#i have confined him to the jar

[mellohd]

AHHH MY POSTAL DUDE PLUSH AND TSHIRT CAME!!!

i had to tuck him in nicely to get his voicelines to work smh

#i have confined him to the jar #postal #postal 2 dude #postal plush #IT ALSO CAME WITH A FREE STICKER SO THATS SUPER COOL

[brain-rot-central]

Up In Smoke

A/N: Basically he smokes weed and has a really good orgasm. That's the whole fic. Very self-indulgent, but whatever. Hope you all enjoy!

Rating: light E Word count: 3.5k Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Fem!Tav Warnings: 18+, dubcon for being under the influence, drug use, alcohol mention, breeding kink, praise kink, male masturbation, mutual pining, trauma mention, intimacy issues

Summary: The gang finally reaches Baldur's Gate. Astarion isn't handling it so well, knowing he's so close to Cazador again. Tav makes an innocent suggestion that he go down to the shops and find something that can help relieve some of his pent up anxiety.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leans over to further inspect the small clear jar within his hands. Inside, a dried cluster of pungent flowers resides. Their faint smell lingers about the small tavern suite. He shakes the jar slightly, following how each bud bounces between the glass.

They've finally made it to Baldur's Gate, and gods what a relief. Not to say he didn't enjoy getting his hands messy, but there was never quite enough he could do to dig out the dirt caked within his nails. He dreamed of soaking in a hot bath for weeks.

Yet, being back in Baldur's Gate also means something more sinister.

It means he’s closer to confronting him.

His old master.

Cazador.

He panics the night before, screaming whenever he'd slip into trance. Horrid memories play behind his eyes. He feels paralyzed within them – the feeling of a hand closing around his neck, a dagger slicing into his back, shackles around his arms and legs, unable to move within the confines of the coffin he lay in for a year.

Tav wakes him eventually, holding him close within their warm embrace. She lulls him back to sleep until he slips into a more peaceful trance. When they awake the next morning, Tav proposes he go down to the shops and look for a sleep aid, or something that could potentially help quell the overwhelming sense of anticipation building within him.

“I only wish for you to be at peace,” she suggests. “You deserve it. Especially now.”

So, he does exactly that.

Perusing the various carts and shops, Astarion inevitably finds an apothecary. He's been to this one before; many, many years ago. He doesn't quite remember the shopkeeper, but feels as if it's the same woman, just now older. 

She's nice enough, giving a warm greeting as he enters the store. The smell of patchouli incense fills his nostrils and almost instantaneously Astarion feels some of the tension melt off his shoulders. 

He explains, in very vague terms, what it is he's experiencing to the shopkeeper. She holds out a glass jar filled with herbs. When he raises a questioning eyebrow, she clarifies, “This is known to help calm even the most fussy of ogres.” She smiles, nudging the jar closer to him. “Go on, take it. You won't regret it.”

With a quick nod of his head, Astarion pays for the herbs and dips out of the shop, stashing the small jar within a pocket of his armor. He reconvenes with Tav and the others; they're to address some sort of problem with a wizard prodigy at Sorcerous Sundries. He sighs audibly as Gale rambles on about the various tomes and wealths of knowledge the store holds. Gale rarely ever lets up when this sort of mood takes him. He briefly wishes he had a scroll of Silence to cast over the wizard.

With the pompous brat slain, the crew returns to the Elfsong Tavern to share a hot meal. Astarion nurses a glass of wine while the others share various plates of grilled meats, vegetables, and fish. Lae’zel offers him the drippings of her steak; he politely declines, though the smell causes his stomach to rumble. He simply chases the sensation away with more wine.

They return to their shared suite within the tavern. The party makes a joint decision that Astarion and Tav share the private room. They aren't the only two having relations, but they are the more… rambunctious couple. Both retire to the bedroom, Tav drawing a bath for herself while Astarion rests on the edge of the bed, as he is now, studying the small glass jar. 

He dares a quick whiff of the herbs, bringing the jar to his face. His face screws up tight, wincing at the offensive odor. “Smells like a godsdamned skunk,” he scoffs. He stares into the jar again.

Fool’s Tongue. 

He’s partaken before at the behest of a client. It was an important brokerage between Cazador and some far-off noble. There wasn’t much choice in the matter for Astarion. But yet, this encounter was a touch better than the others. To this day, Astarion is unsure if it was due to the drug or the man himself. He recalls the comforting embrace of the nobleman with slight fondness. At least the man tried. Not many others did.

Astarion reaches into the small satchel on his hip and pulls out a wooden pipe. He lifted it from Halsin earlier in the evening at dinner. The wood elf becomes soft once drink is involved, making him all the more easy to target. He’ll return it by morning, Astarion promises himself. He may even leave the druid a small token of appreciation for letting him borrow it, should this all work out.

Placing the pipe down onto the comforter, Astarion begins to unlatch his cloak. He lays the jar of herbs down next to the pipe and stands, letting his cape fall to the floor. He works on his armor next, until he’s down to his underthings. Bending down, he begins rummaging through his pack on the floor for his camp clothing. He slips them on, leaving his shirt untucked, and sits back down on the bed.

Astarion picks up the pipe and lays it between pressed-together thighs. It acts as a makeshift support, allowing him to open the glass jar of herbs and retrieve a single nugget. Closing the jar, he places it back down onto the bed, and begins breaking the herbs into smaller pieces to fill Halsin's pipe.

Raising the pipe to his lips, Astarion summons a small flame to the tip of his finger. He stares down the length of the pipe, mustering the resolve to continue. He hears Tav’s voice in his head, as well as that of the old shopkeeper. With a sigh, he brings his finger to the herb, pulling gently on the pipe until it begins to burn.

Smoke fills his lungs a bit too quickly, and he rips the pipe from his mouth. He coughs loudly and a bit dramatically, before finally taking a gasping breath in.

“Astarion!” Tav calls from the washroom. He can hear the sound of water sloshing around in a tub. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, darling!” he calls back. “Not to worry,” he adds in a mumble under his breath, mostly to himself. He surveys the contents of the pipe, bringing the mouthpiece to his lips once more. Again he summons a small flame to the herb, inhaling more shallowly this time as to not scorch the back of his throat.

He holds in the hit, leaning back onto the bed. Outstretching his arms he lets the pipe rest gently on the bed as he blows out the smoke. He coughs softly – better than the first time.

A few moments pass without so much as a sound. Astarion begins to wonder if perhaps the herbs are stale. It isn't until he rolls over that he notices the first sign.

The bed is soft. Inviting. Astarion is acutely aware of how the pillow top envelopes his form. He lays flat on his back again, sighing. His eyes slip closed. An unusual warmth rushes over him, tickling his skin. It feels like he's laying in the sun and suddenly he's transported back to the forest. To the morning after.

He remembers waking up to the morning sunlight bathing his skin. He wakes up slowly, slipping back into his leathers. Tav still sleeps; he moves as swiftly as possible to not wake her. She was beautiful, even then. Naive, yes. He didn't have the best of intentions. But, she was beautiful. And infuriatingly pragmatic.

Another sensation begins to light. Astarion doesn't recognize the feeling right away. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, a surge of heat rushing to his face. He swears his chest thumps with the beating of his undead heart. He stares into the lines of the ceiling, tracing the patterns of wood lining the wall. His eyes fall upon a knot; they slip closed again.

Tav straddles his lap while he lays out on the ground. Astarion’s hands hold her thighs, guiding her hips as she rocks back and forth over him. He travels up the expanse of her abdomen, passing over her navel and up to her swaying breasts. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in loose curls, his gaze continuing upward toward her face. Redded by the blush running across the bridge of her nose, her mouth hangs open in a silent gasp. She meets his gaze through heavy lids.

Astarion feels the flitter of a dormant ember ignite within his lower belly. His back arches off the bed as a gasp slips past his lips. This can’t be what he thinks it is… could it? No, certainly not. He’s surely lost the ability to feel this way without necessity. Without a performance. Without it being a bargaining chip of some kind.

A pulling behind his navel has his hips twitching in response and he feels warmth begin to pool between his legs. Gods, is he…

Aroused?

Is this truly unprovoked arousal that he feels? Astarion sees visions of Tav glistening after a bath; droplets of water sliding down tanned, freckled skin. He moans aloud and again his hips buck. His cock is beginning to stir, each rub against the confines of his leathers having him sliding his hands closer and closer to their waistband. He turns his head toward the direction of the washroom.

Astarion groans as his hand runs over the bulge in his pants and it dawns on him momentarily that it is, indeed his cock hardening at the thought of Tav naked. Her skin flushed from the warm water of the bath, hair wet, nipples pert, hips, thighs, cunt-

He's pulling his pants down quicker than he can manage, letting them pool around his ankles on the floor. He hisses as his fingertips brush the swollen length of his arousal, and he dares a quick glance between his legs. His cock has a reddish hue, similar to after he sups of Tav. It pulsates against his lower abdomen and he cautiously wraps a hand around his shaft.

It's not often he performs acts of pleasure upon himself. Usually his mind cages him off – scolds and berates him until he's too ashamed to continue. But with the influence of the Fool’s Tongue swimming within his consciousness, the voice is silent. The only thing Astarion feels is pleasure. Lust. Want. And openly; he openly wants to pleasure himself. And by the Gods, does it feel good.

He pulls up his shirt with the opposite hand to expose more of his abdomen and takes a few experimental jerks of his length. They're soft and slow; unhurried movements as he bathes in the pleasure rushing over his body. His eyes slip closed as he gives himself over to the sensation, hips bucking up each time his thumb passes his frenulum. Behind his closed lids he sees Tav again, kneeling between his legs, ready to take him within her inviting mouth. He moans wantonly as he focuses for a moment on his tip, trying to replicate the feeling of her suckling the head of him.

The door to the washroom opens, jolting Astarion from his thoughts. He makes no effort to cover himself, but instead waits patiently on the bed for Tav to discover the scene awaiting her. She exits the bathroom, running a towel through her hair, seemingly unaware of what has been occurring during her absence.

“I was thinking maybe we could mingle a bit with the others before calling it a night,” Tav suggests. She stands before the room's mirror, running a hand through her dampened locks. “How does that sound, Astar-” The rest of her sentence dies back in her throat as she observes him laying on the bed. “Oh,” is all she manages; a soft, strangled sound rising up from her chest.

He pants as he looks her over; she's wearing a simple, short beige dress. No brassiere, so her breasts fill the top of the dress naturally. It cinches at the waist with two drawstrings, while the rest flares out. The hem of the dress comes to right above her mid thighs, and Astarion swallows the sudden uptake in saliva pooling within his mouth. His cock twitches in his palm. “Y-you suggested I go to the shops,” he tries to explain. “Find something to help ease my trepidation.”

“I guess it was a success.” Tav replies, stepping closer. “I don't think I've ever seen you like this.”

Astarion catches a true blush rising to her cheeks as she studies him. As she stands before him, the scent of her arousal dances below his nose, and he groans. “It was, very,” he answers. “That d-dress is… nice,” he adds.

Tav smiles, stepping before him. “Is it?” she asks in a sultry tone. She grabs the hem of the dress and begins slowly pulling it up her thighs. “What about it do you like?”

Visions of her riding his lap flood his mind's eye. Astarion tosses his head back as he envisions taking her from behind, against the wall, on the floor – animalistic mating rituals between them both; rough, hard, fast. He can't help but suck in a sharp breath as he opens his eyes again to meet Tav’s gaze. He tries to answer her but no sound comes out.

With a smirk, she climbs onto the bed over him, hovering just above his cock. “What about the dress do you like, Astarion?” Tav reiterates. She's sure to leave her hips as far away from his hand as possible; she's aware of his intimacy issues, how delicate this situation is. She leans over him to place chaste kisses over his forehead. She smiles against his skin as he resumes tugging at himself with soft jerks of his hand.

“The convenience,” Astarion replies in a whisper. His desire is mounting, threatening to burn out of control unless release finds him soon. Tav laughs, and briefly drops her hips over the hand pumping his cock. They both moan as his knuckles brush between her slick, sending Astarion's mind reeling. “You're… you're n-not wearing-”

Tav nips gently at the pale elf’s ears, reveling in the instinctive bucking of his hips into her core. “No, I'm not,” she teases. She feels Astarion shudder beneath her and she licks the shell of his ear, moving quickly down to kiss the underside of his jaw. Tav brushes her center over his fingers again, this time deliberately passing over the tip of him.

He swallows thickly as a gasp escapes his parted lips. As hot as the thought of Tav riding his cock makes him, the shackles of his subconscious are threatening to yank his chain. “I can't, not all the way,” he pleads. Ghastly hands are threatening to enclose around the column of his throat. “Just this, please.”

Tav pulls away from him momentarily, her brow knit in concern. She studies his eyes – ruby red gems hooded over in lust. She nods, placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Just this, then,” she says reassuringly.

Astarion sighs in relief and continues stroking himself in earnest, knuckles brushing now and again against her sex. He groans as her arousal mingles with his, slickening the palm of his hand to create a luscious glide. “Gods, how I wish I could,” he groans out.

“Could what?” Tav teases. Her breasts are pushing against his chest as it heaves with labored breath. She returns attention back to his ears, licking along its shell to nip gently at the tip.

Astarion's eyes roll to the back of his head as his body convulses in pleasure. “T-take you,” he admits through a shuddered breath. He twists his hand over the head of his cock in a specific rhythm, pulling a guttural groan from the back of his throat. “I think about it often.”

“Do you?” Tav raises a hand to cup the back of his head. She leans over, bringing her mouth close to his ear. “So do I,” she whispers. “It's not fair, you know. Having experienced you prior. Only to be cut off and denied any more.”

“You're one to talk,” he replies. He stares up at Tav, his mouth hanging agape. “D-do you think it's any easier for me? To want so carnally, only to have to deny myself?” He slides a hand up her thigh to hold her waist, guiding her down onto his core. They both sigh at the sensation as he takes the same hand and now threads it through her hair, pushing their foreheads together. “To see how the others look at you, knowing I cannot yet claim you for myself. It's… maddening,” he breathes against her lips.

Tav sighs. “Yet, here I am… in your lap. And not theirs.” She captures his lips in a chaste kiss, though Astarion surges forward. She slackens her jaw to allow him better access; like a man starved he explores the warm cavern of her mouth, tongue intertwining with hers.

He breaks the kiss with a pull of her bottom lip. “I promise that one day I will,” he speaks against her lips. Astarion pumps himself faster, feeling the coil behind his navel wind tighter. “And when I do, you’re not to leave my bed for days.”

Tav pulls her head back, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Days?” she reiterates, feigning innocence. “Do you wish to mate me, Astarion?” 

His back suddenly arches off the bed, a gasp slipping past his lips. His knuckles brush against her sex again. “Yes,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Fully, properly, lavishly.” He's babbling now. Logic escaping him, replaced by a tempting carpet of depraved carnal lust that threatens to unravel at the seams.

Tav kisses him gently again. “Should I tell you a little secret?” she asks. She doesn't wait for a response before continuing. Sliding her face again to Astarion’s ear, she says quietly, “What if I were to tell you that you already have me?”

He blinks up at her in bewilderment. “H-how would that be?” he stammers. “I've barely done anything. I can hardly touch you without-”

“Because it's you,” Tav explains. “It's you I think of when I'm alone.” She shakes her head. “No one else.”

Astarion rushes forward again, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. “...The Gods truly made you just to ruin me,” he says, pulling away with a huff. He closes his eyes as he twists his wrist over the swollen tip of his length again, a soft sigh falling from his lips.

“Are you close?” She speaks softly to him, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his cheek. “Would telling you how good you are to me help?”

The coil winds tighter in his lower belly at her praise. He hums, cock twitching in his palm, pre-fluid now gathering at his tip. “A-almost,” Astarion stammers again. “M-my ears, touch them again, please.”

With a giggle, Tav dips her head into the crook of his neck, kissing along his skin leading up to his ear. She rubs at his other with her opposite hand, lavishing delicate attention to each of their tips. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are when you reach your peak, Astarion?” she pants into his ear. “The way your mouth hangs open in a silent gasp, how your eyes roll to the back of your head.” She watches him throw his head back, his hand picking up speed as he strokes himself. Tav dips her head again to his neck, nipping gently at the exposed column of skin.

“I'm going… if you keep, a-ah,” Astarion insists, breathing ragged. His chest is heaving, the influence of the Fool’s Tongue and overwhelming lust threatening to consume him. He's on the edge, right at the precipice, almost there, just a touch more-

Tav drops her hips over him again and he seizes, hips bucking wilding up to meet her. She latches onto his neck and sucks, hard enough that he knows a mark will be present by morning. Suddenly Astarion is falling over the cliff, mouth dropping open in a drawn out groan. His vision blanks, thick ropes of his release paint his lower belly as he jerks himself through the last of his orgasm.

She kisses the tip of his nose as she climbs off, picking her towel up from off the floor. Astarion lay on the bed panting, the room still spinning around him. As he comes to, he opens his eyes to meet Tav, who holds out the towel to him. “Did that feel good?” she asks, curiously.

He nods before replying, “Quite. I've used Fool’s Tongue before, but it was nothing like this.”

“Hmm,” she hums as he takes the towel from her. “Perhaps I should join you, next time?”

He huffs a quick laugh as he wipes the release of his belly, giving Tav a genuine smile. “That would certainly be something.”

#astarion #fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x fem!tav #my writing #astarion fanfiction #i lied I posted it now

[plasticferal]

i need matt shower sex, pls help a girlie out🙏🙏 also ur smut always eats so thank u

wet already | matt sturniolo.

authors note: thank you so much for requesting and your kind words i’ll cry. i hope you enjoy! it's short and sweet, kinda slutty kinda fluffy.

warnings: dom!matt, fem!reader, explicit language, light degrading but nothing crazy, self pleasure, unprotected sex and cream pie. reader discretion advised.

you rarely got the house to yourself. it was never quiet, or empty for that fact. all the times you crave to have matt is such an inconvenient time. he's either busy, or with his brothers.

it was long overdue for you to treat yourself. so finally having some alone time, you light a scented candle, let the bathroom room steam up with the hot rush of the shower water and strip off your clothes.

you close your eyes, envisioning matt. his hands roaming your naked, wet, body. his soft skin. his beard, a smirk on his face. instinctively you reach for the shower head, switching the water pressure and cooling the temperature, slowly bringing it between your thighs. being so consumed by the water hugging your body, and the music you starting playing, you don't hear matt's keys collide with the front door.

"y/n, baby?" you think you hear his voice, but the feeling of the strong, rushing water attacking your cunt has your knees buckling and grabbing at the tiled wall of the shower.

the water ripples on your clit and you envision matt's tongue between your legs, making you clench your core and hunch over, gasping for air. your eyes are clenched shut, flash backs being fuel to your euphoria. you let out a loud, shameless moan. you open your eyes mindlessly, and gasp at the sight of matt leaning against the door frame opposite of where you stand in the shower.

"fuck, matt" you sigh, pulling the shower head away.

“no, please. don’t stop on my account,” he raises his arms to either of his head with a bounce of his shoulders, and fixates his eyes on you.

"i didn't even hear you," you lower the shower head, feeling an instant flush of heat and your heart skip a beat.

"yeah but i think the whole neighbourhood can hear you," he has a smirk on his face, and his heavy eyes darken.

you feel like covering yourself from him, despite how many times he's seen you naked. he steps closer to the glass door, and starts sliding his white muscle tank over his head. it messes with his hair, letting it falling over his face.

"the boys didn't hear me, did they?" you follow his actions with your eyes, your feelings of serenity being overwhelmed with tension.

"they're not home," he brings his hands to his belt, and you hear the crisp sound of metal clinking as he undoes it. you swallow the lump in your throat as he pulls open the glass door and kicks off his shoes, passing them to the side.

you feel instantly relieved, shifting all of your focus on matt undressing. the moment he grabs at the hem of his boxers and shoves them down, stepping out of them, your mouth opens a jar, taking a deep breath in.

"so we can be as loud as we want." his strained voice is so much more clear the moment he steps into the confined space, facing you.

the water falling from above trickles over his face, and he spits it out when it travels down to his mouth. the look of his skin speckled with water drops that shine in the dimly lit room like diamonds has you speechless. he towers over you, and you're staring at him with anticipation. he grabs the shower head from your hand, yanking you toward his body.

"won't be needing this,” his tone sounds frustrated, but his words are somewhat sweet. there's always a bite to his tone when he's horny.

his hand reaches up and moves wet strands of your hair from your eyes, before he snakes his fingers around the back of your neck and pulls you forward. your breath shutters and your lips inch up toward him, begging for contact.

"couldn’t wait for me to get home, huh?" he grins at your sudden silence, loss for words more like it.

the closer he pulls you the more you feel his cock brush your thigh, and you reach between his legs and gently wrap your hand around it, stroking slowly. he sucks sharply through his teeth, looking down and jutting his hips forward into your palm.

he pushes your hand away from his dick and shakes his head in disapproval, and you groan at his self control. by self control you mean control. you already feel tonight is gonna be a 'what he says goes' kind of night.

"be good for me and turn around,” you sigh at his demand, abiding anyway.

you hear a plastic bottle pop open, the smell of your body wash filling the room and followed by the most surreal feeling of matt’s fingers massaging your shoulder blades.

"feel okay, baby?" his voice hovers over your ear, and you lean into his wet, warm chest.

he rubs his hands slowly over your biceps, dancing down your lower arms, massaging your neck and kneading his thumbs into your back. he's firm, but gentle. your eyes close and your shoulders drop their tension, giving into his touch completely.

“i like this,” you hum, feeling his mouth press a kiss onto your neck.

“rinse,” he speaks, stepping back to let you run yourself fully under the water. he adjusts the pressure, and temperature. as you’re washing the suds off your body, matt’s hands find themselves on your waist from behind, giving a squeeze.

“good girl,” he reaches around your body and trails his fingers down your stomach, his palm caressing every inch of the front of your body before he cups your heat.

you lean against him, wrapping a hand behind your head and reaching for his hair. his touch on your already throbbing clit has your knees weakening.

“matty,” you whine. he gives a small close mouthed moan into your ear, bucking his hips and semi-hard cock between your bare ass cheeks, just letting it rest against your skin.

with his left hand, he reaches up and cups your breast, squeezing hard. his thumb circles your nipple and his mouth peppers on your shoulders and neck. he leaves small bites as he stimulates your breasts and right hand between your leg taps your clit.

“you’re gonna take it from behind, aren’t you baby?” he nibbles at your earlobe.

“y-yes, please, anything,” you’re trying to grind into his palm, begging for more friction.

he presses you hard against the glass, your breasts making marks into the fog that turns the transparency clear. he bear claws your neck and forces your face against the glass too. he uses his free hand and yanks your hips backward so you’re entire body is stretched out, bent over and ass exposed fully for him.

“couldn’t fucking wait for me,” he talks to himself, repeating his earlier statement.

you hear the slushing sound of water and he strokes his own cock. the very faint reflection of him in the mirror ahead as his arm muscles tense with each rough and fast stroke.

“m’sorry, baby,” you beg for forgiveness. he pushes your face further into the glass and your hand prints slam against it, making a thud as the panel shakes.

knowing as much as he loves the sight of you making yourself quiver, it makes him feel like he needs to prove himself better. his touch will always better than a shower head, but you let him show you.

his hand dives in between your thighs from behind and he finds your entrance with the tip of his finger, lining up his cock.

“if you weren’t wet already,” he jokes, leaning over to kiss your lower back that’s now much closer to him.

he slaps his hard and full cock upwards against your cunt and your pussy is pleading for him, it’s hot and convulsing with each passing moment. you spread your legs further and really lean your body as much as you can to allow him full access from behind.

matt reaches up to bond his fingers with your wet hair, wrapping them up in his knuckles to control you fully.

you whimper at the feeling of him slowly stretch you out with his tip, pushing in. your mouth opens and you moan, trying to claw at the glass but your hands feeling useless, having no choice but to ball into a fist, or reach back to grab matt’s body, his ass, his slutty hips that are protruding forward and focusing intently on filling you. his shaft fits so perfect into your cunt and you can almost feel his cock curve up and hit your walls with the angle you’re at.

he thrusts you into the shower glass, pulling back, yanking your hair and thrusting deeply back with a loud slap. the water rushing over your bodies is spraying everywhere with each thrusting movement he throws into you from behind.

“fuuuuck,” he stretches his words, pulling you into him and absolutely hammering your pussy.

“grab the shower head, baby. show me what you got,” he speaks between each thrust he’s giving you, making it so hard to focus on straining for the metal piece. when you do, you hold it between your thighs where you watch his perfect cock slide in and out of you.

“sh-shit matt,” your words shake in your throat, and your arms are shaking as the spraying water on your clit washes the most euphoric feeling over you.

matt grabs your glistening breast from behind, arching his back over your body and the warm sticky feeling of his chest making contact with your back, continuing to fill you at a quick and furious pace. the sounds leaving his mouth alone could make you cum then and there.

“ngh, fuck, baby i’m gonna cum, fucking hard” he groans, and you feel his thrusts become sloppy.

you almost have the sensation to grind into the shower head but you push back into his cock instead. he squeezes your breast so hard you know he’s gonna leave little red finger prints.

“me too matty, so close” you cry out, banging on the glass so hard you’re shocked it hasn’t shattered. the steam is making it harder to breathe but you don’t care, you’re taking him fully and he’s giving it to you with everything he’s got.

the last hard, loud thrusts are where you both completely and utterly let go, filling the small room with moans and grunts. your stomach flutters and tightens and his cum fills your cunt as you feel him pull out, letting the shower head wash away what he’s released and then dropping it onto the tiled floor at your feet. his cum drips out of you and you shudder at the feeling.

"my pretty little cum slut," matt's fingers slide between your folds and rubs his cum between his fingers, spreading it all down your inner thighs.

your breath is shallow while matt’s hand in your hair guides you to straighten your posture, bringing you into his arms, letting you rest. he wraps his arms around you from behind, and you hug his hands to your chest.

“god it’s hot in here, and not just because of you” you know he’s talking about the literal heat, because yes, it’s disturbingly humid. a mix between your excessive movements and the hot water.

“yeah it is,” you kiss his wrist that sits just below your chin, giving a light laugh. water runs down your face, and you rub it from your eyes.

“round two on the bed?” he teases into your ear, and you can feel the smirk on his face growing as you throw your head back with a giggle. you flick water at him and he bites your neck in retaliation.

“i haven’t even washed my hair yet,” you half pout half smile.

“i’ll wash it for you. relax, baby” he completely folds the moment he hears the softness in your tone.

the moment you try to adjust your stance you feel your knees get weak. matt chuckles at your little wobble as you regain your balance, holding you up as you continue coming down for your high.

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 15

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I need this week to end.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The rest of your personal day is spent in the confines of your room. You hear your father below in a tantrum, working himself up as he blusters and stomps. Soon, the smell of cigarette smoke pervades the house. He's found his fix somehow.

You don't dare emerge. You hide behind a book you can't focus on as your eyes stray to the phone, over and over. You keep it off as you fear another miscue. You can already imagine Mr. Laufeyson isn't impressed by the disturbance.

Your sleep comes in shallow morsels. You awake to each creak and crack of the old house, the neighbours arguing through the wall, and the rustling of leaves outside the window. You surrender to your consciousness just as the sun comes up. You'll need to see what damage has been done before Leslie arrives.

The puzzle is overturned on the floor, the coffee table on its side. The wooden chair reserved for the nurse has a leg broken and the TV beams its blue screen around the room. You tidy up as best you can, putting the chair by the back door until you can figure out how to fix it.

The kitchen is more of a mess, cupboards open and a few dishes shattered across the tile. A jar of jam is smeared over the laminate counter top along with what you had left of the peanut butter reserved for your lunch. You sigh and toss the empty jars, wiping up the puddles of wasted food.

You brew a tea and sit on the front porch, paranoid that your father might rouse and come to taunt you some more. He's done it before, as if to spite your efforts. He trashes the place only to accuse you of being negligent. What did you ever do to make him hate you? Why does it seem like everyone you meet feels the same?

You finish the black breakfast blend and wash the cup. You creep upstairs to get dressed and wait on your bed until your bus is due. You flee with your work bag and a deep yawn you can't repress.

The commute is your rare chance at peace. You don't have to think as you look out the window and watch the amber headlights pass and the storefronts slowly flicker to life. The nicer houses rise as the streets turn suburban and fervent long swells in your chest. Why couldn't you live like this?

Why couldn't you be like those children running to get in the van with their schoolbags bouncing, their parents laughing at their excitement, or like the mother with her carriage, enjoying a lazy walk as the neighbourhood awakens?

Those things aren't for you. You shouldn't complain, someone always has it worse. You shouldn't pity yourself. Your mother died well before she was ever your age and your father is sick. You are healthy and you have a job. That's something, better than nothing.

You break the threshold of the Laufeyson estate, the gate whining and clanging shut. You hunch down and wind along the path, looking ahead of your feet and no further. You rub your eyes as you come to the back door and check the time. A bit ahead of schedule but he can hardly be unhappy about that.

You are careful in the low din of the house. It's deathly quiet as you leave your shoes on the mat and surpass the closet. As you near the kitchen, you hear a clink from within. You slow, padding quietly in an effort not to betray your presence. You keep against the wall as you resist the urge to peek inside.

"You like tea, no?" The voice wafts through, rippling through the still silence.

You cringe and clutch the straps of your bag. You lower your head and wet your lips. You inch towards the archway.

"Mr. Laufeyson, I don't mind tea," you answer.

"Very well," he takes down a second cup as the kettle boils softly.

"I've already had mine, but thank you, Mr. Laufeyson. I should get to work, the carpenter will be in today."

"You're welcome," he replies as he plucks out tea bags from a hexagonal tin and drops one in each mug. "You can stomach a second. I bought this tea in Tokyo a while back. I need to finish it before it goes stale."

You linger in the door. Is this some trick? Maybe it's pity? Had he really heard that pocket call? You hoped maybe he hadn't been able to hear past the fabric. You watch him as he puts the lid back on the tin. As usual, you can't read him.

What would he even think if he did hear? That you're even more pathetic than he believed?

"Come," he puts his hands on the counter with the undeniable demand.

You obey and cross to the other side of the counter. You teeter and look around awkwardly, not certain what to say or do. He drags his fingertips over the granite and leans weight onto them.

"Thank you for the t--"

"How was your day off--"

You both speak at the same time. You snap your mouth shut and give an apologetic flutter of your fingers. He seals his lips and hesitates, clearing his throat. 

"You said the carpenter is due," he redirects, "no doubt you'll have a busy day. Tomorrow, I want you to clear the schedule."

"Tomorrow? Yes, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Don't ask me why, you will know in due time."

"Understood," you take out the phone and make a note, your should hanging heavy on your elbow.

He waits. You don't say a word. The kettle pops and he turns to take it and pours the tea. He sets it back on the base and slides a mug closer.

"You're not curious?" He wonders.

"Like you said, I'll find out," you say, "thank you again."

"Five minutes for a good steep," he girds, "you will want the flavour to set."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you step closer as you pinch the handle and draw the cup closer.

"Mmm," he hums, rolling his shoulders back. "I had a question for you then." You look up and wait patiently, your eyelashes clinging with your fatigue, "was there some emergency yesterday?"

"Pardon?" You gulp.

"I saw that you called but couldn't make anything out," his cheek twitches, "but I wasn't sure if it was some mistake--"

"It was. Sorry--" you cover your mouth at your own abruptness, "it was an accident. I'm sorry."

"Ah," he nods as he considers you. Can he see through the lie? Does he even care?

"It won't happen again. I'm sorry to have bothered."

"Not bothered," he assures and takes the string of the tea bag, bobbing it up and down in the water, "I have other things to be bothered with, that's certain."

You cross your arms and sway, turning this way and that as you peer around. He didn't hear but you're still uneasy. He startles you as he moves smoothly around the counter. He approaches you and reaches to grasp the strap of your bag.

“Stay a while,” he insists as he tugs and you unfold your arms.

As he slides the strap down your arm, his other hand gently brushes your sleeve, just where the bruise smarts. The tender spot thrums and you wince, letting out a hiss. He hestitates as he places your bag on the counter.

His mouth opens and closes as if he can't think of what to say. You put your hand over the bruise and grimace.

“Did I–”

“No,” you interject, “ Thanks, that was heavy.”

“Ah, yes, well… it will take some time for the tea to cool.”

You shift, just a few inches away to face the counter again. He must be lying. He had to have heard everything yesterday, it's the only way to explain his behaviour. Somehow, you've managed to sink even lower, he must feel on top of the world.

🧹

Ronan arrives just after nine. You rush out to meet him, your tea only half-finished. As he shows you his plans for the repair, you do your best to answer his questions, telling him that some details will need to be approved by Mr. Laufeyson. 

You turn towards the house and see the curtain in one of the front windows ripple. You offer to show the carpenter to the gazebo but he insists he can find his own way. Before he can, the front door swings inward and Laufeyson emerges.

“Ah, you must be the builder,” he struts down the steps, “welcome.”

You're taken aback by Laufeyson’s demeanour. For his own family, he was never more than perturbed, but here he is, playing it up. You know for sure that he is, he's never sounded so… nice.

“Hi,” Ronan faces him, his bag in one hand as his other goes to his hip. He stands nonplussed as the host nears.

“Loki,” Laufeyson introduces himself as he offers his hand.

“Ronan,” the other man eyes his fingers before he accepts the gesture. There's tension in his tendons as he squeezes and shakes. “Fine house, you got.”

“A bit big for just me,” Laufeyson sighs as he's released and waves his hand at the facade behind him, “but I won't complain for it.”

“And you've got a wonderful house manager to deal with it all,” Ronan muses.

“Yes, I suppose,” he shrugs, “did you need a tour–”

“Got it,” Ronan interrupts, “I should start. Got a lot to do.”

“Of course, of course,” Laufeyson steps out of his way, “oh but there is this,’ he reaches into his jacket pocket, “the deposit.”

Ronan nods and takes the check with a swipe, “thanks.”

“I always pay for fine work,” Laufeyson intones with a certain lilt. You sense heat roiling between them but why, you can't guess.

“And I never deliver less,” Ronan folds the check with one hand and shoves it in a denim pocket, “I'll try not to make too much of a ruckus.”

They stare at each other as if in a wordless conversation. As the carpenter slowly steps past the resident, you find your voice.

“Thank you, Ronan,” you squeak after the man and he dips his hand, waving over his shoulder as he disappears down the path.

“Where did you find that man?” Laufeyson asks.

“Online? He had good reviews.”

“Mmm, you should've searched out a proper company, not some independent contractor.’

“Oh?” You frown.

“It's only… I've heard stories of swindlers,” he crosses his arms as he faces you completely.

“Sorry, I…”

“It is what it is. We shall see,” he dismisses your apology.

“Right, uh, I'll just… get back to work,” you turn towards the same path and Laufeyson's step echoes yours as he follows you swiftly.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“Inside,” you utter dumbly.

“The door is that way,” he argues.

“Well, uh…” you stop and pivot around as he stumbles to a halt, “sure, I guess… it's a habit.”

“You may go through the front, you do much more than clean now, don't you, maid?”

You're not sure how to take the epithet. Is he reminding you of what you were or telling you what you'll always be? You don't reply. You'll just sound stupid. Your father taught you sometimes it's better to just bite your tongue. 

You redirect to the front door as he stays on your tail. His shadow makes you want to shrink down to nothing as he looms close. You enter and he nearly collides with you as you remove your shoes.

You press on to the kitchen as he follows. As he resumes his place before his tea cup you go to the cupboard and search out the pitcher you saw the other day and a tall glass. While you fill the jug, he clucks.

“What are you doing?”

“I'll put some water on the patio in case he gets thirsty,” you pull away from the lever, “sorry, I… should've asked. I was just thinking–”

“No, no, you're right. We should be hospitable,”

You nod and push against the lever so the water pours out of the nozzle. When it's full, you find a tray and set it beside the single glass and add ice. Laufeyson taps his porcelain cup.

“Aren't you going to finish your tea?” He asks.

“Um,” you blink and peek back at the mug as you lift the tray, “sure, when I come back.”

You turn to leave, trying not to falter as his gaze tugs at you. You go to the patio door and stop balancing the tray against the side table. Before you can even try the door, Laufeyson sidles past to slide it back himself.

“There, wouldn't want a spill.”

“Er, thanks,” you don't look at him as you pass. He's being helpful. Too helpful.

You place the tray on the glass table and go back inside. You sweep through to the entryway and grab your shoes. Laufeyson once more tails you.

“Your tea,” he reminds you.

“I know, I'm just going to let Ronan know about the water…” you murmur.

You go outside before he can catch up. You descend the front stairs and follow the curve towards the rear path. Mr. Laufeyson’s silhouette disappears behind the hedges as you round the corner of the house and head down towards the gazebo.

Ronan is at the top of the stairs, he paces around, eyeing the railings and testing the stability of the columns with a firm grip. He tilts his head as you approach unnoticed. You stand just on the bottom step sheepishly.

“Um, excuse me, sir,” you pipe up.

“Yes,” he spins to face you, “miss, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing, I just… I left some water on the patio,” you point over towards the house, “if you follow the path around, the stairs are just by the rose bushes.”

“Thanks,” he says, “that's very… sweet of you.”

“Uh, well, it's pretty hot out.”

“Used to it,” he says as he grabs a thick metal clipboard and scribbles with short pencil, “but it's appreciated. Always nice to work with someone competent.”

“I…” your cheeks ache to smile, you think it's a compliment, “thank you.”

“I'd hate to keep you,” he says as he sets the clipboard back on his bag, “your boss seems to be very… straight laced. I wouldn't want to tangle him up.”

“It's… um, yeah, if you need anything, I'll be around,” you offer, bobbing on your heels, “I'll have my phone, you could message me or ring the bell.”

“I think I'll be okay,” he chuckles, not mockingly but kindly, “go on, you're right, it's too hot to be out here in polyester.”

You look down at yourself, sweat beading along your hairline as if to confirm his warning, “yeah… erm, okay. Thanks.”

You shuffle off the step, balling your fists as you walk away with straight arms, fighting not to look back. That was awkward and strange. You can only think he'll be laughing again, this time at your expense.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #dirty work #au #maid au #marvel #mcu #avengers #thor

[thebirdandthebee]

Call Him Daddy (18+)

This one’s short and sweet - trying to bust a writing slump. I could very easily do a part two if there’s interest! Smut ahead :) 

Title: Call Him Daddy Bradley’s been waiting for this day for years, but now, you’ve given him the green light. WC: 2187

The first sign of consciousness was soreness. Before you’d even popped your eyes open that morning, you felt the sublime ache between your legs, and oddly, your breasts.

There was no one to blame but your husband, Bradley. Who’d been awake for about half an hour or so, but hadn’t left the confines of your 500-thread-count sheets.

Bradley was on cloud nine because you were officially trying. After he’d been wishing and hoping and being patient for years, you’d finally had the conversation last night. You’d been married for four years after three years of dating and now, you were comfortable with the thought of tackling parenthood with Bradley.

“Babe? Are we out of mayo?” Bradley had called from the kitchen. You’d assembled a nice little table of accouterments, potato salad and chips as he’d grilled burgers for dinner and you were poised to eat out in the backyard.

Bradley, along with the help of a few of his squadron teammates, had finished the fence in the backyard last week and you were now able to enjoy the outdoor space with just a little more privacy.

“It’s on the door!” You called back, excited, nervous energy zipping through your veins. Tonight you were telling Bradley you’d gotten your IUD removed. Your IUD, which he saw as his mortal enemy.

The truth was, Bradley would have been thrilled if you’d gone off your birth control when you’d gotten married four years earlier. He always thought there was something romantic – traditional – about a honeymoon baby. Hell, he would’ve been more than happy if you’d gotten pregnant before you’d tied the knot.

There were few things in this life he wanted more than to be a dad and have a big family. As someone who grew up with so little, the idea of a full house felt like a dream. You had always known about Bradley’s wishes to be a father, and he was understanding that while it was something you wanted to do, be a mother, you wanted to check a few things off your list first.

You wanted to get married, do some traveling, establish a little more financial security and enjoy life with just you and Bradley for a few years. You loved everything about being a pair – Christmas mornings, vacations, nights out with friends – those would all change with a baby. Certainly for the better, but it would be different, and you’d never get that time as just the two of you again.

You’d spent six weeks backpacking through Europe in the fall, and since then, you’d slowly and quietly been making preparations to transition to a family of three.

And tonight, you’d finally tell Bradley.

“Baby, it all looks wonderful,” you smiled as he sat down, placing a big bowl of watermelon, along with a jar of mayonnaise on the table. “Love when you grill,” you leaned over your bistro table to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks Babe,” he grinned, not flinching as you snagged the sunglasses from the collar of his T-shirt and dropped them over your eyes. You’d chatted about the day – your work day was quiet and Bradley was bringing in a special detachment for training over the next eight weeks. Most of all, you enjoyed the gentle breeze and scent of the neighbors’ lilacs.

“I was thinking…” you began, earning a deadpan look from your husband. Anytime you started ‘thinking’ usually ended up in a new project for him. “Now that the fence is up, could we plant some flowers over in that corner there?” You gestured to the far left side of the yard. A simple request.

“Yeah, we can do that pretty easy,” he agreed. “Maybe some bushes in the other, we can mulch around,” he laid out with his hands, pausing to take a big bite of his now assembled burger.

“Mm, I don’t think that corner,” you shook your head, “I want to keep that back wall of the yard clear,” you stabbed a piece of watermelon before taking a bite.

“Okay, maybe back along the right side,” he trailed a finger along the fence line. “Maybe a bonfire pit?” He suggested.

“Oh definitely not,” you shook your head, nibbling away at your dinner.

“Okay – how about a Jacuzzi?” He suggested. “Now that we have the fence, we don’t need to worry about bathing suits,” he grinned, and while it was a great deal of work not to grin back, you somehow managed.

“Nah, I just don’t think we’d get much use out if it,” you shrugged.

“Baby – nothing along the back side, no bonfire pit, no Jacuzzi – what did we fence this yard in for?” He asked, laughing as he polished off his first burger. It was not out of the ordinary for Bradley to put away three or for burgers on a grill night. You wiped your mouth with a napkin, crossing your legs before taking off his sunglasses.

“Know what I’m thinking?” You asked, taking a final sip of your iced tea. “I’m thinking… swing set along the back there – it’s the perfect view from the kitchen,” Bradley set his fork down. “And a bonfire pit will be fun eventually, but little feet running around the backyard make me anxious… and the Jacuzzi – you know I’d love to take a skinny dip with you, but… it’s just not good for pregnant people, I already Googled it.”

Bradley’s brain short-circuited for a moment.

“And how,” he paused to clear his throat,” how long until we need to start worrying about that?”

“Well I just got my IUD out last week, but my doctor said I can get pregnant in my first cycle,” you dragged your fingertip around the rim of your drinking glass. “Not everyone does, but you’ve always been an overachiever,” you said, meeting his gaze.

“Now? We – now?” Bradley asked, sputtering, patting all over his chest and shorts like he’d misplaced his phone.

“Now,” you nodded, barely getting a moment to gauge his reaction before he was out of his seat, shoulder pressing into your midsection as he hoisted you over his shoulder.

You were sure your neighbors heard the terrified scream that morphed into giggles as he all but kicked the back door in.

“Now?” He said to himself in disbelief, suddenly forgetting the layout of his own home, twisting around in circles to find the staircase. “I can’t believe this, I didn’t do anything to prepare!” He said, not even registering that you were swinging around over his shoulder.

“And what exactly would you have done to prepare?” You asked, wondering if squirrels would completely demolish the spread that laid out on the patio table.

“I don’t know, but I would have done something,” he insisted, taking the stairs by two and only mildly terrifying you.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled, setting you down on the mattress gingerly and immediately reaching for the non-existent fly on his shorts, which were held up on a drawstring. His brain, completely scrambled, was not cooperating and he hastily grabbed the waistband and ripped the shorts down his legs.

God you loved his pale thighs.

“Bradley, you don’t need to hurry!” You laughed.

“Of course I do,” he insisted, kneeling on the bed with one leg between yours, getting to work right away on your button-fly shorts. “I want ‘em all, baby,” he insisted. “Boys, girls – lots of ‘em – and I want ‘em now.”

“I thought we said three max?” You asked, peeling off your own top as he made busywork of your panties.

“Three to start,” he elaborated, “fuck I don’t care.” He shook his head. Pausing, he crawled up to meet you at eye-level. “I love you so much,” he said sincerely. “I can’t wait to be a Dad,” he added, “but more than that, I can’t wait to see you be Mom.” You leaned up to kiss him gently, the same mustache you’d been in love with for years tickling you softly. “You’re sure?” he asked, brows furrowing with just a bit of concern.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything,” you replied, pushing your fingers through his hair. “Thank you for being so patient with me,” you added, “it means more than you know.” Bradley, at the risk of getting choked up, simply kissed you once more before pressing his forehead against yours.

“If I get emotional right now I won’t be able to get hard,” he said honestly, making you giggle.

“You’re going to be such a good Daddy,” you breathed into his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

“Just kidding, I’m hard.”

Now, in the morning light, he was watching with moony eyes as you nuzzled down into your pillow. Your eyes fluttered for a moment as you took stock of all the delicious places you were suddenly acutely aware of with a small twist of your body.

“Mornin,’” Bradley murmured, tucking one hand behind his head.

You groaned gently, eyes squeezing shut tight before softly opening.

“Hi baby,” you greeted, blearily rubbing at your face. Eyes not yet focused, you zeroed in on your husband as he gazed over at you lovingly, his hand moving gently up and down beneath his blanket.

“Hi,” he grinned.

“What are you doing, Bradley?” You giggled, feeling like you were catching your 16-year-old boyfriend.

“Waiting for you to wake up,” he replied. “Ready for day two?” He asked.

“Day two?” You replied with an exasperated smile. “What’s your plan here Bradley?”

“Every day till we get a positive,” he said simply. “If you get pregnant in the next few weeks, we can have a spring baby,” he added.

“Bradley – every day?” You asked, eyes wide.

“I text Hondo, he’s covering for me at lunch next week, Phoenix can take the week after him,” he added.

“Bradley Bradshaw, what did you say to them?” You asked, mildly scandalized.

“Don’t you worry about it, baby,” he grinned, loving the way you rolled your eyes at him.

“Can’t you feed me first?” You asked softly, “the midnight grilled cheese was not enough,” you added. It was also the only time you two had come up for air all night.

“I will,” he assured, pulling the blanket off his body. His erection was pink, the tip wet and veins prominent. “But maybe, just to start the day…” he trailed off as his hand continued to pump up and down his length.

“I am sore,” you countered weakly, eyeing up his anatomy with a wanton gaze.

“I’ll be gentle,” he insisted, “you set the pace,” he added. You nodded, holding open your blanket, and soon, you were sliding down onto him, your body pressed tightly against his from head to toe.

“Oh, Bradley,” you sighed. And though you felt impossibly full, you felt complete. He gently rocked his hips up into you as you curled against his chest. “You’re so good to me,” you whispered, gasping as he hit a tender spot within you.

“You’re the one making my dream come true,” he countered, palming your ass in his hand as he dropped a kiss to the top of your head. “Gonna be the best Mama to our babies,” he encouraged.

You whined gently as he hit your cervix, which you were sure he’d bruised last night, but in the best way possible.

“S’okay,” he murmured, “doing such a good job,” he added, making your skin warm all over. “Doing such a good job.”

For moments, all that could be heard were his steady, even breaths and your soft exhales against his neck.

“Want you to come first,” he said, “I’m right after you – you first, baby.” Bradley did his absolute best to hold back as you gripped at his chest, hugging the underside of his shoulder to you as you fluttered around him. “Good job, good girl,” he looked up at the ceiling, a sweat breaking out across his forehead before he couldn’t hold back any longer. Just the idea that today could be the day they made a baby was enough for him.

“Bradley,” you gasped, his warm cum filling you as his hips jerked up erratically.

“Fuck,” he huffed out in a laugh. “I’m in there, babe,” he panted.

“I can tell,” you blushed, pressing your face into his chest once again. “Can you go make me some breakfast now?” You asked.

“You gotta wait,” he said, planting his feet and pushing his hips up to create a 45-degree angle, raising you up from the bed. “Gotta raise those hips,” he said, matter-of-fact.

“Baby,” you laughed. “Is this real or you just made it up?” You asked, bringing you hands up to brace on either side of his head

“I got a feeling,” he replied. “And it feels nice,” he added, making you blush again. “Next time, you’re gonna be upside down,” he commented.

“Upside down? Bradley, no,” you shook your head with another laugh.

“Baby, I’m gonna fold you every which way till Sunday,” he all but purred. “You’re gonna feel me in here for weeks,” he slapped your bare ass, making you squeal. “Your days as the only person calling me Daddy are over.”

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed Call Him Daddy, you might also like Mighty Fine!

#bradley bradshaw #Bradley rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #rooster x reader #rooster fluff #rooster smut #rooster wants to be a daddy #he's been googling #top gun #top gun maverick #Top Gun fic #top gun fan fic

[thatonebipotato]

a somewhat swap au of Scarab and Prismo. i say somewhat because its not just swapping them, i changed a lot of stuff other than just like their jobs. heehoo ok enjoy :]

text descriptions and more information under cut ^^!

Prismo -

his [physical] body is "frozen" in time

a bit more calloused over his years of working, but still considered very chill

he usually talks people down so he doesn't have the fight them

the crystal weapon is around his neck

it shoots out like a flashlight

the auras/souls of his victims get trapped in jars

pupils go starry when he does this

So here, Prismo is a god auditor! He's still very down to earth, but after years of fighting and monitoring and capturing, he's a bit worn down. That being said, he's still generally considered to be everybody's pal! The crystal he uses can't store the people he gets, so he has to carry around the jars. Because of this, he can usually only detain like two people at once, maybe three if he pushes it.

Prismo has some resentment about not being Wishmaster, but not the way that Scarab would! He just thinks he could do a better job, but he respects Wishmaster Scarab and just kinda lets it slide. He and Scarab are actually pretty close, and if he's injured or just very bored he'll go bother the cosmic bug.

Things he can do that aren't mentioned are that he can walk on walls/defy gravity, make duplicates of himself, and teleport. Duplicating himself and teleporting takes a looot of energy out of him, and considering that he is perpetually tired, he really doesn't use those abilities a lot.

Scarab -

this form resembles his physical body, but is still just a projection

he can touch stuff, but can't feel anything and can't be hurt/damaged

he's a bit more relaxed, but is still quite strict/rule oriented

the wings of his mask can open up, but usually don't

he is very big :)

the time room is less of a room and more like a never-ending labyrinth of paths

only the truly determined will obtain a wish

Scarab as the Wishmaster is a lot more relaxed than in canon, but due to his nature he is still a bit strict about rules and such. He will explain how exactly a wish will work to those who reach their goal, and if they choose to ignore that, they don't get a second chance. He usually won't go further into detail about the rules, either. This is where Prismo's slight distaste comes from, because he thinks that if he were in Scarab's place he would be nicer about it. That's about as far as that goes, though.

The main entrance that everyone is allowed through(the labyrinth) is infinite, but there is space around it(like a pocket dimension inside of a pocket dimension). Getting into the outside space will lead to the rest of the Time Room, but only Scarab has access to that. He spends most of his time floating in the abyss of the main area. There is no set path to find him, and he will instead come to whoever enters, if they're determined enough.

Scarab does not let people wander freely through the Time Room, so most of the other cosmic entities tend to avoid him because he isn't very fun. Prismo doesn't, though. Unlike anyone else who may enter, if Prismo simply calls out for Scarab, he will arrive almost immediately. Though Scarab has a 3D form, he is still confined to the Time Room, and does not find joy in watching the universes(he only does it if he's reeeallly bored, or if it's necessary). And since he blocks off the rest of the room to anyone else, he never gets any visitors, only mortals looking for his favor.

He doesn't mind the isolation at all, but he does enjoy the company that Prismo offers him. He doesn't mind being secluded, but he gets lonely sometimes. Prismo has many tales of his adventures being an auditor, and Scarab has begun keeping notes on all of them. He looks forward to Prismo's next visit always.

That's about all I have to say about them and their lore, at least as a base to build off of later, so uhhh here's they're color pallets :]

On the left is just how they both look, and the right is just missing the gradient for Scarab so it's easier to see(they don't look super great, but im just laying out the colors)

#fionna and cake #job swap #prismo #prismo the god auditor #the scarab #scarab the wishmaster #prohibitedwish #not only visible if you squint hard enough but not openly there #or maybe it is #doesnt feel like it to me but. its supposed to be so im tagging it as pw anyways lol

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x borrower!reader: The Secret World of Borrowing - Part 2[*]

A/N: I’m so sorry about how unhinged this is 🫣 also, don’t take this one too seriously

Warnings: size difference, macrophilia, masturbation (mutual?), cum play

Word Count: 4,046

-Part 1-

“Just piss off already.”

“This is my bedroom.”

You scowl up at the male. He’s been antsy all evening and it’s putting you on edge. An orgasm would soothe that particular ache, but he insists on keeping you within his sights at night—whatever that suggests. The thought has passed through a couple of times of simply seeing to your needs and getting it over with. What’s he going to do anyway? Confine you to the jar for longer?

“Well I’d like some privacy tonight,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest, foot tapping impatiently on the glass. Hazel eyes flick to you, easily seeking you out on his bedside table, the faelight long since gone dim, casting his room in dark blues and greys. “Planning on stealing something else?” He asks, edges of his mouth lifting into a taunting smirk. “I think I keep you rather well fed. Don’t you?”

Upper tip twitches to curl back from your teeth, but you clamp down on the urge. Instead raise your hand to inspect your nails, cleaner than they’ve been in weeks thanks to his surprisingly attentive care. “I have other needs beside food and sleep, you know.” Hold out your hand, squinting your eyes—the nail of your fourth finger is slightly longer than the one on your second. At your back, wings twitch with restlessness, almost fully healed now. You’re able to lift and move each one independently again, but it’ll be safer to remain for another few days at least to make sure the muscles are healthy and properly exercised.

He shifts, settling down atop his mattress, front pressing to the sheets while he rests his cheek on a pillow, peering at you intently within the darkness. Nose wrinkles, moving your weight from one foot to the other, done with your examination. “What?” You snap, “my kind desires sexual release just like yours does. Nothing special about it.”

At that he quirks a brow, the smirk again gracing his soft mouth. “Nothing special,” he echoes, a gleam in his eyes. “I would have thought something would happen,” he drawls, “you expect me to believe there’s no eruption of light? No crackle of ancient magic?” He lifts from the pillow, muscles flexing as he leans closer to the jar, peering down at you with playfully narrowed eyes. “No burst of fairy dust?”

You hiss at him, fists flaring with power at your sides, anger bubbling beneath your skin as you seethe. “That’s none of your business, Azriel, and it never will be,” you snap, nails piercing your palms. Eyes pointedly rove over him, all sculpted muscle, smooth and supple. “There’s no point of even entertaining the idea, so put it out of your mind before I knock it out.”

As usual, he doesn’t seem deterred, instead shifting back to his bed, wings shuffling as he rearranges himself. “Not even for my own pleasure?” He asks, smirking in the darkness, knowing just how the comment will squirm beneath your skin. “I find the idea rather interesting. Would it match your size?” Indignant heat washes over you as you shoot him a scathing glare.

“Orgasms are orgasms,” you snap, lip curling at the taunt. “Why would they be any different between our kinds?” He quirks a single brow, the edge of his mouth twitching as he drinks in your tiny reactions, magic flickering at your fists. “There aren’t many of you, are there?” He asks, making you stumble in your indignation. Quick for anger to return full force. “No. There aren’t. No thanks to your ilk,” you spit, eyeing his much larger body. So much power contained within his vessel.

He’s unperturbed by your rage, mouth twitching as he takes in your words. “When was the last time you slept with a male?” He drawls in a tone he’s learned makes you see red. “I’m almost inclined to allow you your pleasure just to relieve myself of your temper.”

Your fist slams into the glass with unyielding fury, fractures spiralling around where you’d hit. Brows raise in surprise, having not anticipated the possibility of your container shattering. “You should watch your damn mouth,” you snarl, hand lighting again, preparing to bring it down on the glass, magic finally able to begin restoring now your wing is on the mend.

Unfortunately for you, shadows have snuck in from above, lightly wrapping around your forearms, keeping you from slamming into the jar—likely to break it.

Azriel sighs, shifting in the bed, turning onto his back, wings pressing into the pillows. The cover was already low on his back, but with the movement it’s been dragged lower, resting on the muscle of his abdomen, highlighting the V of his hips. For a moment you stumble in your attempts, thoughts traitorously skipping to imagining how his warmth would feel. What it would be like to lie atop another living creature with no worry. It might be quite nice.

Distantly, his words float into your head. What could I ever do with you? He’d laughed. Have you run up and down my skin with those tiny, bare feet of yours?

Throat rolls, heat cooling in the pit of your abdomen. This night would be much improved if he simply allowed you time to see to your needs. The bubbling tingle between your thighs is becoming harder to ignore, and you certainly don’t want him getting the wrong idea. The thought of dancing across his skin may be appealing in the moment, but it would be regardless of who. Pleasure doesn’t care who gives, so long as it is received.

Snarl at the shadows as they retreat, releasing you from their tentative hold. Maybe you should forfeit dignity entirely. Sort the problem out yourself. Surely that wouldn’t be so bad. He’s probably seen enough of a female body before to not become flustered or uncomfortable. Worse comes to worse he might shut you in a drawer for the night to spare himself, but at least then you’d have some damned privacy.

“You’re brewing something, aren’t you?” He asks warily, pulling you from indecent thoughts. Eyes narrow on him, arms folding. Lip curls in superficial disgust as you glance at the male. “Either give me privacy, or I take matters into my own hands.” Triumph beginning to ignite in the pit of your belly as you lay out the ultimatum. You are not above stripping off every last scrap of clothing if it’ll get you what you need in that moment.

Besides, as much as you despise to admit it, he’s proven to be a reasonable male, the jar aside. Even then, you can’t entirely fault him for it—you’d do the same if some strange creature appeared in your home seemingly out of nowhere. You have no worry he’ll take advantage of you, and it’s a surprising realisation.

Azriel’s lips quirk on a soft but taunting grin. “What could you possibly achieve with hands as tiny as yours?” He drawls. “I can’t imagine you succeeding in rewarding yourself with anything particularly spectacular.”

Your lip curls, turning away as you peel off your shoes, settling on your knees as you reach for the ties of your bodice. The threads—while thin and dainty to something his size—are thick and slightly stiff, making it difficult for you to slip the knots out. Slowly, you begin working them free, tie by tie until you’ll be able to pull the strings loose at last.

Sheets rustle at your back, and you imagine he’s probably turning his to you by now, giving space now you’ve forced his hand.

Speaking of, you jerk when rough-skinned fingers dip into the large jar, squealing as he picks you up, shoes forgotten at its base. “Azriel!” You scream, wings contracting as you hastily re-tighten the threads. “Put me down this minute.” Steady yourself as he moves you, pressing against his digits as you’re carried through the air to who knows where.

He lowers you, and you swiftly tumble out of his grasp, rolling onto—

Spine goes rigid as you peer along the powerful expanse of skin, thrumming with life just beneath the surface, rippling with muscle. Fingers deftly tie a bow with the threads at your top, making to get to your feet. He chuckles as your wobbly state, and you quickly lower back to your knees, shifting to face the right direction from how you’d fallen. Beneath you, the muscle of his stomach practically burns into your shins, bare skin against bare skin. You wonder if you’re even large enough for his nerves to register, whether he can also feel the heat of your skin atop his own.

“Either give you some privacy or you’ll do it yourself,” he paraphrases, smirking like the wicked bastard he is. He sweeps his hand out, almost tauntingly gesturing the powerful expanse of muscle that lies just beneath your tiny feet. “Then go ahead.”

Lips part on a sharp exhale, surprise lining your features as well as—and something stirs beneath his skin at the expression—slight bashfulness. Glee sparks in his chest, eager to push you further as he settles deeper into the pillows that he’s arranged to prop him upright. “Look at you,” he coos, with surprising sincerity, “don’t get shy now. Where’d all the bluster go, huh?” He playfully prods at you, careful not to be too rough. He doesn’t want to accidentally injure you.

You practically hiss at him. “You can’t just— Don’t you ever scoop me up like that again, Azriel,” you snap, attempting to get to your feet, but he’s chuckling again, making you regularly loose your footing. “I’m serious,” you snarl, managing to begin making your way across his stomach, muscle soft beneath your hands and feet, muffled by hot skin. “You wouldn’t like it if something handled you around with such entitlement.”

He laughs, and you press flat against him, too worried about toppling over and making a fool of yourself to be embarrassed about clinging to him so tightly. You’ll show him.

“Where on this realm are you going?” He asks, mirth lacing the rich timbre of his voice—which you can now feel reverberating all the way from your toes to your head. Passing through your middle. “Think I’d give you a free show?” You spit out, making it to his chest, walking the line leading between his pectorals. If he’s going to force your hand in return, you’ll simply do it right beneath his nose, where he won’t be able to see. No way in hell you’re spreading your legs so openly on his stomach—you’ll get to his chest, where you’ll be at least a little obscured.

His laugh deepens, and you again lose your footing, pressing flat against him. Shadows wrap around your ankle, and you gasp as he drags you back down the muscled slope you’d so bravely traversed. “That’s exactly what I think,” he rumbles, amusement gleaming in his hazel eyes, as well as something else. Something a little darker. Hungrier.

You swallow.

His brow raises. “Or were you bluffing?”

Traitorous heat buzzes beneath your skin, and you tug your ankle free of his grasp, pushing back up onto your— You don’t want to properly sit on him, what if he can feel your… Settle for an awkward half-sitting, half-kneeling position. “I wasn’t bluffing,” you grit out, sending a sharp glance at his shadows that are lingering, curiously. Lip curls as you snarl at them, but still they watch on, hanging back just out of reach. “But now you expect me to just strip off in front of you?” You snap.

“Feeling a little nervous all of a sudden?” He drawls. “Orgasms are orgasms,” he recites back to you, “nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“You wouldn’t be acting even half as cocky if you were the one being told to strip,” you almost spit, distracting from the task as you try to come to a decision.

His eyes gleam with something sharp and starving, growing darker as his attention pierces into you. “You say that like I have something to be shy about,” he drawls, tone taking on a lazy drag. Lips twist as he smirks faintly.

Your brow narrows, and then you’re turning around, crawling down his stomach, passing onto his abdomen as you near the edge of the duvet. Feel as muscle tenses beneath you as he notices your path. “What are you doing?” He sounds a little restless, lungs taking in more air as he watches you make your way down his skin, following the direction of his hips. Toss him a glance of your own, “I thought you said you have nothing to be shy about,” you taunt, reaching the covers. “Or are you all bark and no bite?”

Undeniable arousal sparks beneath his skin as you move to squirm beneath the duvet. His throat rolls as the heat curls down his spine, wings twitching as you make your way halfway beneath the covers. Teeth push into his lower lip, brow narrowing. His cock is larger than you are—but he can’t deny how arousing it would be to see you realise that. To set you atop it and make you…

Shadows again capture your ankle, tugging you out from the covers which you were struggling to navigate. Triumph lights your skin as a grin stretches your lips, poised to crow at your victory.

But then they’re turning you around, holding you by the waist and thighs as sheets rustle.

“I told you not to,” you snap, anxiously gripping the darkness as he begins to lower you. Stretch your feet out so you can properly balance, but the skin below you is much softer than before. Hotter too, thrumming with— You glance down. Breath catches in your lungs as he sets you on his cock, feet slipping either side, straddling the thick length of him. Tiny palms splay across the sensitive skin, just below his head.

Wild heat flushes your body.

You’d been expecting him to be large just from his size alone, but this? Throat rolls as your fingertip press into his skin, shifting lightly, thighs clamping on him to keep from rolling off.

“Happy now?” He asks cockily, though his voice is deeper than before. Rougher.

Lips part as your eyes lock, taken aback by the blatant hunger now dancing in his hazel gaze. How his shadows are darting closer, as if daring one another to touch you. Tongue pokes out to wet your lips, finding them suddenly dry as arousal ravishes you whole. “You—” you splutter softly, completely thrown off as desire clouds your brain.

He raises a challenging brow. “Yes?”

Mouth snaps shut indignantly. Muttering under your breath a variety of exquisite curse words. “I don’t trust you to keep your hands to yourself, Azriel,” you manage to grit out, hands hesitantly raising to the threads holding your dress up. Keeping you hidden from his hungry gaze.

Hazel eyes darken, arms raising to settle pointedly behind his head, muscles rippling with the movement. “You mean you don’t want me to press you against my cock while you get off?” He muses, sounding huskier. You snarl at him, but you’re secretly relieved. You’ve never slept with a creature with such a vast size difference. Yet you find excitement is thrumming beneath your skin, anticipation gathering between your thighs. “Arrogant male,” you snap, not quite managing to glare as the strings come undone.

With slightly shaky fingers, you pull the ties free, lifting the dress over your head. Hair shifts with the movement, brushing against your cheek as it falls back into place. Revealing you entirely to his starving eyes, licking over your naked form like he wants nothing more than to put you on his stomach and rub one out just to cover you in his cum.

You’re surprised the thought doesn’t disgust you.

“Move when it pleases you,” he drawls, watching you with those piercing eyes of his. Feeling as though he could see you bare long before you peeled away your clothes. You hiss, muttering something under your breath before turning your attention to his cock. Heartbeat spikes, heat seeping into your bones as you firmly settle your hands over him, and ease your hips into motion.

Arousal has long since dampened your underwear and is quickly soaking him, too. You roll gently, slowly settling into your pleasure, gliding back and forth, trying to keep your noise to a minimum. Breathe become heavier, finding your tempo, a slow grind as you find the movements that please you the most. His scent surrounds you, clouding your mind as you give yourself over to the feelings, allowing instinct to guide your swirls. Tongue flicks out to wet your lips, one hand raising to cup your breast, a soft sound spilling as your fingers graze your nipple, back arching as you continue the motions.

Eye fly open as something silky wraps around your middle, causing you to peer down, halting. “Is there a problem?” He drawls, but the strain is evident in his voice no matter how he attempts to disguise it. The shadow tentatively hugs your waist, sliding over your hips as they urge you back into movement. Darkness grazes your front, slipping up over the weight of your breasts, pinching at your nipples. Lips part in a moan, spine arching as you return to using both your hands for leverage, grinding over the thick length of him—precum drizzling from his tip.

“I know you wouldn’t be able to keep from touching me,” you manage, playing along. You sound breathless even to your own ears, pleasure building in the pit of your stomach as the coil tightens. A rough laugh drags from his chest, and something dark and syrupy melts in the pit of your belly, turning hot and liquid as his shadows experiment with your body.

Gasp as they bite into your hips, most likely putting in a bruise.

“If I recall,” he drawls roughly, no longer even attempting to conceal his own desire, “you simply said I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.” Open your eyes wide enough to see that damned smirk on his mouth, dripping with male arrogance. “I believe I’m adhering to that?”

Mouth opens to snap out a response but the shadows are roughly pushing you forward, tipping you over the edge as you tumble down onto his stomach. Arousal spears through your middle, and they’re on you in a second. You’re still facing toward the male, but he’s pushed you onto the muscle of his abdomen, soaking you in the droplets of precum that have beaded there. It takes all your willpower to resist the degradation of licking it off your hands.

The truth is you’re struggling to move with the way his shadows have you pinned, wrapping over your stomach as they shove between your thighs. Gasps are pulled from your mouth as they move over your heat, slipping beneath the band of your underwear, roughly tugging it away in their rush to explore over your cunt.

The sound of your moan has his discipline slipping, hand fisting his cock now there’s no longer any danger of him crushing you in his need for pleasure. Blood boils, watching as you writhe, shadows having their fun with you at last—they’ve been practically begging for another round since you last got the better of them with those magic fists. He can feel their excitement, how they darkly revel in having you beneath them, and pulling such lovely noises from you, too.

Azriel can’t help the low groans that drag from his chest, stroking himself as heat flushes his skin, teeth almost piercing his lip as he imagines the mess he’ll put you through when he cums. The mental image alone is enough to have him slowing his pleasure, anxious to last with you. The Mother knows you’d be relentless in your mocking should he find his release before you. Your ego doesn’t need that particular boost.

Your mouth parts as his shadows at last move higher, skating across your breasts, pinching at your nipples as they play with your clit, rubbing tenderly as they pull those marvellous responses from your arched form. He can tell you’re at the edge, just needing that little push to finally make you topple. Tongue flicks out over his lip as his thumb swipes across the slit in his head, gathering the moisture there before releasing himself in favour of paying you more attention. Your hips are bucking against his shadows, eyes partially closed in bliss, and he gives himself a moment to drink you in. Then he’s dragging his thumb lightly down your body, between your breasts to your stomach, pausing at your abdomen. Lightly rubs over your soft skin that’s now taken on a milky sheen.

A louder moan drips from your mouth as you tip over the edge, his hand returning to his cock, twitching at your cries. How pretty you’ll look, soaked in his release. Another lash of arousal whips down his spine, memorising how you arc as your orgasm hits, taking no prisoners as muscle seizes. It’s enough to have him letting go, spurts of cum shooting from his tip, splashing down onto his stomach, painting you with his release.

Head tips back into the pillows, riding out that last high, skin flushes with pleasure as his hips buck into his hand.

Shadows gather his release, washing it over your body until there’s hardly an inch of you that hasn’t been marked or covered in him. Teeth bite into your lip with surprise at how arousing it is, being submerged like this. Having him mix with the release between your thighs, sitting upright only in favour of gliding across the muscled skin of his stomach, bathed in cum. Easing down from your high.

Azriel’s eyes peek open, immediately finding you, gently rolling your hips over him with your own gaze half-lidded. The sight’s enough to have him considering another round, but you’re small, and certainly tired. Another time. Maybe.

Your own gaze finds his, ire and arousal twining together as you give him a heated look. “I hope you’re planning on finding me some new clothes,” you snap, though you’re too breathless to put much anger into it. “A shower would be nice, too,” you add, “did you think of that before you yielded to your messy fantasies?”

His cock twitches at your description and he has half a mind to put you back atop him, if only to feel how smoothly you glide with the aid of mixed release between your thighs.

Instead he grins, once again lifting you into his palm. This time you don’t squirm and his thoughts are confirmed: you’re definitely tired. His tongue pokes out, carefully licking over the skin of your stomach. Feels as you gasp, wriggling half-heartedly beneath his grip.

“Azriel…” you mumble, flushed with embarrassment. It’s a look he likes seeing on you, he thinks. Almost as much as seeing you bathed in his cum. Lips quirk upward, pupils piercing into you while his thumb wraps across your hips, keeping you from moving too much. “Weren’t you just complaining about being filthy?” He asks, offering a wicked smile. Mouth parts on a quiet exhale, then your eyes are flicking away, thighs opening a little wider in invitation. “Dirty male,” you mutter under your breath, though he can tell it’s a lie.

His tongue drags over your heat, and you tense, thighs weakly squeezing as he licks over you. Tasting himself on your skin. Becoming more aroused with every stroke. “You’re enjoying this more than I am,” you manage to get out, spine arched and legs parted to allow him more access. A low sound rumbles from his chest, almost a strained laugh as his mouth seals over your lower body, the hot, wet muscle making you feel like he’s brought you to paradise.

“Hold still,” he orders softly, wary of how loud he might sound from your proximity.

He refuses to let you up until he’s gotten you to come on his tongue.

Taste your release as it is, with the intrusion of his own.

General taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

Az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @vanderlinde

tswob taglist: @naturakaashi

#azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel x yn #azriel shadowsinger #azriel smut #tswob #tswob part 2

[imagine-darksiders]

On the Ropes

Chapter 25 - Uninvited Guests

Montgomery Gator X F!Reader

WARNING:

-Noncon touching, inappropriate behaviour, abuse of authority, implied s/a, self-doubt, mild threat

Summary: Tempers flare, emotions are high and boundaries are tested. You worry, but Monty worries more. He just isn't as good as expressing it as you are.

Sorry this one took so long. A few months ago, my parents made me a partner in their company with a view to take over the whole damn thing when they retire, and I've had to learn how to run a business without a lick of experience in the field, so that's been taking up a lot of my life lately. I'm still finding time to write, but it is harder.

Still! I hope a nice, long, juicy chapter full of angst and fluff and hurt/comfort makes up for the hiatus. Love to the brim. X

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

As ideas go, Monty concludes that his latest might have been best left on the backburner, never to see the light of day. He hardly dares move, locked in place by his own mechanical parts as he stares down at you on the sofa, and you in turn, gawk up at him, your eyes still wet and shining with tears.

And for all his artificial intelligence, for all the state-of-the-art programming slapped into his circuitry, the most eloquent response he can conjure up in the face of his own blunder is a weak, faltering, “Uh…”

But what else could best encapsulate the jarring realisation that he’s been caught? He hadn’t really fathomed being caught at all, hadn’t even considered what he might do if he was caught.

Well, too little too late now, he supposes. There’s no way he can simply duck back through your open window and feign ignorance when you inevitably return to the Plex to confront him…

…. Could he…?

… No, no. Definitely not.

Closely observing your expression, the gator’s proverbial stomach sinks as your face begins to lose all aspects of shock and instead turns towards something more closely akin to anger, unpleasant in its familiarity, and Monty realises he’s running out of time to come up with a believable excuse to explain away his presence here, as if a 'good' excuse even exists.

Brows scrunching together, your jaw creaks shut, teeth meeting with an audible ‘click,’ that pulls an involuntary flinch from the gator’s tail.

He can handle Mick being angry with him. He can handle Andy and that exec, the staff and guests and all of their cross words and scathing looks.

Yet for some reason that he dare not examine, the very notion of you pointing your wrath at him fills Monty with a dread so palpable, he’d swear the coolant in his hydraulics freezes solid. The irony of the revelation doesn’t escape him. Until now, he’s spent so long being angry at everyone around him without sparing much thought as to how it must feel to be on the receiving end.

Beyond the threatening wave of apprehension cresting over him, he can still hear the sizzle of water against a hot stove-top somewhere nearby – the very culprit that had landed you on the floor, and him here in the first place - and in his eagerness to set things right again, Monty latches onto the one task he’s at least semi-certain he can’t mess up.

He doesn’t break eye-contact with you, not until he’s edged his way into the little kitchenette and finally tears his gaze from yours to spin around to the stove, knocking his tail against the fridge with a jarring clang of metal. He winces at the force, hoping he hasn’t dented it.

Grimacing at the knobs and dials sitting innocently on the cooker, he elects not to tackle them, instead reaching out to engulf the saucepan’s entire handle in a single fist where he simply lifts the whole contraption off the stove.

At once, the water boiling within its metal confines eases to a manageable simmer.

“Monty…” When his name leaves your lips this time, it’s deeper, colder, with the barest tremble flecked into your voice. “You… you can’t be here…”

The gator has enough sense not to bark out a nervous laugh at the century’s greatest understatement.

Clenching his fingers around the handle, he carefully plops the saucepan down near the back of the stove, away from the burning, red ring of heat. Excess water still dribbles in tiny rivulets down the side of the counter, but he turns his processor away from the mess by physically twisting himself around in the cramped space until he’s facing you once more, clutching his hands up to his yellow chest plate.

“You can’t be here,” you reiterate thinly, your eyes blown wide and pupils small and dark like pinprick holes, locked in his direction.

Then, with the suddenness of a bullet firing from a gun, you explode into motion.

Lurching over at the waist, you swipe your discarded crutch from the floor and begin shoving yourself gracelessly from the sofa with such fervour, Monty is momentarily struck by the ludicrous idea that you might be on your way to attack him.

“Of all the-! the stupid-!” you sputter, slamming the crutch’s rubber foot into your carpet and heaving yourself upright, wobbling across the room on an unsteady leg, “Dangerous! Irresponsible-!”

You continue hurling out adjectives and lumbering forwards, and Monty – suddenly alarmed that you’re about to topple face-first into the carpet again – kicks himself into gear. His pistons carry him across the room in a few, loping strides where he meets you at the edge of the kitchen linoleum, mindlessly throwing both of his enormous palms around your waist to steady you.

Almost at once, you latch onto him roughly, your fingertips squeaking against plastic as they attempt to gather purchase around a too-thick wrist.

“Monty!” The acrid taste of panic steadily trickles down the back of your throat. “Monty, this isn’t funny! I’m not kidding! This isn’t funny, you cannot be here!”

But Monty isn’t laughing. And although you sound borderline hysterical, there isn’t a trace of humour in your expression either. Maybe you hope it's a practical joke, or that you're seeing things. Anything except for the gargantuan reality peering down at you from behind star-shaped sunglasses. 

“I know,” is all the gator can muster up as a reply. Because he does know. He can’t be here.

And yet, he is.

“Then what-” you snap, “-the fuck are you doing here!?” It’s the first time you’ve really raised your voice at him, and there’s a sharpness to it that tucks the animatronic’s snout down towards his chest, rendered contrite in the face of your reprimand. Something deep in his subroutine starts to hum, discontented. Perhaps it’s the fact that the shoe is on the other foot now, and this time, he’s the one on the receiving end of someone else’s anger.

Another tear spills over to clump your eyelashes together.

Whirring loudly behind his glasses, Monty’s optics track its path over the swell of your cheek, and again, he creaks his jaw open, hoping something more substantial than his previous answer will miraculously come to him. As it is, he merely utters a soft, “I… don’t know.”

Evidently however, that had been the wrong thing to say.

For several seconds, your mouth flaps open and closed in disbelief before your face screws up into a tight ball of incredulousness and you manage to shrilly proclaim, “What do you mean you don’t know!?”

You snatch your hand away from his wrist to rake trembling fingers through your hair, digging into your scalp with the tips of blunted nails. “Oh god, oh god… This is bad, this is bad! You’re…”

Trailing off, you lean away from the animatronic, shoving a palm against his solid chest and giving your head a harsh shake, as if you might somehow throw the whole situation from your mind. Even as you pull away, his hands retain their firm point of contact on your sides.

After a beat of silence, you go still once more, blinking up at the gator and confirming that, no, you aren’t imagining the hulking, green goliath towering over you, looking far too large to occupy the space between your ceiling and floor. “Monty, for god’s sake,” you say through gritted teeth, “You’re in my flat!”

“I.. I know this looks bad-” he tries, removing a hand from your waist, palm tipped towards you in a placating gesture, “But, it’s okay-“

“- In what universe is this okay!?” you fret, batting at the massive paw that stretches towards you, “Monty! You’re outside the Plex! If you’re caught, they’ll-! Christ! You could be decommissioned! Is that what you want?!”

“I wanted to make sure you got home,” he emphasises.

“You can’t do that though!” you almost wail at him, shaking your fists beseechingly as if to beg him to comprehend your desperation, “You understand why you can’t do that, right?!”

“I was just-!” There’s a sudden buzz of static as he cuts off his own voice box, rendering the end of his sentence effectively unspoken.

But he ought to have known you aren’t about to let him get away with silence, not when you’re so clearly distraught and prying for answers.

“What, Monty?!” you exclaim, pinning him with your glare like a butterfly to a corkboard, “You were just what?!”

The gator’s jaw works mechanically, grinding the gears on their pivots as he clenches and unclenches it. He’s unwilling to give up the vulnerable words that have lodged themselves in his voice box, words that seem far too soft coming from the mouth of an animatronic with an unmalleable frame.

The only sound to break the silence is the steady ‘drip,’ ‘drip,’ ‘drip,’ of your leaky faucet.

“Montgomery,” you snap when his silence starts to overstay its welcome.

And the gator, despite his best efforts, flinches.

Plastic eyebrows slot together with an audible ‘clack’ as Monty lowers his optics to the carpet at your feet…

You’ve fallen back on his show title.

It’s a… rather decisive step away from the nickname he asked you to call him. The chasm that stood between you and the gator was wide when you set foot his green room not so long ago, yet in spite of first impressions, that gap has slowly been closing up over the last few days.

But now? Calling him ‘Montgomery,’ and in so terse a tone feels too much like the rift has just inched a few notches wider again.

Perhaps it’s that solemn, borderline desperate urge to regain what precious ground he’s lost that drives him to finally lift his gaze from the carpet and aim it somewhere near your glistening eyes instead.

“Just… tryin’a do what you did for me…” he utters.

Your face immediately untwists, brows launching up your forehead as everything about you opens up in clear surprise.

Whatever excuse you’d been imagining, he hadn’t provided it.

“What?” The question squeezes out of your throat, rasping and tight.

Hiking up the volume in his voice box, Monty retorts, “You came to make sure I was okay at the Plex. I-I’m just… doin’ the same thing!”

Sputtering around half-formed words for a several seconds, you finally manage to exclaim, “There is an astronomical difference between a human going to their place of work, and an animatronic up and leaving the place they were built, Montgomery, you can’t even try to pretend there isn’t!”

You’re well aware that comparing your autonomy to his own is a little below the belt, but the truth, whilst certainly ugly, is still the truth.

“Andy can tear me a new one for not going home after surgery,” you continue frantically, “But that’s nothing compared to what Faz Co. will do to you if they find out you’ve gone awol! And that’s not even the half of it! I mean - What if you run out of charge!? Or – or!”

As you steadily approach the line between distraught and thoroughly panicked, your voice begins to rise, cracking at the apex of your sentence, hypotheticals darting relentlessly through your head.

“What if someone saw you!? How did you even get here! Oh, fuck, Management’ll scrap you for spare parts, or - Damnit, Monty!” you blurt, ducking your head to try and meet his downcast optics, “Are you evening listening to me!?”

He is listening, as a matter of fact, quite intently. Though his visual feed may not be focused on you, the gator is hanging on your every word. But it isn’t the realisation he could be decommissioned that’s caught his attention. He already knows that the outcomes you’ve just listed are very real possibilities, should his little escapade ever be discovered.

No, instead, it’s the clear and undeniable fear laid thickly in your voice that grinds his processor to a halt. It sits on your tongue like a glaze, shining brightly for him to pick up on, and wonder how he missed it in the first place.

This isn’t anger.

This is something else dressed up to look like anger, and the tragedy is, it’s a disguise he knows all-too well, so well, in fact, that he should have recognised you’d donned it the moment you opened your mouth to speak.

You’re afraid.

If animatronics were built to house spirits, Monty’s would be tentatively lifting their heads. However, the revelation that perhaps he hasn’t driven off his best and only friend is cut woefully short when all of a sudden, his audio receptors give a ping, alerting him to new input approaching from a nearby source.

Without warning, the gator’s head snaps towards the door of your flat, mechanical clicks filling the unexpected silence as his optics adjust to the change in distance.

Footsteps… heavy and unhurried, slowing as they draw nearer to your door…

“Monty?” you hiss, distractedly following the line drawn by his glare, “Don’t try and-“

‘Knock.’

‘Knock.’

‘Knock.’

Three deliberate raps on your front door cause any further arguments to shrivel up and die at the back of your throat. You stop breathing altogether, and every noise suddenly seems too loud in the ensuing silence.

‘Who the Hell-?’ you wonder, dumbfounded, ‘-It’s the middle of the night!?’

No sooner has the thought occurred to you than a finger of ice-cold dread drags a chilly path up the notches on your spine, right to the fine hairs prickling at the nape of your neck.

Like a jackhammer, your heart rams itself up against your sternum over and over again.

‘He couldn’t have… Shit. Could he? But... How?’

“Y/n?”

You’re too slow to clamp your mouth shut around a gasp when you hear the voice, muffled but undeniably masculine, calling out from the other side of the door. Monty’s silicone lips ripple apart, though he at least has the forethought not to push an audible growl through his speakers.

The voice, however, doesn’t sound as though it belongs to the… the person you thought it might have belonged to.

You can’t place it straight away. You’re only sure that you know it from somewhere, but with several centimetres of wood standing between you and it, details are distorted and difficult to pinpoint.

Another knock startles you again, even more-so when it’s followed by, “Are you in there?”

A pregnant pause stretches until your teeth start to ache from keeping them pressed together so firmly.

And then, the words you thought you’d never have to hear again filter through the cracks beneath the door. “I thought I heard shouting.”

There’s an instinct that rises from buried depths at the utterance, instincts you thought you’d put to bed long ago.

It's as though someone has lit a fire under your feet. Mechanically, you twist around towards the sofa, your eyes locking onto the remote controls sitting on its arm rest. Limping up to them with stilted, frenetic movements, you snatch them up and aim them at the television, jamming your thumb into the ‘on’ button with far more force than necessary. Plastic creaks beneath your fingertips.

Seconds later, the screen flickers to life, landing on a film you don’t bother to try and recognise. Hiking up the volume until the tinny sound kicks out of the speakers and fills your meagre living space, you toss the remote back onto the sofa cushions and make your way arduously to the door.

Yet another knock indicates that your late-night visitor is persistent, you’ll give him that.

Several steps from the entrance, your progress is stopped by a sudden wall of green stepping in front of you, blocking your path forward.

“Move,” you rasp through gritted teeth, too quiet to be heard over the television as you smack at the gator’s tail that’s trying to curl around your thighs.

Monty’s head swivels around to frown at you. The purple casings surrounding his optics slide half-closed to give you the impression of a beseeching look.

You wonder if he knows who’s at the door.

“Hello? Y/n?” the stranger calls again.

“I - just a second,” you blurt out, ignoring Monty’s grimace as you bully your way past him, using your crutch to keep him from stepping around you lest he risk tripping you over, “Sorry, I’m... still getting the hang of these crutches.”

You have half a mind to demand to know who the Hell would have the unmitigated audacity to come around and knock on your door at this time of night.

Behind you, Monty’s claws try to hook into the back of your shirt, but the fear of accidentally tearing anything you own keeps him from holding on with any real purpose. As such, it’s only too easy to slip out of his grasp and press your eye up to the peep hole, the blood in your ears rushing to a watery crescendo.

A distorted yet familiar face peers back at you through the glass, sweat glistening off a ruddy forehead that shines under the overhead lights.

“Mick!?” you burst out.

What in the name of God...

Whirling around to face Monty, you throw an arm out, gesturing wildly towards your bedroom door.

The gator’s jaws are clenched tightly enough that you suspect if you were to toss a lump of coal between his teeth, he’d spit out a diamond, and while his tail twitches back and forth in clear agitation, he doesn’t otherwise move.

“Ah, you are there,” your not-so-mysterious visitor exclaims, “Mind opening the door?”

Yes, you mind! You mind very much! What is he doing here!?

Unless…

Your head turns slowly over a shoulder to gape unblinkingly at the animatronic looming close behind you. Your eyes find his, your stomach clenches…

“Hello?”

“Uh, just… hang on a second!” you stall, fumbling and fiddling with the metal latch, pretending to fight with it whilst you cast another, desperate look back at the gator. “Damn lock is always getting stuck.”

The moment his optics catch your eye again, you mouth, ‘Please’, jerking your chin at your bedroom door, ‘Please. Hide.’

Ever so slowly, Monty blinks, taking in the harsh lines that cut crevices down the centre of your forehead, right between your furrowed brows. And just like that, the corners of his snarl start to fall, and the apertures of his pupils expand to hide blazing, crimson LEDs.

A thousand calculations run through his processor at once, all of them pertaining to the risk of leaving you to face Mick by yourself. His programming shrieks in defiance as he takes a reluctant step backwards, being light as he can on cumbersome actuators.

He should stay… Neither of you know why Mick is here, though he can hazard several guesses.

You’re afraid, you’re vulnerable… You need him.

But probability reminds him that perhaps the situation isn’t so dire. He's sure he hadn’t been spotted on his way here, and if he was, why would Faz Co. send Mick – of all humans - out for retrieval?

What if the man's being here is merely down to chance?

If that's the case, then should he catch you with one of the Glamrocks in your home, the repercussions will be far worse than whatever Monty fears could happen by leaving you to deal with the situation alone…

So, driven back by the urgent glimmer of tears shining over your sclera, Montgomery Gator begrudgingly makes a decision that goes against his very programming. He retreats from the room, slinking backwards as silently as a two-tonne bot can through the door and into what he can only assume must be your personal recharging station.

All the while, you watch him over the threshold, waiting until the gator’s hefty bulk disappears into the darkness of the room beyond. Even still, you wait for him to push your door shut with an undetectable 'thud' before you finally wrench the lock on your own door free and tug the whole thing open, remembering to plaster a tentative smile on your face just in the nick of time.

“Mr Matthews,” you grind out sweetly, praying that the television in the background covers your stumbling addition of, “What a… a nice surprise!”

The man on the other side of the door straightens his posture at once. It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s keeping one arm behind his back as he too slaps a grin on his face, though you imagine his is slightly more authentic than your own.

“Y/n, my dear,” he returns, revealing his hidden appendage and, to your surprise – and confusion - producing a fistful of limp, strikingly dark dahlias, the kind you might pull off the bargain shelf at your nearby petrol station.

 “I wasn’t sure you’d be awake,” Mick continues, edging towards you until the toe of his winter boot pokes over the threshold, “But I was in the area and thought I’d stop by to see how you were doing.”

With the flowers practically shoved under your nose, you try to surreptitiously lean backwards, putting your weight on the crutch as you reply, “O-oh, that’s, ah, very kind of you…”

Can he hear your pulse thundering? Oh god, can he see the dilation of your pupils? Does he know who you have hidden in your bedroom? He must… He has to. Why else would he be here?

Almost running on autopilot now, you continue, “You didn’t need to come all this way though. Um…” Trailing off to bite at the inside of your cheek, you hedge, “I didn’t realise you knew where to find me.”

To anyone with even a modicum of self-awareness, the statement is poised as a direct question, in expectation of an answer. ‘How did you know where I live?’ is being broadcast from every facet of your voice and expression.

But Mick, clueless or perhaps deliberately obtuse, merely lowers the flowers an inch and replies, “Oh, you’ve mentioned it to me a few times now.”

… Have you? It’s… entirely possible, you suppose. After all, you talk about a lot of things at work, and subsequently, you forget about a lot of things too. But who would remember all the small talk you make with co-workers, or the unimportant comments you toss out while you’re responding to ‘check-ups’ from management?

Your home address however… It took you a long time to even tell Andy where it was, in case of emergencies… You can’t imagine it’s something you let slip without noticing.

But… Mick is here…

So how else?

Shoving down the frustration at yourself for being careless, you clear your throat and nod at the flowers. “And, can I presume those are for…“

Mick jumps, staring down at the dahlias clutched in his fist as if he’s only just remembered they’re there. “Oh, yes of course they’re for you!” he proclaims, “Of course, of course. Only courteous to give flowers to people in need of healing, no?”

You blink at him mutely, pretending not to notice the excess oil he’s slicked into his hair tonight.

Is that why he’s here? To bring you flowers? Is that all?

Part of you wants to slump with relief. Another part however, older, wiser and sadder, remains cautious.

“Well, again, that’s really kind of you,” you tell him, reaching out to take the flowers from his hand. The stems seem to breathe elated sighs as he relinquishes his iron-clad grip. “I’ll have to find a vase for these…”

You’re not sure you even own a vase…

“Naturally,” he replies, peering over your shoulder to quirk a brow at the television blaring behind you, “Ah. Movie night?”

“Hmm?” Following his gaze, you rush out, “Oh yeah, I figured… since I’m off tomorrow and the foreseeable future, a little late night wouldn’t kill me…”

Would it be rude to ask your senior why he’s bringing you flowers at this time of night? Maybe you can tell him you were just about to turn off the TV and go to bed?

As you deliberate how best to tell the man on your doorstep to make himself scarce, he surprises you by abruptly asking, “May I come in?”

‘No!’ your own voice screams at you from inside your head, ‘Just say no!’

“I’m not sure that’s-“ you begin tactfully, but Mick is already bustling forwards, crowding you until you take a slight step to one side. After that, well… You’ve given him an inch, he’ll take a mile, as it were.

Once he has a literal foot in the door, Mick sweeps past you, moving breezily into your living area and roving his gaze all over the room, hands planted on his hips. “Goodness,” he remarks, cocking his head at your bare walls and sparse décor, “You don’t get much on a cleaner’s salary, do you? You haven’t put that… ahem, bonus to good use yet?”

You want to bristle like a cat that’s been kicked.

Mick’s jab is unmistakable, but his awareness of his own civility is not.

Swallowing back a retort, you simply murmur, “Hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I’ll go and put these in some water.” Truthfully, you’re still reeling from the fact he’d just invited himself inside.

Hobbling towards the sink, you delicately lay the flowers in the washing-up bowl and turn on the tap. An angry ring of red light catches the edge of your vision, and you glance over at the stove-top, clicking your tongue as you reach over and turn the cooker’s dial to the ‘off’ position.

Teeth find the inside of your cheek and bite down on the fleshy wall, worrying at it while you wait for the bowl to cover half of the flowers’ stems.

‘Monty knows better than to give himself away,’ you assure yourself, trying to pretend you can’t feel those eyes prickling at the back of your neck, ‘And it’s getting late. Mick’ll want to get home soon. This isn’t anything other than a concerned manager delivering well-wishes to a member of the staff.’

‘There’s a guest in the house,’ a voice that isn’t entirely your own pops up, unbidden, ‘Offer him a drink.’

“Can I get you anything?” you blurt out, turning off the dripping tap and swivelling about to face Mick, “Coffee? Tea?”

The man throws you a look, barking out a laugh. “My word, someone’s got you well-trained,” he chortles.

The moisture dries up in your mouth. He likely assumes he’s referring to your upbringing, or maybe your schooling, but his statement hits far too close to home and sends phantom prangs of alarm through your brain, fizzing like electricity.

But just as your head starts to feel light…

“No, nothing for me,” he sighs, entirely oblivious to the cracks forming in your outer veneer as he nods pointedly at your television, “Although, uh, TV’s a little loud, no?”

“O-oh, yes,” you give a start, wobbling past him, “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.” That one was a little barbed, but you think it’s more than justified, given the circumstances.

Making your way to the sofa again, you reach for the controls, intent on swiping them off the cushions, but you freeze in your tracks when your eyes land on the overturned coffee table to your left. The coffee table Monty had knocked aside in his haste to get at you after you collapsed…

Behind you, Mick of course, has already seen it.

“Doing some redecorating?” he comments.

Thinking on your feet, you resume your task of picking up the remote and turning the television off, plunging the room into an uncomfortable silence once more. “No, just… had to move it earlier to do some exercises the physician recommended.”

Mick ‘ah’s’ in apparent understanding whilst you elect to deliberately leave the table where it is, tipped on its side.

“You wouldn’t believe how much space it takes just to do some stretches,” you add, “I haven’t gotten around to moving it back.”

You make a concerted effort to keep your eyes from drifting towards your bedroom door, painfully conscious that the gator must be standing just on the other side, head pressed to the wood to follow the flow of conversation.

“Mm, I can imagine,” Mick grunts noncommittally, and as you return your attention to him, you’re just in time to see him helping himself to a seat on your sofa, breathing out a long, languid sigh as he glances up at you, ruddy cheeks pushing out in a smile. “Come, sit!” he insists abruptly, as if it isn’t your sofa that he’s inviting you to. “Rest that leg of yours, you must be tired.”

If only he knew how terribly his suggestion puts your back up and sends your pulse skyrocketing.

All of a sudden, from the direction of your bedroom door, there comes a soft, nearly inaudible scraping sound, not unlike claws dragging across wood.

To your horror, Mick’s head starts turning towards the noise, but quick as a flash, you draw his focus by stretching your jaws into a wide, obnoxious yawn and settling down on the opposite end of the sofa, leaving a respectable distance between you both.

Covering your mouth with a palm, you loudly proclaim, “Oh! Oh, excuse me. I suppose I have got one foot in bed already.”

You try for light-hearted, miss and land on uncomfortable instead. But if Mick gets the hint, he doesn’t outwardly acknowledge it, merely hums and pulls a handkerchief from the pocket of his shirt, daubing at a glistening temple.

As you perch awkwardly on the edge of the seat, you keep a firm grip on your crutch and make every conceivable effort to avoid casting any wayward glances at your bedroom door. If there’s even the slightest chance that Mick isn’t here because of Monty, then you aren’t keen on blowing your cover.

“So,” the man next to you starts conversationally, clapping his hands down on his knees, “You’re holding up all right, then?”

Shrugging a shoulder, you reply, “As well as I can be, all things considered.”

Mick purses his lips, head bobbing sympathetically. “Mm, I’m sure that’s the case,” he admits, “Bad business, that attack in the tunnels. Very bad business…”

Bad business, or bad for business, you wonder.

And talk about an understatement. You have to sternly remind yourself not to scoff.

His mention of the ‘incident’ however does raise a certain flag at the back of your mind as it occurs to you for the first time that Faz Co. wouldn’t be above sending someone to make sure you’re sticking by the non-disclosure agreement. You wouldn’t put it past them…

Is that why Mick is here? Second guessing yourself for the umpteenth time, you take a deep breath and gently try to steer the conversation towards something of real substance. “I… signed the exec’s paperwork, by the way… So, you don’t need to worry. The matter’s done with, so far as I’m concerned.”

The fact that you now have enough money to start looking for a nicer place to live is certainly motive enough to keep idle gossip to yourself.

In response, Mick only tips his head back and barks out a laugh, “Of course you did,” he chuckles, shaking his head at you, beaming, “You’re a damn good woman. You work hard, you keep your head down. You do your job, and you do it well. You’re loyal…”

Trailing off, he twists himself about at the torso to face you, the smile sloughing off his face as he adds, “Loyal enough that you’d come to the Plex the day after you were carted away in an ambulance.”

With gradual unease, your fingertips curl into the sofa cushions.

Whatever expression you pull must be dire indeed because Mick immediately drops his serious façade and lets out a chortle, leaning across the sofa to give your knee a pat just a few inches from the top of the cast, apparently too amused to notice that you blanch.

“Now then, no need to look so spooked,” he tells you, “I’m not here to lecture you about what you should and shouldn’t be doing following a major incident. I just thought I’d mention that I saw you today-“

You can barely focus on his voice. He’s allowed his clammy palm to lay like a lead weight upon your knee. It’s still there. Why is it still there? The temptation to kick your leg out as if to shoo away a bothersome fly is awfully prevalent.

“I must say,” he carries on, oblivious to the way your gaze drills into the back of his hand, “I was impressed by your dedication to the company. I’d have come over to say ‘hello,’ but…”

Breaking off to torture you with a pregnant pause, the man’s jovial expression collapses, turning sour. “Well…” He clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “Then I saw you were with the gator.”

Right there on the sofa, your heart seizes up.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with that gator recently.”

‘He knows,’ you fret, flicking a frantic look at the door to your bedroom. The evidence is stacking up against you. Why turn up now, and why mention Monty at all?

Fingers trembling, you start the process of falling apart right next to him, debating whether or not to just get it over with and come clean when he suddenly furrows his brows at you and – at long last – draws back, retrieving his hand from your leg. “You need to watch yourself around that bot. You hear me?”

Relief and shock war for control for several seconds as you gape at him, only remembering to snap your jaw shut once you realise it’s been hanging awkwardly ajar for far too long. Swallowing thickly, you try to smooth down your bristling nerves and stammer out a clumsy, “I-I’m sorry?”

“I’m not the only one who’s noticed, you know,” Mick surges ahead as if you hadn’t spoken, “Most of the staff are starting to talk. A lot of the guests too. And now there’s that video going around…”

Your eyes are starting to ache with the effort of keeping them affixed to the manager, not your bedroom door.

“It’s no secret that it’s taken a real liking to you,” he grunts, “And the way I see it, that puts you at the most risk.”

Suddenly, you find it much easier to pay attention. Several, rapid blinks put Mick at the centre of your focus as you politely admit, “I’m sorry, I… I don’t follow.”

The look he gives you is decidedly pitying. Heaving a slow sigh through his nose, he roves his gaze up towards your ceiling as if he means to pluck the right words out of thin air. “Listen,” he begins patiently, like a teacher trying to explain something basic to their struggling student, “Bots don’t just… change like Monty has. I mean, what’s it been? Less than a week? And it’s gone from causing countless incidents of property damage and snapping at every staff member it sees to carrying one across the plex?”

He puffs out a derisive scoff and shakes his head, lips pursed. Then, leaning forward, he links his fingers together and props both elbows on top of his knees, glowering hard at the blank television screen. “I’m not buying it,” he utters darkly, “Sooner or later, its old ways will start kicking in again, and when they do, who’s the person directly in the firing line?”

Peeling one hand away from the other, he curls it into a fist, extends his forefinger, and aims it right between your eyes.

There’s something so inherently disconcerting about the action alone that you physically draw back from the man on the sofa, leaning away and eyeing his hand as though you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. But at the forefront of your mind – and a sudden source of great contention - is his implication that Monty is any kind of threat to you. Perhaps you wouldn’t be feeling a thrum of defensive indignation if the gator himself hadn’t been in the other room, no doubt able to hear every word Mick is saying about him. As it is, your chest starts to buzz with the desire to correct the man’s assumptions.

Peeling a dry tongue from the roof of your mouth, you slowly press out, “With all due respect, Sir-“

“-It’s Mick, doll. Just Mick.”

You try not to pull a face at his interruption. “Mick,” you start again, “With all due respect, I think that’s a bit unfair to Monty…”

At once, surprise opens his expression, smoothing the wrinkles between his brows as they go shooting up his forehead instead.

“Unfair?” he deadpans.

“I just mean that he’s been trying very hard to do things right lately, and we shouldn’t dismiss that just because he's had a few bad days, right?” Instances of breaking into your apartment notwithstanding. “Christ, Mick, he saved my life from that en-“

Mick’s beady eyes narrow at you.

Clearing your throat, you carefully amend, “… from that intruder.”

For several seconds, you watch on as the man’s face twists up once again into a frown, and he purses his lips at you, exhaling roughly through his nose. Leaning sideways across the sofa, he puts himself close to you and raises a finger into the air, wagging it at you in a manner that you really don’t care for.

“One example of the ‘correct’ behaviour doesn’t negate all the harm that bot has otherwise done,” he tells you firmly, “To the brand, to the plex…” Trailing off, his eyes gloss over as they drift to the back of his hand, staring at something you can’t see. After a moment, he quietly adds, “To me.”

Glancing sideways to find you fixing him with a strange look, he pushes out a cough. “A-And it certainly doesn’t prove that it’s safe. Never trust a dog that’s bitten once not to bite again.”

“Monty’s not a dog,” you point out, your brows set in a stern, unyielding line.

“No,” Mick agrees sharply, “It’s a two-tonne animatronic with a history of violence and a penchant for causing trouble wherever it goes.”

All at once, you bridle, clenching your fist around the crutch. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re in your own home that gives you a shot of courage straight through the chest. If Mick had confronted you with these accusations at work, you can’t deny you might have been a little more hesitant to retaliate. As it is, he came into your flat uninvited, he sat on your sofa and started bad-mouthing your friend…

 “Now hang on a moment, that’s just plain wrong,” you retort, “Monty hasn’t caused any trouble for me, and in fact, he’s gone out of his way to help me these past few days – quite a lot, actually.”

Somehow, Mick’s brows travel even further north towards his slicked-back hairline. He blinks, surprised, either because of your sudden and admittedly barbed defence of a bot you’ve only known for a few days, or because he hadn’t expected you to show him your backbone at all.

You quiver angrily on the opposite side of the sofa, heavy eyelids protesting the late hour whilst Mick blows a noisy breath through pursed lips, regarding you with newfound interest.

“Now then, there’s no need to get yourself all worked up,” he soothes cloyingly, “I didn’t come all this way to upset you.”

The willpower it requires not to bark ‘I am not upset!’ is tremendous, even more so to fake an apologetic smile and reply, “Of course you didn’t. Sorry, it’s just been a long day.” And getting longer with every second Mick sits there, behaving as though he’s done nothing untoward simply by being here.

“I’m sure it has,” he remarks.

And then… something happens. Something that sets the synapses in your brain firing off alarm bells left right and centre, paralysing you in your seat.

Without a word to announce his intentions, Mick shuffles himself along the sofa cushions towards you, closing the very deliberate gap you’d wedged between the pair of you minutes ago.

“If I’m being perfectly honest with you,” he begins in a low murmur, and you wish he wouldn’t be honest at all if that’s how he intends to speak, “I’m sorry I ever sent you into that damnable gator’s room in the first place. I mean, granted you’ve saved the company thousands in repairs since then… But… Ah, forgive me, perhaps this is unprofessional but…”

His already soft voice dies to absolute silence as he stretches his hand across the distance between you and sets it down on your leg once more, just above your knee - nowhere an uninvited hand ought to have any business treading.

You can’t tear your eyes off it. All the moisture in your throat has dried up, all the breath in your lungs stays trapped.

You’re not angry anymore.

“I simply wouldn’t forgive myself if that gator hurt you, you know,” his voice sounds muffled, half-drowned out under the blood rushing in your ears, “I’m only looking out for you.”

You’re scared.

He’s sitting close, too close, close enough that the smell of smoky cologne is suddenly clogging up your airways and sticking to the back of your throat when you inhale.

“Can you blame me for worrying though?” he asks, rubbing his hand up an inch as if he’s testing the waters. Sadly, your limits have been pushed before, further and further each time until the bad things just became mildly uncomfortable things, and the really dreadful things were simply better to ignore.

“You really are a very good worker. But that animatronic isn’t safe.”

Your breath catches in your gullet when you swallow, and even now, after all your experience and the hurdles you’ve cleared, you start to doubt yourself. Perhaps Mick really is just concerned. He certainly sounds it. You could be finding horror in something entirely benign. He’s a manager, he knows better.

He’s a molehill and you’re sitting here wondering if you should make him into a mountain.

Fingers twitch against your skin and you blanch, prying your jaws apart to… what? Scream? Tell him to get his hand off you? He hasn’t technically done anything wrong. You let him inside…

All of your senses come flooding back to you suddenly as a strange sound catches your ear; a latch clicking out of place, a handle turning inwards. Ears thrumming with adrenaline, you at last manage to rip at least part of your concentration off Mick and train your hearing towards your room instead.

Luckily for you and the idiot gator trying to stealthily open your bedroom door for some, inane reason, Mick seems far too preoccupied with catching your eye to even register the noise.

He’s looking for a reaction.

The appealing idea that this might just be one big misunderstanding starts to wash away bit by bit.

You cast your mind about, mentally searching the room for something – anything to derail the direction of his goal. When that fails, you reluctantly allow your gaze to wander from your television to the front door, over to the kitchen and then down to the flowers poking over the lip of the sink…

Flowers…

A stray gear in your brain chugs to life, kicking out a single, blessed idea.

“Hah!” you wheeze out breathlessly, forcing a wobbly smile onto your reluctant mouth, “You’re starting to sound like Andy. He worries about me too.”

There. It’s only for an instant, but out of the corner of an eye, you see Mick’s expression falter. “Flowers?” he asks.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, “I’m surprised you didn’t arrive with him actually.” Feigning an expectant glance at your front door, you school curiosity onto your face and add, “You didn’t see him on your way up, did you?”

Mick’s hand starts to raise ever so slightly from your thigh, too slow for your liking, yet you grit your teeth and bear it for a while longer, like you always have.

“See him?” the man blinks, “I… no? Why would I have seen him?”

“Oh, it’s just, he texted me before you knocked on the door. Said he’d be here in another ten… fifteen minutes to drop off some stuff I left in my locker at work. I thought you might have come together.” Shrugging a shoulder as casually as you can, you quirk a brow at Mick and continue, “You really didn’t see him? Huh. I hope he’s okay. It’s not like him to be late.”

On the last word, the feeling of warm, sweaty skin pressed to your leg disappears.

Bingo.

“Well,” Mick announces brusquely, plastering a cheery grin on his face as he leans back and slaps his palms onto his knees, pushing himself off your sofa, “If Flowers is on his way, I’d better let you two have your space. Wouldn’t want to crowd you, hmm?”

Though it damn-near kills you to do so, you tilt your head and ask, “Oh, are you sure? I think he wanted to have a word with you about something.”

Mick’s face turns several shades paler than usual as he stumbles over his response. “Ah, well, I’m sure it can wait until I see him at work tomorrow.” Slipping a finger between his grey tie and the collar of his shirt, he tugs the fabric looser, taking several, hurried steps in the direction of your front door. “I’m sorry to have stopped in unannounced.”

Your smile reveals just a few too many teeth. “It’s not a problem,” you lie, using the crutch to lever yourself onto your feet, “I suppose I’ll see you at work, then?”

Mick’s backwards peddling might have been funny if you were in any mood to laugh.

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes. I’ll see you then,” he titters, “You just stay off that leg in the meantime.” His hand grasps the door handle, sliding clumsily around it for a moment as his damp palms clamber for purchase.

You heart soars when he finally manages to pull it open, only to step halfway outside and hesitate in the threshold of your home. For several, awful seconds, you stare at the back of his head, wondering if he’s changed his mind, or worse, if he’s called your bluff.

Sparing you a look over his shoulder, Mick catches your eye. “Just… remember what I told you about the gator,” he tells you suddenly, “Preferably before you decide to visit the Plex again.”

And with that, he just… leaves, disappearing out into the hallway and pulling your door shut in his wake until the latch ‘clicks’ shut.

Mouth full of cotton wool, you listen intently for the thump of dress shoes hitting carpet to peter out as Mick beats a hasty retreat down the hall. Fainter and fainter, the sound fades, until at last, you hear the far-off 'ding' of the lift doors sliding open and shut, and with a shuddering inhale, you promptly crumple forwards against the door, gasping out a wet, pitiful noise whilst you scrabble at the lock with shuddering fingers.

It’s only when the metal latch slides into place with a definitive ‘shunk,’ that the door of your bedroom bursts open.

With all the speed and unimpeded ferocity of a stampeding bull, Monty comes surging from the darkness of your bedroom, his shoulder struts reared back like a pair of snakes ready to strike.

“What’d he do to you!?” he demands, crossing towards you in just a few strides.

You spare a thought for your downstairs neighbours before you remember they’ve been on holiday since last week. And a good thing too. Each step the gator takes sends tremors through the floor below your bare feet.

Monty’s sensors – by now so well-tuned to your vitals – had been going haywire behind the door, picking up on your thundering pulse and the steady uptick in your cortisol levels. He’d had to stand there, helpless but to listen as Mick spewed his rhetoric into your ear, and Monty hadn’t been able to defend himself or refute the man’s claims at all. But you-!

Wonderful, righteous, amicable you... You had! Monty's systems were thrumming, thoroughly cowed to hear you come to his defence, which made it only more difficult not to burst into the room and sweep you away from Mick when the man all but purred reassurances at you.

But worse, perhaps, was the gator’s inability to see what was happening on the other side of the door. Mick’s verbal blows against Monty’s behaviour couldn’t have been the catalyst for your climbing heartrate, though some small, selfish code in the animatronic hopes you felt at least a little indignation on his behalf.

No… Something else occurred here tonight. Something Monty wasn’t privy to, but wishes he was, if only to settle the ire broiling in his circuits.

You have your back to him, and your forehead pressed against the solid wood of your front door.

He has to see your face… He has to know. He has to read your expression and see for himself that there isn’t any fear there, just exasperation or even a fiery burst of anger. Anything… Just not fear. He would take all the fear in the world from any human he meets if he would only be spared from yours.

Wrestling back the hissing lines of code that poke and prod at his temper, Monty slows to a halt as he reaches you, his apertures twitching wide then narrow again whilst they flit up and down your body in search of damage.

“Hey,” he calls, sliding a single, clawed hand around your bicep, “You hear me? What’d he-?”

If he’d have just known… If he’d have hazarded a guess as to where your mind had gone in that moment, he might have thought twice about laying his hand on you.

“DON’T-!” you yelp shrilly, whirling around to face him and thrusting your wrist against his, knocking the limb aside as if to parry a weapon instead of his arm.

Startled, the gator wrenches his appendage back, holding it above his shoulder in a display of surrender as he blinks down at you dumbly, jaw falling ajar.

And then, he sees it.

You’re staring up at him, your face drawn back, haggard and half-mad with terror, your chest heaves with the effort of taking in breaths.

He doesn’t have to perform a scan to determine what he’s been dreading. Humans have looked at him like that ever since he was first brought online. Monty’s processor thumps, dredging up a memory of Mick - younger and bolder than the man he is now – reeling away from the gator, face as pale as Moon’s and his eyes so wide the entire iris was exposed. Monty remembers the odd sensation of something soft collapsing between his teeth.

The animatronic violently purges the memory from his internal storage, though he knows it’ll still linger there somewhere, buried behind layer upon layer of firewalls until his guard is lowered once more.

All at once, he recoils like he’s been hit by a wrecking ball, staggering backwards until his tail hits the wall behind him and he’s forced to stop. Unable to retreat any further, unable to offer you any more distance, he simply stares at you from his side of the room.

It’s over… This wonderful, safe harbour he’d found in you is finally finished… You believe what Mick had said about Monty being a danger to you.

He always knew this had to end, of course. Good things can’t thrive in the vicinity of a Faz Co. animatronic. He just… didn’t think the time would come so soon.

Even still, he can’t help but cling with raw, desperate hope to you, scrabbling to keep a hold of your good graces because he’s too stubborn or too foolish to let go.

“I-I wouldn’t -“ he starts, concealing his claws with his fists and tucking them against his chest, “- I’d never… I wouldn’t hurt you. Not you, not ever. You’re…”

His voice box sputters, cutting out for a moment as he searches his bank of vocabulary for what you are.

When it finally dawns on him, his processor almost grinds to a halt.

“You’re all I got,” he confesses slowly, surprising himself with the revelation, “I don’t got nobody else…I ain’t gonna hurt you, you know that.”

You have to know that.

Please know that.

Gradually, far too gradually for the gator’s highly strung code to endure, you lower your arm  too look at him, brows high on your forehead.

“Monty?” you utter quietly, sending a quick glance between the animatronic’s downcast snout and the hands he still keeps curled beneath his chest. In another blink, you realise what you’ve just insinuated through action alone.

“Oh, I… Monty – No, of course you wouldn’t. I’m so sorry, I… God.” Slouching back against the door, your head knocks against it as you drop a palm over your face. “This is such a mess.”

Lowering your palm to the door, you splay your fingers over the wood behind you, drawing in a steadying breath and trying to ground yourself to the solidity at your spine. Another breath, and you finally drop your eyes to the gator.

For the briefest moment, you consider telling him why you couldn’t bear to feel a hand on you right now.

Your mouth creaks open, the words sitting on the tip of your tongue.

But something along the vein of common sense tells you that it wouldn’t be fair to burden Monty with such knowledge.

‘Besides,’ you remind yourself, borrowing your mother’s words, ‘It’s all in the past, and least said, soonest mended.’

Morose yet resigned, you swallow back your admission.

“I’m sorry, Monty,” you offer instead, raising a hand to rub at your drooping eyelids, “I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Unconvinced, the gator curls his tail inward, eyeing your arm - the one he’d grabbed.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The question seems to creep out of him, his volume levels set so low that you have to strain your ears to hear it.

“No,” you reassure him, dropping your hand to give him a gentle, albeit tired smile, “No, you didn’t. You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” he readily agrees, lifting his snout a little.

For a few seconds, the pair of you simply regard each other from opposite sides of the room, until eventually – and reluctantly – you have to let your smile fade away, replacing it with a worn, heavyhearted frown.

“That was close though,” you whisper to yourself, letting your eyes slip shut, “Shit, that was too close.”

How on Earth Mick didn’t find out about Monty’s presence here, you’ll never know.

A mechanical whir followed by a thud lets you know the gator has just edged a step closer. “Yeah, no kiddin’…” There’s a pregnant pause, and then you jump slightly, snapping your eyes open as Monty raises his voice to an indignant bark, “And just what in the heck did he think he was doing, comin’ round here in the middle of the night anyway?”

The look you shoot the gator is withering enough to have him tilting his head sideways.

“What?” he asks, apparently oblivious.

You elect to gloss over his blatant hypocrisy in favour of jabbing a finger at him, though the action lacks the same hostility it might have ten minutes ago. “You know, it wouldn’t have been ‘too close’ if you hadn’t been here in the first place.”

Perhaps recognising the rising challenge in your tone, Monty’s stance shifts as he raises up on his struts, towering so high that his mohawk almost brushes the ceiling. He peers down the length of his snout at you, the line of his brows set and rigid, half shuttering his optics.

“I ain’t sorry,” he tells you, and it’s so matter of fact that you give a hard blink, your own eyebrows springing up towards your hairline.

You’re starting to feel a little like Andy. If this is how exasperated the poor mechanic feels when you do something stupid, then you owe him several, sincere apologies.

“I… I was, though,” Monty adds suddenly, lowering his nose as if the bluster was only ever meant to be short-lived, “Before Matthews turned up. But now, I…”

For a second, he falters, then bulldozes through his hesitation with a sharp grunt and a shake of his head, meeting your gaze resolutely. “Now, I’m glad I was here.”

His optics flicker brightly, though they dart between your face and the cast on your leg at frequent intervals as though he’s uncertain of himself yet determined not to back down from his conviction.

“I ain’t stupid,“ he insists, but there’s too much fervency behind it, like you’re not the only one he’s trying to convince, “Matthews was doin’ something to you. If you hadn’t’a got rid of him, I’d’ve…“

“…What, Monty,” you sigh when it becomes clear he’s hesitating to sort through his words again, “What would you have done, short of giving us both away?”

“I’d have stopped him,” he growls, puffing out his chest and jabbing it with the sharp claw of his thumb, “I’d’ve protected you.”

Rolling your eyes, you huff, “Oh, my hero. You’d get yourself scrapped, and me arrested for kidnapping an animatronic.”

It’s disconcerting to see a bot so large and intimidating positively wilt as though your point has just heaped a very real, very tangible weight upon his shoulders.

Letting a sigh slip through your nose, you catch a loose bit of skin between your teeth, worrying at it in the tangible silence that hovers between you and the gator.

You want to be angry with him for being here. You want to tell him how foolish and misguided his programming was to convince him that he should leave the Plex to seek you out. But if there was any strength left in you after the day’s events, it’s been well and truly sapped clean out of you. In fact, ‘sapped’ is too gentle a word for it. As memories try to pile up on top of one another, it takes more effort than you’d care to admit to beat them down again, leaving you with very little residual energy to conjure any resentment for an animatronic who followed you home because he wanted to make sure you got there safely.

This behaviour is so out of character for him.

And you? Well, you’re so out of your depth. Shit, you can never tell Sun and Moon about Monty’s escape. If the daycare attendants find out that they can leave the Plex as well, you’ll be in for a whole new world of trouble.

While you slump against the door, contemplating, Monty’s large head swings to the left, his optics studying the window. He’d wrenched it open so hard the frame had torn jagged splinters from the surrounding wood. The corner of his lips turn south as he lowers his optics to the table he’d overturned. That alone had almost been enough to rouse suspicion, but you’d explained it away expertly, from what he could hear, and Mick ended up none the wiser.

It comes as no real shock to the gator that if it weren’t for your quick thinking and well-oiled responses, he’d have given himself away ten times over. He’d have given you away…

Impulsive, Freddy might call him.

Stupid, would be Roxanne’s more cutting, though no less accurate decree.

It’s never been an easy thing for Montgomery Gator to admit that he might have been wrong. Even if his protocols thrum with a newfound urge to guard a member of Fazbear Co.’s faculty, his processor knows all too well that his coming here put you at the most risk.

The gator’s tail drops to the ground with a dull ‘thunk’ of plastic and metal on the carpet. “I just wanted to do somethin’ right for once,” he utters to the stillness, his truest desire finally spoken aloud.

He doesn’t look at you this time, but his audials pick up your gentle intake of breath and wonders what happened to the animatronic who would have bitten your head off several days ago just for looking at him the wrong way.

At least if that Monty did something wrong, it was usually deliberate. Somehow, as he’s quickly coming to learn, it’s so much worse trying to do something right, and getting it wrong anyway than doing something wrong in the first place.

Hurts more, he concedes.

The gator is too busy discovering the scope of his regret to notice you push yourself off the door, leaning hard onto your crutch as you squint up at him, cocking your head to one side like he’s a puzzle you’re still figuring out. Admittedly, you absolutely are. You’re not an engineer or a programmer. You can’t begin to fathom the depths that Monty’s learning algorithms can reach.

All you can see is an animatronic condemned by those who made him, trying to be better than he’s told he is. So, while you can’t condone his being here, for his own sake, you realise that he - much like yourself - has likely had more than enough of people telling him off.

Sucking down a long, thick breath, you release it all in as weary a sigh as you’ve ever expelled.

“You’re doing fine, Monty,” you say, and it’s kinder, warmer than you’ve sounded all evening, “You’re doing just fine. I mean, this was a little…” Pausing to gesture loosely at the overturned coffee table, you let out a soft laugh and continue, “Uh, overzealous. But your heart was definitely in the right place.”

‘Your heart.’

Slowly, hesitantly, Monty’s tail lifts from the ground, rising with the edges of his crocodilian smile. You might never know how much it means to him that you don’t point out how he doesn’t technically have a heart. And it means even more to hear that you know his intentions came from a good place.

“But,” you add, inhaling, like you’re bracing yourself, “I’m still not happy you’ve put yourself in such a precarious position just to check up on me.”

Monty’s metal framework groans as he slumps again.

“Ugh. Listen to me,” you chuckle, rubbing your temple, “I’m starting to sound like Andy.” Starting forwards, you begin limping for your room, stifling a wide, clumsy yawn behind the back of your hand. “Now, I have had, like, the longest day. And I’m going to bed before I keel over.”

“…But… what about your food?” he asks, sparing a glance over at the saucepan sitting idly on the countertop. The water inside has long gone cold.

Your footsteps pause as you draw alongside him, reaching out to lay a palm on your bedroom door. “I’m not hungry,” you murmur after a second. It’s not entirely a lie. For some reason, the meagre appetite you had for cheap noodles and tea has evaporated, leaving you hollow, yes, but not nearly as hollow as you were rendered by the touch of Mick’s hand on your leg.

Giving your door a shove, you push it open and reach around the corner, sliding your fingers along the interior wall until you find the light switch, flicking it on and illuminating the bedroom with a warm, yellow glow. Monty is frowning at you, you can feel his crimson optics boring into the side of your head, but you ignore him to say, “I suggest you go back to the Plex before you run out of charge.”

You must have mistaken the gator’s earlier acquiescence for a willingness to leave.

“I got plenty of charge,” he deflects.

As it is, Monty’s optics rove over the top of your head, widening significantly behind his glasses as they land upon the contents of the room that he’d been standing in just minutes ago. He hadn’t bothered to sate his curiosity then, far more apprehensive about what was happening on the outside of the space, but now, without oppressive darkness cloaking every corner and without a potential threat to contend with, his protocols take a backseat to his inquisitiveness.

He observes closely as you shuffle into the new territory, your territory, where you immediately make a beeline for the nest – bed, his CPU corrects – that’s set against the furthest wall.

Swinging his prodigious bulk around, the animatronic trails after you, ducking underneath the doorway and raising his snout to the air.

You don’t even have to look over a shoulder to know you’re being tailed. The heavy stomps are proof enough of the gator’s proximity. “Monty, come on,” you whine, “You’ve gotta go home.”

The gator only offers a gruff hum in response, otherwise distracted by the simple yet pivotal revelation that he, for the first time, is seeing your private, recharging chamber. Immediately, he’s struck by how much more lived-in this humble space is. Out there, in your kitchenette and the adjacent living room, everything seemed so much more bland. Less you.

In here, there are pieces of you scattered into each corner of the room, from the pile of unwashed clothes sitting in a nearby chair to the row of house plants lined up like soldiers along the breadth of your windowsill.

Curious, his optics roam towards a desk in the corner, upon which sits - to his immediate intrigue – a large, square tank filled almost to the brim with crystal-clear water, and lit from above by a cool, fluorescent light bulb. He knows what it is at once, though he’s never been privy to one in person before.

At his back, you reach the bed and promptly collapse onto your rear at the edge of the mattress, dropping your crutch to the floor and listening to it land with a sharp clatter of plastic.

“Ohhh,” you groan tiredly, leaning forwards to balance your elbows on your knees and drop your face into a palm, trying in vain to rub away the bags underneath your eyes with numbing fingertips.

Your whole body aches ferociously, all stemming from the sharp twinge of your ankle that lays protected behind a thick, white cast.

Six Weeks…

Day one has been hard enough. How are you supposed to make it to day forty-two? The question remains; is it uphill from here, or down?

Glancing over a shoulder, you restrain an impromptu smile before it can spread as you spot Monty creeping up to the fish tank on your desk, his head hunched low to peer through the glass at your little corydoras sifting eagerly through the substrate in search of hidden food.

“Hey, little guys,” the animatronic murmurs, his optics casting the water in a gentle, pinkish glow.

Fish are a novelty for him. He knows of them, of course, has seen images of them depicting many various shapes, sizes, and colours. He knows they can’t survive for long outside of water, and he knows they’re covered in scales.

But to see for himself how those scales flash under his scrutinous, crimson LEDs, to watch their barbels twitch as they playfully chase one another along the floor of the tank…

There’s a strange kinship there for the creatures who share the waterways with his real-life counterparts.

He likes them, he decides. He likes that you have them. It speaks to an apparent affinity for aquatically-inclined animals…

For several moments, you merely observe the gator from your bed, wondering why he’s stalling. At least, you assume he’s stalling.

“Monty,” you yawn, pretending not to notice how his purple shoulder struts jump in response to your voice, “What are you doing?”

The gator’s head twitches towards you briefly. “M’sayin’ hi to the fish,” he states simply.

Shooting him a deadpan glare, you retort, “You know what I mean. Why are you still here? You need to get back to the Plex before you’re missed.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna miss me,” he shrugs, “Sides, I’ve still got a couple’a hours of juice left in the tank. Don’t worry.”

“But I am worried, Monty,” you squeeze out - and oh, there’s that pinch of tenderness to soften the hard, brutal metal hidden under his casing – “If I wasn’t worried about getting caught, I’d haul you back to the Plex myself… How did you get here unseen anyway?”

“Came over the rooftops,” he replies proudly, cocking his head at a fish that approaches the glass, lured by the glow of his optics.

“The rooftops!?” you sputter, “How on Earth did you get up there!?”

Flashing a cheshire grin, the gator gives the casing on his thigh two hearty slaps. “Got the best pneumatic cylinders in the business. These things’ll carry me distances you wouldn’t believe. Sometimes I use ‘em to get from one side of the catwalks to the other. This is the first time I’ve seen what they can really do.”

Collapsing backwards on top of the covers, you splay your arms out on either side of you, letting a long, appreciative whistle pass your lips. “You jumped…. All the way here?” you realise aloud.

“Beats walkin’.”

“… And you’re going to jump all the way back?”

“Can’t exactly take a cab, can I?”

You don’t respond for a long while… So long that he turns himself all the way around and rises to his feet, half expecting to find you fast asleep on the bed.

Your eyes are closed, and you’ve gone very still. Your chest rises and falls with even, steady breaths, though your legs are still dangling over the side of the mattress, toes brushing against the carpet.

Monty frowns. A hum of machinery gives him away, not so silent as he paces around the bed towards you and lowers himself down onto one knee, reaching for your legs with the intention to lift them up to the bed so you can lay flat.

His first-aid protocols are nowhere near as advanced as Freddy’s, but he’s skimmed enough medical files in the last twelve hours to know that you should keep your damaged leg elevated.

With gradual movements, the animatronic’s fingers flex and stretch for your cast. However, his purple claws barely make it within a foot of your appendage when your body goes absolutely rigid, as though you’ve turned to stone right there on the mattress.

At once, Monty stops, glancing up to see one of your eyelids crack open and swivel over to peer at him, blinking slowly in the glow cast by his optics. “What’re you doing?” you ask guardedly. Something in your voice quivers. He catches it right away.

“I… just – I was gonna put your legs on the bed,” he explains.

The clock on your bedside table ticks quietly ever onwards, and it’s only when you remember to exhale that he considers your expression for another moment and finally ducks his head, asking, “… Can I touch you?”

Stuffing your teeth into your bottom lip, you clutch a fistful of the duvet beneath you and slowly shake your head from side to side. “Not… Not yet… I’m not…”

You falter, swallowing a painful lump that sticks in your throat like guilt. Monty didn’t do anything, after all.

But for an animatronic, his response comes far too softly.

“Okay,” he nods, pulling his hands away and returning them to his lap.

And that’s… all he does for a long time.

Sniffing, you lower your gaze, tugging yourself backwards using the duvet as leverage until you can haul your heavy cast over the side and stretch your legs out towards the foot of the bed, sighing in relief.

"Better put a pillow under there," Monty pipes up, jutting his chin towards the fluffy, white cushions spread out behind you.

Clicking your tongue, you stretch behind yourself and snag the first pillow your fingers grasp, hauling it over your head and tossing it haphazardly near your leg. After taking a moment to brace yourself, you lean back on your elbows and bite your tongue to keep down a cry as you lift the leg up and onto the pillow.

Through it all, Monty says nothing further. He does stare at you though…

You’ve noticed he’s being doing that a lot lately. What was it Mick said?

‘It’s no secret that it’s taken a real liking to you.’

You don’t want to think about Mick.

Finally, when the gator’s staring starts to grow a little too… intimate, you swallow thickly and peel your lips apart to mumble, “Monty, why don’t you want to go back to the Plex?”

He perks up at his name but loses his enthusiasm as he registers the question.

“I’ll go back soon,” he grumbles.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Monty’s vents hiss as he simulates a pensive sigh - like yours - and begins folding his legs up underneath himself, his plates sliding over each other as he settles himself down onto his rear, arms draping loosely over his knees. He knows.

“Six weeks…” he mutters, cautiously lowering his long chin until it brushes the duvet cover beside you. When you don’t protest or move away, he gives his head a little more rein to droop, and the framework in his neck no longer strains to keep it aloft.

Confusion lays its mark bare across your face. “What?”

Six weeks,” he repeats, “That’s how long you’re gonna be gone for. That’s a long time to…” Static clings to his voice-box, stifling his words. With a grimace, Monty thumps a fist twice over his chest until something clicks audibly into place. Then, forcing a laugh, he falteringly adds, “S’a… long time for a bot to go without having his room cleaned, yeah?”

“You could always let the S.T.A.F.F bots help you,” you point out.

“Nah, they wouldn’t do it right.”

A weary smirk toys with the edge of your mouth as you reply, “Well, have you considered – and this might be a bit outlandish, but bear with me here – have you considered just… cleaning it yourself?”

“Course I have,” he retorts, “But… c’mon, it’d be more fun with you, wouldn’t it?”

He should have known when your smirk recedes to leave him looking at a flat, sombre line that you weren’t fooled for a moment.

“Monty… Is the truth really that embarrassing?” you pose.

‘Yes…’ he huffs wordlessly to himself, ‘It is.’

 “It’s all gonna go back to the way it was before,” he mumbles into the duvet.

“What is?”

“Everythin’,” he suddenly exclaims, wrenching his head back up, “It’ll go back to how it was before you came along. You’ll be gone for six weeks! What if I start gettin’ angry again? What if I forget about what you taught me, ‘bout accidents n’ stuff?” That thought brings on another that’s even more dreadful, and he curls his hands underneath his chest, leaning into them against the side of the bed. “What if you forget about me?”

You blink at him, bewildered, studying the jarringly human behaviour he’s exhibiting, and wondering, not for the first time, if it says something about you that you see humanity in so much of what these animatronics do.

“Hey,” you offer, giving him a sympathetic smile when he slides his nose further along the duvet until it almost touches your arm. Almost. “You might be overthinking things, Monty. I’m pretty sure I could never forget you.” You laugh at that, causing him to blow a whuff of air against your forearm. “And besides,” you add, “Six weeks is… like, nothing, okay? It’ll go by faster than you think.”

Far from convinced, the gator only grumbles unintelligibly into the duvet and casts his optics to the other side of the room. The bed underneath you rumbles as the rich bass growls out of his speakers.

“Listen...” you sigh, flopping your head down onto the pillow to blink up at the ceiling overhead, “When I was younger, one of my best friends moved halfway across the world with her family.”

Immediately, the gator’s jaw clenches at the mention of your ‘best friend’ before he catches the action and berates himself for behaving like a toddler being asked to share their favourite toy.

“We haven’t seen each other for… Oh boy, ten years, maybe? I still call her sometimes… Probably not as often as I should... And you know what?”

“…What?”

You roll your head over to peer at the animatronic beside you, finding his focus has returned to your face.

Pulling your mouth into a sleepy smile, you let out a hum before murmuring, “Every time I ring, she’s always so pleased to hear from me. I bet if she were to walk through my door right now, it would be like no time had passed at all.”

Monty’s optic shutters click open and shut. “How come?” he prompts quietly.

“Well, do you think I love her any less now because I haven’t seen her for ten years?” you reply, “Friends can’t be together all the time, you know. Even if they might want to be. Life gets in the way. Families, jobs, fatigue, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still friends. So, you don’t need to worry about not seeing me for a few weeks, okay?”

You can’t help but find this conversation very reminiscent to a similar one you had to have with Sunny after he learned you were leaving for a week of summer vacation.

“I ain’t worried,” Monty lies through his teeth, “Just wonderin’ how you’re gonna have any fun without me around.”

“Fun was not the doctor’s recommended treatment,” you yawn, letting your eyes slip shut and keeping them closed, bogged down by a cumbersome weight that’s been heaped upon your shoulders. A myriad of hurried little thoughts swirl around inside your head, too numerous to pin any single one down. Mick’s arrival and subsequent behaviour, whether you’re trying to read too much into what might have been nothing more than a friendly gesture, Monty’s escape from the Plex and the sudden responsibility you have for an animatronic you’ve barely known a week…

You just need to sleep.

‘It’ll all make sense in the morning,’ you try to tell yourself…

You’d make a shit salesperson.

For some time, the quiet gurgling of your tank's filter provides a soothing backdrop to the silence cast between you and the animatronic.

“Can I stay here?” Monty’s question breaks through the fog of flitting thoughts, his volume barely a digit away from being entirely mute, “With you? Just for a lil’ while?”

Prying your eyelids apart to blink tiredly at the gator, you let your chest fill with a slow, heavy breath, blowing it all out again through your nose.

“… Just this once,” you whisper back.

The gator’s optics brighten, then flit towards the movement of your hand on the bed.

You’ve raised your forearm, inching the appendage closer to Monty’s snout. Fingers worn dry and abrasive from chemicals and labour touch down on top of the animatronic’s nose, followed by your palm, spreading a pleasant flood of warmth down through his teeth and onto his tongue.

In response, some of Monty’s systems backfire, kicking errors codes to his HUD that tell him he’s overheating, and should release excess coolant to the affected areas. He ignores the alerts. He ignores everything. Everything that isn’t your hand is left by the wayside, forgotten in favour of soaking up a touch that he knows would never cause hurt.

Letting his optics click shut, the gator draws his silicone lips up into a lax, lazy smile.

The muffled ‘thumps’ of a heavy tail fall and rise from the carpet over and over, and Monty’s frame seems to purr as he relaxes his massive head onto your mattress, contented and committed to this spot until his battery hits zero and his limbs rust from underuse.

He knows he has to leave, but for now, just pretending… It’s the happiest he’s been in…

It’s the happiest he’s been.

“Just this once.”

#fnaf #five nights at freddys #fnaf sb #security breach #Montgomery Gator #On the ropes #Everyone is having a not okay time #Monty x reader #f!reader #fluff #angst #protectiveness #tw noncon

[theredofoctober]

Runt: an Omni-Man x Gender Neutral Reader Darkfic

TW: noncon, violence, blood, humiliation/verbal degredation

Synopsis: Reader's mother, the superhero Firebright, has gone into hiding. Omni-Man brutally interrogates Reader as to her whereabouts.

Reader is a Young Adult, Gender Neutral, appearance not specified

Read after the cut

✂️ ✂️ ✂️

"Where is your mother?"

There is something wrong with Omni-Man, frigidity in the barrens of his pale eyes. He stands at the door like an omen of shadows to come, his bulk filling its narrow confines immovably.

You gaze up at him, and the ice of his derision glares back.

“I asked you a question,” says Omni-Man. “Where is Firebright?”

His air of perpetual and mildly pompous congeniality has fallen away from him, perhaps had never truly been.

He's a stranger, now, come to your house with some hard purpose.

"My Mom?" you repeat, faintly. "She's out cleaning up after some crime, I think. I don't really know."

A lie, which you had promised you’d keep, come what may.

Your mother, a heroine of fire-wielding prowess, has informed you that she must go into hiding, from who or what threat she wouldn't say. You’d believed—without knowing its source—in that danger.

Now Omni-Man is at your door, and you think again of your mother's hands, how they had trembled. How thin she’d looked, and how afraid.

"I'm sorry, Nolan," you mumble. "I don't know when Mom’ll be back. She didn’t tell me."

"I don't believe that's true," says Omni-Man, and he steps forward, extending an arm to prevent you from closing the door against him. "I need you to tell me where she is immediately."

His face is handsome and severe, the jaw like a pane of white glass. The tension in it speaks of unshed violence and disdain, of loathing kept like a spider in an upturned jar, poised on release.

Fear draws you down in its dizzying pulse, and suddenly you're quite glad that your mother kept her location from you, that you can’t spit it out even under duress.

"I have no idea, really, I don’t," you say, and Omni-Man steers you back across the living room, his cloak whisking the backs of his thighs like a wind of blood. "Nolan, please. I swear I can't help you. What’s happening right now?"

You’re up against a wall, vulnerable and so very human. Unlike your parents, you’ve never developed powers of any kind to protect you or those you love, and Omni-Man knows it.

He’s been good friends with your mother since you were young, and has long comforted her with the suggestion that your abilities might one day arise. You’ve been no more a threat to this man than a moth to the devil, and yet you’d never once feared him, till now.

"Ellen must have given you some way to contact her," says Omni-Man, his mouth a joyless line beneath his moustache. "Call her immediately. Stop wasting my time with your blabber."

"I don't understand,” you say, avoiding the order. “Is something wrong?"

A gloved fist strikes the wall above your head, shaking down fragments of plaster upon you. Thinking how simply your skull might have bowed into a cave of bone beneath such pressure you cry out, a sound entirely too feeble to be called a scream.

Omni-Man looms over you, his eyes the blue of long dead flesh.

"Stop asking questions about things that have nothing to do with you. Either you hand Firebright over, or I show you what happens to those that get in my way."

There is, in a drawer in the house, a remote you could press, for the times in which your mother is otherwise unreachable. You could go to it, call her back from whatever bunker protects her from harm.

But as Omni-Man's stare bores through your anguished expression you understand, with a chilling clarity, that he means to kill your mother, and that only your stance against him preserves her life.

Gulping, you say, "Whatever you think my Mom did, she couldn't have done it. You know her, you're her friend, Nolan—"

Omni-Man’s fist grinds into the wall, his arm cutting through it to the shoulder.

"Don't use my name as though you mean anything to me, you pathetic, powerless runt. Look at the way you turned out: a snivelling weakling, not even a spark at your fingertips. No wonder your father left. You’re a disgrace to him and your mother. I'd be ashamed to have you as my child.”

Only shock halts the tears that burn behind your eyes, a wounded magma.

"Please don't say that to me,” you whisper. “I— I've always looked up to you. I love you, Nolan."

For a moment you think you see a flash of the old, kind feeling across Omni-Man’s chiselled features.

Almost at once it dies away.

"Too bad,” he says. “I don't love you, brat. Now tell me how to find your mother before I rip you into pieces."

Putting your hands on Omni-Man’s chest, you gaze up at him with beseeching eyes.

"Nolan, Nolan, tell me what happened. I’ll help you figure it out. Whatever it is, I know Mom had nothing to do with it."

Something of your gentle touch, your cringing innocence, provokes him.

"Alright,” snaps Omni-Man. “You had your chance."

In a spurt of nauseating speed he drags you upstairs by a sudden grip on your throat, your breath smacked from your lungs as you hit your bed and roll across it, head over heels, like a fallen acrobat.

Omni-Man looks about him, scoffing at your room’s dated, childish decor, the tattered stuffed animals still poised in glassy-eyed rows on your dresser.

"No wonder you don't have any powers,” he sneers. “You're stunted in every way."

His hand makes a lariat of your shirt collar, briefly throttling you until your feet kick out in twitching throes. Then he rends the cloth down the middle, repeating the act on your lower garments before you’ve enough air to protest.

You’re so stunned that you don’t think to cover yourself, only stare, jaws parted, hot from cheek to toe with shame, with horror.

A beating was the furthest you’d expected from the interrogation: the intent behind the night cliffs of eyes upon you seems, even now, quite impossible, an absurdity plucked from some sticky summer dream.

"No,” you say— you speak in a low, flat sort of murmur, as you’d address a beloved dog that turns and shows its teeth. “Omni-Man, please, please, you're like family. You can't do this to me.”

"Of course I can,” he snaps. “And I'm going to do it over and over until you tell me where Firebright is. Daily, if I have to. I'll break you down until you're no better than a drooling animal. Not that you're so far from that now."

A devastated moan spills from your tight throat as Omni-Man leans over you, his pale suit straining across his bulk. He pauses with his face close to yours, every vein in his eyes standing out like streaks of flame.

"Now, talk,” he says. “I don’t want to waste any more time here than I have to.”

Tears make glazed glass of your cheeks as you turn your face aside, unable to look at him any longer.

"This isn't like you, Nolan."

Omni-Man’s mouth is a razor’s wound across his white teeth when he answers.

"This is more me than you'll ever know."

He pins you to the bed with an abrupt and frightening strength, opening the groin of his suit with his other hand to jerk the flesh that rises through it.

"What about Debbie?" you blurt out, and Omni-Man stills, a red glove closed over the throbbing evidence of his anger.

"Don't talk about my wife!" he barks. “You’re not worthy.”

Your eyes return to his face, drawn to its savage rictus in wretched fascination. How long has Omni-Man—the husband, the father, the friend—been so twisted with this private hatred for you?

Interpreting the question from your fearful look, he answers, his hand still at work on his cock.

"I always knew you had an embarrassing crush on me. Following me around every event with puppy dog eyes, always asking if there was anything you could do for me. Degrading yourself at every turn. Laughable.

“And I ignored you. Debbie made jokes about you. Even then I knew you were just a fragile, weak-willed child, craving the adoration your father never gave you."

"Stop it,” you say, inching back across the bed on the heels of your palms. “Stop it!"

A hand traps your ankle, snatching you back under the colossus of your new enemy. His body is a cage of rigid musculature, even the smallest tendon able to kill.

"You brought this on yourself by defying me,” says Omni-Man. “Did you think I'd just walk away when you refused me information? Take pity on you?"

"Nolan—"

He cuts you off with a blow that near claims your sight in its ferocity.

"You whine like an infant. Why didn’t you ever grow up?”

You’re still attempting to process the pain across your eye socket as Omni-Man forces your legs apart around him, handling the joints with scornful disregard of their mortal delicacy.

“Where is Firebright?” asks Omni-Man again, and you can only shake your head, mumbling in a breathless stream of false denial.

“I don’t know, I don’t remember where she said she was going—”

Omni-Man’s lip curls in bald disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Well, let’s see how much you remember now.”

Your attacker opens you to him with rough, clothed fingers, tearing tight flesh ajar up to the knuckles, three of them deep. He draws them in and out of your hole like a blade across a whetstone, watching you flail and gibber beneath his merciless use with a stern and unflinching malice.

Then, as you scream Omni-Man’s name in abandoned repetition, he rallies his member to its furthest solidity and runs you through, all agony and annihilation, and you think as he does it that you may well die of his rage.

The floorboards moan with his rutting, its obscenity a crime of war. This is as much a degradation of Earth’s piteous race as a whole as of your person, your naked flesh symbolic of that which many alien societies covet to rule or else destroy.

That any human being has borne this and lived seems miraculous, yet you know it has been done and enjoyed for Debbie Grayson to stand by him. To love him.

You cry out, aware as you do so that you’ll only invite further pain.

“Really,” mocks Omni-Man. “I’m barely trying to hurt you. If I did, I'd rip you in half.”

In a jolt of violence he drags you up against a wall, the friction skimming a leaf of skin from your back as he stabs deeper in. Your breath comes in asthmatic chokes, punched from your chest by very force of his fucking.

Some wet stream warms your thigh, of what matter you don’t care to know.

“Give me the name of your mother’s location or I keep on going,” says Omni-Man. “You’re already bleeding. Your feeble body surely can’t take much more.”

His cock is a farrier’s tool, cutting with its every wrenching motion. Its length and girth alone would make you weep, but it is his wielding of it that is a thing of horror to you.

You feel Omni-Man’s hands shut about your wrists, testing the fragility of the bone.

“Aren’t you even going to fight me?” he taunts. “Go on. Show me what you’ve got in you, if anything at all.”

Closing your eyes, you try with all the force of strength and concentration in you to summon the flame you’ve long envied in your mother, and have never once achieved.

There is nothing, nothing, still, only an icicle of sweat down your brow.

Omni-Man laughs shortly, pulling you further up across the wall in another volley of thrusts.

“Just as I thought,” he comments. “Wasted genes.”

As he lets go of your arms you throw one of them forward in a weak strike across your attacker’s cheek. A mite star of fire bolts from your palm, and you yelp in both fear and surprise at the sight of it, at the thought of retribution to come.

Omni-Man rubs his face, which remains, as expected, quite unmarked.

“Is that it?” he asks. “You’re barely warm.”

“I’m not a superhero,” you cry out, as he returns to his mean handling of your body. “I’m just a human, okay? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

The blue eyes, once so lovely to you, roll in disgust.

“Of course there is. You could have been so much more. Take a look at yourself.”

Omni-Man flies you to your floor-length mirror, yanking your head back so that you might see yourself split apart on his atrocity.

How small you look, a flailing rag against the beast's taut muscle. His cock works in and out of you with the efficiency of some extra-terrestrial vehicle on a jaunt that will not end.

The sound of it is slick, explicit.

“You’re lucky that this is what I’m doing to you when I’m capable of so much worse," says Omni-Man, watching you arrogantly in your reflection.

“This is wrong,” you insist. “This isn’t you, Nolan.”

“I’m a Viltrumite,” snaps Omni-Man, and he flattens you to the bed again with a force that snaps the frame beneath it. “This is what my people are. You should be on your knees, thanking me for sparing your life.”

He turns you onto your belly, snarling as he stabs through your form from behind.

“This is the last time I’ll ask before I really injure you,” he says. “Where's Firebright?”

Only the lasting thought that you must save your mother from something more awful than this prevents you from delivering his answer.

Omni-Man grips you by the throat until your eyes stream and your pain barks from between your lips in a coughing spume of blood.

In frantic hope you turn one hand backwards, thinking to strap his hips in a band of fire.

“You think you can hurt me?” asks Omni-Man, squeezing your forearm until you sob and relent. “I don’t feel a thing. This is more humiliating than if you were entirely without powers. What use are you to your planet?”

“Nolan,” you croak. “I’m begging you to stop this.”

Somewhere in the catastrophe of sensation there is the start of pleasure, your body’s weary attempt to salve its bullied entrance. You lie quite stiff and still, praying that in doing so you won’t provoke that last ruination into being.

“You know how to end this,” says Omni-Man. “But perhaps this is what you prefer: to be shown your place by your superior. If I’d done this a year ago you would have presented yourself to me, ready and willing to be of use.”

To your despair his hand ventures to your tortured sex and makes full display of his knowledge. His strokes are coarse, efficient, in time to his cock’s quick barbarity. You smell cologne, and the fabric of his suit, and hair oil; your nose, your throat, is full of him.

Perhaps your soul will absorb his evil too, through osmosis.

Clenching your teeth across your tongue you steer back the piteous little whines his taunting abuse of your weakness brings.

“Part of you is still willing, I see,” Omni-Man comments. “Let’s see how long it can hold out against me.”

You cry, and hiss, and squeeze shut your fists until the stench of smoke greys the air between you. Still your orgasm is wrenched out on hand and cock like an eldritch birth, another plundered reward for his collection.

“Barely a minute,” jeers Omni-Man. “And all that mess. How humiliating.”

He ponders, hips grinding against yours with the approaching threat of his own end.

One of his fists arcs back your skull, forcing your tear-raw eyes to his again. What was handsome in him now seems only the frightful visage of a warlord, all pillage and pursuit of valour.

“I’m responsible for you finally developing your abilities,” says Omni-Man. “Why don’t you thank me for it?”

You stare up at him in terror and distress, your tongue swollen to near uselessness at the roof of your mouth. Omni-Man’s hand slams beneath your chin, pinching some nerve there until your vision blisters into an abomination of light.

Through blood-stringed teeth you answer.

“Thank you, Omni-Man.”

“You’re welcome, runt,” he leers, and with a gloved palm against your gut he flattens you to him, having you feel every pulse of his triumphant finish within you.

He holds you there for some time, your bare, bloody back staining the white of his suit and complimenting the red. You daren’t roll out from under him, remain, panting shallowly, adhered to your attacker by his spend.

His moustached lips scuff the back of your neck, more threatening than intimate.

“I’ll find Firebright,” he says, “whether you tell me where she is or not. But next time I drop by I expect you to be more talkative. Do you understand?”

---

Tagging @hewwokitti3 so you can find this 😇

#omni man fic #omni man x reader #omni man #tw noncon #tw violence #tw blood #verbal degradation #darkfic #nolan grayson x reader #nolan grayson

[ssailormoonn]

Jealousy | Mikey (manjiro sano)

MASTERLIST ┊ tokyo revengers master list

WC; 3.4k+┊MDNI

TW┊fingering, oral, implied virgins (both reader and Mikey), aged up mikey 18+, +more

I walk into the confinement of my house and release a shaky exhale. I was supposed to eat today but I didn't want to not go Yukata shopping with Hina and Emma today, so I guess that It couldn't be helped. I knew someone was in my house and that someone was Mikey. He knows where the key to my house is hidden to get inside or he could just jump over the fence, it didn't really matter, but why was he here, I have no knowledge of that.

I know where he is, every time he sneaks into my house he lays on my bed, the bed that hasn't been slept in for years. I wash the sheets once every one to two weeks of course because it's disgusting and unhygienic to not do that. I have my friends staying over often so I have to keep the house clean.

I don't like it when people other than Mikey show up without my knowledge because of one simple fact, I have no food in the house. Why have food when I don't consume it? The only edible thing in the house is the bag of Taiyaki and Dorayaki that Mikey brings around every week to stick up so when he comes over he doesn't whine over being hungry.

My bedroom door was open, not to my surprise. I walk in and place the bag that contained my Yukata on my desk ignoring the fact that Mikey was watching my every move. I slip off my jacket and fold neatly fold it neatly onto my chair. I pull my chair out and take a seat, I open up my notebook and pull out the necessary chemicals needed for my next experiment. I pull the tray from the corner of my desk to me and gaze at the various chemistry jars and tools.

I hear an annoyed groan come from behind me, "Wifey!"

"Yes, 'Jiro?" I question getting the vials of sealed chemicals from the drawers of my desk.

"Can't you do that later?"

"I could."

Mikey's words reach my ears, laden with a mixture of longing and a hint of petulance. "Then come lay with me, I missed you," he says, his voice carrying a subtle pout that tugs at my non-existent heartstrings. The sound of my chair scraping against the worn wooden floor echoes through the room as I rise, unable to resist his plea.

soft glow of the room's ambient lighting from the moon casts an inviting aura, enveloping us in its gentle embrace. The scent of familiarity and comfort fills the air, mingling with the faint aroma of his cologne, creating an intoxicating atmosphere.

With each step, my heart quickens, mirroring the rhythm of my footsteps. The soft padding of my feet against the floor merges with the symphony of our shared anticipation. As I draw nearer, I can almost feel the magnetic pull between us, an invisible force that draws us together, erasing the distance that had separated us.

Finally, I reach him, and our eyes meet, locking in a moment of unspoken connection. He childishly opens his arms and without hesitation, I surrender to his invitation, allowing myself to be enveloped in his embrace.

As our bodies intertwine, a sense of completeness washes over me, as if all the missing pieces of my existence have finally found their place. The warmth of his touch against my skin ignites a fire within, melting away any lingering doubts or worries.

And so, we lay together, our bodies entwined, basking in the comfort of each other's presence. The world outside fades into insignificance as we lose ourselves in the tenderness of the moment, cherishing the connection that binds us. He's laid on his back with his arms wrapped under mine as my arms are wrapped around his neck. I lay half on his chest with one of my legs draped over his body.

"Wifey," He mumbles against my hair.

"Yeah," I sigh into his chest.

"Why'd you hang up on me?" The accusatory words pierce the air, catching me off guard. In response, my breath catches in my throat, causing a sharp intake of air. The suddenness of the question sends a jolt through my body, and I feel Mikey's grip tighten instinctively as if seeking reassurance in the face of tension.

The weight of the accusation hangs heavy in the air, casting a shadow over our intimate moment. I can sense the tension radiating from Mikey, his grip serving as a physical manifestation of his own unease.

Searching for words, I take a moment to steady myself, my mind racing to find an explanation that can bridge the gap between us. The room feels charged with an unspoken tension, the silence amplifying the weight of the question that hangs between us.

Finally, I find my voice, my words laced with a mixture of regret and sincerity. "I'm sorry," I say, my voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "It wasn't intentional. There was a sudden disconnection, and I didn't have a chance to call you back." The words spill forth, an attempt to convey my remorse and assure Mikey that my actions were not driven by any ill intent, even though that was a lie and I had to hang up because I didn't want to seem rude as I talked to Izana.

As I speak, I feel the tension in Mikey's grip begins to ease, his understanding slowly dawning. The atmosphere in the room shifts, the heaviness dissipating as a glimmer of understanding replaces it. In this moment of vulnerability and honesty, we find a path toward reconciliation, a chance to rebuild the connection that momentarily faltered.

And so, we remain locked in our embrace, the tightness of Mikey's grip gradually softening as we navigate the complexities of communication and forgiveness. The air, once charged with tension, begins to lighten, allowing us to move forward, hand in hand, with a renewed sense of understanding and empathy.

"You wanna come with me to the festival?"

"I'm already going with someone, sorry," I say guiltily, if I waited just a couple hours longer, or had I just said to Izana that I'd think about it.

"You should have known I was gonna ask you," Mikey says, his voice laced with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. A scoff escapes him, carrying a hint of hurt. "We always do things together. You're replacing me now. Who are you even going with?"

I feel a pang of guilt as his words sink in, realizing that I had overlooked the significance of our shared experiences. The weight of his disappointment hangs heavy in the air, intensifying the grip of his embrace. His hold tightens against me, and at that moment, a realization dawns upon me- is he jealous?

Taking a deep breath, I gather my thoughts, my voice gentle yet earnest. "This guy," I begin, my words measured, "he asked me while the three of us were on our way back." I pause, allowing the weight of my explanation to sink in, hoping that it will assuage his worries.

The silence hangs in the air with anticipation, as Mikey processes my words. His grip remains firm, but I sense a subtle shift in his demeanor, a flicker of vulnerability beneath his protective facade. It becomes clear that his jealousy stems from a fear of being replaced, a fear of losing the special bond we share.

With a newfound understanding, I reach out to him, my touch gentle yet reassuring. I lift my head from his chest and pull my body on top of his and I cup his face. "Mikey, you're irreplaceable," I say, my voice filled with sincerity. "No one could ever take your place in my life. You know that I will always follow you. What's happening at that festival with me and that guy means nothing."

In a swift motion, Mikey flips our positions, his hands firmly gripping my arms and pinning them beside my head. His hips straddle mine, creating an intimate closeness that sends a rush of heat to my cheeks, causing a blush to rise. I find myself captivated by his onyx eyes, their intensity drawing me in, as I gaze at him with parted lips.

The atmosphere crackles with a mix of emotions - desire, possessiveness, and a lingering trace of jealousy. It's as if the intensity of his emotions seeps into him, manifesting in his actions and the way he holds me. The weight of his body against mine, and the firmness of his grip, all speak of a passionate response to the surge of jealousy that had momentarily consumed him.

As our eyes lock, a silent understanding passes between us. In this moment, words become unnecessary, replaced by the unspoken language of desire and vulnerability. The air feels charged with anticipation, the tension between us palpable, as we navigate the complex dance of emotions.

I can sense the conflict within Mikey, the battle between possessiveness and the desire to trust. His actions speak of a need to assert his presence, to remind me of the connection we share. And yet, beneath the surface, I can also detect a vulnerability, a longing for reassurance and a deeper understanding.

As we remain locked in this intimate embrace, the tension begins to dissipate, replaced by a renewed sense of connection and trust. The jealousy that had momentarily consumed him now serves as a catalyst for deeper understanding and a reaffirmation of our bond. In this moment of vulnerability and passion, we find solace in each other's arms, forging a path forward with a newfound appreciation for the complexities of love and desire.

In an intense display of proximity, Mikey's face closes in on mine, his nose gently brushing against mine. The closeness of our breaths mingling sends a shiver down my spine, causing me to shakily release a breath I didn't realize I was holding. The electric current between us intensifies, and I can't help but feel a surge of desire coursing through my veins.

As the charged atmosphere envelops us, I find myself involuntarily rubbing my thighs together, seeking some form of relief from the sexual tension. The action doesn't go unnoticed by Mikey, and a mischievous smirk curls up on the side of his mouth. It's a knowing smirk, one that hints at his awareness of the effect he has on me.

But in an instant, the smirk fades, replaced by a dark and obsessive expression that takes over his eyes. It's as if a switch has been flipped, and his gaze becomes intense, fixated solely on me. The depth of his desire and possessiveness becomes palpable, sending a thrill of anticipation through my body.

In this moment, I can sense the raw intensity of his emotions, the overwhelming need to claim and possess. It's a heady mixture of passion and obsession, a primal instinct that drives him to assert his dominance and stake his claim. 

Mikey makes a possessive mutter that sends a jolt of electricity through the air, causing my breath to catch in my throat. His words hang in the space between us, heavy with desire and a hint of demand. I struggle to maintain composure, my voice trembling slightly as I respond.

"W-What?" I manage to utter, my voice barely above a whisper, betraying the mix of anticipation and uncertainty swirling within me.

His eyes, now filled with an intense determination, lock onto mine. The dark, obsessive motion within them intensifies, as if he's made up his mind and there's no turning back. The weight of his gaze feels almost tangible as if it's pressing against my skin, urging me to comply.

"You're going to prove it to me," he asserts, his voice laced with a possessiveness that sends shivers down my spine. The command in his tone leaves no room for negotiation. "Prove that you're mine. I want you to do it right now."

His words hang in the air, charged with a mix of dominance and desire. The intensity of his request leaves me momentarily stunned, my mind racing to comprehend the depth of what he's asking. It's a challenge, a test of my devotion and commitment to him.

As I search his eyes for any sign of leniency or doubt, I find none. The dark, all-consuming obsession that has taken hold of him leaves little room for negotiation or hesitation. I realize that he needs reassurance, a tangible display of my loyalty and love but he wouldn't mean having sex to prove it. Right? But, why do I want it so bad?

A surge of adrenaline courses through my veins, mingling with the desire that has been building between us. I take a deep breath, summoning the courage to meet his demands. It's a leap of faith, a surrender to the intensity of our connection.

With a mix of anticipation and nervousness, I slowly reach out, my trembling hand finding its way to his cheek. The touch is gentle, yet firm, a silent declaration of my commitment to him. As our eyes remain locked, I can feel the weight of the moment, the significance of this act of submission.

In this intimate exchange, I hope to convey the depth of my l devotion, to prove to him that I am his and his alone. It's a vulnerable yet empowering gesture, a testament to the trust we have built and the passion that binds us.

As our lips draw closer, the world around us fades into insignificance. In this moment of surrender, I am ready to prove my love, to show him that I am undeniably his, forever entwined in this intoxicating dance of desire and possession.

A gasp escapes my lips as Mikey's tongue boldly pushes past the barrier of my parted lips, ravaging my mouth with a hunger that ignites every nerve ending within me. The intensity of his kiss leaves me breathless, my senses overwhelmed by the raw passion that courses between us. I can't help but shamelessly moan in response to the electrifying sensation, a sound that escapes me without restraint.

In the midst of our passionate exchange, I manage to slip my legs from under Mikey's hips, instinctively wrapping them around his lower back. The action serves to draw him closer, our bodies aligning in a perfect fit, his pelvis lined up with my own, and the feeling of his hard against my seeping makes me whimper into his mouth  The heat radiating from his skin sears against mine, intensifying the already overwhelming connection we share.

With a reciprocating motion, Mikey presses his body flat against mine, melding us together in a seamless embrace. The weight of his presence envelops me, creating a sense of security and desire that is both exhilarating and comforting. 

As our tongues continue their passionate dance, exploring and claiming every inch of each other's mouths, the world around us fades into insignificance. Time seems to stand still, allowing us to revel in the intoxicating pleasure of this intimate moment. The taste of him, the feel of his lips against mine, it's a sensory overload that consumes my every thought.

Lost in the depths of our desire, I surrender to the sensations that ripple through my body. The friction of our bodies pressed tightly together, the rhythm of our breaths intermingling, it's a symphony of pleasure that resonates deep within me. There is no room for doubt or hesitation, only the overwhelming need to be consumed by the intensity of our connection.

I felt the grip on one of my arms loosen as his hands quickly settled under my shirt on my waist making me gasp and grind myself onto his hard causing him to let out a groan. His hand moves further and further up causing me to arch myself into him and whimper into him. He struggles to clip open my bra and I squirm out of the hold on my other arm and unclip it for him. 

He throws the bra somewhere in the confines of my room and his hand immediately moves his hand to squish the plush flesh and I moan into the heated kiss once more. Both my arms warp around his neck and the kiss becomes more messy and aggressive. 

Mikey's free hand moves below the waistband on my pants and we both struggle to get the material off of me and throw that somewhere in my room as well, he strips me of my underwear next and I hiss at the cold air hitting my bare pussy. 

His fingers slide down my slit and I instinctively try to close my legs but I couldn't because he has placed himself between them. "Fuck," He groans into my mouth, "So wet. Please let me touch you more. Can't take it anymore, Wifey."

"Please," I whimper out taking a breather from the kiss, and his fingers continue to play with my clit causing a string of moans to leave my mouth. His mouth has left mine and lifted my shirt with ease since my back is arched from the pleasure. My eyes flutter open and I see the sight laid before me, Mikey sucking on my breasts with his free hand holding my thigh up and the other playing with my sensitive clit.

"Fuck, ngh~ Manjiro," I whimper with one hand entangled within his hair and the other clenching the bed sheets with all my strength causing the material to rip.

"That's it, Wifey," He says in between sucks, "Keep on making those pretty noises for me, only me."

"Ngh!" I moan out when one of his fingers slipped inside my fluttering, drenched cunt. My head flings back in pleasure and the moans keep on slipping out and I can't help but grind my hips into his fingers. 

"You like that, baby," He praises against my skin.

"Mnph! Y-Yes," I moan. "Manjiro, Manjiro," I pant.

"What do you want, Wifey? Ah, Fuck you look so pretty," He groans.

"Wan'more, Manjiro," I slur, drunk of pleasure. He listened to my pleas and slid in another finger and I felt my insides tighten, he continued curling and pumping his fingers in and out of my soaked hole. My Moans and whimpers continued to fall shamelessly out of my mouth and after a few moments, I felt the most intense pleasure I'd felt in my life.

"Nghh!" I sob moaning, "Right there, f-fuck, Manjiro."

"Right there?" He says with a smug smile and pumps faster and faster until I feel the coil inside my stomach tighten and tighten until it can't anymore. He sucks harder onto and around the flesh of my breasts and that was enough to send me over the edge.

"I-I'm gonna come," I moan holding Manjiro.

"Doing so well for me, Wifey," He praises as I tighten against his fingers, "Come, Wifey. Do it for me."

I arch my back once more and moan at the feeling of the tightness in my stomach unraveling, I wince at the feeling of Mikey's fingers leaving my hole. My chest heaves from the over-exertion of the activity. My legs fall from Mikey's lower back. 

As the bed dips beside me, I feel the warmth of Mikey's presence enveloping me. Without hesitation, he pulls me into a tight embrace, his arms encircling me protectively. The strength of his hold provides a sense of security and comfort that I've longed for, melting away any lingering tension or worries.

In the soft glow of the room, I nuzzle myself into the inviting curve of his chest, finding solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The rise and fall of his breath against my skin lulls me into a state of tranquility as if his very presence has the power to soothe my restless soul.

Mikey's voice, barely above a whisper, reaches my ears as he murmurs words of praise and affection. "You did so well for me, Wifey," he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration and gratitude. The tenderness in his tone resonates deep within me, reinforcing the bond we share and reminding me of the love that exists between us.

As I nestle closer to Mikey, surrendering to the embrace of his arms, a wave of tranquility washes over me. The gentle rise and fall of his chest against my cheek becomes a lullaby, lulling me into a peaceful slumber. For the first time in a long while, I find myself drifting off to sleep, knowing that I am safe in his embrace.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc.

Relogs and like are appreciated.

MASTERLIST

tokyo revengers master list

This was a smut that is apart of my Tokyo revengers fanfiction on wattpad! (this smut is still in my drafts, so this is a sneak peak of it, this is chapter 10 of my tr fic) if you would like to read the story, it is here

#mikey x reader #mikey x yn #mikey x you #mikey smut #tr smut #tokyo revengers smut #manjiro x reader #manjiro smut #sano majiro x reader

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Oh god, oh my, it's finally happening !! Sorry, I've been waiting for two months to send an ask. First of all, love the blog and everything about it !! I've read the majority of fics recommended here and couldn't be more grateful 🖤

Anyway, fangirling aside. Do you by any chance have some preferably mature or explicit fics where Stiles hasn't really returned from being the Nogitsune, even if it's dead, and everyone is afraid of him, except for Derek. Or an AU where Stiles is feared for one or another reason and again only Derek isn't, but is instead extremely drawn to it. Idk, just something with Stiles being badass or straight up kind of vile, but gets soft when Derek gets under his skin. Sigh, I think I'm confusing myself at this point. But yeah, pretty much that.

Thank you in advance!! And once again, this blog cures my depression fr fr ☀️

I think I found some.

Only human by orphan_account

(1/1 I 195 I Not Rated I No Pairing)

The nogitsune is still inside stiles and he had enough

Synthesize by angeryeva

(3/? I 3,820 I Teen I No Pairing)

When Derek Hale brings a dying girl to the Nemeton, a certain fly absorbs enough pain to escape from its glass jar confinement. Finally free, it goes looking for a new body to inhabit, and finds a grieving boy whose mother has just died from frontotemporal dementia.

What the Nogitsune didn't expect, though, was Stiles being a Spark.

or

Stiles and the Nogitsune merge into one being, and tries to navigate Scott's adventures while struggling not to succumb to the hunger for chaos, strife and pain.

Not a Redo by Raven_is_blue 

(1/1 I 3,876 I General I Steter)

They used to be a couple. For years they had no contact with each other, certain that the other had forgotten and moved on. But when chance causes them to meet, they get a second chance. Stiles as a temporary emissary and Peter as himself. Will they? Will the not?

Shadow and Flame by pixieblade

(1/1 I 3,111 I Teen I Sterek)

“Get. Away. From. Him.” The teen said harshly. Derek watched bemusedly as Stiles stalked across the loft. His wooden bat dragging along behind him. It made a scratchthumpscrape sound that was almost mesmerizing.

View the World in Gray by Pickosita5

(1/1 I 3,128 I Teen I No Pairing)

“How does that saying go again? Absolute power corrupts absolutely?” – Stiles learns to live with the fox in his head.

#teen wolf #sterek #no pairing #stiles stilinski #derek hale #nogitsune!stiles #bamf!stiles #anon #steter #peter hale

[aka-indulgence]

The Moon gets his Snacks

Hi……………… moon Sans is back :> time to fulfill his request.

———

I can’t believe I’m really going there again.

You fly with trepidation, wishing you had one of your sisters to accompany you. But you aren’t sure if you should even tell them of your encounter with the Moon. Perhaps some of them have guessed that you’ve met the fabled Moon god, or that you were simply terrified of the moon- like many others. You told them you didn’t want to talk about it, which you didn’t. Thankfully, none of them pried further.

You carry a little rucksack with you, filled with the offerings you received back on earth. You had to be discreet, so none of them saw you take more than usual. You blessed the family who gave you the offering with warm sunlight before you left- once more for the moon.

You had tried to ignore it… to ignore his call. To leave his request be. You weren’t his servant, you didn’t have to do it. You succeeded in waiting for a week before you eventually caved. It was a bad idea to go see him again, you knew it. You weren’t even supposed to see him in the first place. Why couldn’t you be like everyone else, ignored his presence, keep him as a myth, to let his memory fade to darkness like his moon did?

When you were in darkness, that space between earth and sun… you could see his eyes, the vast expanse his hollow sockets. Did he really just wanted to see you again? Did he have plans for you?

When you tried to rest, to sleep, you had nightmares of him breaking out of his prison to find you.

And also… others, where you were just watching him, sitting in his prison.

Lonely…

All too soon, you’ve arrived at the moon. You thought you’d be ready for the moon’s silence when you arrived, but it’s just as jarring as it was when you first arrived.

You were already in the temple, hesitating for a moment before you descended those stairs, back towards his prison. You’re not sure which was worse; going down the stairs with no expectations of what might be jumping out at you, or knowing who was waiting at you at the bottom of the stairs, yet continuing.

Your light spread across the floor from your feet like a drop of sun in a pool of black. Your heart races as you glance to his prison. It looked like… nothing was there. Just darkness, staring back at you. Not like it was dimly lit- it was just black, beyond those bars. You brighten your light, but it doesn’t penetrate.

“M… Moon…?” You call softly, your voice tiny and afraid. Visions of Sans, having broken his chains and escaped his confinement flashed through your eyes.

For a moment or two you stand there frozen, leaning closer for a sign beyond those bars.

Then suddenly, like lightning, two eyelights appear right in front of you.

“boo.”

“AAH!!” You startle, jumping backwards. You almost drop your rucksack, before you quickly snatch it over your chest, quivering.

The moon god chuckles, the darkness around him falling away like receding clouds.

“good night, my light.” His dark voice calls to you. “careful now… don’t fall over,”

He looks amused, seeing you flash hotter for a second, a retort on your mind that you keep to yourself.

“i’m flattered… honored, even. that the illustrious daughter of the sun has graced me with her presence once more,” Sans bows his head to you. It felt… odd, to have such a powerful god bow to you. What is it do the gods do when they were bowed to? … Just… bow back???

So you do.

“Y… you requested me to,” was all you answered.

Sans doesn’t comment, instead eyelights sliding over to the rucksack in your hand. “could that be…?”

You walk closer to the bars (as close as you were willing to, anyway) and open up the rucksack for him, showing the goods to him. They were bun cakes, some with different fillings.

Sans closes his sockets, taking a whiff. He makes a quiet sound of pleasure (that rumbles your chest anyway), and starts to openly drool, his eyelights intensifying when he opens them again.

“the treasure… gold on the moon.” He mutters. “are these… offerings from earth mortals?”

“Yes, Moon Sans.”

A flash of… something, comes across Sans’ eyelights.

“mm… i see. so the sun daughters receive offerings from the humans. often, i presume… you seem to love them so much.” He chuckles, but you don’t hear happy humour in it. “imagine… not receiving an offering for eons. not being able to taste food, for eons.”

You felt a pang of sympathy hunger at the Moon god’s words. No, the gods didn’t need to eat. But the idea of not being able to come to earth, to the human’s temples and shrines to receive those wonderful offerings, to not eat… you shudder at the notion.

“I’m… sorry.” You say, at length. “It sounds… cold, and lonely.”

… You meant… you were talking about the lack of food, but he way Sans’ eyelights flick to you, his grin lowering…

“Uh-” you cut through, “you, you can have all of this, if you’d like.”

The Moon god’s eyelights flick down into the rucksack. Then they slowly drift back up towards your face, as if expectantly, as his grin comes back, wider, slowly, into something devious.

“my dear sunlight, would you care to feed it to me?”

You stifle your splutters.

“I-I-” ahem, “Forgive me, can you… say that again?”

“please… hold it for me so i may bite into it.” He explains, as if it wasn’t a ridiculous request, feeding the Moon god-! “excuse me, i’d rather not eat the moon’s dust.”

You look at him. He has that same pleading look you saw the last time you were here. You saw his claws, just behind the bars, all four present, on the floor.

“N…” you start to say, then see the way his sockets start to narrow.

Those eyes.

“....Yes.” You settled.

He’d… started staring more intensely.

Shakily, you took one cake out of the rucksack, placing it beside him. In case.

Maybe he’d be more likely to grab a bun instead of you…

As you bring the bun to his face however, you stop short of his mouth.

“But!” You try to be firm, pulling the cake back threateningly. “I’ll feed you so long as you don’t grab me, or… or try to b-bite my hand off!”

There’s mild surprise on Sans’ face, staring at your tiny display of bravery(?) in front of him. Then, his eyelights start to glow more… softer, somehow, and he chuckles, mischievous smile back on his face.

“i accept your conditions, starlight,” Sans coos, “heh… i promise i’ll do my best to restrain myself.”

At that, he bites the air, staring at you, and… well, that did wonderful for your confidence.

Thank you, oh merciful Moon god, You say sarcastically in your mind. You bring your hand closer to the bars. … It felt like, you could feel the chill from inside the prison. Like Sans himself had the power to make you cold just from being near him. He was looking at your hand expectantly, even as they stop shy in front of the bars. His gaze flicks back up to you.

Your other hand is clutching your scarf. You take a silent breath and… break the invisible barrier.

When the cake is in front of him, Sans seems to have lost focus. His sockets widen, as does his eyelights, the black pupil becoming more visible. You could feel something akin to sweat on your hand, doing your best not to jitter too much as the Moon god takes bite after savoured bite of the cake. You could feel his breath on your hand. His fangs were so close, your fingers wanted to twitch away every time he bit. His whole face looked as if they were glimmering in your sunlight, his eyelights becoming especially radiant. He closes his sockets, pulling his head back.

“mm… MM!” He moans, his smile nothing short of ecstatic.

“so sweet… so warm.” He says, and you… aren’t… entirely sure if he’s talking about the cake or…..?

You could only imagine what it must feel like to him, the explosion of taste and flavors on his tongue as he indulges on this humble treat. For a god who’s been stuck on the gray, lifeless moon, with nothing except the moon’s dust, to have something so… so much, so suddenly. You’d expected him to be ravenous, but this was a nice surprise.

You have newfound appreciation for your little bun cakes. They weren’t the most glamorous offerings, but you enjoyed them, and that was enough for you.

“simply heavenly, sunlight.”

After a few more bites, with Sans seemingly contemplating every each of them, Sans suddenly asks, saying your name.

He sounded more serious. “why have you… come back, little light?”

“H…huh?”

The Moon god casts his eyelights to the side. “honestly, i wouldn’t blame you if you never came back. i would have chosen so. why didn’t you? are you… naive? foolishly brave?”

You frown, pulling your hand back a fraction. The Moon god looks into your eyes, like he could read every thought your mind has every made.

“... i think, neither.” He answers himself, “i think… you have a heart that’s too big for your own good, little light.”

Your mouth falls open involuntarily. How… how do you respond to that?

…

Then, his tongue slithers over your finger, licking you.

You shriek, dropping the cake on the floor, yanking your hand away as if it got burnt, stepping back far enough that you were sure his hands couldn’t reach you. Sans laughs, not quite as cruel as the one where he lunged at you- but still striking fear into your heart. Even as you flap your arm, trying to get the feeling of… his tongue off it.

“quick to startle aren’t you, little star?”

“Y-you!!” you keep the embarrassed flush off your face, the prison glowing brighter than before. You keep your tongue, remembering the fearsome reputation of this god. “Moon Sans, you promised-”

“i did not grab you. i did not bite you. i kept my promise.” He says, solemnly.

You stare at him, clutching your hand. Even more, when he licks his teeth.

This…. this man!

“you’re a delicious little treat, my light.”

You frown at him, backing away more. He seems to realize he might’ve frightened the cute little bunny that had tried to trust him, as you look at the stairs for your escape.

“no… please, sunlight, stay with me?”

You stand there for a moment, seriously considering ignoring his request. But, “I’m… I won’t feed you this time, Moon Sans.” you say, apologetic tone.

He smiles easily at you. “that’s fine. i’ll eat these myself.” He grabs the almost-finished cake on the floor, and… grabs more with his extra three hands.

The cakes are a success, at least.

“but… please… will you stay longer? until i’ve finished.”

The smile on the Moon god’s face is… less than threatening. Trying to convince the little bunny to come back to his hands, no he won’t do anything this time!

You want to leave. Just like you wanted to a week ago.

But against your better judgement that even the Moon god knows no one else would do… you stay.

#moonlight #update #sans: *malevolent god in the darkness* #sans: *sees you* time to be A Shit #djskds it was one of those ‘the characters write themselves’ moment #i planned more… AAA and then sans turned to be real mischevious #heheh #aka writing #also!!! llamagoddess thought of the 'naive or bravery' line!!! my bff is so cool

[lindszeppelin]

The Things Left Unsaid

Pairing: Austin Butler x Fem!Reader

Prompt: You and Austin were old flames many moons ago, but when he wrote you a letter to come and visit him a lot of feelings rise to the surface.

Rating: Mature. 18+. Bye-Bye Minors, peace out

Warnings: this is basically a repurposing of The Notebook but slightly different lol, fluff, smut, probably inaccuracies of country/farm living, oral (f and m receiving), a lot of pining, some angst, handjob, squirting, swearing.

Word Count: 15k.

a/n: Hey babes! So, since Austin and I both love The Notebook with every fiber of our beings, I wanted to try my hand a writing a sort of Notebook-esque story. It needs to happen and I wanna give him his Notebook fantasy lol

This can't be happening. Not now, and certainly not like this. A letter had appeared in your mailbox. Who the hell writes letters anymore in this day and age? Only one person you knew would be sentimental enough to take the time to write a letter and mail it out, and that was your ex Austin Butler.

It seemed like dogs years since you and Austin were so head over heels in love with each other. The cutthroat California lifestyle led by the rich and famous was something that you and he detested to your core. But you somehow found a little pocket of paradise in a Spanish style villa out in privacy of the Hollywood Hills where you created a blended home.

He was in the throws of a blossoming acting career, having already played a couple of tv roles and small time film parts that he secured under his belt. And you were following your passions all the same. Young love was so good, so innocent. You both were absolutely positive that you'd be together forever. At one point you had even talked about the possibility of marriage and children. But all things must come to and end. The reality of a white-picket fence with a golden retriever and kiddos attached to your hip was now something that had to be confined to living in your daydreams.

Maybe it was the stress of his budding career that poisoned the sanctity of your relationship. You still aren't really sure of the exact reason why the two of you called it quits. It just sort of happened, and you force yourself to forget the pain of that day. But at any rate, the loss of him in your life was too much to bare. In one last ditch effort to show his love, Austin offered you the Spanish villa for yourself while he would look for lodgings elsewhere. But you declined. All of a sudden, California got too claustrophobic for you to handle. If you didn't break free from it's vice grip on your throat you would surely suffocate.

Moving across the country seemed like a harsh way to part. In your dazed and confused mind you thought that it was the best choice to make. The jarring juxtaposition of your old life in LA versus the new one you're trying to form in the chilly Boston city sometimes made your head spin. But your family lived here, and putting as many miles between you and your used-to-be soulmate was okay with you.

You climbed up the social ladder at your prestigious career, and Austin had landed the role of a lifetime in securing the Baz Lurhmann picture about Elvis Presley - Austin naturally played Elvis in the film. You knew he was just born to play that role.

Unfortunately, the success of your ex's monumental accomplishment was tarnished. Even in your little studio apartment on the east coast, you simply couldn't stop seeing his face everywhere. He was haunting you like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from. All of your coworkers and friends were buzzing around you about his incredible portrayal as The King of Rock and Roll. Even hearing Elvis Presley's music could sometimes trigger a near anxiety attack.

Pangs of resentment filled the pit gnawing away at your stomach as you had no choice but to look at posters of Austin's chiseled face with striking blue eyes and his newly fashioned black tresses as you thought back at the love you and he once shared.

As time went on, you thought you had gotten over him. Finally, maybe now that the pandemonium from the Elvis movie had died down after a few crazy months, you thought you were free from the nagging thoughts about your old flame. You thought you were safe from his reach.

That is, until a letter addressed from the actor to you was nestled in your shaky hands.

A thousand and one different thoughts were flashing through your mind. You just knew that when he settled on the idea of reaching out to you that he was sitting down at his desk, fumbling around for his favorite pen that has the perfect amount of flow to the ink, hunched over the parchment and wracking his brain on what the hell to write down.

A part of you imagined the scenario - that he ruminated over every single word. How many drafts of this letter did he go through before sending this final one out to you? Two? Five? Ten? You thought about him crumpling up each written attempt and throwing it into the trashcan, dissatisfied with his efforts. He knew he could do better. And this was his one chance to bridge the gap between you two. It had to be perfect.

You thought about how he clutched the letter close to his heart before finally mustering up the courage to slide the letter through the post office drop-off box. He knew that once it was gone from his hands that he couldn't take back what he wrote. And your reaction to such a letter scared the shit out of him.

Was this the right thing to do? Should he just go home and try to forget this is even happening? 'Get back in the car and leave, now. What the fuck are you doing, Butler?' He'd berate himself.

But the thought of your beautiful face raced through his minds eye once more, and that was that. Fuck it. What's done is done.

As you hold the note in your hands you can tell that in his usually neat penmanship are telltale signs of nerves. He veers off the page and curves his sentences at a slight upwards angle with the occasional janky letter as he scribbled. Your body was overcome with cold sweats as you scanned over the letter, reading it again for what felt like the hundredth time.

Dear Y/N, I hope this letter finds you well. Forgive me if perhaps I'm overstepping a boundary by writing to you. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable. My intentions for sending this to you are nothing short of respectful. I simply just wanted to extend an olive branch.

Firstly, I sincerely hope that you're enjoying your life out in Boston. My genuine wish is that you're thriving, doing whatever it is that makes you happy. I'd sleep easier at night knowing that you're satisfied. Things on my end have been insanely busy. If I'm being forthright, I'm just not used to my life being made a spectacle for the media. As I shield myself away from the world and come to terms with the advancement in my career, I think back to us and what we once shared. I cannot feign ignorance in the way that things dissolved between us. My head was not in the right frame of mind as I was trying to simultaneously juggle our relationship and my career. For that, I am overtly apologetic from the bottom of my heart. You deserve more than that. The young guy that I was all those years ago is not the same man that's writing to you now. I've changed for the better. With time, perhaps I can prove myself to you. As you can tell by the return address on the envelope, I'm not writing to you from California. Like you similarly expressed, the city just got to be all consuming. Miraculously, I found a little farmhouse out in Georgia that was going to be demolished. But I bought it and fixed it up. Most of my time is spent here when I'm not working. If I may be so bold, I would like to extend to you an invitation to come down here and visit - if you'd like. It's very quiet so we'll have the lay of the land to ourselves, no media or cameras in sight. If you'll have me, I would be honored to show you around and have dinner with you. How does the 13th at 6pm sound? You are under no obligation to respond back to me. All you have to do is simply show up, or not, and I'll have my answer. Yours, A. To say that receiving this letter was a lynch pin in your plans, or lack there-of, would be an understatement. You've spent the last few years trying to move on from the heartache, and then out of the blue a letter like this appears in your lap.

Logistically, this whole scenario just doesn't make sense. The 13th is only 3 days away. How the hell are you going to explain this to your boss? Oh hey, sorry but I need time off. Why? Because my super famous ex boyfriend wants to wine and dine me in the Georgia countryside for reasons I can't really explain. Yeah right, sounds totally believable...

You're not even sure that it make sense to yourself. The undertones in this letter give off the impression that Austin still has some kind of romantic interest in you. Why would that even be the case? You've been broken up for years and he's chasing a career that takes him all over the world. I'm sure he's in the arms of gorgeous models every night. What would he want with his ex girlfriend?

God, if you're gonna be forced to think about this any more then you need a strong cup of tea, and soon. It's too early in the morning to be pondering about a hypothetical rekindling of a long lost love affair. And besides, you have to get ready for another day at work. As you put the kettle on the stove to boil, you toss the letter onto the dining room table and put it out of your mind.

Two days went by and you still hadn't made your mind up about what you were going to do. To be honest, you were rightly annoyed that the letter didn't walk itself off of the table and into the trash so you didn't have to think about it anymore.

As you took off all your makeup, brushed your hair, and slipped on one of your comfy nighties for bed you spotted the letter out of the corner of your eye. It was taunting you now, you were sure of it. His words lifted off of the paper and floated their way into your brain, stirring your emotions.

Listen, just give him the benefit of the doubt. He wrote you because he obviously wanted to reach out to you in a more personal way. Just read the fucking letter again and decide once and for all. Keep an open mind.

Sighing in defeat after the losing battle with your own subconscious, you make your way over to the letter waiting expectantly for you on the table. As your eye scans over his proclamation one final time, you latch onto the last sentence he wrote. "All you have to do is show up, or not, and i'll have my answer."

Goddamn it all to hell.

No more procrastination. The decision was made. You knew all along that this was the choice you were going to make, and you just had to put it off until the last conceivable moment - for dramatic effect obviously.

With the letter in your hands, you open up your laptop and purchase a roundtrip ticket to Georgia before you have the time to change your mind. I guess this meant that you had to pack, you have a plane to catch at noon tomorrow.

Well, there was definitely no going back now. Today is the 13th, and you landed down in Georgia at roughly 3pm. You were lucky that there was a nice 4 star hotel in the area that had a room available for you to stay in at very short notice.

The excuse you gave to your boss that morning was that you had a family emergency and you wouldn't be back for a few days. It was a miracle they bought it and didn't ask questions.

You got yourself settled as best you could in your room. The time was ticking, you knew you had 3 hours until you would be face to face with the man you once considered your everything. Heat rose to your face, causing a hot flash that made you fan yourself. You tried to reason with yourself that it was the southern heat that has you in a tizzy. But the butterflies were creeping into your stomach, threatening to fly away the closer the clock neared 6pm.

In your haste to book a flight the night before, you didn't think too much about what you were going to pack for outfits. As you pulled your suitcase out and placed it on the bed you crossed your fingers that you managed to pack something nice for this meeting.

Thank the high heavens that in your stupor you did throw in there one of your favorite dresses as of late. It was a gorgeous silky A-Line number that flattered your curves and flared out in all the right places. The shoes you gave yourself to match were some cute nude sandals with a chunky high heel, perfect for walking on the grass.

You fluffed your lashes with a few coats of mascara, drew on some eyeliner, and applied a soft rose lip stain to doll up your face. Using the hotel hairdryer and a round brush, you attempt to make voluminous bouncy curls that softly frame your features. And the finishing touch before you headed out the door was a few spirts of your signature floral perfume.

Well, it was now or never.

The car ride over was excruciating. Every minute your nagging thoughts coupled with the impending notion that you're going to be spending time with your ex nearly sent you over the edge. A long and winding dirt road brought you directly to one solitary white farmhouse with a detached shed at the back. There was nothing around as far as the eye could see, just a vast lush landscape sprinkled with dandelions and sunflowers. Right next to the side of the house stood a beautiful peach tree, and you could even see the makings of a small garden with tomato plants and various herbs sprouting tall and proud. You never took Austin to have a greenthumb, but then again it's like you're re-learning everything about him from scratch.

As you got out of the car, making sure to park a little bit away from the front door as to not rouse Austin's attention just yet, you surveyed the quaint lodgings for a few moments.

He told you in his letter that he had fixed up the near demolished house. You had no idea he was such a handyman either, because it looked beautiful. A crisp coat of white paint with contrasting blue shutters stood out among all the greenery like a Monet painting. There was a little front porch that had a swinging chair that looked so inviting to sit on and get lost in thought. It was positively charming.

As much as you tried to distract yourself from the inevitable, you simply couldn't faff around anymore. You filled your lungs with the fresh country air and steadied those butterflies that felt so close to erupting from your uneasy stomach.

You didn't even realize that your feet had betrayed you and moved on their own accord, climbing up the steps to the front door. It all happened so fast in one swift motion. No sooner that your hand reached out to knock on the screen door that Austin was right there. He must have the eyes of a hawk and spotted you approaching from a mile away. Regardless, he was standing right before you. You had to question if you were dreaming or if this was actually happening.

The warmest grin was spread sweetly across Austin's face. As he learned his tall body against the doorframe, you both eyed each other from head to toe. You almost couldn't believe the man standing before you was the same person you had dated all those years ago.

He had longer hair and a noticeable beard defining his sharp jawline which gave him an effortlessly rugged appearance. His classic old Hollywood looks were still ever present, and not a damn hair was out of place. One of his favorite canvas Carhartt jackets was sitting perfectly on his broad shoulders, even in this godawful heat he still wore them like a security blanket. Your eye traveled down the length of his legs in the Levi's he had on. He aged like fine wine, and a part of you hated yourself that you still found him handsome.

The two of you just stood there, not saying a word. His crystalline eyes wandered eagerly down your feminine curves that were accented by your silky dress. It really is so true that men are such visual creatures. Austin's carnal desires overtook his brain momentarily as he thought about ripping that dress off of you, revealing what you were wearing underneath. But he had to stop himself from thinking any further. Pull yourself together.

He shifted his weight and cleared his throat as the awkward silence rang loud in both your ears. I mean, what the hell can you even say in this strange scenario anyway? Someone had to be brave enough to speak up, and not one of you had moved their proverbial chess piece on the board yet.

After what felt like an eternity of just standing there on his porch and your skin crawling with anticipation, you couldn't take this anymore.

"It's nice to see you." You blurted out. Your fingers fumbled as you interlaced your hands loosely Infront of you. It was strange that you found yourself reverting back to girlish inclinations in front of him.

He sighed longingly. "Yeah, it's so good to see you as well. Thank you for accepting my invitation." Austin softly spoke. His voice reverberated low in his chest, sounding equal parts soothing and sexy. He got out of your way and held the door further open, gesturing with his hand inside.

"Please, come on in."

Nodding your head, your heals click on the hardwood floor as you step into Austin's living space. It was simply decorated with just the necessities like wooden tables holding up vases full of wildflowers, a fabric sofa that looked comfortable enough, shelves packed tightly with different sizes of leatherbound books and vintage records, and the kitchen was neatly organized with copper pans hanging from hooks on the wallpaper, with a cute yellow antique fridge and matching stove.

You spun around slowly and took it all in.

"Wow, Austin, you did a really great job of making this place a home. I wasn't sure what to expect when you said you rebuilt it."

He shut the door and shoved his hands in his pockets nervously, making his way over to you. "Thank you. Yeah, it's been a really fun project that's for sure. All the furniture I got second hand from vintage spots, and anywhere else that I could get my hands on nice accent pieces. I've only been actually living here for a little while, so it's not as homey as I would like it to be. But it's mine."

A shy smile crept up the corners of your rosy lips. "This house definitely suits you. What you lack with the furniture you make up for with books."

Austin chuckled at your noticing his obvious book collection, running a hand through his blonde waves. "I probably have more books than the local public library."

"You always were a bookworm." You teased lightly.

He shrugged his shoulders playfully, "I figure ones life is enriched the more that you pick up a book and read something. Can be whatever genre you want. But I don't know, books are my happy place. It's the smell of the vintage leather. The worn-in paper. The slightly smeared ink that stains my fingers with each flip of a page. I find solace in it."

"I know you do, Aus." His old nickname just rolled off the tip of your tongue with ease, a little too much for your own liking. You haven't been around him for more than maybe five minutes and already your mind comfortably reverted to your old girlfriend tendencies. You hoped that Austin didn't catch what you said, but he certainly did by the way his eyes lit up at his name falling from your lips once again.

You bite your tongue in your mouth, chastising yourself for faltering so soon. But there was nothing that could be done about it now. For Austin this was good news. Could a possible spark be reignited? It gave him a little hope, and he clung to it desperately. But, on the outside he remained calm and collected. The night was still young. Who knows what will happen.

Austin tried his best to curve around the tension that hung in the air. "I'm sure you're tired from your trip. We've got about half an hour until 6pm, so if you want I can make us dinner while you go relax."

Maybe that was a good idea after all. Giving you guys some much needed space after your fatal flub seemed enticing. "Sure, that sounds good."

"Great. How does a glass of peach tea sound? I made a pitcher this morning."

You knew Austin took cooking as a serious hobby, but peach tea? For some reason that impressed you. "Sounds delicious actually. Thank you."

"Alright, wait right here I'll pour you a glass." He clasped his hands together and took a couple long strides before he went into the fridge and put some ice cubes in a glass, pouring you a generous helping. Goddamn him for being so polite and gentlemanly.

"Here you go, Y/N. I hope it's good, I'm still perfecting the recipe." As he carefully handed you the beverage, the shock of the icy glass helped to ground you and put your nerves at ease as you were flustered under the collar, still trying to grapple with the fact that you were here in Austin's kitchen.

He watched intently, focused on your reaction, looking for any tiny micro expression that could tell him if you're satisfied by his concoction. That was another quirk of his that he seemingly still kept. Austin relished in preparing something he worked hard on, and then seeing what the reactions to it will be - Ever the people pleaser. His stare on your lips as you took a gentle sip of the refreshing liquid was a little unnerving for so many reasons that you didn't want to entertain right now.

The fruity taste lingered on your palate. "Mmm. Very good. Just the right amount of sweetness." You say, delivering your final verdict. This pleased him, as his eyes got all squinty and his nose crinkled a little when he gets jovial.

"I'm glad you like it. Now, go get comfortable. Dinner will be ready in 30."

As Austin prepared dinner in the kitchen, you chose to sit on the swinging chair outside, peach tea in hand, just absolutely reeling.

You didn't want to start thinking about how gorgeous he looked. You also did not want to remember the fact that he couldn't take his pretty eyes off of you. And under no circumstances did you want to ponder the mere thought of how you were staring right back at him.

That internal battle was still raging inside of you, and you had a bad feeling it was only going to get worse as the night wore on. You had to face the facts. This was your reality. Instead of trying to make it worse for yourself in the long run, you have to just chill out.

This is simply two long lost friends that are coming together for a nice meal and a chat. And at the end of the night you go your separate ways, probably never to see each other again. Whatever false narrative you needed to spin to get yourself through this one night had to be enough.

Whatever he was cooking smelled delicious, and you hadn't eaten since breakfast so you were famished. As you finished the last remnants of your peach tea, you closed your eyes and just let the wind wash over your frazzled mind. Nothing good ever comes from heated emotions. To make the best of this situation, you had to relinquish all control and give in fully to the unpredictability.

The sounds of birds chirping in the distance filled your ears the more you sank into meditation. With one deep breath, the waves of anxiety and dread rolled through you and dissipated with the gentle breeze. The lightness you felt afterwards was welcomed.

You were so beyond gone in your mind, out in the vast blankness of space, that you didn't hear the screen door open beside you. A breath was caught in Austin's throat as he saw your long locks flow around you carelessly. To him you looked so serene and beautiful like a goddess. His arms were itching to reach out to you and wrap you up in a warm embrace, to remind himself of what it felt like to hold you close to his chest. But he knew that he couldn't look at you for too long. He didn't want to ogle, plus the more he looked at you in this way the more his heart ached. Austin committed this moment of peace to memory before he had to make himself known.

Clearing his throat gently to get your attention, you slowly opened your eyes and caught sight of him. He had changed out of his jacket and into a white cotton button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up with a few of the buttons undone, revealing a weft of curly blonde chest hairs. Classy, casual, and so sexy without trying to be was his forte. Damn, he looked good.

His lips quivered as he struggled to try and form the words to speak, but his mouth suddenly feeling dry. "Dinner is ready, Y/N."

With a renewed energy, you threw him a soft smile and made your way inside.

While you were outside calming yourself down, Austin threw together a really beautiful dinner spread. The large dining room table was adorned with two plates on opposite sides. In the center was a mason jar filled with a random assortment of flowers from his garden, and two long candles that he quickly lit with his zippo created a lovely ambiance.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence as you ate this wonderful homecooked meal Austin worked so hard on. You have to admit to yourself that he really did put in a lot of time and effort into this dinner for you. Everything was not overly done, like he was trying hard to impress, but it was simply him.

Austin was on one end of the table, and you were on the other side. It seemed like a rather massive distance was keeping you so separated, but it was better this way. You both occasionally passed satisfied glances to each other in between bites of food and sips of pinot grigio. When you completely inhaled every last bit of food from your plate, you sat back in your chair totally stuffed to the brim.

"I have to say, that was really delicious Austin. I'm so full I can't eat another bite."

He chuckled and finished off the last drop of his wine. "Good, i'm happy that you enjoyed it. I can't remember the last time I made a proper meal, especially with company."

"Do you not have many people over?" You asked.

He shook his head solemnly. "No not really. I uh, kind of keep a low profile around here. What with all the..." he waved a lackadaisical hand in the air, "...you know."

You weren't entirely sure what he meant, but you assumed he was talking about his newfound celebrity status. Does he really get mobbed all that often? You hadn't the faintest idea of what he actually has to put up with in his daily life. But you can only imagine the strain that takes on his mental health.

"Yeah, I'm sure that it can be really hard to deal with sometimes." You fiddled with the hem of your dress, looking down and suddenly overcome with a bout of shyness. There was a question you had put on the backburner since the moment you saw him this afternoon. But you weren't sure if you should leave it alone, or find the right time to ask. Now that you had settled more with this situation you find yourself in coupled with Austin's naturally easygoing energy drawing you out of your shell, you felt comfortable in bringing it up.

Obviously it had occurred to you that since your breakup, Austin has probably been in other relationships. Or you assumed so anyway. You weren't one to pry, but you couldn't deny that it was a burning question that you wondered to yourself.

If Austin tells you he is currently seeing someone, what would that change in the way you view him? The romantic undertones that were left between the lines on the letter he wrote you seemed clear as day. But who knows. Austin is kind of that way with everyone. Maybe he was just being nice. Maybe this really was just two friends getting together, and not two exes with an undoubtable spark.

Your eyes looked everywhere but his, too afraid that his oceanic eyes will suck you in and see through the veil to your subconscious thoughts. The question was on the tip of your tongue, it was no use trying to stifle it down.

You smoothed down the front of your dress and regained some composure. "Have you been seeing anyone in particular these days?" You spoke, trying to sound put together. With just enough courage you finally looked him in the eye.

Maybe it was the way the candles flickered in the light, but you swore that you saw Austin's eyes sparkle again like they did not that long ago when you called him by his forgotten petname.

This was his big break into the conversation he was hoping to have. He chose his words carefully. "When you say 'anyone in particular' I presume you mean, am i seeing any 'woman' in particular?" He clarified.

Biting your bottom lip, you simply nod your head.

He shifted slightly in his chair, leaning forward. The floor creaked beneath his boot heels. "No. I haven't been interested in dating for a little while now. Nor have I had the time to allocate to forging a romantic bond with a woman. But as of late, I've been thinking about maybe opening up that part of me again. For the right girl."

Austin held prolonged eye contact with you as he let that last sentence fall from his lips and onto the table. He hoped that you picked up on his meaning. Dating any other woman except for you was completely out of the question. He prays he's playing his cards right.

"What about yourself? Has there been a special man in your life?" He asks, throwing the ball into your court now.

You also lean forward in your chair, mirroring his body language. "No. I've kinda been busy just focusing on my career and healing myself. But who knows what the future may hold..." You leave your comment purposely open ended, leaving it up for him to extrapolate whatever he wants from that breadcrumb you left behind.

"Hmm." Was all he managed to hum under his breath. He broke eye contact with you as he sat back in his chair yet again. His thumb and forefinger stroked his bottom lip, like he usually does when he's overcome with racing thoughts.

You could tell he was ruminating over something and wasn't willing to share. Noticing his lack of an answer, you prod a little further. "What's going through your mind?" You carefully asked.

After a brief pause, his lip sprang free from his fingers and he placed his hand on his thigh. "Do you know why I asked you to come and visit me?"

"Because you wanted to show me around your new place."

"While yes that is true, that wasn't my only reason."

"Then enlighten me, why did you invite me here?"

"Because I missed you." He said plainly.

His words hung thick in the air like a suffocating fog causing you to hitch your breath. That was part of the truth, but there was definitely more he wasn't saying. Whatever it was, you were gonna yank it out of him. "That's it? You write me out of the blue, haven't spoken to each other years. You invite me all the way out to your farmhouse in the middle of Georgia, make dinner and offer me peach tea just because you miss me?"

Austin fully leans forward in his chair, elbows folded and resting on the table. A match was struck and a flame grew behind his eyes, but it wasn't from sexual desire. He was growing irritated. "What are you trying to infer here?" He asks, totally bewildered by your sudden bite.

You crossed your arms in front of you. "I think we both know that there's more to your plan than you care to let on."

He scoffed "Is that so? Well, since you seem to have it all figured out, why don't you fill me in." He's trying but failing to remain levelheaded. And so are you. All common sense leaps out the window.

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Austin, please be serious." You roll your eyes.

"I'm afraid you're gonna have to do better than that, Y/N." He tisked.

"Fine. Let me be clear. We broke up and you haven't said a word to me in all these years. Now all of a sudden you just, miss me?" You hissed.

Austin raised a quizzical brow. "Is it so wrong for me to miss you?"

Annoyance flooding your senses, you doubled down. "It's not that it's wrong, you just kind of left me high and dry and now we're in this situation." The words flew out of your mouth at warp speed.

A dry chuckle filled the air from the other side of the table. "From my recollection, you were the one that flew all the way across the country to get as far away from me as possible. Remember?" Austin said.

Fuck, that's it. Any chance of having an adult conversation was long gone by now. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you could feel the pump adrenaline rush to your brain, shutting down all logical rationale.

"And from my recollection, you were the one that ended the relationship in the first place without any good reason." You raised your voice.

"Aaah." Austin pieced the puzzle together. "So that's what this is all about." He nodded to himself, saying matter-of-factly. Now it all made sense. He genuinely didn't realize that you harbored negative feelings over the way things ended. It was all being laid out on the table.

"Well, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that once we split I wanted my space. So yes, I did fly across the country. But it was to get away from the reminder of what we had." You huffed.

"Do you loathe me that much that you had to up and leave? I offered you the villa. You didn't have to move coasts." He asked, there was a twinge of hurt to his question. It was a tough one to ask you, but he needed to know.

You shook your head, astonished. "How could you seriously expect me to stay when that house held every single memory of what we shared all those years ago. Do you think I actually wanted to stay in the place where we were building a life together? And then it was all ripped away. It was painful for me." You trailed off. In an attempt to self-soothe, you stroked one of your arms comfortingly as those difficult memories from your past love flickered through your mind. Some of these sentiments you hadn't even expressed to yourself, let alone to Austin. You wished that the floor could open up and swallow you whole.

Austin's jaw clenched. He was fighting back the urge to break down in this very moment. Seeing you open up a part of yourself that's been closed off of all this time was hard to watch. It was a tough pill to swallow to think that he had caused you to feel this pain. And he mentally kicked his past self for it. He truly never wanted to hurt you.

He let out a long sigh, lowering his tone and stripping away his ego. "Listen, Y/N. I take accountability for how things ended between us. That wasn't the plan for the future that I wanted with you. I envisioned a beautiful, harmonious coexistence with you by my side. Like I wrote in my letter, I was having a hard time coming to terms with my privacy being stripped away the more that my career took off, completely out of my control. Maybe deep down there was a part of me that knew that the more I was getting pushed into the spotlight the more that the public would sink their claws into you, stripping away your innocence. A-and, just knowing that you were in the crosshairs of it all, i simply couldn't allow you to get hurt by my lifestyle. No way..." Austin shook his head and trailed his wandering eye away from yours as he got lost in the thought that tormented him the most.

There it was. There was finally the answer that you have been searching for this whole time. A lot of emotions were rising to the surface and you weren't sure you knew how to process them.

With this important piece of information dawning on you, you bravely express the most important takeaway from this entire ordeal that's been left unsaid. "So, you broke up with me to protect me?"

Your fatal question was followed by a long break of silent reflection. You could cut the tension with a knife. In your heart you knew this was the answer, and he knew it too. But to hear the truth being spoken out loud was cataclysmic.

Finally, Austin returned his azure orbs to you, glazed over with an emotion that you can't really read. His voice waivered as he somberly spoke. "They say that if you love something you set it free. If it comes back, then it's yours to keep..." He swallowed thickly, "If it doesn't, then it never was."

The realization of what he just said hits you like a ton of bricks. He loved you enough to let you go, to shield you from the hardships of his new life. And in writing you that letter he was testing the waters to see if that philosophical phrase was right. He wanted to see if the love was still there, if this could be remedied with time. If you came back to him, then he would have his answer. Just like he said in his letter. And you yourself denied your bodies natural inclinations to fall right back in line with him for all these years. Even when you were on differing sides of the continent, that thread that attaches you together at a soul level never withered away. It remained intact. You both could never properly move on from your romance. Nobody else could come in and replace the love that you two share for each other.

As much as you were angry and bitter with the breakup, this clarity shot down any last resentment you were holding onto.

Only one thing mattered. You were his to keep.

Suddenly you feel dizzy, the room began to spin all around you with your onslaught of sudden vertigo. Everything that you forced yourself to bottle up was now backfiring on you. It was bubbling to the surface like a bottle of coke that was shaken for too long - the pressure escaping through the cracks.

You found yourself being drawn to Austin's body like a moth to a flame. To fight the forcefield would be a fruitless endeavor. To think that you wanted nothing to do with him would be a fools errand to believe, because you know that's not true. It became all too clear to you that you still loved him. And while it scared you to admit that, your body gave in to the overt sexual desire that was churning inside you. That all too familiar coil in your stomach tightened with desire.

You forcefully stood up from your chair, and it nearly toppled over as you rose to your feet. Taken aback by your outburst, Austin planted himself firmly on the ground and stood up from his seat as well. Did his confession upset you? If you were about to storm out of the house he was prepared to run after you. While he was deathly afraid to lose you for a second time, he had to be ready for anything.

Both of you were in the height of your flight or fight response, standing at the dinner table, caught in a fiery glare. If looks could kill, you'd both be dead on the spot.

Austin trembled as he tried to find steady ground beneath him. He wanted to cut through whatever it was that you were thinking in your mind - to explain himself and put you at ease. He wasn't giving up on you without a fair fight.

"Y/N?" He tested the waters, his voice shaking.

Without hesitation, you turned on a dime directly towards him, skirting around the table. His eyes widened in trepidation as you approached. He stepped to the side of the table in preparation to get in your way and stop you from fleeing.

But what he didn't know was that you weren't leaving at all. No sooner than you got within arms reach of Austin that you grabbed his shirt collar and pulled his body towards you. A colliding of lips was harsh and unexpected to both of you, you weren't aware of your own strength. You felt as if you'd fall at any given moment, but he swiftly caught you and wrapped his long arms around your waist - pulling you impossibly close to his chest.

This wasn't the sweet, innocent kiss you both had thought about when you pictured this reunion. It was one that was oozing with so much longing, pent up aggression.

You initiated the kiss, snaking one hand into his sandy mane that clung for dear life, and the other now grasping at his flexing bicep. His strong mouth was hot, burning for you. The natural scent of him wafted through your nose as you breathed in his musky pheromones. He clashed his lips again and again against yours, probing your bottom lip with his tongue and your greedily sucked him in.

Austin growled low in your mouth, and he swallowed all of the whimpers that came pouring out passed your lips. One of his hands trailed down your ass, palming you through your dress and squeezing a large handful of your flesh roughly, his fingers sure to leave bruises on your backside by morning.

The feel of you in his hands once again felt like home. And as his tongue worked with yours in a sinful display of carnal lust, you drank him in happily once more - as if you had never broken up in the first place.

Austin's hand on your waist snaked up your spine, catching the zipper of your dress between his fingertips. He toyed with it though, never daring to pull it down just yet. That was enough to set you off. You needed out of the dining room and into his bed or else you'd implode.

Your swollen lips parted from Austin's roughly, but he went on the attack and planted hungry kisses down your neck - his growing appetite for you seemingly insatiable. Remembering that one sweet spot that made you putty in his hands, he latched onto that place on your neck and sucked the delicate skin until it left a purple bruise. You mewled, gripping stronger onto his arm and further tangling your fingers into his blonde tresses.

Releasing your neck from his mouth, his tongue licked over the area, soothing the irritated skin. You felt your knees practically give way.

"Austin," You sighed wantonly, "Please take me. Now." You begged.

You didn't need to tell him twice. "Yes, ma'am." He cooed, panting in your face as his lips captured yours once more for another searing kiss before his hands went to the backs of your thighs. Instinctively, you jumped up into his arms, wrapping your legs high around his waist and your arms around his neck as he held you firmly in place within his embrace.

How far away the bed was from the dining room table you had no idea. You hoped it wasn't a long journey, because you were both getting antsy for more skin to skin contact. As he cradled you in his strong arms he walked the both of you through a narrow corridor and turned a corner to the staircase. How he managed to carry you all the way up these stairs without getting winded turned you on even more than you thought possible.

You weren't done having your way with him though. As he made his way through the second floor, your lips placed gentle kisses along the bulging veins of his neck. He hummed lowly at your efforts to distract him, fully basking in the way you payed extra attention to every single inch of skin you could get your mouth on.

Finally, at the end of the hallway was the final destination. With one of his feet he kicked the door of the bedroom wide open. It nearly cracked the door hinges it was that forceful. He just simply couldn't wait any longer to have his way with you.

Making his way to stand at the foot of the bed, he braced his body weight on the plush comforter with one of his knees, and bent forward to place you in the center of the bed. You sighed at the loss of contact from Austin, but it wouldn't be for long.

You sat up and watched as his electric blue eyes glazed over with lust bore into yours as he quickly removed his shirt, throwing it somewhere he'd forget about later. And he toed his boots off, now leaving himself in nothing but his jeans.

It had been way too long since you've seen Austin like this. In the years apart you can clearly tell that he's put on some muscle definition. A shy whimper left your lips as you fully took in the sight of his broad chest, heaving with exertion and glistening with sweat.

Even with his tanned skin you could tell a faint blush was creeping onto his cheeks in the way that you stared at him like he was a full course meal. He exhaled deeply, a cheeky side smile was plastered on his face. Here you were, his dream girl, in his bed like he fantasized about for years, begging for him to take you. Austin was on cloud nine, and he wouldn't hide his obvious insatiable urges any longer.

And honestly, neither could you. Why the hell have you been tormenting yourself, trying to pretend that you didn't love him when you clearly still do? It was stupid, and after what you said to him downstairs at dinner you wanted to make it up to him.

As Austin was about to climb onto the bed to join you, you held up one of your hands, "Wait, Austin."

He stopped dead in his tracks. He prayed to God you didn't just all of a sudden grow a conscience and change your mind. "Everything alright?" He asked, concerned.

You nodded, shimmying your way down the massive king sized bed and leaping down to the floor below you. Your eyes met in a meek moment of hesitation. You allowed your fingertips to softly twirl around his chest hairs. You could feel his heart pounding like a drum beneath your hand, he drew in his lower lip and bit down in an effort to stifle the tiniest moan that wanted to escape. His hands tenderly cupped either side of your face, waiting expectantly for your instructions.

"I just...I want to please you first." You spoke softly. Your idle hand beside you burned hot against his skin as you let you fingers do the talking. Eyeing him fully, Austin gasped when your hand trailed over the waistband of his jeans as your fingers circled the faintest of touches along the rock hard outline of his engorged cock.

"Oh, God." His eyes closed, savoring this small touch, moaning breathlessly as you traced around his swollen member through his jeans, his hands clutched harder around your waist.

Swallowing thickly, he opened his eyes which were completely blown black, and shook his head. This wasn't usually how things went. He was the man, and he wanted to please you first. But how could he deny himself when you had him literally in the palm of your hand. "Baby, you don't have to."

"I know. I want to." Feeling bold, you went on your tiptoes and steadied yourself with a hand on his shoulder. His arms pulled you flush to his hard body. In an ultimate power move, your tongue slips past your lips and licks the shell of his ear. He throbbed in his pants, whimpering at the sudden contact.

With your lips still pressed to his ear, you breathed hotly, "I want to remember what it feels like to have your cock in my mouth."

Emitting a deep growl, Austin harshly grabbed your ass with both hands, forcing your stomach to press right against his erection. You writhed in his grasp, sighing deliciously as he rocked his length into your pelvis.

"You're a goddamn vixen, you know that? Miss me that much you wanna suck me off, huh?" He gritted through his teeth, getting high on your breathy moans that fill his ear. He ground his cock harder against you, drunk on the friction.

This now marked the start of your mission to treat Austin like he deserved to be treated. With everything he's done for you, you feel like he's earned this, and his efforts will be heartily rewarded. You reluctantly detach your mouth from his ear and place both your hands on his chest, pushing him back against the bed playfully. When you don't immediately climb onto the bed after him, he sits up on his elbows, watching your next move intently. The unpredictability is what keeps him on the edge, wanting so much more.

You make sure Austin has his undivided attention you as you reach behind your back, unzipping your summer dress all the way. You teasingly push the fabric down your shoulders and shimmy it slowly down your body until it pools into a heap on the floor - the whole time never breaking eye contact with him. You slip out of your heels and discard them to the side.

Austin bites his lip at the sight of you in your matching white lace panties and bra. This confirms to him all the same that you are in fact his angel. He thought God definitely took his sweet time in making you. And he made you just for him.

Now finally, you rose up onto the bed. On your hands and knees, you swayed seductively over his long body. You settled to straddle his lap with your legs on either side of his hips. His large hands smacked your ass, and you moaned fully right into his face at the delicious sting. He chuckled devilishly before he rose his back off the bed, bringing your lips back where they belonged. His plump mouth nearly engulfed yours as he ravenously devoured you, his strong tongue lapping back against yours in a fight for mutually assured dominance.

You wouldn't let him have his way, not yet. Taking his lower lip in your mouth, you bite down softly. He wined, and he let his hips rise off the bed as he rolled himself directly into your soaked pussy that was barely hanging on by the lace panties that covered them. With his hands still firmly on your ass, he pushed you down on his dick as you rode along his impressive length.

"Aus." You moaned. Hold on a second, this was all too much, you have to remember the task at hand before you let yourself come all over his jeans. You reluctantly pry yourself away from his firm grip on your ass, and traveled down his lower half, placing wet kisses along his chest and abs.

Looking up at him through your long flirty lashes, you unbuttoned his pants and unzipped the fly. Hooking your fingers in the waistband of his jeans and underwear, you pull both of them down his legs at the same time, discarding them into the distance behind you.

Finally, you were met with the glorious sight of Austin's naked form. He looked like a Greek God, sculpted by the most talented hands on Earth. His cock lobbed back against his stomach, the tip angry and red and dripping already with a bead of pre-cum. You haven't had Austin in so long that you weren't sure if you could be relaxed enough to fully take all of him into your throat. But you sure as hell were gonna do your best, and make him feel amazing.

He wined impatiently as you licked your lips in anticipation for his cock in your mouth. But you were gonna have your fun with him first. You peppered his inner thighs with chaste kisses, making him writhe beneath you. He already could tell you were gonna torture the daylights out of him and leave him begging for more. But honestly, he didn't care.

Austin left one of his hands idle on the bed beside him, while his other hand made its way into your soft hair. He wasn't forcing or guiding you anywhere near him, he just lovingly tangled his fingers through your silky strands as you took your time in making your way over his aching cock.

You made sure your hands were sufficiently warm to the touch as to not startle him with possibly cold fingers by blowing hot air onto them. And then you took your left hand and gave it a generous coating of your spit. When you hand wrapped firmly around the base of his cock Austin let out a soft moan, his brow furrowing already and you barely touched him. He was watching everything, not daring to miss a move you'd make.

Slowly but surely, your hand began to squeeze and stroke up and down on his shaft. You expertly rotated your wrist in small circles around his length and paid special attention to his swollen tip before making your way back down to the base - repeating this motion.

"Lord have mercy." Austin mewled in his newly acquired southern drawl that you haven't heard before. It seems like playing Elvis Presley has left an impression on him, and he took those little bits of his accent with him. It was fucking hot.

Austin was gone to lunch, totally transported to another planet at the feeling of your warm hand jerking him off. He wasn't at all prepared for what you were about to do next, though. With your left hand working his cock you lowered your mouth down to his aching balls. Your tongue licked one long fat swipe across the left one before you took it into your mouth.

Austin shivered, his grip on your hair tightened and his mouth hung open in awe, a drawn out ragged moan leaving his lips.

You released him from your mouth and repeated the action to the right one. Drool was dribbling down your mouth and making a mess as you were lavishing his balls, Your left hand then began to swirl around his tip just a bit longer, applying the right amount of pressure to elicit the sexiest noises coming from Austin's mouth. "Goddamn it, Y/N." He groaned thickly.

Satisfied that you gave plenty of attention down below, you now focused your efforts on his cock. With your hand still firmly around him, you parted your eager lips, allowing your spit to drip down his dick and coat him further, fully slick and ready for you. Your hot breath pooled over his tip before you finally lowered your mouth onto his needy cock.

Austin threw his head back against the pillows, the feeling of your hot lips wrapped around him was overbearing in the best ways. "Fuck yes..." He bellowed.

This spurred you on, seeing him come undone with barely just one swipe of your mouth on him. You were already soaking, this was turning you on like no other. You felt your wetness seep out from your panties and onto your inner thighs as you clamped them shut, trying to create friction for yourself as you worked wonders on his cock.

You weren't about to deepthroat him right away, not now anyway. You were just focused on taking in a much of him as you could comfortably allow, and using your hand to pump the rest of him in tandem.

The slurping noises your mouth made as you bobbed your head along his cock, strings of spit cascading around him, was salacious. You set a steady rhythm, milking his shaft and swirling your tongue along the underside of his cock as your mouth took him in. You moaned around him in your mouth, sending a sinful vibration along his shaft.

Austin's hand gripped even harder on your hair as you worked him, and again, he was not pushing or guiding you anywhere. He allowed you to set the pace and do whatever you wanted. However, his hips had a mind of their own and they rose off the bed, his cock going deeper into your mouth. A panic rose within you as you felt your inexperienced gag reflex activate, but you relaxed your throat as best you could to accommodate his length, gurgling around his cock crudely.

"Fuck, just like that baby. So fucking good." He moaned. You quickened your pace a little more, stroking his length and easing the rest of him into your throat. Austin was fully drenched in your spit as you sucked his cock. You hummed in pleasure at the sight of Austin in the throws of passion, the vibration making him groan louder and bucking gently into your mouth. You gagged a little more around him, but you tried your best to relax your throat.

"Such a good girl taking, my cock so well." He praised as he watched you with heavy lidded eyes. He knew you didn't really like to deepthroat, but he just couldn't help himself. He was dreaming about your lips around his aching dick for years, and now it was finally happening. If he wasn't careful, he could come at any second. And he wanted this to last.

He hated having to stop you mid sloppy blowjob, but he had to forego his enate desires and save his impending orgasm for later. Plus he had other things he wanted to attend to first.

"Baby," He sighed lustfully, trying to get your attention. His back rose off of the bed and you looked up at him with doe eyes. "You're gonna make me come if you keep going like that." He chuckled breathlessly at the lewd vision of his cock still deep inside your mouth. This was definitely a sight for sore eyes.

Catching onto his meaning, you released your hand from around him and you slowly removed him from your mouth with a wet plop. His cock fell back against his stomach with a thud.

"I just realized how much I missed this." You pouted.

Butterflies rose in his stomach at your confession. You really did want him just as much as he wanted you. The insecurities that plagued his brain in all this missing time without you insistently told him that you were better off without him. That some other man could take care of you better than he ever could. But in the recesses of his brain, he knew that was the worst lie. Sure, he had brief periods of imposter syndrome. And he worried if he would ever be enough. But the better part of him knew that he was. He was an idiot for letting you go in the first place. But he needn't try to concern himself with matters of the past - this was the present. And right now, he just watched you messily deepthroat his cock. If that didn't scream "love" then he had no idea what did.

He smoothed down your messy hair tenderly, a warm smile creeping on his gorgeous face. "You haven't the faintest idea of how badly I wanted this exact moment to become a reality."

"Oh no, I could tell." You teased.

Austin scrunched up his nose adorably. This was his happy place. You here in his arms, your body warming his bed. It was heaven on earth.

Seeing how badly you wanted his cock in your mouth gave him a second rush of adrenaline. While his weeping tip leaked even more pre-cum, he can't be focused on his release.

Austin cradled your face in his hands, rising you up from the bed below him. The faint saltiness on your mouth from his impending load lingered on your tongue as he kissed you passionately, adoringly.

It became all too apparent to you, now that you were back on your hands and knees, that your juices were practically rolling down your thigh. You have no idea how these panties haven't evaporated into nothingness from the vast amount of slick coating them. But Austin intended to rid them soon enough.

Pulling you against his chest, he smoothly rolled you over so that you were laying on your back. Your legs instinctively parted, beckoning for him to come in. And he took to settling between your thighs, contentedly. His hands nestled on either side of your head, steadying his body weight, as he took your breath away with strong longing kisses. You moaned into his mouth and he happily took them, giving his own moans right back to you.

As his tongue was swirling around in your mouth, you couldn't help but think about his mouth ravishing your lips down below. Your clit pulsed at the obscene thought. It was hard to kid yourself about the fact that you had thought about this many a time - him going down on you. No other man could ever eat your pussy the way that Austin does. He's like a master at his craft, and he's an overly generous lover. You need him in every conceivable way.

Needy for any kind of friction to soothe the ache between your throbbing core, your hips rose off from the bed as you captured his bare cock still drenched in your saliva in-between your clothed folds.

You whimpered wistfully as you worked your tongue against his harder in his mouth. "Austin, I need you." You said between steamy kisses.

Gripping onto your thighs, he splayed them open wider for easy access, and rubbed his cock along your pussy, hungrily growling into your mouth.

"How much do you need me? Tell me." He rasped huskily, his voice dripping with sex as he continued to grind himself against your soaked cunt.

You sighed raggedly against his open mouth. "So fucking bad." You begged.

That was all that he needed to hear. He attacked your neck with open mouth sloppy kisses as he made his way down to your breasts. You sat up quickly and helped him to unhook your bra, throwing it across the room. Your nipples grew instantly hard at the cool breeze hitting them, and under the devouring eye of Austin as he licked his lips eagerly. He bent his head down and trapped one of your nipples in his mouth, rolling it around with his warm tongue.

"Aus..." You moaned, rolling your head back as you basked in his mouth on your breast. In response, you lifted your hips higher off the bed and ground yourself harder against his cock. A low hum emanated from his mouth and sent a shiver down your spine.

After giving plenty of attention to your nipple, making it stand to attention just the way he wants it, he moved over to ravage the other one, his tongue flicked against the sensitive pert bud. You gasped as he rolled your nipple into his mouth, your hands flew to his hair and found purchase in his sandy waves. "Please..." You pleaded.

Giving you what you want, Austin snaked his way down your stomach, peppering chaste kisses along your navel. Finally, his face was directly in line with your slick heat. His azure sparkling eyes landed squarely on you longingly, as he placed one brief kiss over your clothed pussy teasingly before pulling down your panties. You gasped at how close he was to your sex as he played with you.

It was almost embarrassing how truly wet and ready you were for him. As he removed your underwear, a trail of your juices got pulled down along them from your oozing core. Austin threw you a coy smirk, amused at how the string of slick just kept going the further he brought your panties down your legs.

"Fucking hell baby, you are soaked. And all just for me." Austin cooed. With his index finger he pulled at the string of delectable wetness, twirling it around his finger as your slick finally pulled away from your panties. He brought his finger into his mouth and sucked in earnest. He closed his eyes and savored the first taste of you he's gotten in god knows how long. This got him impossibly hard.

"You taste just as sweet as I remember." He mumbled hoarsely.

Seeing him get lost in the taste of you from just this little gesture sent you careening over the edge. You squirmed against the bed, fully exposed to him and sopping wet for his viewing pleasure.

He practically salivated at your shimmering pussy as he took in the full picture of you spread wide, gushing and needy for him. Your pussy lips were flushed like a beautiful rose as they bloomed open for Austin's ministrations. Seeing your slippery juices spread across your folds and your inner thighs made his cock throb hard and proud against his belly.

He was definitely ready to dive headfirst, and so were you. This pining business was exhausting, but damn did it ever keep you both on your toes. And better yet, you both wanted to bask in the glory of each others bodies once more.

Austin got comfortable beneath you, the bed was big enough so that he could lay on his front while you had plenty of room as well. Like a serpent, he slithered his body up your legs, leaving smoldering kisses on your inner thighs in his wake.

You grabbed your breasts in your hands, gently kneading them as you softly whimper at his velvet lips against your delicate skin. Finally after what feels like forever and a day, his lips were tormentingly close to your weeping folds. Just like you had teased him before, he was going to return the same tenacity to you. You swallowed harshly as the building tension rose to the surface, waiting for him to take what's his.

In the most agonizingly delightful way, his wet tongue swiped one soft lick across your throbbing clit. The strangled whine that left your lips was music to his ears. He barely even started and you were a hot mess for him, yearning and writhing for him.

His tongue found it's way down to your gushing hole, collecting the succulent nectar, flicking a long fat stripe up through your folds and teased around your clit in a figure 8. He remembered exactly how to pleasure you to make you come hard and fast, it wasn't lost on him at all. It was complete muscle memory.

Austin was taking his time with you, enjoying every sound and movement you made while his tongue swiped deliberately slow kitten licks against your clit. "Austin!" You shrieked, his dirty blonde locks getting abused yet again as your dainty fingers wound around his tresses. He moaned against your folds, his hot breath spreading across your inner thighs and mixing with your slick.

Everything about your luscious pussy drove him crazy. His tongue probed your lips and savored in the feeling of them collapsing against his mouth. And your bulging clit stood to attention as he ran just the tip up and down languidly. He was awestruck how your body responded to him effortlessly, getting wetter for him by the second. He could taste you all day.

Soon enough, Austin spread open your lips even more with each rhythmic lap against your pussy. His entire mouth greedily engulfed your folds as he sucked, creating a vacuum against you, his tongue creating pulsing swipes and licking all of the sticky sweet slick you had to give him at the same time.

"Oh fuck, yes!" You groaned, your head fell back against the pillows. Your hips matched the steady pace he set as you fucked his face. He moaned, cajoling him to set his sights solely on your swollen bud. With a loud flop, he released your folds from the confines of his heated mouth and used one of his hands to spread your lips apart with two fingers, revealing more of your sensitive clit that's been so far left untouched by his tongue.

This nearly nocked the wind out of your sails as he set a devastatingly fast pace of sloppy, wet licks against your clit. He felt you pulse with gusto against his tongue as your engorged bundle of nerves gets battered, groaning against you. Your legs shake around him violently, your breath hitches in your throat, and you're just laying there unable to make any kind of noise from how completely blissed out you are.

"Ohmygod" You moaned helplessly, marveling in Austin's determination at skillfully eating your cunt. The feeling of his prickly beard scratches against your thighs as he consumes you. The burning sensation is a welcome addition.

After giving ample attention to your clit he dived back into your folds, collecting every single drop of your wetness and vigorously lapping, swiping, and licking you into smithereens. He was a man hellbent on making you come, and he'd stop at nothing to get you to your climax. He moaned huskily against your slick folds.

The sound of his powerful tongue macerating your juicy pussy mixing with his saliva filled the room. It was insanely pornographic. He ate you like he was starving - like you were the sweetest confection he's ever tasted. His swollen red mouth and wet muscle suckled on your heavenly nectar as if he could die at any second. He missed you so fucking much these last few years. To say he was making up for lost time was the understatement of the century.

As if he couldn't devour you fast enough, he somehow picked up the pace. He abruptly plunged his tongue deep inside your pussy, causing you to squeal his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. He grabbed hold of your hips and bounced your pussy against his tongue roughly. The tip of his nose was grazing against your clit with fervor. This was it, this would be the end of you.

You conjured up enough strength to look down at the man before you, desperate for you to come, lapping up your slick, groaning hotly against your pussy. His bangs fell into his face, plastered to his forehead with a noticeable layer of sweat. This was the best workout of his life.

You rocked yourself hard against his mouth, your wetness coating his entire face and dripping down his chin. "Aus, I-I'm gonna f-fucking come..." You warned him, clinging to his hair for dear life. All he could afford to reply back to you with was a sexy growl of approval as he tongue fucked you. One of his hands wound their way around to your clit and spun fast circles, sending you directly down the one way street of your orgasm.

Within seconds, you were coming. Your hands clung onto the sheets beneath you, your back arching off the bed entirely, as you wailed Austin's name loudly. Your orgasm rushed through your body violently, making your legs tremble uncontrollably around Austin's head, and your slick coating his face even more. He slurped and swallowed up every last remnant of your climax, cleaning you up. You shivered as he gave your clit a few last generous kitten licks before he rose to kneel on the bed.

Austin heaved ragged breaths, looking totally fucked out with your juices blanketing his nose, mouth, and chin that he wore like a badge of honor. He proudly displayed a wide grin as he successfully brought you to your first orgasm.

"That was mind blowing." He said, accomplished about his fruitful efforts.

"Mmm." You nodded in agreement, totally unable to utter a single word as you tried to recover from your impactful orgasm, the wave of your release rattling you to the bone.

He crawled up your body, settling back between your legs. Seeing you reeling from the earth chattering orgasm he gave to you definitely stoked his ego, and endeared you to him all over again. His girl was back - just when he thought he'd lost you forever. As he put all his weight on one hand beside your head, his other hand held your chin, angling you down just enough to brush your lips against his in a loving kiss. You could taste yourself on his mouth, riling you up all over again and ready for climax number two.

As he deepened the kiss, his hand left your chin and gently squeezed one of your breasts in his large palm. You hummed into his mouth at the feeling of his fingertips drawing lazy circles around your now hardening nipple. The fact that he can manipulate your body with the tiniest amount of effort was maddening, getting you wet all over again in mere seconds.

He didn't stop there. His fingers then traveled further south until he took his cock in hand and stroked the tip up and down against your clit, causing the most intoxicating friction.

Your lips pulled away from Austin's kiss as you moaned softly at the feeling. He was so close to railing the life out of you, but it took a hell of a lot of willpower to keep that thought at bay as he teased you.

"You ready, darlin'?" He rasped, his voice slipping back effortlessly into his southern drawl. He let the tip of his cock slide down to your slick entrance, running circles around the tight ring of your walls, teasing you further and making sure you're primed.

Your bedroom eyes were in full effect when you caught him in a smoldering stare. "Yes, Aus. Please don't tease me any more. Take me." You sighed.

He nodded, having fully heard your plea. Your legs went to slide around his waist, pulling him close to you, coaxing him. Running his cock up and down your soaking folds a few times to coat himself with your juices, he eased into you.

The feeling felt oddly foreign to both of you, but at the same time it felt like returning back to creature comforts. You were both homesick for this primal necessity for his dick to be buried snuggly inside of your warm walls. No more did Austin have to jack himself off to this exact moment left to his own devices, nor did you have to miss the sweet sting of your pussy accommodating his girth. This was the reunion of a lifetime.

You both let out a primal groan in unison, the intermingling of your pleasure sounding like the most beautiful music. He stayed still inside you for just a minute, letting your walls fully relax around his cock, before he ventured on. In no time he completely bottomed out. You clung to him with all of your might, your hand grasping at any part of him that you could. And his free hand immediately went to find residence on your throat, not applying pressure yet, just simply resting there.

"Are you alright?" Austin inquired softly through ragged breaths. It had been far too long since you've been stretched to max capacity by his cock, so he was dutifully checking in on you. His baby blues flickered over your face, trying to gauge your comfortability and any signs of pain.

You smiled shyly at his sweet gesture in a moment of intense passion. "Yeah i'm okay, I promise."

He smirked. "Okay, good." His lips placed a delicate kiss upon your forehead adoringly, happy in the fact that he didn't hurt you - at least not right now. You knew in the back of your mind you would be sore as hell for a week after this.

You clenched your walls around him voluntarily, letting him know he was safe to continue on. He gasped at the feeling of the vice grip you already had around his engorged cock. In his mind, he made a silent vow that he would last long tonight - fore he knew he was already too far gone.

"Someone's eager," He growled, the hand around your throat constricting just the faintest amount. "You need me that desperately, babygirl?"

Oh god, he was gonna string this out. Just the dirty words pouring out of his mouth alone made your pussy clamp down around him, earning you another rumbling hum from Austin.

Showing him just how much you wanted him, you started to move your hips along his shaft as best you could, using your legs around his waist as an anchoring point. "Fuck me, Austin Butler."

His heart thumped wildly in his chest at your obvious show of depravity. And his full name falling from your lips as his cock was filled to the brim inside your slippery cunt was all the motivation he needed.

Trembling, he slowly pulled nearly all the way out of you, leaving only the tip inside. You wanted him to fuck you? Well, he hoped you were ready to live up to your words. Because no sooner that he pulled out of you, he thrusted his cock all the way back inside your pussy with a gutteral groan. And this time, he didn't leave room for you to adjust around him. He began to snap his hips against you.

Your head fell back against the pillows, eyes closed shut, his name falling from your lips in a high pitched wail. This was the moment you both were waiting for all these years. Finally you were connected mind, body, and soul - and quite literally joined as one with every deep stroke of his throbbing cock thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy. It was like every single drop of angst, anger, resentment, and past bitter feelings was getting fucked out of you both. Leaving nothing behind except your sweaty bodies, rocking back and forth in an animalistic showing of unification. You craved to be fused together as one entity, and with each long and masterful brush of his cock against your walls, it was starting to become a reality.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you're so tight." Austin moaned in your ear. "I've been dreaming of the day I could be inside your perfect pussy again." He sucked on the sensitive skin on the side of your neck, you moaned louder at the harsh contact of his lips against your flesh, your pussy clamping down around him.

Your arms hooked underneath Austin's biceps, slotting your nails perfectly into the contours of his shoulders as you used him as leverage to bounce yourself onto his wet cock coated in your juices, matching his fast pace. "You feel so fucking good." You mewl into his neck.

This spurred him on like no other. You brought out the uncontrollable wild man inside of him. His carnal tendencies that he usually pushed aside in favor harnessing his wallflower facade were rising. His inner savage was coming out.

As if he couldn't possibly get any deeper, he was about to prove you wrong. His hand left your delicate throat, which left a red imprint in his absence. He peeled his face from off your neck and rose up, putting more of his body weight onto his knees. His hot hands scorched your skin as he took hold of your thighs and pushed them both up into your stomach, spreading you further open. You were merciless to his sheer strength as he gripped your inner thighs and rammed into you at this unexplored angle.

"Austin! F-Fuck!" You moaned. Your juices squelched loudly around his thick cock that was sheathed in your slick. His leaking tip was puncturing your cervix with each and every sinful thrust of his hips. From this depth he was hitting that sweet spot only he can find as he dicked you down so good, delivering long and masterful strokes that struck you dumb.

"Look at me baby." He panted. You hadn't even realized your eyes were still glued shut this entire time, you were just getting lost in the feeling of him. This wasn't a harsh command. He wanted to see you unravel before him.

Your eyes sprang open upon his request, and the vision of the man before you was glorious. Your walls fluttered around his cock, gushing a new concoction of wetness around him, leaving you both messy.

He breathed heavily as he pummeled your divinely made pussy. His pupils dilated, totally shrinking away those beautiful ocean eyes you loved so much. His golden hair stuck to his face with perspiration, and his puffy bottom lip was drawn into his mouth.

Your incessant and needy moans cascaded around you both, bouncing off the walls and alerting every nearby neighbor to your sinful deeds. You couldn't believe this man was yours, right now in this moment. He almost didn't look real.

One of your hands unwound itself from his shoulder, and reached out to touch his face. Your thumb stroked his stubbly cheek adoringly. Which was an interesting contrast between the pounding your swollen pussy was receiving down below. This innocent moment of vulnerability made you both realize something - there was no way you could ever go another day without each other. You were bonded for life.

Austin's face lit up as he turned his cheek into your hand, his heart was melting for you. Releasing one of his hands from your thigh, he placed it on top of your hand and kissed your palm sweetly. "My darling girl." He praised between gasps of air as he plunged his cock deeper and deeper into the confines of your pulsing slick.

You probably could have cried from this heartfelt display of affection, but you cried all the same when he picked up the pace. You were both on the ride to the finish line to chase your orgasms together. It was only a matter of time.

Your hand slipped from his face and back onto yourself where you toyed with your nipples in your fingers, bringing you closer to the precipice. Austin looked down at you playing with yourself as he mercilessly snapped his hips vigorously against you. Your walls clenched around him, drawing him deeper as he repeatedly brushed against your g-spot. He groaned huskily at the sight of you.

He could tell you were close, and by god he was gonna get you there faster than you could imagine. Two of his long fingers disappeared into his mouth as he sucked on them, letting a bit of drool seep from his mouth and onto where your bodies were conjoined, adding to the juicy mess around his cock.

With just the right amount of spit coating his fingertips he made a beeline for your puffy red clit, painting spirals and figure eights at a steady pace.

You spasmed around his dick, throwing your head back and shaking at the newfound sensation. "Fuck yes baby, just like that." You shrieked. You tweaked your nipples harder in your hands as Austin sloshed around your delicious juices inside of you with every caress of his aching cock.

Austin had to control himself as he was on the verge of coming, but knowing you were so tantalizingly close, he was determined to carry you to the finish line. He played with your clit faster now as his lusty eyes burned into yours.

He completely let go of your thighs all together and fell forward onto his elbow, drilling the life out of you, as his one hand down at your clit was still assaulting you. "Allow yourself to fall, baby. I'm here to catch you. Give in to me, my angel." He moaned hot against your neck.

This was it, you were done for. As he masterfully flicked your swollen bud and fucked you into cloud 9, you could feel yourself falling from the sky and landing face first onto the ground.

"Austin!!" You whined breathlessly. Your legs shook around his waist, and you shuddered against his body as you felt a gush of hot liquid squirt out of you and splash all over Austin's cock. But you weren't close to finishing yet, your climax was creeping around the corner.

Realizing what had just happened, that you indeed squirted forcefully all over him, Austin bellowed gruffly. "Oh god yes. You're incredible. You're gonna make me come any second."

As your walls fluttered around him and his cock was pulsing harshly, his thrusts were getting sloppy. It was a rare occasion that both of you would come together, at the same time. But clearly tonight was a night for miracles to happen.

You wanted to see his face as he came inside you. So your hands latched onto his hair and you pulled his head back, forcing him to look you square in the eye as you both unfurled.

"I-I'm gonna come s-so hard." You pleaded desperately.

"I'm right there with you, angel." He lost it completely when you shuddered beneath him, your pussy milking his cock for everything he's worth as you start to come. You whimpered his name as you rode out your orgasm, squirming beneath his fingers as he still circled your overstimulated clit.

"FUCK. Goddamn..." He slammed inside of you once, twice, thrice...and then he joined you in an orgasm that rocked his world. Austin couldn't help hoarsely moaning into your face as his hot come spilled inside of you with a fury. Your swollen cunt hungrily drank every single ounce of his sticky seed as he coated your walls.

You collapsed back onto the bed, your tired legs splayed to either side of you as you tried to catch your breath. And Austin started to shake as the dead weight of his lean body failed to stay hovering over you any longer.

With his half hard cock still full to the brim of you, he took you in his arms and rolled over onto the bed, pulling you on top of him. You could hear the racing of his heart beating hard in his chest, as he tried to regain composure with shallow breaths.

His arms lazily draped around your waist, his fingers brushed tiny circles on your flushed skin. Finally, with enough strength, you placed your hands on his chest and rose up to get a good look at him.

You both smiled, beaming from ear to ear. And without warning, Austin giggled cutely.

"Oh Lord..." He trailed off, running a hand through his hair and down his sweaty face. A pink blush rose to his sculpted cheeks.

"What's so funny?" You ask playfully, still trying to get air into your lungs.

Giggling once more, he placed a hand over his heart. "I was absolutely certain that I ruined any possibility of getting back together with you. But hot damn, I sure as hell was not expecting his outcome." He chuckled, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiled brightly at you.

"Well, I'm sure I wasn't helping matters by being a total bitch at dinner." You countered, being able to laugh at yourself now.

Austin's face immediately fell. "Don't say that, baby. You had every right to act the way you did. I didn't properly communicate my thoughts and feelings to you. Can you forgive me?" He asked demurely, his brows raised.

"Austin," Your sticky body detached from his as you fully straddled his lap, sitting up with your hands still on his chest. You slowly rolled your hips back against Austin, causing him to moan. "Your cock is buried inside my pussy. There's nothing to forgive." You reminded him, grinding a little harder against his cock that's surprisingly hardening back up quicker than you thought was possible. He had an insane sex drive. Or, he just missed your pussy so bad. Honestly, it was probably both.

He bit down on his lip as his hands found their way to your hips, pushing you back onto his stiffening erection. As you rode him, his come and your juices poured out of your pussy, combining into an erotic thick sludge that trickled down your thighs and onto the bedsheets.

"Mmm. My little minx. Ready for round two already?" He winked, suggestively.

FIN. (sorry to end it on such a cliffhanger lol)

tags: @aconflagrationofmyown @powerofelvis @harringrove-sketchbookpages @samfangirls @headfullofpresley @2lekk @moonchild-daniella @ggwritesstuff @plasticfantasticl0ver @austinbutlersworld @unadulteratedkingdomzombie @sapphirescripts

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #austin butler smut #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #austin butler x you #austin butler x fem!reader #austinbutleredit #austin butler x y/n #austin butler elvis #austin babe-ler #angst #Austin butler fanfic #the things left unsaid

[captainmalewriter]

You Will Possess Me

"Alright, that should be the last of it."

Yosef was sealing the lid on a Mason jar after he completed a house visit. He used his strength to seal the jar as tight as he could. Inside the jar was a mass of blue slime, and although it could glow in the dark, it didn't move while it was trapped.

"You should be good to go now," Yosef said to his client while he set the jar aside. His client was laid out naked on his bed, breathing heavily and face flushed.

"Thank you...... So much..... You're..... Lifesaver...." the naked man said in between exhales. He then extended his arm to give Yosef a handshake. Although Yosef was glad to be able to help another possessed person escape their ghost, he was repulsed by this gesture and turned it down.

"I'm not touching that until you shower with hot water. God knows what you got up to last night..."

After exchanging goodbyes, Yosef helped himself out the door. He walked to his car with the jar in hand. Yosef opened the passenger door and tucked the jar into the seat with a safety belt on. He then pulled out a beer and proceeded to chug it down in one smooth motion. Afterwards he threw the can down the street and let out a loud burp. Yosef sniffed his breath and groaned.

"When did I have Taco Bell? Weird..."

While Yosef downed that beer, the slime inside the jar began to glow a faint blue light. It caught Yosef's attention, and he rolled his eyes at the sight of it.

"What's the matter? You want this?" Yosef then teased the slime by showing it his exposed body.

This caused the slime to glow brightly. Yosef grinned.

"Yeah? You like that? WELL TOO FUCKING BAD!"

Yosef grabbed the jar and shook it violently until the slime stopped glowing. Once it did, Yosef put it back into the passenger seat.

"Disgusting. Selfish little rat."

He then hopped into the driver's seat and began the long car ride back home, where he would be hosting someone for a hook up later that night.

Yosef had gone to the next city after getting a call from a client requesting a house visit. He originally planned to turn down the request, but with rent due in a few days, Yosef couldn't afford to be picky with his work. Although Yosef was technically unemployed in a legal sense, he had under the table work that kept him afloat. The unofficial nature of his job was because he was an exorcist by trade. Ever since Yosef was a child, he had the extraordinary ability to see the spirits of the deceased.

And he hated it. He used to start every day with cursing God for giving him his gift.

Having a superpower was nothing like comic books or cartoons on TV portrayed it to be. So far as Yosef knew, he was the only one with this ability. Meaning he had to suffer the psychological damage of interacting with the undead by himself. Even his own family didn't believe him until they found Yosef unconscious after a particularly fatal encounter. Only then did his parents finally move away from their house next to the cemetery. The paranormal encounters never stopped, however, but luckily Yosef grew apathetic towards ghosts as he grew up. Now he viewed ghosts the same way he did cockroaches. They were pests, and he was their exterminator. He was grateful to help get rid of all the evil ghosts that did nothing but possess people for their own selfish needs, but ghosts still irked him to his core...

The slimy ghost kept glowing within its confinement as Yosef drove down the highway. He groaned everytime it made too much noise and flicked the jar to get it to shut up. Normally ghosts were much more docile once they were captured, but the blue one Yosef had caught that night was particularly feisty. While Yosef tried his best to just ignore it, it was starting to get on his last nerve with how fidgety it was.

While Yosef was driving, he had received a text from the guy he was planning to fuck once he got home. The bluetooth on his car read the 5 word text out loud for him.

Can't make it anymore, sorry.

Yosef heard the text, then immediately began to pull over to the side of the road. He took in a sharp breath, then exhaled. He then yelled at the top of his lungs while slamming on the dashboard.

"Fuck man! I've been waiting 7 whole days for this and this fucker just blows me off!? What the fuck!!"

As Yosef was breathing heavily out of frustration, he could see the ghost was still flickering its light out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head slightly to watch the slime's glow for a second. Then, his eyes widened when an idea hit him.

"Alright alright fine! You want a body that badly then you're gonna help me jerk off!!"

Yosef proceeded to roll up the windows to cut off the air circulation then turned off his car. He opened the glove box and pulled out a handbag he had stored in there. He then threw both the bag and the Mason jar to the backseats, then slid to the backseat himself.

Yosef stripped down until his body was fully nude. Between his Persian genetics and having never touched a razor blade, Yosef's body was covered in bushy hair. He snuggled into the seat. The leather felt seats always felt good against his bare ass. The musky scent of his hairy pits hit him right away. He purposefully hadn't showered in the past two days to preserve his natural smell. But now that his hook up had canceled on him, Yosef was free to take in his musk for himself.

He took several whiffs of his pit stink as he began stroking his cock. The smell of his own sweaty pheromones filled his nose with delight with every inhale. His dick had hardened to its full length within minutes. He let his boner hang out while he grabbed his hand bag. Yosef opened it up and pulled out cock rings of various sizes. He looked them over, then picked a ring that was just right in size. He lathered it up with lube, gave his cock a couple more pumps to make sure it was rock hard, then slid it down his shaft until it sat firmly around the base of his member.

"Oh yeah, that's good..." Yosef said with baited breath. He then continued to jerk off in the backseat of his car. The cock ring made his dick throb as he kept stroking it. His veins were bulging, his curly pubes were moist from precum, his face was flushed with sweat. Yosef was having the time of his life after not having busted a nut in over a week.

The whole time Yosef was jerking off, the slime ghost was watching him from within its glass jar. The ghost was shining the brightest as it watched. It had begun to slam itself against the walls of the jar too. It was becoming feral.

The noise distracted Yosef from climaxing. Luckily that worked in his favor, as it helped remind him not to cum yet. He slowed down his strokes. He turned to look at the ghost and smirked at it.

"Alright, you're up!"

Yosef reached out to the jar. He carefully unscrewed the lid but held it closed with his hand. He positioned it over his dick and lowered it down slowly. Once it was hovering right over the tip of his dick, he quickly took off the lid and shoved his dick into the jar. The ghost immediately jumped at the chance of freedom. It expanded its form and began to invade Yosef through the slit of his dick.

"Oh fuckk!!!"

Yosef threw his head back in pleasure as he felt the ghost possess him. He could his throbbing member fill up with the ghost's presence as the seconds passed by. The ghost did not hold back from entering his body as quickly as it could. But what it didn't know was that Yosef was still in full control of the situation. Because of the tight cock ring, the ghost couldn't invade the rest of Yosef's body. It was stuck inside of his dick, causing it to blow up in both size and girth due to the ghostly presence inside of his shaft.

"Fuck yeahhh man, I'm fucking hung now, holy shit!!" Yosef shouted as he took hold of his new engorged cock. He began stroking it again, but this time with both hands. His moans became louder. The sensitivity of his groin became more sensitive while under partial possession, making his pleasure increased tenfold.

The ghost was in pure agony. It was getting thrashed as Yosef kept jerking off with it trapped inside his dick. Yosef was stroking himself off with a firm grip and a fast pace. The ghost couldn't take it, it had to leave no matter what! But as its ghostly tail began to leak out Yosef's dick, he grabbed onto it with an iron grip.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going? You're not done till I say you're done!"

Yosef then yanked the ghost out of his dick. He held it close to his face and then spit a massive ball of spit at it. He then threw it to the floor of his car and stomped on it. Yosef could feel the ghost struggling desperately to escape, but his foot held it down in place. The ghost was forced to endure both the weight Yosef was holding it down along with the rank smell of his sweaty feet too.

Yosef reached back into his handbag. He pulled out a velvet felt string this time. He then tied the string around his ankle. Once it was tied nice and tight, Yosef proceeded to rub his foot into the ghost, forcing it to possess his foot. Desperate to escape the stench of his feet, the ghost willingly possessed his foot. But because of the string, the ghost was once again trapped inside only one part of Yosef's body. Yosef moaned like crazy as he felt the cold sensations of getting possessed spread around his feet. He still had the same cool pleasure in his dick too, and he knew he needed to capitalize on it before it was gone.

"Whewww fuck! You know how to please your master huh, now let's see how you taste..."

Yosef brought his possessed foot up to his face. He leaned in and planted his face into the palm of his foot. He then took a deep inhale of his foot odor. The combined scent of sweaty manly musk with socks that had been worn all day drove him crazy horny.

While keeping one hand on his foot, Yosef used his other hand to reach down to his dick and gather up a good handful of precum. He slathered up his foot with precum, then proceeded to lick it clean. Yosef licked between and around his toes, while occasionally sucking on his big toe. He could feel the hair on his tongue, but he ignored it as he enjoyed the smell and taste of his foot. The taste of his own cum and the ectoplasm the ghost left on his foot after possessing it reminded Yosef of a sweet, tangy, fruity taste. It was delicious, and left him hungry for more.

Suppressed moans escaped Yosef's mouth while he continued licking his foot clean. Yosef was having the time of his life. What made it even hotter to him was the knowledge that the ghost was under his control. The ghost could only possess what he let it possess, and even then, it had no choice but to submit his sexual desires, no matter how dirty or smelly they were.

Yosef groaned. His cock was bulging, ready to burst with cum. Once he was satisfied licking his foot, Yosef used the string to force the ghost out of him again. He pushed the string down his foot, causing the ghost to leak out. It tried to escape again, but it couldn't escape Yosef's swift handiwork. He grabbed it, then molded it into a fleshlight shape.

Yosef then held it over his dick and proceeded to fuck the shit out of it. The sounds of Yosef's moans and his low hanging balls slapping against the ghost filled his car. Wanting to escape getting fucked, the ghost decided to possess Yosef through his dick again. Unfortunately, in its moment of distress, the ghost had forgotten Yosef had a cock ring on. It was once again trapped inside of Yosef's cock.

A grin spread across Yosef's face. The ghost kept falling into his little trap, forcing it to be his sex toy. That feeling of dominance added to his pleasure.

Then, after an hour of masturbating, Yosef finally climaxed. He let out a bellowing moan as heavy loads began spurting out of him. Load after load of warm spunk mixed with ghostly ectoplasm shot out of his cock like a fire hose while he was left gasping after every load. The bodily sensations of edging an orgasm and getting possessed made the sexual warmness spread all around his body. Within a minute, both his car and his body were drenched in body and paranormal fluids. Yosef was left panting for breath and his face was blush red after an intense climax.

The ghost got shot out of Yosef's dick along with the stream of cum. It was horrified of Yosef. As Yosef was catching his breath, the ghost began to disappear, ready to pass onto the next life. But just before it could, Yosef caught it with the Mason jar.

"Oh, you're not going anywhere!" Yosef stared into the jar with a twinkle in his eyes. It was then that shift in his mindset had occurred. He was so used to just exorcizing ghosts, getting paid, then just moving on with his life. But after using a ghost for his own desires, something clicked inside of Yosef. Something that made him smile.

"You're mine, forever and always..." Yosef smiled, glaring down at the captured ghost, while the ghost whimpered in defeat. The predator had become the prey.

#male possession #ghost possession #male body possession #hairy man #hairy #musk #feet #smell #ghost tf

[azereus]

Epaulette Shark Hybrid! Gaz x Gn! Reader Headcanons

Warnings: Pre-established relationship, no pronouns expect for you, and ends kind of abruptly whoops-

@puff0o0 told me to do this ‼️

The relationship started a bit rocky in all honesty. Him being a mershark and thus confined to water made it difficult for him to visit you. And it wasn't like he could live in a pool in your backyard or your shower or bath

But other than that, it was pretty okay all things considered

You'd visit him when you can, have little 'dates' where he'd show you a cool cave he found or some other hidden area

But, if you live on or near a beach, it makes things easier distance wise. Expect to find Gaz on one of the shore rocks waiting for you in the early morning either way

Once you find him, he gives you a gift! Like a cool seashell or maybe a pearl. You most likely have a jar or a drawer filled with the things he brought you due to him bring you gifts every other day

He's anxious giving you things because he fears they might not be good enough please tell him you love the gifts

He's like a dog when it comes to the back of his ears getting scratched. He enjoys the small bit of affection. It normally ends up with him nipping/biting at your hand though ^^"

Actually scratch that. He likes trying to bite or nip at you regardless of what you were doing before hand

But He'll keep apologizing to you if he accidentally clamped down too hard and hurt you!! He doesn't mean to hurt you, he just forgets his own strength sometimes

Tries to make up for it by doubling the gifts until it heals. Which isn't very long all things considered. It's like a cat bite, just larger in size

He once crawled out of the sea just to tackle hug you once he spotted you walking towards him

Think like that one stereotype where the dog owner comes home and the dog runs up to them at the door and tackles them to the ground. That's basically what Gaz did

He has golden retriever boyfriend energy taken literally

I'll probably add more to this if people are interested but this is all I got 😔

#call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x y/n #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x y/n #gaz x reader #Struggled through the pits of hell to male this frfr #small rant buttttt #the reason why I made Gaz an epaulette shark was because apparently they technically mate for life!! #each season why go back to their mates and I just went 'boom Gaz' #I absolutely will make this an au if people like this enough #<- I wanna make content that yall like #.pencils n paper

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x Borrower!reader: The Secret World of Borrowing

A/N: uh, so, yeah…making it so borrowers have little wings in this, so I guess you could just call them fairies at this point.

Warnings: none???? for once??? maybe like bad language if I’m really trying???

Word Count: 3,327

-Part 2-

Anything in excess will do your body no good.

Initially, you had dismissed the thought—living off sugar cubes sounded like absolute heaven. But after about a month of surviving solely off the sweet substance, you’ve begun to dread your next meal.

Your stomach’s rumbling again, so you hop from the burnt out candle pot—cramped as it is—hidden behind a stack of books, perched precariously at the edge of the fae’s desks. So far, you’ve managed to avoid them all, darting behind teacups or ducking beneath the lip of a plate, and soon, you’ll be done with them. Just one more week, and your shimmery, iridescent wing will be fully operational.

It’s already been three since that dreadful storm that had sent you whipping through the air, smacking into the wooden frame of what you’ve now pieced together was a window ledge. From there on, you’d used your small reserves of magic to bind and set your wing, but it’s been lessening your healing powers—hence the exacerbated pain and elongated recovery time.

Slowly, carefully, you peek out from behind the towering stacks of parchment, spotting the sugar jar that’s kept on the desk. A quick scan of the room tells you the fae that inhabits it is not around at the moment. While you’ve made a point of remaining hidden and out of sight, you’ve noted a few peculiar things about the male. There’s a strange darkness that wafts around him, a bleakness that surrounds his wings—great things, that stick out from his back and loom over his shoulders! He has an odd sort of schedule, too. Blasted male. He often works late into the nights—confining you to your too-small candle pot that’s cramped, and stuffy, and really not good for your healing wing.

But you can blame him for all those wrongs until the day you die—for now, your keen nose is picking up a delicious smell. Doing another scan, you peek out further, to spot a plate laden with food.

Dear Mother, it’s one of the most beautiful sights you’ve ever seen. You ignore the meat at the side, instead staring at the beans, and salad, and beside the plate— Berries! You could dance, leap for joy, cry, or sob, at the welcomed sight. You rush out, darting over the grain of the wooden desk. The small, glass bowl comes up to your stomach—a little taller than the plate—and you eagerly grab a berry.

The food is still warm though, which means he will likely be returning at some point soon. You turn, scanning the flat expanse of his desk. There’s a metal-looking container, housing some ink pens. That will do perfectly well should he return.

You open your mouth, poised to chomp down on the berry, when the hairs on your neck rise. Then something snags your ankles, pulling you off balance. A tiny scream spills from your lips as you drop the berry, face smacking into the desk. Quickly, you flip over, ignoring the blood dripping down your upper lip. It’s that darkness he’s always wrapped in, but—why is it bothering you? You didn’t know it could detach from him? That’s unfair!

You shoo it away, kicking your legs but it curls higher, tentatively. You snarl, writhing more frantically as it creeps up your knee, over your thigh. A growl rips from your throat in warning, but it doesn’t listen. Instead, more darkness swells, wrapping up your hips and around your waist. You shriek in anger, practically vibrating as the shadows press and push at your skin.

The final straw comes when you receive a pinch on the ass, red colouring your vision as magic wraps around your hands and you grip a strand of darkness firmly, yanking it off your body as if it were some weak rope. The darkness twitches, writhing in your hand, suddenly desperate to get away from you. “That’s what I thought,” you snap, indignantly, tossing it off you.

It slinks away, once again leaving you to the berry. You huff, wiping your nose on your forearm, attempting to get rid of the blood. But then you’re knocked into from behind, making you stumble. The shadows coil, springing forward, tackling you to the wooden desk as they keep you pinned. You struggle and writhe, worried about what this position will do to your wing, but then you hear the ominous scuff of boots in the hallway.

Panic surges in your chest, and you once again coat your hands in magic, but the shadows have learned from last time, shackling your wrists to the wood so you’re unable to touch them. You snarl in fury, pushing the magic to your mouth as you sink your teeth into the shadow. It twitches and jerks about, but you hold fast. The constraints remove themselves from your wrists, and you take the chance to flip the shadow over—the others that had been holding you down skittering away, scrambling for cover.

With your hands now free, you keep it pinned to the table, slamming your magic coated fists into it, beating it off you until—

Reinforcements have come, and they’re dragging you off the smaller shadow that’s twitching and flickering. “Let me go!” You snarl, tugging against the restraints, “it started first! Let me finish it!”

The door swings open, and you all freeze.

It only takes a second, but then his hazel eyes have landed on you, piercing into your form as he stiffens. His shadows release you, darting away as if they were completely innocent, and then you’re scrambling for cover. You were mistaken though, his shadows didn’t go into hiding. They were grabbing a jar.

You slam into the glass, a fresh wave of blood running down your upper lip as you smack your palms into the glass—to no avail. On the bright side, the berry’s in here with you. You grab it, placing it between you and the edge the desk, between you and the approaching male.

His eyes are marginally widened as he comes to a stop, pausing warily as he takes you in. You go rigid under his scrutinising gaze, crouching down behind the berry. It only comes up to your knees, but it’s better than nothing. A shadow curls over his ear, and you hiss at it, backing as far against the glass as you can, keeping your magic on hand.

Slowly, he pulls out the chair, lowering himself into the seat, still staring at you. You offer him your most scathing glare, trying not to be too intimidated by his size and piercing eyes. “Let me go,” you shout, scrunching your hands into fists over the berry. His features shift into mild shock, or surprise. “You can…talk.”

You don’t lessen your glare, instead you make it harder. “Of course I can talk, you blithering idiot! Why wouldn’t I be able to talk?” You snap furiously, nails sinking into your palms. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, bracing his fingers on the table. Your eyes dart to his hands, cringing further back against the glass.

He lowers his hands, and you stop trying to push through the jar.

“You…what are you?” He asks, settling his hands on the wooden chair arms. Your nose wrinkles as you stare at him for a long moment. Then, “I’m a Borrower,” you spit out, “and you have no right to keep me here. None. So let me go.”

Again, he shifts in his chair, those great, powerful wings at his back catching in the light, showing off the gilt looking membrane of the inner skin. “You’re a what?” He asks slowly, as if your size would somehow interfere with the speed you hear. “I’m a Borrower. And I’m not dim. I can hear you perfectly fine. Just a bit muffled through the glass,” you snap pointedly, eyeing the confinement he’s trapped you in.

He’s quiet for a while, and your heart spikes. What’s he going to do with you? With his size, and shadows, a number of cruel fates await, all because you’re a little too small for him to consider a life form. He raises his hand to rub over his mouth, appearing in thought. Then, “you’re the creature the made those little footprints, aren’t you.”

You blink, caught of guard, “I— What?” He nods his head, as if confirming something. “You got stuck in the gravy, didn’t you? That’s where those marks came from.” You flush with embarrassment, baring your teeth at him, “it’s your damn fault for swamping your food in that rutting sauce,” you snarl viciously, remembering how the gloopy liquid had come up to your thighs in some places. It had taken a lot of work to get clean again.

He nods quietly, watching you with those piercing hazel eyes of his that make you want to curl up in your candle pot. “I’m Azriel,” he says at last, making you jump. “What’s your name? Or are you just called Borrower?” He inquires, seemingly earnestly. It doesn’t stop the fumes pouring from your pointed ears, “is my name Borrower?” You repeat, rage building in the pit of your belly.

“Insolent! Arrogant! The lot of you!” You shout at him through the glass, magic flaring in your palms, but you tamp it down. “We have names, just like you. How would you like it if we all insisted on calling you by your kind’s name?” You snap aggressively. His brows raise a little at your outburst, raising his palms in what you guess is supposed to be a calming gesture. Red tints your vision, “don’t you try and placate me! Condescending brute!”

“I meant no harm,” he says, “but I want your name. So I know what to call you.”

You hesitate, pausing your rampage. “Why should I tell you my name?” You ask, eyes narrowing on the male. He makes another calming gesture, and you settle a little, “I’m not trying to antagonise you—you’re a creature I’ve never even heard of before, so I’m going about this as logically as possible,” he replies smoothly. You deflate a little at how genuine he sounds. “So,” he says, sensing your mood calm, “what is your name?"

Your head dips down for a moment, hands wringing in your lap as you keep near your berry. “I…I don’t know,” you stammer, softly. His brow furrows in confusion, “what do you mean you don’t know?” Your eyes flit about, darting away from his. “My mother… I can’t read. She wrote my name down for me, so I would never forget it, but I was never told what it was.” You laugh quietly to yourself, “three hundred years, and I’ve never gotten the chance to learn. Or ask…” His eyes soften at your harrowing tale.

“I could read it,” he offers. You peer up at him with wide eyes. “Provided it’s in a language I know,” he adds, hastily. You suppress the urge to snap at him that you have the same language, why would it be written differently? Instead dip your head almost imperceptibly.

You get to your feet, hesitantly making your way to the front of the clear glass jar. He leans in closer to be able to see and you reach into one of your pockets, then pull out your fisted hand, holding it out toward the glass. Azriel squints a little as he peers closer, hoping to at least give you the knowledge of your name…and after three hundred years, too.

Daintily, you raise your middle finger, effectively flipping him off, “eat shit and die, asshole.”

Silence stretches between you, a storm brewing in the air, and you tense, waiting for him to break upon you. But then he huffs out a puff of air, and his eyes are crinkling and he’s laughing, chuckling softly to himself. You stare with wide eyes, tiny finger still raised in defiance as he laughs to himself.

You flush with indignation—he should be furious! “Hey!” You snap. “I don’t know what the hell you’re laughing at. It’s not funny.” He laughs harder, hiding his face in his the crook of his elbow and you watch his shoulders tremble as he attempts to control himself. “Hey!” You repeat, a little bewildered, “Azriel!”

After a few moments, and a few more deep breaths, he raises his head so he can peer at you. You take a few shuffling steps back away from him, returning to your berry. “If you won’t tell me your name,” he says, smiling faintly, “will you at least tell me what you were getting into a scrap about with my shadows?”

“They attacked me first,” you snap at him, scowling. His eyes flick over your bloody nose, “you were stealing my food.” You narrow your eyes at him, “I was hungry.”

“So you thought stealing was a good idea?”

“You shouldn’t leave food out where nasty little Borrowers can get their grubby little hands on it,” you counter, folding your arms over your chest.

He pauses, eyes running over you properly. “Why are you in my room?” You know he marks the way you stiffen, but you force every ounce of nonchalance you have into your body as you shift your weight to one hip, examining your nails that aren’t as clean as you would like. “Because I seem to come by a lot of free meals.”

It’s his turn to furrow his brows, leaning closer, examining you, “how long have you been in here?”

“Long enough to know you’re a cranky old bastard who’s so obsessed with his work he’s unable to notice when a little thing like me sneaks in,” you reply smoothly, holding your own as he stares at you. He nods again, “a while, then.” You nod, giving him a smarmy little smile.

He leans forward more, resting his cheek on his forearm as he looks at you sidewards. Gods—he’s so much bigger than you. “Where have you been relieving yourself, then?” You’re stunned for a moment, before you dig your nails into your palms, stomping forward to the edge of the glass cage. “In your food,” you snarl angrily, flushing at the rude question. His lips quirk up at that, crossing his arms over the desk as he rests his chin on the table, “I’d been wondering what that sweet flavour was.”

“You crass, brazen, pig,” you snap indignantly, absolutely appalled.

He chuckles again, seemingly enjoying getting under your skin. “You Big Ones are all the same,” you hiss. “You’re rude, disgusting, and have no concept of manners.” He blinks as you blow off some steam, going on a rant that matches your size. “Big Ones?” He asks, “is that your name for my kind?” You nod in response, a stern dip of your chin. “So are you a Little One, then?” He asks, mildly pleased when your lip curls back from your teeth. How can something so small carry so much anger in her little body? He’s surprised you can fit it all in. “Don’t call me that,” you snap, plumes of smoke practically shooting from your little ears, “it is rude.”

His smirk widens, “what about Tiny? Or Goblin?” Your lips part in astonishment, “I am not a goblin.” A tiny foot stomps down on the desk. “You might be a goblin,” he says, amusement dancing in his hazel eyes. “They’re old wives tales. Folklore, nothing more,” you snap indignantly, tapping a tiny, impatient foot on the wood. “I don’t know what they look like,” he reasons.

You scowl at him, “they’re ugly little things.” He smiles a little, a single dimple appearing beside the edge of his mouth, “they could be lovely, little things with ugly tempers.” You snarl at the taunt, practically vibrating with anger.

“Is this how you’re going to torture me? By boring me to death? Pretty unimaginative, if you ask me,” you snarl, nails digging into your palms as you glare at him. He regards you silently; it’s an effort not to shift beneath his gaze. “What makes you think I’ll hurt you?” He asks softly, watching from beneath dark, silky locks that curl over his brow. You narrow your eyes at the male suspiciously, “it’s what you do. Don’t try and make a fool out of me. I know your kind’s tricks.”

His frown deepens, watching you in his glass jar. “I’m not going to hurt you, or torture you, for that matter,” he says at last. It’s your turn to frown, “you’re letting me go?” His eyes narrow a little as he peers at you closely. “Do you want to stay?” You take a subconscious step away from the edge of the jar, then shake your head.

Azriel sighs, then removes the confinement, releasing you back into the world. “Go on,” he says, nodding to the window. “Get a move on.” You flush, eyeing the distance from the opening far above to the level of his desk—to your eyes, at least. Turning back to him, you scowl, “I’m not even allowed my food?” He arches a single brow, lips quirking at their corners, “I would have thought you’d be leaping at the chance of freedom.”

“Well, I don’t want you watching me,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest standoffishly. He smirks, “oh yeah?”

You scowl. “Yes.”

He leans back in his seat, wings flexing at his back, making your working one twitch in response. “So it’s nothing to do with the bandage around you wing, there?” He points, and you try to tuck them in tight, but a spike of pain licks up your spine, making you bite your lip. You shake your head adamantly, “I’m fine.”

He hums in response, and before you know it, his shadows have you by the waist, the ankles—everywhere. You shriek with anger as he lifts you into the air, depositing you back into the jar, this time with it the correct way up. His shadows give you an unfriendly shove once you’ve settled, and you snap your jaws at them, making them hurriedly scuttle away.

“So if I leave you now, you’ll be gone when I return?” He asks, brow raised in silent taunt—he knows something’s wrong. You narrow your eyes, but say nothing. Amusement gleams in his gaze, triumph and satisfaction quietly mocking you as you scowl.

He rolls his shoulders, muscle shifting beneath his leathers, “I don’t think I can trust you not to go through my things, or to try and escape only to get yourself killed in the process…” He drawls. “How long until it’s healed? You can stay until you’re ready for flight.”

You’re too stunned to speak.

He’s offering to…help you?

Can’t be.

“In exchange for what, exactly?” You ask warily, squinting at him. He laughs a little at that, and you’re confused why. “Can’t it just be for the pleasure of your wonderful company?” He asks, deep voice lilting with mirth. Still, your brow narrows into a scathing glare, “you want me for your pleasure? Is that it?” You spit out, feigning fury even as terror warms your lower belly.

His grin widens, “with your size? What could I ever do with you?” He inquires, laughing, “have you run up and down my skin with those tiny, bare feet of yours?”

A wild flush warms your cheeks at the image, making you snarl. “Laugh all you want. I know what your kind is like.” He gives you a challenging look, “pray tell.”

“You’re crass, cruel, and lewd. You won’t trick me,” you declare.

“‘Crass, cruel, and lewd,’ huh?” He repeats, smiling faintly, leaning in a little, “sounds like a good night, to me.”

Your jaw drops open, rendered speechless. Then red is seeping in, and magic coats your hands as tiny fists slam into the glass. “Big! Arrogant!” You snarl, fractures spiderwebbing through the jar.

“You’re going to rot in hell for that, Azriel!”

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