the entire evening, your body had been riding the line between pain and pleasure, and it had never been more blurred than right now. Your knees are shaking as they find the broken springs under the grimy mattress. 

It's almost too much, your knees ache with bruises forming on them from their assault on the cement. Straddling his hips, he reaches between your bodies to position himself at the entrance of your wet and waiting hole. You sink down onto his length halfway, eyes falling shut as you do. 

Fuck – he’s big. Almost too big.

His hard cock fills you so good; and he gives you a second to adjust, frozen in pleasure for a moment when he finally reaches the hilt of you, the tip of his cock nudges in a painful pinch. For a moment he’s panting and just holding you on top of him, hands tightening around the delicious flesh of your hips. He’s just using you to keep his cock warm until he can catch his breath. He can tell by your incessant squirming that you’ve never had something so big stuffed inside of your small frame, and he was here to change that; fill you up how you deserve to be. 

“Shit, baby – you’re a tight one, aint’cha,” he says, groaning breathlessly. 

You begin to find your pace on him, rolling your hips into his as you find a rhythm, gliding effortlessly over his thickness with the help of his praise, his filthy words encouraging you to fuck him harder. His hands are still firm on your hips, leaving little bruises at the fingertips, and he assists your rolls back and forth as you grind your clit against the thick black hair at the base of him, teasing your swollen clit with each move as you do. 

“I’m going to ruin you, little mouse, fuck you so good all you’ll ever think about is me. All you’ll ever feel is me.” His claim is arrogant, but rightfully so, the way he’s filling you to your ribs was something that couldn’t ever be competed with. 

He knows it, and you know it. You are doomed to be a prisoner to an approach to sex you’d never experienced. Addicted to every touch. 

The possessive nature of this man wouldn’t ever be matched with anyone else. 

They would all fall short. 

He had broken you to need him. 

His hands roughly grasp at your breasts, pinching your nipples and rolling them between his fingers, and an airy moan leaves your lips as he watches them bounce, he gives them a harsh slap, earning a yelp from your lips as the sensation. The sting lingers and the red mark it creates is more proof of what this man’s doing to you; creating evidence that you’d remember long after he was gone, the ghost of the touch you’d feel one night in the future when you needed someone, no one would ever compare. He was leaving his mark on you. 

His calloused fingers are thick, wrapping around your neck, applying a small amount of pressure to the side of your neck along your pulse point, until your vision goes a little fuzzy and you subsequently relax into his hands with the notion. 

With as much as he's taking you—he curses under his breath when you let out a whimper of pleasure, holding the position, slipping his thumb into your mouth which you greedily sucked on, he feels the hum of a muffled moan. 

“Such a good girl,” he moans, “squeezing my cock so fuckin’ tight, little mouse. This pussy was fucking made f’me,” he praises, his words practically dragging you over the edge, and you cream all over his cock as he continues to relentless thurst upwards inside of you, practically touching your lungs.

Your slick makes it easy for him to fuck into you right to the hilt, burying himself into the most sacred part of yourself. Greedily, you clench down onto him, sucking him back in when he tries to retract from your hole. In your delirium you swear you can feel him in your stomach, you’d never had someone so fucking deep inside of you before. Wet mewls escape your lips as you feel him drag his cock in and out of you, reaching places no other man had ever been. With the way your cunt greedily swallows his cock, he starts to feel a sense of infatuation, he would do anything to keep you.

“This pussy isn't goin’ to take too nicely to another cock, will she, little one? She likes me too much,” he says, but you find it hard to concentrate on words when there are so many things stimulating you – his cock, his hand around the column of your throat, the growing need budding in your clit, your intense desire to fucking look at his face. 

Before you can register what’s happening, loud moans leave your lips, when they do the saliva that had accumulated inside of your mouth falls, dripping down onto the visor of his helmet. A gruff moan leaves his lips, one of shock and pleasure, seeing you drool all over him on his cock was a sight that spurred him on. 

“Fuckin’ you so good you can’t even think properly, can you little mouse? S’alright, just let daddy make you feel good.”

Daddy.

You want so badly to cum. 

But there’s something holding you back. 

You need to see him. It's no longer a question or a curiosity. It's a non-negotiable. 

“Shi–-shit, I’m so close, ugh I need to see your face,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes, “Please let me look at you while I cum on your cock,” you beg. 

He ignores the request, your hips still grinding onto him, until you pout and beg once more, “Daddy, please!” 

He grips down tight onto your hips, urging you to come to a slow, and eventually a full stop. You feel his cock twitch inside of you. He releases his grip and reaches up to place both hands on the helmet – yes, yes, yes, take it off – he pauses with his palms on the sides, before using the strength of his arms to take the helmet completely off. 

The cool helmet now in his hands, he sets it off to the side on the mattress, and the inside rolls to face up. 

That’s when you notice it – a small label, curiously out of place. You focus your gaze and the small letters focus in view; it’s a name. 

His name. 

Joel Miller. 

You smile and decide to tuck the new knowledge away, for now, and turn your attention back to him. 

Oh my.

He’s fucking hot. 

Seeing him for the first time is jarring. 

Like you should’ve expected him to look exactly like this, perhaps you’d expected him not to be so fucking handsome. 

His wide brown eyes are watching you, the stare lingering on your face, the same stare you’d felt burning into your soul the entire evening. His pupils are dilated, a sentiment of his arousal for you. You want to take your time admiring him, in case he changes his mind and reverts back into the comfort of his helmet, but it’s too late for that; you’ve seen him. 

You’ll remember every detail of him until the day you die. The patchy facial hair, his full mustache trimmed neatly; a small heart shape on the left side made your heart swell, it's well-groomed but still simultaneously unruly. He's a man who looks after himself. On the right cheek, there is a single dimple; showcasing itself as he bites the inside of his cheek. 

It seems you finally had him like putty in your hands. He looks anxious, his eyes scanning your face frantically, searching for anything that would make you retreat from him, any sign of regret. 

Your hand reaches out slowly as if approaching a stray animal, your pleading eyes begging for this one thing, just one simple touch. He flinches slightly as if this kind of feeling of your skin on his was foreign to him, but he doesn’t move, nor resist your action. 

The pad of your soft thumb rubs over his lips, and you lean forward as if to kiss him. 

You don’t. 

Instead, you pause with your lips inches away from his, your hot breaths mingling together. A smirk washes over your face, and you flint your gaze up to his. 

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you whisper seductively. 

What the fuck.

You uttering his name catches him off guard, rendering him surprised and vulnerable. He looks at you like he just got stabbed; he wouldn’t be the only one tonight. Like a bear preparing for a fight, he growls, and bucks his hips up into you, beginning to fuck you again, hard. 

With his cock stuffed inside of you and the sight of his face, you’re close to your release. 

Eyes gazing into his for real for the first time tonight, you feel a wave of pleasure overcome you, and you spill over onto him like a broken yolk. You fall forward, body limp and sore, and he lets you lay there, his chest your strength. He pauses, letting you work through your orgasm. 

Once your shaking has subsided, he brings his hand up to your jaw. He smooshes your cheeks together, your lips puffing as he does. He stares at them for a moment, his expression mirroring your own, eyes dark with desire, before pulling them to his in a fiery kiss. His tongue explores the recesses of your mouth, and you welcome it with a moan that rumbles from the very core of your desire. Fuck, finally. You savor the taste of him, all salt with a hint of mint. 

His lips part from yours, and he begins to chase his own release once more, his cock resuming its relentless pace, fucking in and out of you. 

Seeing and feeling your orgasm already had him close. For the first time tonight, he finally got sips of fresh air, each breath filled with the sweet scent of all things you. He was absolutely ravenous. 

“Fuck–,” he gasps, his orgasm not far off, “Gonna come, little mouse, wanna shit–wanna fill you up, make you full of me,” he says, breath heavy and shallow with each thrust.

“Yes, daddy, please,” you pant, moans weak and timid. 

“Fuck, Joel, give me your cum, want it so bad” you beg, your walls pulsing and squeezing around him, your cunt crying to be filled. 

He gives you a few more shaky rolls of his hips, and then slows, balls deep inside you.

“You’re mine now, little mouse,” he says, shooting long, thick ropes of milky white release, painting your cervix with his seed. 

At that moment you realize you are his, nothing more than a little mouse caught in his trap – and he’ll never let you go. 

END

...or is it?

Tagging: @sydneyinacoma @darkheartgatita @elegantduckturtle @alltheglitterandtheroar @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @reddedmiller @morallyinept @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @secretelephanttattoo @ruinmepedro @papipascalispunk @dins-riduur-anthe @untamedheart81 @planet-marz1 @pascalpvnk @elvinaa @joeldjarin @javiscigarette @cavillscurls and @toxicanonymity (our queen of dark fics and source of inspiration)

Oh hey! You made it to the end. Cool. Thanks for reading. Since you're here, I'll pass on a reminder that I'm just a horny little wannabe fic writer trying to make her way on this hell site and write things that make people turned on happy. Likes and comments are wonderful and much appreciated, but reblogs are really what counts in making people see this, especially for smaller blogs like mine. If you like this, please consider reblogging.

#dark joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #the last of us #kinktober #dark writing #pedrohub #collaborative writing

[arom-antix]

Time for the second installment! As the companion piece to this Valentines Day/White day reverse bang/bang event, I drew this adorable Makkachin based on the second chapter of @probablytoooldforthis's incredible fic Sweets for the Sweet for White Day! And now that you've been blessed by Makka's presence, I urge you to go read both this fic and the first chapter that was posted last month. You won't regret it!

And in case you're curious, the Valentines piece can be found here

#i loved drawing this so much dont get me wrong but man does drawing curly fur take TIME #i loved it tho #so much good texture #makka is just wonderful even if i never draw dogs and this therefore was a CHALLENGE #anyway happy white day! #go read the fic #it's so cute yall i swear makka is best girl and our husbands are best husbands as always #go go go #reblog #yuri on ice #yuri on ice fanart #yuri on ice fanfic #fanart #art #fanfic #arom antix art #arom antix #makkachin #collaboration

[cellythefloshie]

;; Baggage Chapter Two of Cool for the Summer

Table of Contents Chapter One «« 🤍 »» Chapter Three

Summary: Andrei arrives in Winnipeg for what he intends to be a summer of training. That is until he finds himself distracted by the girl next door, Harper. TW: No triggers apply. Word Count: 4k+

This chapter to be read in conjecture with @hockeyboysimagines I Loved You Three Summers Chapter One.

Winnipeg, Manitoba, was one of seven Canadian cities that an NHL team called home. Many players formed their opinions about the city: it was too cold, the hotels and accommodations were often less than satisfactory, and the city was too boring with little to do outside hangout with your teammates in the hotel room or at dinner. And after only a few years in the NHL, Andrei knew that all to be true. The winters were cold. The waters at the hotel had run cold. If it hadn’t been for his brother playing for the Winnipeg Jets, there would have been nothing for him to do during their one-night stay during the regular season. But in the summer, Winnipeg seemed different. 

The golden glow of a golden hour that he had seen as the place descended over acres of farmer’s fields that building by building became the small city still lingered as he loaded one back, and then the next into the trunk of the taxi that was waiting for them at the airport. Andrei followed Seth’s lead, climbing into the back of the cab and watching as the city evolved around him on their way to Seth’s childhood home on the opposite side of the city. 

The airport became factories, factories became shopping centers and apartment buildings that grew in height until they were towering office buildings in the heart of downtown. Hiding between it was, was the arena he had played in, and then it was all left behind as they were driven to the communities on the south side of the city. 

The houses there were stout, humble, and not quite new enough that one was a carbon copy of the next. Each house had character, with sprawling yards in the front, and Andrei was sure more in the back. It was the kind of neighborhood that kids played street hockey in, and mothers grouped together in walking groups with their dogs and babies before going back to the porches for a glass of wine while husbands cooked on the barbeque. The thought made him smile, even if just a little. It wasn’t home, and it was only temporary, but it would do. 

“That’s it, on the left,” Seth pointed out the window towards one of the larger homes on the street, one with two stories and a long driveway that sat side by side with their neighbors. Two vehicles sat fender to bumper, rusty and in desperate need of a replacement, but his eyes only lingered there for a moment as he got out of the car and rounded to the trunk to grab his bags. 

Andrei was much more interested in what was going on next door. Crammed into the narrow driveway was not one white Jeep Wrangler, but two, and they were both blocked in the driveway by a large U-Haul box truck. Its large frame blocked out the hot, setting sun, but the shadows of the two young women that stood at the back of the truck still stretched across the pavement. Both blonde, and both pretty, they seemed to be conversing there as they unloaded the boxes - the taller pointing into the back of the truck while the shorter was gathering something - a box - from inside. The pair exchanged the box, and it gave Andrei a good enough look at them to conclude one thing: they were sisters. They had to be. They looked too alike not to be. 

Before he could ask Seth about them, the taxi door was slamming, sending his gaze snapping back towards the road before a cheery shout of, “Seth’s home!” had his neck snapping back to the truck, but now, the taller of the blonde’s stood alone, with the smaller nowhere to be seen. Putting the box down at her feet, she jogged down the driveway - her blonde ponytail swaying back and forth against her shoulders with each stride - and she didn’t stop until her arms were thrown around Seth’s shoulders. 

And Andrei just stood there, one bag held in his fist while the other sat on the ground at his own feet, and he watched them. At first, if only because of the smile Seth wore as he welcomed her close, Andrei thought that maybe, just maybe, this was a girl Seth had used to date, or at the very least hook up with. But they hugged and spoke like family. 

“Look at you, mister NHL superstar,” her tone was teasing as she drew back, a bit of a hop in her step as she sunk her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. 

“Hardly,” Seth laughed, a single hand reaching up to push through the tangles of his dark hair. He was grinning, but his shoulders slouched - a little embarrassed, maybe. “Where’s Maddie?”

“Uh?” the blonde hummed, her body turning to look back towards the U-Haul and the front door. “I don’t know. She was just right here.”

Andrei’s eyes fixated on her mouth as she spoke, her lips full and caught somewhere between a smile and a frown, as if each corner would downturn the moment he looked away. He shouldn’t have starred, but he was captivated by the complexity of her expression. Her smile spread so widely into the fullness of her cheeks, but there was no light in her eyes. Only a heaviness in the hazel hue that had Andrei’s shoulder slouching and neck craning forward as if he could get a better look at them. As if he were imagining the storm in her eyes that clouded over the radiance of her smile. 

“Ah,” her smile altered, her nose wrinkling as she took a step back, “who’s this?”

Seth brought an arm around, his hand patting up against Andrei’s back firmly as he made the introduction, “my teammate Andrei, he’s going to be staying with me for the summer.”

“Lucky him,” there was an uncertainty in her tone, her eyes looking him up and down once and stopped once their eyes met again. 

“Luckier now,” Andrei spoke after a moment, a hand reaching out into the space between them. He had a tightness in her stomach, one he couldn't shake. He had made her uncomfortable with the staring, he knew it, but he couldn’t look away, not as Seth gave him a nudge and questioned him silently with a thick raised brown. “Seth didn’t mention having a sister-”

“No, no, not my sister,” Seth spoke quickly, raising his hands, almost as if the mere idea offended him, “Harper and Maddie grew up next door. She was my babysitter.”

“I don’t believe it, you look so young” Andrei grinned wide, his words laced with a low laugh. 

“Babysitter, not his mother. I’m not ancient,” Harper countered, her hand reaching out to shake his hand as it waited for her to hold between them. 

Her delicate fingers slid along his, meeting calloused palms and his careful but firm hold. Her touch left him holding his breath, hiding the excitement that sent his heart racing in the depths of his chest behind a calm smile. Andrei shook her hand long and slow, the thought of letting go not once crossing his mind until she leaned him, offered a soft smile and spoke, “you think I could get my hand back now?”

“Yes,” Andrei’s eyes went wide, his hand letting go of Harper’s as if it were now suddenly as hot as flame. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” she spoke, taking a step back, her first step of her accent up the driveway, “I’ll ah-” she hummed, her hand reaching up to rub the back of her neck, and Andrei watched it all still staring, shameless, “I’m going to go check on Maddie, let her know that you’re home. I’m sure she just ran inside to get something-”

Andrei’s eye didn’t leave her once as she stumbled back over her sneakers towards her front door. And he smiled a dopey grin as he took in the full sight of her. Harper wasn’t just a pretty face. She was petite and lean, but not in a fragile, feminine way. Harper was strong. He could see it in her muscles as she picked up the box she had abandoned in the driveway, and in the hop in her step as she jogged towards the house. Then she was gone, lost beyond what waited for her beyond the front door. It was then, with her out of sight, Andrei felt the force of Seth’s hand knocking him against his chest. 

“What was that man?” Seth was grinning as he reached down to grab his own bags and began to lead the way to his own front door. 

“She is very pretty,” Andrei smiled, following in his path, all the while looking back towards the door of Harper’s house. 

“Yeah, well,” Seth pushed open the door, his own words interrupting their conversation as he shouted out, “Mom, Dad? We’re home!”

Seth kicked his shoes off in the doorway, nudging them to the side with the toes of his dirty socks. Andrei did the same, tucking his sneakers to the side on a free space on a cluttered shoe rack before taking quick strides to catch up to Seth who was leading the way to the quest room that Andrei would be calling home until they went back to Carolina in September. 

It was small, with nothing more than a queen sized bed and a dresser for him to pack away his things. It wasn’t much, but it would do - especially with a distraction like Harper next door. He wouldn’t need much else. 

“Well?” Andrei pressed as he threw his bag down at the end of the bed, making himself at home. “Harper…”

“Last time I heard? She’s getting married in August-”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Without a hand to reach back for it, the front door slammed into its frame, leaving Harper to jump away from its firm rattle as it set her on course for her sister’s bedroom. One the way, she abandons what she considered the final box of her moving trip at the top of the basement stairs, and she doesn’t waste her time taking off her shoes - not when she will still need to run boxes to the storage locker she was renting on the outskirts of the city. But first, she needed answers. 

Taking the stairs going up two at a time, Harper hopped onto the landing and called out to her little sister, “Mads?” 

She paused, waiting for her to call back to her. Madison said nothing. 

Brows furrowing, she craned her neck to peer through the door that was left open just a crack. Anyone else would have considered it closed, but to Harper, it was an invitation to let herself inside. Looking one way, Harper looked over an unmade empty bed, and looking at the other, she found her sister seated at her desk, one leg brought up to hug it against her chest, while she appeared occupied. But Harper knew her better than that. Madison was just trying to look busy. 

Harper sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest, her lead leaning to rest against the door frame. If their father was home, she would have walked right in and closed the door, but it was just them in the house and he wouldn’t be back until the early hours in the morning. They would have more than enough time to talk; “What was that all about?”

“What?” Madison didn’t look up from her desk, instead she reached out for something Harper couldn’t quite see, and toyed with it in her fingers. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Madison,” Harper’s tone was firm, caught somewhere between concerned sibling and mother. It was one of the harsh traits and realities of growing up without their mother - and growing up the eldest of two daughters. 

“Harper,” Madison countered, the smile in her voice almost enough to leave Harper groaning. 

Did she really have to be so difficult? Though, was Harper really in the position to push her way back into her sister’s life? She had been living on her own since she was eighteen, and was only now moving home almost a decade later because of her own mistakes. Mistakes Madison had not one clue about. They had grown so far apart there were parts of her life Harper was sure Madison couldn’t even fathom. Maybe that fact went both ways. 

“You can’t hide shit from me, you know that,” Harper reminded. Before, when she was still at home, and they were still close, they told each other everything. And even when they didn’t, they always found out. “I know something’s wrong.”

Pushing off her desk, Madison swiveled in her seat. “You always were the smart one.”

“Smart?” Harper raised a brow as she pushed up from where she propped herself against the doorway and moved to sit at the end of Madison’s bed. “Sure, but that’s got nothing to do with it. I know you, and what happened outside, that’s not normal.”

Seth and Madison, they had been inseparable since they were in diapers. There were pictures on the walls and buried deep in photo albums to prove it. Harper knew that better than anyone - hell, she was the one that was stuck babysitting them both until they were old enough to be trusted alone. Even then, her father - and Seth’s parents - often had her chaperone. She had attended too many middle school dances in her lifetime to admit and even more hockey games. But Harper would do anything or her sister - and Seth, but only if he asked nicely. 

“Fine,” Madison sighed, “Can we keep this between us, though?”

Harper only nodded, scared that saying anything else would leave Madison second guessing her decision to tell her anything. 

“Last summer, things got kind of…” Madison sighed, her head hanging on her shoulders and sending her long blonde bangs into her eyes. A single hand raised to fix them as she spoke. “Weird I guess? We were at this party right before he left for camp-”

Harper’s stomach sunk, her head spiraling with every worst possible outcome, and every protective instinct sent her nerves raw. 

“He was with some girl. It just pissed me off, and we had a fight.”

She shouldn’t have been relieved by what she heard, but Harper was letting out a long sigh of relief all the same. Then, she sat there for a moment, her fingers picking at her own nail beds as she worried that Madison might not like the conclusion she had reached with the little detail she had offered her, “was that fight with Seth because you were jealous.”

“No,” Madison scoffed, “I was just mad he was with another girl?”

Harper’s head cocked and her eyes narrowed. “That’s what jealousy is, Mads.”

Madison blew out a breath and let her gaze fall to her feet. “Whatever, so yeah,” she spoke quickly, “I’m just not ready to see him yet.”

“Holy shit, Mads,” Harper couldn’t stop herself from letting a smile spread over her features, “are you telling me that you like Seth?”

“I think so. I mean, why else would I get upset like that if I didn’t? Right?”

“Right,” Harper nodded, “I baby sat both of you for such a long time, and I would have never guessed it’d come to that. But maybe I’m not as good of a sister as I thought I was…” There were a lot of things Harper wasn’t good at anymore. She wasn’t a good daughter, a good sister, or a friend. Most days, she wasn’t even good at being herself. “Do you think he likes you?”

Madison’s shoulder shrugged, and Harper couldn’t help but to smile. Suddenly, she felt like a teenager again. A teenager just trying to help her little sister through the mundane pressures of middle school and puberty. When the troubles were nothing more than getting a bad grade on a test, what jeans were in fashion and crushes on boys. 

“Last time I checked, the answer was no,” Madison sighed, but was quick to turn the table on Harper. If there was one thing the Alexander sisters were, it was supportive of one another. “And don’t say that. You’re a great sister.”

“That was last summer. Could be different now. He’s had a whole season away, and a lot of time to think about how things ended between the two of you.”

“Maybe-”

“Talking to him might help things, or at the very least put things at ease between the two of you. And if he doesn’t know how you feel, he can’t act on any feelings he might also have. You know?” Harper smiled, but it was quick to waiver. She was the last person that should be giving any kind of relationship advice. “I’m sure you don’t want my advice, though. I’m not exactly a love expert these days.”

Madison’s frown mirrored her own, but for a different reason. “I always want your advice. You’re the smartest person I know, and you’re my big sister. Don’t ever think for one second I don’t value what you say, or want your opinion.” It was the heart to heart they needed, and it was punctuation with a mischievous smile and a playful, “bitch.”

It was the very word they needed to break out into laughter. Harper lay back on her sister’s bed with open arms. She welcomed her sister from her perch on the chair, the two of them laying together in the bed for a moment as Harper stared at the ceiling. Her eyes burned with the emotional acid that were tears. Refusing to look at her own sister was the only way to keep her sister from seeing them. She had missed moments like that. She had missed what it felt like to have someone for support. Harper had missed her sister more than she had realized. 

“You’re smart, kind and beautiful, Mads,” Harper did her best to keep her voice calm, “if a guy can’t see that, then he’s dumb and not worth your time. And that still applies, even if it’s Seth. The guy should know how amazing you are by now.”

“You’re smart, kind and beautiful too,” Madison reminded her, “and someday a guy will see that… Like that hottie in the driveway! WHO was that?”

Nope. Was the first thing to cross Harper’s mind at her sister’s words, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t feel beautiful, kind nor smart, or if it was that she didn’t want to talk about the very awkward encounter with Carolina Hurricanes forward, Andrei Svechnikov, in her driveway. He had stared a little too long, and maybe so had she. His voice was so deep she could feel it in her bones as he spoke, and her hand? She swore she could still feel it wrapped around hers as she flexed it even then, as it was empty. 

He had left her feeling more than she had in the last month, though she wasn’t exactly sure what it was she was feeling. So she settled on being confused, and not saying a damn word about it. “He’s Seth’s teammate, Andrei I think-”

Kissing her sister’s hair, Harper peeled away from the hug and began to move for the door before she could feel her sister’s pressure to divulge any further. What could she divulge? Harper didn’t actually know. Their encounter had been brief, but she had seen enough to support her sister’s question: he was very attractive, albeit young. But she wasn’t going to admit that. Not Maddie, not to anyone. 

Andrei was far too young to have her thinking anything like that. 

“Anyway, I have some boxes I need to unpack,” Harper hummed, her hand grasping at the door frame to whip herself from the room while calling out behind her, “and I’ll be ordering pizza for dinner. My thank you for helping my dumb as move back in!”

Then, before her sister could question her on it, Harper raced down both flights of stairs and was forced to stop in her tracks at the bottom of the second flight. What was once the basement she and her sister performed self-written plays for their father in, and also doubled as a mini-sticks rink was now a collection of piled boxes, and a new IKEA bed built and shoved awkwardly between furniture that has been around since the 90s. This would be her new bedroom. There was still much more to be done. Table to move, her boxes to unpack, and sheets to wash. It all seemed like too much, it all an overwhelming, suffocating feeling on her chest as Harper stood there surrounded by it all. 

Her palms began to sweat, and a hand raised up to pull at the collar of her shirt that was nowhere near her neck. It was the new beginning she needed, even though she hated that it had to come at the ripe age of twenty-seven. This wasn’t where she was supposed to be, living in her father’s basement, but it was where she needed to be. 

Harper had accepted that. 

But Darren hadn’t. 

Her phone vibrated in the tight pocket of her rights. It had been buzzing on and off throughout the evening as she had unpacked the U-Haul, but it was only as she stood surrounded by the mess that was her life that Harper had the time to answer it. Even then, she almost didn’t when she was her ex’s name on the call display, but she wanted to give him the closer he seemed to so desperately need. 

“Hey,” her voice croaked, “what’s up?”

“I just got in. You left your keys on the counter? And I can’t find the-”

Harper’s eyes shut tight, a single hand raising up to pinch at the bridge of her nose. Darren knew this was happening. She didn’t know why he pretended he didn’t. It was only going to make it more difficult for the both of them. 

“I moved out the rest of my stuff today, Darren.” Harper did her best to keep her voice firm. They were over. That needed to be clear.

“Harp-”

“Don’t!” Her grasp tightened around her phone, her heart racing in her chest, and her stomach on the verge of lurching. At first, going back home was just to get space. Harper had spent weeks sleeping on the sofa, trying to work things out, but there was no healing for Harper. Their problems were only solved temporarily, or only seemed to exist for her, not for him. She was tired, living each day in resentment while Darren lived each day, loved and taken care of. 

Harper wanted that same respect. 

Darren promised it. 

It never came. 

“Don’t call me anymore. Goodbye, Darren.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Winnipeg was cold until it wasn’t. Even in the early days of summer, Andrei could feel it. The heavy sweat on his skin that came with the thick humidity in the air. It should have reminded him of Carolina nights, but his place back home had a temperature control that didn’t rely on an old, rickety air conditioning unit that was wedged in his window. It rattled and stalled before roaring to life again when the heat became unbearable. It left Andrei tossing and turning on what would have been a comfortable bed if it weren’t for the heat that surrounded him. 

Blankets were tangled between his legs, shoved to one side of the bed and then the other before joining the pillows on the floor and leaving Andrei laying in nothing but his boxers in the bed. It wasn’t enough. He needed to cool off somehow. 

Groaning, he pushed himself up from the bed and moved quietly into the kitchen. Andrei moved through the cupboards quietly. Opening one after the other until he found a glass and filled it up with tap water when he couldn’t find a pitcher in the fridge. He filled it until it overflowed, drank it dry, and filled it again. It was cold, but wasn’t cold enough. It left him cursing under his breath as he placed the glass down on the countertop. His head hung low on his shoulders, his eyes shutting for a moment as he contemplated messaging his brother to sleep on the couch in his condo for the remainder of the summer. 

But when his eyes opened, they fixated on the blue bin below, and a photograph that was buried among empty beer cans and old pizza boxes. Usually he wouldn’t have looked twice, but there was one face prominent on the glossy image, the pretty neighbor, Harper. 

Crouching down, Andrei pinched the picture between his fingers and pulled it from the recycling bin. He winced as the box tumbled, clamoring as they fell to the ground, but the house remained silent. He was the only one awake. Letting out a heavy sigh, Andrei stood up straight, and held the photo in the moonlight that streamed in through the kitchen window. 

Harper wasn’t alone in the photo. She was embraced by a handsome, apparently older man with his hair cut short and stubble covering his jawline. In elegant cursive it read, you’re invited to the wedding of mr darren fletcher and ms harper alexander. The save the date was for the August long weekend, just under two months away - but when Andrei moved to the large calendar that Mrs. Jarvis hung up on the kitchen wall to keep track of deadlines for the school year Andrei noticed one thing: the wedding date on the calendar was scratched out.

Taglist: @starshine-hockey-girl , @wingedwheelprxncess , @mp0625 , @misunderstoodwerewolf , @callsign-denmark , @puckmaidens , @xciciix , @cixrosie

#andrei svechnikov #nhl fanfic #real people fanfiction #nhl fanfiction #hockey rpf #nhl rpf #andrei svechnikov x original character #seth jarvis #collaboration fic

[smileweakandwrong]

Nancy opened her eyes and blinked hard, trying to force her eyesight back and the images out of her mind. Robin already had the Tylenol out of her pack and was handing her two for the headache. Before she could explain the grisly vision, there was a crackle of static from their walkies and then El’s voice was barrelling through the quiet of the library.

“Get out! It’s a trap! It’s a trap!”

Steve pulled Nancy to her feet and they ran for the doors before she could grab her pack. She made it two steps before the floor beneath her boots was collapsing and a vine was winding around her ankle. She felt the sharp tug and then she was being pulled down, down, down through the rough hole in the floor.

---

Or, things do not go as planned when the group returns to the Upside Down.

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

khajdsjfshskdskjd @sweepy-stringbean annihilating everyone with this drawing 💜

#ronance #ronance fic #nancy has powers fic #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #sweepy stringbean #ronance fanart #ronance collaboration #ronance fic rec

[captainblou]

Don't mind if we tease you?

Coming soon, in your AO3 tabs

(we know you have at least 40 of those open right now, but make room for one more, would you?)

A collaborative fanfiction between @eybefioro and yours truly. A no-pressure, no-dealine, no-plot commitment that we already failed to respect (plot fits on a napkin, but it exists).

Undercover

After Aziraphale becomes the Supreme Archangel, Crowley is appointed as Prince of Hell. Some may think they aren't talking, but that's only true when they're busy with more pressing activities. (A collection of sexy times between our favorite angel and demon, trapped in a office hell/heaven scape, where the second coming that matters is not the Jesus one)

First chapter on Sunday 28th April.

#Good omens #Good omens fanfiction #Aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #fanfiction #collaborative fic #CaptainBlou #EybeFioro #Undercover Smut Fest #Rated E #AO3 #Mind the tags as you go #ineffable husbands #ineffable divorce #My fics #Teaser

[navybrat817]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ 𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒖

✧˚ · . a collaboration between @navybrat817 and @sgt-seabass

After his escape from a life of captivity, and the fall of Hydra, Bucky Barnes thought he finally had a chance at happiness. The problem is, if you cut off one head, three shall take it's place. A new Hydra had risen, and their ruthless path will leave destruction in it's wake.

A/N: We're very excited to share this series with you. It's going to be a rough and bumpy road for our reader, but we hope you enjoy the ride.

This AU is dark and 18+. Heed the warnings on each post.

𝒏𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒂 | AO3

Bucky returns home after a mission, ready to spend time with his two favourite people, you and Alpine.

𝒂 𝒕𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔 | AO3

Is this the way it's got to be? Ignite the fire inside of me. Embrace the life of tragedy. A tide of war and broken dreams.

𝑬𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 | AO3

Stay reformed. Erase this perfect world. Hate left below. The dark stray dog of war.

𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅 | AO3

I just wanna see you bleed. Open you and set you free

More to come...

#ambswrites #navybrat writes #dark fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #omc x reader #omc x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan #collaborative writing

[inhuman-obey-me]

Collab pair piece for Barbatos’s birthday 2023!

Art by Mod Cosmos

Writing by Mod Chaos

Arrhythmia

Can also be read on ao3 here Word count: 10.7k Description: Time, with all its endless possibilities and unknowable branches, is infinite. Yet, certain patterns exist. Some things are fated. And for Barbatos, master of time and space, the heartbeat of fate underlying each strand of time is the constant. This is what time is. This is what time means. Infinite timelines, branching and collapsing, splitting and merging, to the end of time. Until you. You were not part of fate -- not that familiar pulse of passing time he knew so well. You weren't, until suddenly, you were.

Prologue

"I desperately needed to obtain your power to control time, Barbatos..." "I was surprised you'd come to me with such a foolish request, considering you are known as 'Solomon the Wise.'" "But that was before I had my over-the-top nickname, wasn't it? No one called me that yet..." "Indeed. But I knew that people would start calling you that in the near future, you see. Just like I knew that the two of us would eventually forge a pact."

Barbatos has never felt uncertain before.

A demon who has existed since the dawn of time, who controls the very fabric of time, he has seen all of the universe that there was to see.

You see, time, with all its endless possibilities and unknowable branches, is infinite. It is, truly. Yet, certain patterns exist. Some things are fated -- Lucifer's rebellion, the brothers' fall, King Solomon the Wise. These are destiny; these are inevitable.

And for Barbatos, master of time and space, the heartbeat of fate underlying each strand of time is the constant. This is what time is. This is what time means. Infinite timelines, branching and collapsing, splitting and merging, to the end of the universe. A heartbeat, steady and reliable, ever marching on, constant as his own.

Until you.

You were not part of fate -- not that familiar pulse of passing time he knew so well. He knew there were timelines where you would meet, yes. "Your" timeline, of course -- the one you know so well. Others as well. In some, "you" were a witch already; you weren't quite so powerless upon your arrival in the Devildom. In others, you came later, not in the first year of RAD's exchange program but further along, when relations between the realms had progressed more already. In others still, it was never you at all, but some other descendant of Lilith who had landed at Lucifer's feet that fateful day, when the second human exchange student was chosen.

These were the universes he knew existed. Infinite, innumerable -- and, ultimately, irrelevant. The future would march on, with or without you, and he would continue going about his life with Lord Diavolo. Fate would be fate, and those were the things that mattered.

Until you.

Knowing you would meet was different from actually meeting you. And meeting you, changed everything.

Meeting You

The first time he sees you, it barely even registers. He is present, of course, as his liege welcomes you and explains the exchange program to you. He oversees the brothers' introductions, notes the alarm on your face as you come to understand what your life is going to be for the next year. It's rather delicious actually, for the more primal of his demonic instincts, seeing the confusion and mild fear in your expression.

But a certain sorcerer has also just arrived in the Devildom, and Barbatos is a bit preoccupied with trying to determine just how much of a problem Solomon is going to be in this timeline.

The Witty Sorcerer is a constant. The immortal human king with whom Barbatos shares a pact is always a thread woven into his fate. He always decides to become a protector of humanity, and always comes to the conclusion that he must forge pacts with as many demons as he can, in order to gain enough power to hold his ground against the greater powers of the Devildom and the Celestial Realm. The exact demons and particulars of the pacts vary; some always fall for his tricks, while others cross his path by happenstance. Barbatos, for one, is never tricked into a pact but always simply accepts that he is meant to have one, for he has foreseen it countless times. Solomon almost always lands at 72 by this point, however -- that part is not quite exact from timeline to timeline, but also too close to be coincidence.

You catch the butler's attention just once that day, as Lucifer explains the struggle of humans' souls and demons' temptations -- it is then that Barbatos notices how your soul, hardly polished at all yet, nonetheless has a sparkle unlike any he's seen in a very long time. One he hasn't encountered, in fact, since he first met Solomon.

How fascinating.

That same sorcerer in question, however, leaves him little time to ponder the matter further, as his attention is quickly forced to the first of many troublesome texts he will receive from the inhabitants of Purgatory Hall this year.

"Hello, Barbatos. apppologies for the mail, buT I'M NOT VEry familiaR wit h Dev ldom cuisine  yet.. Is the kitcHEn meant To Flood with pu ripple bubbles when 1 cooks here? SIGNED, SIMEON"

At that, he makes a motion towards Lord Diavolo to be excused and quickly takes his leave to handle the situation.

And he takes no further notice of you for a while, nor you of him.

--

The next time Barbatos sees you, it's only a few short weeks later, and yet already, you've been quickly gaining quite the reputation.

He can soon see why, too.

You just had to cause chaos in the Demon Lord's Castle, didn't you? You couldn't just quietly complete your field trip with everyone, no. You just had to get yourself dragged into the depths of the castle's underground labyrinth -- and not just once, but twice.

Some version of you, cleverer, more cautious, never falls down there the second time. Other versions never make it out. Sometimes, the others notice your absence quickly enough for Barbatos to open a portal and retrieve you in time. Not always. And Asmodeus is fickle with his attentions -- as is Solomon, even if he pretends not to be. It's by lucky chance in this time that you see how to wield Asmodeus's powers that day, and luckier still that Solomon happens to lend you his magic that night.

"Just interested to see what they'll do with it," the sorcerer smiles, with that annoyingly blithe false innocuousness, when his pact-mate comes to inquire. "Aren't you interested, Barbatos?"

"No, I am not," he answers flatly. "My interest is only for all members chosen for Lord Diavolo's exchange program to have a successful and productive year here in the Devildom."

Solomon's pleasant expression drops just slightly; he gives the demon a very directed look. "Chosen by whom, Barbatos? I don't believe they were given a choice to come here like I was. I'm just...evening the playing field a little for the night. Surely it shouldn't hurt any chances of cooperation between the realms for a defenseless, magicless human to have a little bit of power for one evening?"

A tense smile, oh so familiar to the sorcerer, settles upon the demon's lips. "Of course not."

Barbatos leaves it at that, satisfied in any case that he sees you alive the next morning. A mild curiosity is piqued when he hears Asmodeus gushing about the fascinating, incredible power he felt from you the night before -- greater even than that of the famed sorcerer in their midst? That's odd, normally such strength would be more significant across timelines.

But he dismisses it quickly. Odd as it may be, in the vast breadth of the possibilities of time, if it's not significant, then that's that. It won't ultimately matter. In the endlessness of time, very little ultimately matters. The things that do pulse on as familiarly to him as his own heartbeat.

So he moves on.

"...Okay then, look into that for me, Barbatos."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Depending on how things turn out, it's possible we'll have the answers to all of our questions soon enough."

"Well, it would seem they've arrived."

"Yes, and even earlier than we thought."

The group of brothers, along with the human staying in their home, crowds into the room, Lucifer at their helm. "Diavolo, I want to talk to you."

The prince is unfazed; he and Barbatos had of course expected this when they'd taken Belphegor away. "Well hello, Lucifer. And yes, I assumed as much when I saw you at the door."

"What do we have here? Has the entire family come along today? So, you've all come along as a moving show of support and brotherly love, then?" the butler quips, before his gaze lands harshly on you. "Hmm...but it would appear that one among your number neither qualifies as a relative nor a demon."

Beelzebub stands protectively beside you. "That's right, they aren't a demon, nor are we related...but that doesn't mean we can't be on the same side. Isn't that right?"

You nod determinedly beside him. "You bet it is!"

Lord Diavolo examines you for a moment as the Avatar of Gluttony beams at your answer. "I see. Well, you may be a human, but it would seem you've found a home for yourself here in the Devildom. I have to say, I find that comforting."

The demon prince turns his attention back to the eldest of the brothers. "Now then, Lucifer, how about we hear what you have to say."

Barbatos's gaze lingers on you, however, remaining silent through the back and forth unfolding between the others. You aren't paying attention to him, of course, focused on the discussion over getting the family their seventh back. But he's spoken already with Lord Diavolo about this whole matter, and knows already what his master's decision is going to be. What you are going to do, on the other hand...

"Okay. I'll go alone."

There's that sparkle again. Just like Solomon's soul used to have.

Fated or not, there is something fascinating about you.

Even if this is just one thread of time, just one way for this all to play out, it is unusual. There's no such thing as an aberration in time, only variations that ultimately end up in the same inevitable places. The butterfly effect only flutters so far. Always.

And yet, something about you throws him off, just a bit.

You follow him out of the room, oblivious. It's your first conversation with him alone, even if it's not his first time seeing a conversation with you. "Did you know all of this was going to happen?"

He chuckles at the question. "Imagine for a moment what it would be like to know everything that will happen from now until the end of time."

Yes, imagine knowing everything -- as he does. Barbatos, demon with power over time. Barbatos, who can see anything, any timeline, past, present, and future.

"Why, nothing could possibly be more boring, wouldn't you agree?"

Barbatos, who has seen everything.

Barbatos, who has stopped looking. Barbatos, who uses his powers only for Lord Diavolo now.

"Which is precisely why I find it so very interesting and refreshing to have the chance to take a human like you into my room."

His pulse ticks just a little bit faster as he turns around to face you, opening the door behind him to usher you inside.

Why?

"All right, we've arrived. Please, come in."

He doesn't understand it yet, but there's just...something. Something about you. Something that makes the steady expectation of what comes next feel just a bit off-kilter around you.

Like you're inevitable. Even though he knows you aren't.

He knows this. He knows everything. He has seen everything.

Hasn't he?

He explains the rules and workings of time travel to you, emphasizing to you the consequences of breaking these rules -- "You run the risk of warping history."

You nod back to him, and he wishes you safe travels as he escorts you through the correct door.

And as you walk through, he feels it again. It's not just the sparkle of your soul. It's something more. Something else.

Something uncertain.

--

Something strange is happening in his room, Barbatos notes as he works, pulling various threads of time to his will.

He bends the timelines together, wrapping them into a single line.

You exist there, and there. This he knew. And yet, without his even touching them yet, there too does he find you. And there, and there.

He opens door after door, searching for each time you inhabit -- and in all doors, there you are.

Where have the others gone?

They existed once. There were other strands, other doors, other yous which were not you at all.

And yet, despite knowing this, despite knowing they should exist -- door after door, there you are.

You are only a human. You have no powers of your own. He has confirmed this -- you may have the blood of Lilith in you, but the power was never yours. And even Lilith could not exert her will over time.

That is his domain, and his alone.

So this shouldn't be. There's no reason for it. You shouldn't be everywhere.

And yet, there you are.

Everywhere. Always.

--

The brothers are all crowded over you, fighting over who gets to sit next to you. But there's a worry on your face, an insistent concern resting unsteadily on your lower lip.

"Is something the matter?" Barbatos inquires, though he has a sense already of what's on your mind. It has, after all, been on his too.

"Do you think I've warped history?"

Though all eyes are on you, yours are focused solely back upon the butler.

A nagging alarm tugs at the back of his mind with the same question -- have you warped history? Or more to the point, have you warped time?

But he knows that isn't what you're asking about. Not the same way.

"Ah...I take it you're worried about the other 'you' disappearing earlier?" He smiles lightly, explanation readied. "I know I told you that I have the power to see both the past and the future, but the truth is that there's one more secret -- something I still haven't mentioned."

Everyone's gaze shifts to him, their worlds decidedly rocked enough for a single day. None of the brothers are sure what new revelation he's about to unveil, and they're all on edge for it.

Still, his attention remains locked on you as he explains.

"You see, I have the power to select from any number of different potential realities and make any of them into the sole reality. With the various potential realities, there are an infinite number of 'you'..." He pauses, scanning your face for a reaction, but your expression is just as clouded and blank as it had been. He continues, "In the sole reality I chose, the one and only 'you' is the one right here. That's why the previous one disappeared while you remained."

Infinite realities. A "sole" reality.

It's a power he hasn't used in a very, very long time. One he doesn't especially care for, at his disposal though it may be -- what use is it to select these events that don't ultimately matter?

Fate is fate. Time is time. The inevitable is inevitable, and infinity continues moving. Some things simply are fated.

And now, so are you.

He searches your face for recognition. Do you even understand what he's just said?

But there is none. Of course not. No one here does, except him. He is the only one who knows what was fated. Naturally, then, he is the only one who understands what was not. And, with that, the only one who realizes the consequences of what this implies.

Still, the rest of the room stares on in silence, stunned at his nonchalant explanation.

Asmodeus is the first to pipe up. "You know, I notice how you sort of smiled as you said all that, but...um..."

"As far as abilities go, that's a pretty powerful one to have, don't you think?" Satan finishes.

"The Legend of Barbatos: Most Powerful of All Beings..." Levi chimes in, staring with awe.

Though Barbatos's smile remains steady on his face, something murmuring in his chest disagrees. He doesn't feel like the most powerful.

He feels off-balance. And now he knows why.

"Did you know all of this was going to happen?"

No. No, he did not.

An Ambiguous Fate

A great rumbling shakes the ground, the very earth moving erratically beneath them.

Barbatos leaps to attention, ready in an instant and immediately at Lord Diavolo's side. The prince nods at him, worry written all over his face in the form of a single, solemn acknowledgement. There is no time to lose.

It takes a short while to locate the epicenter of the quake, but once they do, they are at the mausoleum within moments, with the aid of a quick portal.

The damage is apparent immediately. Stone shards of fallen statues and broken coffins litter the ground, while gravestones and placards all across the cemetery floor have been flung askew from the force. And worst of all, the Demon Kings' Tomb rests deep at the bottom of a great crater, collapsed.

Barbatos inhales sharply, as the prince resolutely inspects the scene.

Between the two of them, easily two of the most powerful demons in the realm, they are of course capable of repairing the damage. But the greater issue here is the cause -- or more to the point, their lack of information thereof.

Earthquakes like this may simply occur in the human realm due to nature, but they're quite a bit different in the Devildom. They don't just happen, not to this scale. And they generally tend to be a bit more magical in nature.

But magic alone isn't enough to explain something this big. Magic is steeped into all the land of the Devildom, of course, but not to this extent. Even amongst demons, very few have this kind of raw power. And no such demon in existence would dare inflict such force upon the resting place of the realm's former kings.

"Let us record as much of the damage as we can, Barbatos," Lord Diavolo instructs seriously, and his butler nods, getting straight to work.

They comb across the space together, noting down every bit of destruction they encounter. It's soon apparent that most of it is aftereffects and collateral damage; the real impact was to the Demon Kings' Tomb, right at the center. And that too shows certain strange signs of what exactly had happened.

Though they initially treated it as a strangely powerful earthquake, it becomes quickly clear that's not the case at all. No, the ground did not simply shake, nor did it rend apart beneath the tomb -- it's as though the earth below had disappeared altogether. There are no signs of the ground shifting around the tomb at all, in fact, only the smattering of dirt laying atop its crumbled ceiling, loosed from the walls of the surrounding pit by the structure's fall. Nor were the walls toppled as one might have expected from shaking of the ground; instead, they appeared cracked from the bottoms upward, as though they had dropped straight down so that the impact had spiderwebbed up from their bases.

It's unlike anything Barbatos has ever seen -- in the past or future. And he has a suspicion as to why. A very unsettling suspicion.

His chest tightens, disquiet at the thought. He'd expected some changes to the future, yes; that was a given, after what he'd encountered in his room those few months ago. But something this powerful? This destructive?

"Well. That's rather troubling, wouldn't you agree, Barbatos?" Lord Diavolo murmurs, drawing his attention back to the situation at hand. "I suppose there's nothing more we can do for now but repair it, however. Shall we?"

"I suppose we shall," Barbatos nods at him, face set in a grimace.

Together, they combine their magic to restore the monument to its former condition, along with the rest of the graveyard -- the butler rewinding the state of things to a prior time, the prince lending his power to solidify that state back into the present.

They make sure to jot down any final observations before they leave, then return to the castle.

Lord Diavolo is about to leave when Barbatos stops him, "Young Master, before you return to your office, may I have a word?"

There's an uncharacteristic reticence in his voice, a hesitation the prince doesn't typically hear from his butler. He's always encouraged the other to voice his thoughts and opinions freely, regardless of their roles as master and servant. "Of course, Barbatos. What is it?"

"I believe I have an idea as to what was behind this. Though I can't quite yet explain why."

The crown prince's brows knit as the butler explains his theory, as well as the earlier abnormality. "And you're certain about that, Barbatos?"

"I am not. But I had never seen anything like it before. And what happened today was...unexpected. I can only assume that they may be connected."

"I see. Then, let me know if you determine anything more, please."

But without proof or explanation, there's nothing to do about it. For now, at least.

--

It's a bleak omen indeed when even the most powerful sorcerer ever to exist looks troubled by the problem he's been presented with.

"This is bad...really bad. It took something major to make the entire side of the cliff collapse like this," Solomon frowns, eyebrows knit as he appraises the damage. "I can't see the bottom from here..."

"This is the primeval forest," Barbatos explains. "As the name suggests, it's said that this forest has been here since the time of the Devildom's birth."

"It's hard to believe that such an enormous landslide could happen here in this forest. It truly is unheard of," Lord Diavolo agrees.

"First there was the incident at the Demon King's tomb a few days ago, and now this landslide...it would seem the effect is getting worse," Barbatos murmurs.

"Yes...which is worrisome."

Barbatos doesn't need to be told to worry.

Another unexpected blast of magic, another rippling burst of destruction in its wake. Another key Devildom location, suddenly in ruins. His chest feels tight more often than not lately, seeing your cheerful grin at play rehearsals juxtaposed with these grim, shocking scenes.

It's almost definitely because of you. And all the while, you have no idea. You're just going about your life, the same as ever.

"I hate to say it, but this isn't something I can handle on my own. Actually it's not just that I can't handle it. I doubt the Devildom itself can handle this on its own," Solomon says.

The Witty Sorcerer, living up to his name, had pieced it together almost as quickly as Barbatos himself had. But unlike the butler, his primary concern was not fate, or time, or what destined events had now been thrown asunder.

The immortal sorcerer was, almost touchingly, most concerned about you.

Well, that's not exactly correct. Of course, he's concerned first and foremost about humanity. But as a human, well, humanity includes you, and as the likely cause behind these recent events, he has been threateningly insistent that neither side make any moves to harm you.

Not that the Devildom's prince would, anyway; though his top priority is naturally on keeping the Devildom safe and stable, harming the human he'd brought for his exchange program would be very much against his ideals.

But still, this destruction is, as Solomon said, worrisome. They cannot simply ignore it.

The demon prince and former human king discuss, going back and forth about involving Simeon and the Celestial Realm. There seems little choice, begrudging and frustrated as Lord Diavolo may feel about it -- and for good reason, considering how their last interaction went.

"Young Master, what do you suggest we do about Lucifer and his brothers?" Barbatos inquires, piping up once the matter has been settled.

The prince grimaces. "That's the big question, yes...I'd like to avoid straining my relationship with Lucifer any more than I already have."

The other two nod seriously. Lucifer had been infamously loyal to him after the fall, and they'd become very close friends over the centuries as well, but the events of the previous year, between his fallout with Belphegor and the resulting months of lying right to Lord Diavolo's face, had been stressful for them both. And although the matter had since been resolved, they hadn't yet quite found their way back to that old amicability.

Lucifer had never kept secrets from him before. And now, Lord Diavolo was finding himself doing the same. He didn't like it.

"But even so..." He takes a long pause, eyes looking almost pleadingly towards Barbatos, as if begging him for answers. But the butler can only return his gaze, equally unsure of the right thing to do now. "...I think we should keep this from him just a little longer."

Solomon inhales sharply, then releases it in a deep breath, considering. "Are you sure that's the right thing to do?"

"No, it's a very bad thing to do...and I'm well aware of that," the prince sighs. "But...until we have proof that they are the original source of all this...I don't want him knowing about it."

Proof, yes -- something solid, something beyond the gnawing, restless noise of Barbatos's heart. Evidence to confirm his worst anxieties, beyond simply knowing that what he once knew to be true no longer is. He needs to calm down. It isn't the end of the world not to know what's coming next.

Is it?

Barbatos nods obediently, forcing his own reservations away. He will put his trust in Lord Diavolo. He wouldn't have chosen to serve him if his judgments weren't sound. He has faith in his prince -- he must.

"As you wish, Young Master."

Solomon looks wordlessly between them, letting his troubled silence hang in the air.

This is a mistake, and he knows it. And he knows Barbatos knows it too. But the butler avoids meeting his gaze.

Lord Diavolo, kind and judicious ruler as he is, is the one Barbatos has chosen to devote his life to, is the closest friend Barbatos has ever had. But it is the eyes of King Solomon the Wise who can see through him.

And he does not wish to be seen through. Not now, with all these anxieties weighing so heavily on him. The weight of all that he knows -- and all that he doesn't, for once.

--

"You said you would always be on his side. I'm asking whether you're really prepared to keep that promise."

"Of course," comes the answer, unquestioningly firm and so unperturbed that he doesn't even glance up from his work.

 "I wonder..."

Barbatos fixes a sharp stare upon the eldest of the demon brothers, who finally sets his pen down and narrows his eyes. "What is it you're getting at?"

Barbatos's expression remains unchanged as he thinks on how to formulate his words. If Lucifer could only convince him of his conviction of loyalty to the prince, perhaps these worries in his mind could be laid to rest. But whether the former angel realizes it himself or not, he has been changing. If Barbatos's suspicions are correct, Lord Diavolo will need the Lucifer's aid very soon. And unfortunately, he's no longer certain that such aid will be so easily given.

Unfortunately, he's no longer certain of a lot of things recently.

"If taking the Young Master's side meant hurting those closest to you, would you still do it?" the butler asks more pointedly. When Lucifer doesn't respond immediately, he continues, "If it really came down to that, I wonder if you could bring yourself to take his side...I imagine the old you really would be on his side always, just as you said. But is the new you capable of something like that? You're more gentle now than you used to be. You even exude a certain kindness...and love."

Lucifer only glares back suspiciously, anxious but unsure what exactly Barbatos is trying to say. Even after all these centuries working together, Diavolo's exceedingly loyal steward has never been an easy one to read.

"There was a time when you were known as 'the morning star,' and admired by all. People claimed that just a glimpse of your bright white wings and ruby red eyes could take one's breath away...now you've begun to slowly revert back to the way you were then. You've changed," Barbatos continues, a hint of something almost like an accusation in his voice. "And it started when the human first arrived."

He sees Lucifer's breath catch for a second at the mention of you, just a tiny pause, imperceptible to anyone else. The Devildom prince's right-hand man isn't known for giving away his weaknesses so easily. But then, Barbatos would not be the same prince's ever-present steward if he were not also sharp enough to notice.

He's seen how the former angel looks at you, and how he rushes home from their often late-running work more frequently these days, muttering excuses of needing to get back for dinner with his family. He's always loved his family, of course; Barbatos knows that. But this new affection, how he's been with you, it's...different. More unpredictable. More volatile.

His pulse quickens, voice steady despite his anxiety as he reaches his point. "But for the Young Master, and for the Devildom...is that really for the better?"

If Lucifer would only deny it. If he would only argue that any changes in this past year have been minor, that he's as loyal to Lord Diavolo as ever. For Barbatos, ever smiling, ever calm, full of steady reassurances that they are on the right path -- well, the demon with control over time itself could really use some reassurance himself right now. He would really like for Lucifer to tell him that he's wrong. For him to say that Barbatos is overreacting, or has misread things, or that everything is fine.

But he doesn't. He doesn't even try to. Instead, he's quiet, struggling with what the butler has just suggested. "Are you saying that there will come a day when I have to choose between them and my brothers on one side, and Diavolo on the other?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that's definitely going to happen, but..." Barbatos trails off, his chest feeling tight. It's not quite fear, or so he tells himself.

But if the strength of your sway has been powerful enough to throw the future into this degree of disarray...if your presence, your influence, has been so strong even to pull Lucifer from fate...

Barbatos forces the rising dread away, out of his voice, out of his mind. "The possibility exists that you really will be forced to make a choice like that someday. I thought perhaps it was in your best interest to be prepared for such an event...that's all I'm trying to say."

Now that he's said this much, however, Lucifer begins to rise from his chair with alarm. "So, does that mean that--"

"I'm afraid I've said a bit more than I should," Barbatos interrupts, before the other demon can finish the question. "I apologize for disturbing you...I know you're busy. Have a pleasant evening, Lucifer."

With that, he hurries out of the room without a single glance back to the former morning star, who is left to settle uneasily back into his seat.

Future, Anew

"They will need to sever the pacts. It's that, or the Ring of Light may be able to contain it...but it's been lost to history, as you know, so it's not really an option," Solomon explains. "It's going to be tough on the brothers, and...I'm sure they'll be upset as well. But it's the only way."

The sorcerer's expression is solemn, but there's a relief in his face. He has never liked showing weakness around his demonic companions, but for the past few weeks, his stress has been clear to everyone. Now it's finally been lifted.

There is a way. A way to fix things. A way that won't involve you getting hurt.

In an odd sense, Barbatos is relieved too. Severing the pacts -- as Solomon said, it's going to be hard on you and the brothers. But it's a way to end this. A way to stop the power you have, a way to undo all of the damage.

If that's the case, perhaps this has all been something like a bad dream. All of these recent events, twisting time into new shapes and leaving the future unknown to him -- perhaps they would simply stop. The power you have over it could simply be released. You would leave the Devildom, your connections broken, and he'll never have to worry about you again.

Then, fate could be set right again. Fate could be fate again. Familiar, comforting, consistent.

That's what he wants...he thinks.

He thinks so.

And yet...

There's something about the way you smiled so cheerfully after your exams. How brightly your face lifted after the stress, the relief and delight reaching to the very corners of your eyes as you heard the results. Something so honest and innocent -- while he can hardly remember ever being either of those things. It sticks to him, burbling its way to the front of his mind just once in a while, a couple times a day.

He'll never see that on you again after this. He'll never see you again after this.

But it's for the best. Everything can be set right again. Fate can resume its course at last.

Yes, that's what matters -- fate. The security of it, the preservation of it. Everything else...doesn't matter. It's all inconsequential, in the end. You weren't meant to matter, and after this, you wouldn't again. And that is fine. It is how it is meant to be.

Barbatos tells himself this, as a deep sorrow presses heavily upon his chest.

--

He feels it before he hears about it -- balances shifting, the future in flux.

You'd had the dagger in hand. Things had almost turned out tragically. But Barbatos can tell the instant it all comes crashing to a stop.

It's a good thing, the ideal outcome -- Lucifer alive, his memories restored, you unharmed, your pacts intact, and your power under control so that the realms are now safe. And in some way, without even looking, Barbatos can feel that things have settled. A change in fate -- but it is stable again.

So why does his heart still speed up every time he looks at you?

The question plagues him as he moves about the party, irresistibly drawn towards watching you drift from demon to demon, all of them clamoring for your attention. Even Lord Diavolo seems thoroughly enamored with you recently.

Is that what he is, too? Enamored? Is that why?

You catch him watching you once, mid-spin as you're dancing with Leviathan -- deep orbs of chartreuse that seem to drink in the light around them without reflecting any back. For that split second, you feel like there's something almost hypnotic about them, like you could slip right into that darkness and never find your way out. You're not even sure you'd want to.

For that one tiny moment, he can feel it in his chest -- he wouldn't want you to either.

But then, before you know it, the third brother whirls you back around, and you're laughing, and dancing, and having a good time in the present again. Not only the brothers in fact, but even Solomon and the angels too, are passing you back and forth amongst themselves, asking for dance after dance, and it's as though the bright candle lights all over the room wash the darkness right out as you twirl in their warm glow.

As he resumes his hosting duties, Barbatos considers trying to step in too, perhaps get a longer moment together. Might it be worth trying? Would he even know what to say, if he got his chance?

He's not sure. You've been only a crisis, an unpredictable catastrophe, until now. Amidst all the swirling of time around you, your mysterious power to pull everyone's fates into your own, you nearly brought about a collapse of all three worlds -- in every timeline.

So he's never really had a chance to just...talk to you.

Maybe it's time he did.

The next time your eyes meet, he finds himself making his way over before he has a chance to decide. His heart is ringing in his head as he taps you on the shoulder and extends a hand.

"Excuse me...might I have this next dance?"

A Dream of You

Your first date with Barbatos is sweet, if simple -- and if you even call it a date. He does, at least.

He dithers about asking you for longer than he'd like to admit. His duties keep him busy, and after all, you have enough suitors around you without him stepping in. Knowing that, it may actually be more considerate to you not to ask, he thinks.

He owes it to Lord Diavolo that it happens at all.

The prince, for his part, is more observant than most give him credit for. He has had Barbatos at his side for most of his life now -- and though it's still only a relatively short life so far, by demonic standards, it's certainly been more than long enough to notice how his butler changes just a little bit whenever you're around.

He rather likes that shift in Barbatos. His steward is too serious, and he works too hard. It's a perfect excuse to push him into a little break.

So, he invites you to the castle to join him for tea, to chat about how things are going with your exchange program experience. It's been almost two full years already -- have you gotten to travel much? He's delighted to see how hard you've been working on your studies at RAD, but the Devildom is so much more vast than just this city, you know. He'd love for you to see more of the realm, if you ever get the chance. There's this one wonderful little town in particular, a ways out of the city. There are such beautiful roses that bloom there at just this exact time of year, dotting the whole place with red and pink, and blanketing the whole town with the gentlest sweet aroma. And they make the most wonderful tea out of those flowers! One of his favorites, in fact. Why, speaking of it, would Barbatos mind putting on a pot of it now? -- knowing, of course, that they had run out just days ago for a recent garden party for the nobles.

"I'm terribly sorry, My Lord. I'll need to purchase fresh supplies soon. I know of one shop where it can be purchased, but it's a little far..." Barbatos notes the mischievous triumph in his master's face when your own lights up with envy at the mention. Of course he knew the butler wouldn't be able to ignore it when you're looking at him so imploringly. "If you're interested, would you like to accompany me?"

"Yes, please!" you answer immediately, eyes glittering almost as much as your soul.

"That sounds lovely," the prince agrees, and that settles it.

You meet Barbatos at the train station three days later, early if not so bright in this ever dark realm, and he leads you to your seats with a chuckle. Despite having been in the Devildom so long already, you're pretty clearly excited about the trip, looking this way and that as you board.

"Ah, I imagine you haven't had many opportunities to ride the Devildom railway before? It will take a few hours to reach our destination, so let's enjoy the scenery in the meantime," he says.

You nod eagerly and settle into a quiet peace together, looking outwards. Actually, it's almost a wonder your human eyes can see much through the dark sky beyond the windows at all, though the blazing lights shining off the train certainly help. Barbatos glances at you every once in a while as you ride, smiling softly to himself each time you gasp at a new sight passing by. But he can't blame you -- Lord Diavolo was correct, it's beautiful the whole way there.

The view of the city gives way soon enough to fields of tall red grass, crimson as blood, yet glistening gently with dew. Once in a while, trees dot the horizon, tight clusters of red and orange against the deep darkness of the sky, broken up from time to time by stops at progressively smaller towns. Then, after several hours, the scarlet plains surrender instead to wide swaths of flower fields, full of blushing red and pink dots as far as the eye can see. Another short while after that, a tiny hamlet comes into view, just as speckled in roses.

You practically bolt off the train when it arrives at your stop, before realizing that you don't actually know where you're going. Still, the scent of hellfire roses reaches you from the moment you step out, and you follow your nose out to find some of the flowers themselves. Barbatos chuckles quietly again, catching up with you soon enough. He'd normally be more bothered about someone rushing off and not thinking things through -- but from you, somehow, he finds it sort of charming.

For someone who has caused so much turmoil to the universe, it's...sweet, in a way. Unaware of your own pull, blissfully oblivious to the extent of your own power. Solomon may have told you that your powers are on par with his own now, but watching you, Barbatos gets the feeling that nothing has changed at all. Maybe it almost hasn't. Or at least, he'd have liked to believe that, if he didn't absolutely know otherwise.

"Shall we?" he says, holding out a gracious hand, and his pulse speeds up so fast when you take it that it's almost dizzying -- though he doesn't show it, of course.

He leads you through the streets and into a small but impressive shop, packed with interesting things inside -- not the least of which is a whole wall of rare teas at the far end of the place, all loose-leaf in massive canisters with a slender clear window to offer a peek of their contents. In front of it, employees carefully weigh and hand-pack each order for the handful of other customers inside.

On the opposite side of the store, colorful boxes line the shelves, each brightly announcing various local specialties in perfect souvenir packaging. Pink and red ribbons decorate each one, with a few even folded into delicate rosettes.

Meanwhile, glass cases fill the center with rows and rows of sweets in all shapes and sizes, each with a shiny placard detailing the name of the chef who created them, their ingredient sources, and their recommended tea pairings.

It's no wonder Barbatos likes this place, far from the city though it may be.

Amused at your wide-eyed excitement at everything, he leaves you to wander the store as he heads straight for the tea wall. It ends up taking two employees and the owner to gather and weigh everything he requests, and when you join back up with him, he makes sure to order a bit extra of that Hellfire Rose blend so you can have some too.

"Won't that be a little pricey?" you ask curiously, nervously catching a glance at the posted price.

"The value far outweighs the price," he simply smiles back. "You can share it with the other members of the House of Lamentation. I'm sure Lucifer and Satan would appreciate this wonderful blend with you."

Just as he's about to finish up with his order, another blend catches his eye, one he's never seen here before -- Vortex Paradox.

"Ah, is this a new blend?" he inquires, pointing it out.

The owner perks up upon seeing the blend in question. "Yes! You truly do have a fine eye, sir. Oh, it's a lovely blend. We fused different white and green teas, you see, which turned out with quite the surprisingly deep flavor, like a black tea, and yet it's also still light and sweet. It can be confusing for tea connoisseurs, but it kept drawing me back in -- just like tea leaves swirling to the center of a cup. Hence the name, you see."

Barbatos glances surreptitiously at you -- just as disorienting, yet you too seem to always draw him back in. He keeps catching himself thinking about you lately, even now that all the crises have been resolved. "Perhaps I'll buy this for my own enjoyment," he muses with a wry smile, heart skipping a beat as he takes the bag.

Thanking the staff, he pays for the collection of teas, and surprises you by paying for the things you picked up as well: two boxes of souvenir snacks for Beel, beautiful rosette cakes for Asmo, a baggie of cat-shaped cookies for Satan, and a box of rose-flavored chocolates for yourself. Then, you go to dinner together afterwards, and after that, it's back towards home -- with one quick stop for a photo, at the demon's request.

"I don't have many opportunities to spend time with you. After all, you're usually surrounded by those lively brothers. In other words, today has been a rather special day for me," he explains. "It's a pity that such an enjoyable time must come to an end, but we have people waiting for us back home..."

He's a bit surprised himself, to find that for the first time, he's not quite wanting to return to the castle and its prince just yet, despite what he'd just said. Just like that day at the party, there's an odd impulse in him to wrap you up in his arms and not let go.

But you do indeed have people waiting for you, and he as well.

So he doesn't. He settles for a photo, then leads you back to the train station, watching over you as you fall asleep on the way back, exhausted from the excitement of the day. With the various souvenir gifts you'd gotten the brothers, your pile of purchases is almost as tall as his own stack of supplies for the castle, he notes to his amusement, and he carries both collections off the train when it pulls back into the city, regardless of any protests from you.

"Thank you for today," you smile brightly at him when he hands your things back at last, before you split off from each other to head home. "Even if uh, heh, I guess I was only accompanying you for an errand, huh? But I really enjoyed myself, so thanks for letting me come along!"

"Not at all. The pleasure was mine for your company."

As you wave goodbye and turn to leave, there's that strange tightness in his chest again.

--

"Asmo, wait--"

You reach for his arm to try to stop the Avatar of Lust from running off, but he's zipped away in search of moisturizer already, leaving you with Barbatos, who is presently dressed as a teal bat.

Honestly, he can't understand Asmodeus at times like this -- it will take longer for him to go and come back than it would to simply check for the others and return inside.

But then, he's also not complaining about a little alone time with you...

Though you had taken that trip together to buy tea, a few months have already passed, and between magic training under Solomon and now these sorcerer trials, you've been so busy that the butler hasn't really had much chance to even see you. And even when he has, it's not as though he could easily ask you on another date when the brothers are so often hanging around.

Sighing after Asmodeus's turned back, you direct your attention back to the remaining demon and give him a slightly awkward smile, trying to make conversation. "So...nice weather, huh?"

Ah. Of course. He supposes you haven't actually really talked with each other much still, despite his growing infatuation with you. And although he's had his eye on you for a while now -- how could he not have, after all that's happened? -- as a butler often stepping away into the background, it's to be expected that he might not have caught yours in return. Without the excitement of new sights all around to keep your attention, perhaps it's natural you wouldn't know what to say to him.

He gives you a small, reassuring smile. "Do you find it awkward being alone with me? You shouldn't feel obligated to come up with something to talk about. Nor is there any need to feel uneasy around me." After all, he's happy just to be beside you here.

You don't look convinced, though, or perhaps you just aren't able to enjoy the silence with him. In any case, you peer at him, looking like you'd still like to say something.

Or, if he dares hope -- maybe you'd also like to get to know him better?

"What do you think of Lucifer and his brothers?" you blurt out finally.

Not a question he'd been expecting. Still, he obliges without missing a beat. "As long as you're just watching them, they're an enjoyable group, and never boring. But they can sometimes cause trouble, and can be a nuisance. I suppose that's a fair way of putting it. To be completely honest, I wish they would refrain from involving the Young Master every time they get into some sort of trouble."

You give him an understanding nod in the silence that ensues, though you look like you aren't exactly sure how to respond. You're much closer with the brothers than he is -- probably why you'd asked the question. So, maybe you just aren't comfortable expressing that affection for them around him?

Trying to lighten your mood a little, he adds, "For his part, the Young Master seems to like being involved, which is the source of many headaches for me."

That earns him a small smile from you, just short of a laugh, and to his relief, you seem to relax a little bit. "Then...what do you think of Diavolo?"

"He is my master, and I devote myself fully to his service, as is my duty. The Young Master is the very reason for my existence now. Does that answer your question?"

You can't help but giggle this time, thrown off by his unexpectedly serious answer. "Yeah, I guess it does."

Both of you fall silent again after that. It's clear on your face that you have another question on your mind, as your gaze focuses intensely on him, and his pulse quickens at what it might be. But despite your earlier attempts at conversation, for some reason, you don't ask this one. You look almost too nervous to ask.

He's curious what's on your mind. But Asmodeus will be returning any moment now, and if you aren't comfortable saying it, then he supposes he ought to leave it alone. Carefully, he suggests, "Perhaps I could ask you some questions this time?"

"Oh! Of course," you agree immediately, the apprehension dropping from your face in an instant. How strange, to relax more when handing the reins to a demon. "What do you want to know?"

How you, a random human with no magical powers of their own, pulled fate to you.

How you pull everyone around you into your orbit, like gravity pulling planets to the sun.

How you seem to pull him to you, too.

How you're so oblivious to that pull you have over him.

But, of course, he doesn't ask any of those things.

Instead, he opts for simpler questions, more along the lines of what you'd asked him -- how do you feel about the brothers, about the angels? You answer simply, and he nods along as you speak. You're fond of them; you're fond of everyone. Of course you are. He did ask, but it wasn't as though he didn't know that already.

Unsure what else to say from there, he begins to turn his gaze back towards the manor to check for Asmodeus's return, when you blurt out, "You're not going to ask me how I feel about you?"

That catches him off-guard.

"Well, outside of the Young Master, I've never been interested in others' opinions of me, you see," he responds, then pauses. That might have been true before, and it might have been the truth for millenia. But as you stand directly before him, looking him in the eyes, can he honestly say that he doesn't care what you think of him? "But as long as we're on the subject, would you mind if I inquire? What do you think of me?"

You don't hesitate. "I like you."

His heart skips another beat.

"...My goodness. I must say, I'm honored."

Your eyes are locked on each other as you both let that blunt confession hang in the air for another moment, before he opens his mouth to speak.

"Guys, heeeeeelp!" comes the cry from Asmodeus instead.

--

"Hey Barbatos, I just passed this really interesting antique store while I was in town, full of skulls, and taxidermy, and all kinds of stuff. And, I was wondering...would you maybe like to check it out with me tomorrow? As a date?"

It is, perhaps, a bit ironic to suggest visiting an antiques and oddities shop to a demon almost as old as the universe itself -- and even more so, one in the human realm, where the wares are generally only a couple centuries at most, or assorted "demonic" paraphernalia with no actual connections to the Devildom at all. But when he receives the call from you, he doesn't question it at all.

Three weeks have passed already since you told him, point-blank, that you like him, yet neither of you has had a chance to speak about it again since. So if you're inviting him on a date now?

Well, he's certainly not going to say no.

He waits for you at a nearby cafe the next day -- his choice of meeting spot -- and he's there with two paper to-go cups of freshly brewed tea when you arrive.

"The owner here is a recent friend of mine," he explains, holding one of the cups out to you, "and we thought it'd be interesting to exchange blends sometime. As it happens, I realized it was quite close to the shop you mentioned, so I thought I'd come by today. Now, you've arrived just in time for this one to have cooled to the perfect temperature, so please enjoy it."

"Wow, thank you!" you exclaim, taking a sip. He's right -- it's just cool enough not to scald your tongue, with the perfect amount of lingering heat to lift the fragrant notes of persimmon and pomegranate to your nostrils. The warm sweetness lingers on your palate, echoing the gentle warmth of his fingers as he takes your hand to walk.

As the two of you approach the antiques store, he can see right away why you thought to invite him in particular. The entire shopfront, from the trim of the windows and door to the severe brick exterior, is pure black, standing at a stark contrast from the rest of the street. A soft, eerie teal light glows entrancingly from a crystal ball in the window, resting upon a backdrop of carefully draped black velvet, beckoning passersby to come stare into its depths.

Above the door, the deep toll of a bell rings out in welcome as you walk in, accompanied by the distant echoing of children laughing further inside. He chuckles; it's clearly meant to be creepy, but as a demon, he finds it so terribly curious what humans consider to be unsettling. He might have expected the joy of the young to be more enjoyable to human ears.

The interior of the shop, it turns out, is fairly massive, consisting of several additional rooms with more varied theming beyond the all-black furniture and all-black walls at the entrance. One room mimics the feeling of an old laboratory littered with skeletons and various scientific implements, while another has dried flowers and taxidermy butterflies scattered all around a garden-like space. Another still is laden with colorful crystals and rocks gleaming alongside elaborate displays of antique jewelry.

He looks around with mild curiosity as you browse. Most of the occult merchandise is kitschy if not outright fake, but he keeps an eye out nevertheless for things he thinks you might like. As you wander the rooms, you call his attention over to a few things as well -- old timepieces, vintage cooking utensils, the occasional demonic-looking cryptid skull which he invariably assures you is certainly not from any actual creature of the Devildom.

"Ah, but this one here..." A small block of amber catches his eye, containing what appears to be a preserved moth with an extra pair of wings. "I believe this little one may actually be a moirae moth. How interesting to see one that's made its way to the human world...old Devildom mythology suggests that these creatures once produced the threads of silk that three fairy sisters weaved into the kismet tapestry. Moirae moths can be identified by their six wings, as you can see here -- one for each hand of fate."

Barbatos passes the fossil over to you, and you tilt your head at it slightly as if puzzling over something, then look back up at him. "Shouldn't you of all demons know if that myth is true or not?"

"Oh? What do you mean?"

"Well...you can see the past, present, and future, right, Barbatos? And you said there are infinite timelines...so wouldn't that mean there's no such thing as fate?"

He blinks in surprise.

"Yes, there are indeed infinite timelines. But...perhaps it may be more apt to compare fate to a braid, rather than a tapestry. There are places, certain events, where the timelines converge and meet before splitting off again. For example, I knew even before I met him that I would make a pact with Solomon, as it is true in every timeline. Though, to a human such as yourself, those events would normally be so far apart that they may never touch your life at all."

"Oh. Hmm...like what? What was the last one?"

Another blink, and he can't help but chuckle a bit in response this time. You really never cease to surprise him. With how much that very fate had changed since you'd first arrived in the Devildom, the question is a startling reminder that you don't in fact have any idea how much impact you've really had on time and the universe.

"You."

"Me?" You're the surprised one this time, mouth agape with disbelief. "How -- I -- wasn't I just some human you guys dragged into the exchange program?"

"You were," he agrees. "And then you weren't."

You look even more confused now, for good reason. "Because you picked the 'true' timeline?"

"No, it was not my doing. I merely combined the timelines where you existed in the Devildom. However, something shifted such that you started appearing even in timelines that were originally not your own, and thus, you created a new event of fate. Though, even I do not know exactly how," he admits.

You place the fossil back onto the table, looking deep in thought, and Barbatos immediately regrets telling you all that.

"Ah, I'm afraid I must apologize. This was supposed to be a pleasant, casual day out together, and I've given you such a heavy topic to dwell on. Shall we look in that room next?" he asks, trying to direct your attention back to lighter matters.

From there, you resume your browsing together, looking at the various oddities and each picking up a couple small trinkets, but he can tell you're distinctly distracted now.

Just as the two of you are about to leave, suddenly you stop and turn around. "Wait here, actually. There's one more thing I want to run back and get."

You dash back inside before he can respond, leaving him flustered at the entrance, and return back after a moment, your spirits looking higher again.

"Were you able to find what you went back for?" he inquires, looking at you curiously, but you're already stuffing whatever it was into your pocket, out of sight.

"Yep! Sorry about that!" you answer brightly, seemingly happy to keep it a secret. Instead, you grab his hand and almost drag him along with you, heading back down the way you'd first come. "You said you're friends with the owner of that cafe earlier, right? Come on, I'm feeling kind of hungry, so let's get a snack or something."

Surrendering, he decides not to pry any further, settling for sipping on another cup of tea and sharing a slice of chocolate pear cake at your behest. Once in a while, he notices you fidgeting with it again in your jacket pocket. Still, it remains just out of his view.

Perhaps it's a gift for one of the others, something that you thought that one of the brothers might like. There were several items inside that seemed right up Satan's alley. In any case, he supposes that as long as you're no longer looking weighed down by the earlier conversation, it's for the better -- even if there's an unmistakable twinge of jealousy in his chest at the thought.

So, it's to Barbatos's surprise when, as you say your goodbyes for the day afterwards, you pull the object back out of your pocket and slip it into his hand. The moirae moth from earlier stares emptily up at him from inside of its amber encasing, its translucent wings gleaming in the sunshine now that you're out of the shop's dim lighting.

"Actually," you smile sheepishly, "I went back to get this for you. I, um, was thinking about what you said. About me creating a new fate. I thought you should have something that creates fates too. Well, I guess you're almost like the most powerful demon ever though, so you don't really need some moth to--"

In that moment, you're sparkling again, and he's tempted for so much more than just your soul.

He pulls you into a kiss. No pause to question it, no holding back out of politeness -- though he is relieved when you kiss him back.

You taste like chocolate cake and persimmon tea, and you send his heart racing.

And this time, that's a good thing.

(A/N: This is the "happy ending" point. If you want this story to end sweetly and happily, just leave here!! This is a perfectly good place to stop! Because the next chapter is the final chapter and it is not a happy, neat, fluffy, sweet kind of ending. You've been warned!)

Certainty

Barbatos had thought that things were fine now. That, full of surprises as you were, things were stable now. You hadn't been fated, and then you were -- and then you were, together.

And that was the end of it, he thought.

It wasn't. And now, here he stands, opening a portal for his pact-mate to follow you to who-knows-when in time.

There's a dread pounding in his chest, an odd powerlessness he's rarely ever felt.

Solomon nods at him before stepping through, and then he's gone.

Barbatos can't follow.

Control over time, all this immense power -- hadn't Leviathan called him the Most Powerful of All Beings? Hadn't you, too? And yet, he can't follow. It's too close to another, past version of him. He is powerful. That's exactly what makes it too dangerous for two of him to exist in the same time and space.

So he can't follow. But that doesn't make him want to any less.

He sits down, feeling as though the air has been squeezed out of his chest, drowning in anxieties of possibilities and impossibilities.

Someone who has the power to change fate, suddenly flung far into the past -- and here he is, left behind, unable to do anything about it.

This is what you've always been -- unpredictable, uncontainable.

He shakes his head, trying to clear the helpless thoughts from his mind. If there is one thing he knows now, one unshakeable, undeniable fact, it's that you are even more powerful than fate.

Your connection transcends time.

You will find your way back to each other.

#wow we actually got this done in time for the actual bday #the art makes more sense once you finish reading it lol #we call this 'collaboration' -- it started from the same prompt! #obey me barbatos #om! barbatos #om! barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos x mc #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me #obey me! #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me nightbringer #omnb #obey me fic #obey me fanart #happy birthday barbatos #writings #mod cosmos doodles #mod chaos in the devildom