#mr brisk speaks

[ask-mr-brisk]

Happy Valentine's day! To all the fellas, purchase my signed photo today.

To the ladies...on your mark, get set, GO!

#winner gets brisky! #mr brisk #mr brisk speaks #happy valentine's day from Mr. Brisk

[hintsofhoney]

Don't Forget It

Paring(s): Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: While working a case with Dean, he gets jealous of the way you interact with a suspect and decides to remind you who you belong to.

Tags: 18+, p in v, unprotected sex (be smart), rough sex, jealous dean, spanking, light dom/sub dynamics, sex in a public place, begging, voyeurism if you squint

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Just another finished work that's been sitting in my drive, collecting dust. Beta'd by my loves @makeadealwithdean and @wayward-dreamer; love you both to the moon and back 🤍 GIF is mine. Enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST |  SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST |  MAIN MASTERLIST

You don’t miss the way Dean’s eyebrow raises when you lift one leg to sit on the man’s desk, twirling your hair and batting your eyelashes as you try to get him to confess. You’re fully aware of the way your pencil skirt is riding up, revealing more skin than you care to show to this douchebag probably-murderer, but it’s clear that he’s way more interested in speaking to you than Dean. If it helps move the case along, you can turn on the charm.

Dean’s watching you from the corner of the room as you flirt with the sleazebag, his jaw clenching as he reminds himself that you’re just doing your job, but it doesn’t make him want to remind you who you belong to any less. Especially when you look like that . Tight skirt, the top three buttons of your blouse undone, and then when you lean over pretending to laugh at something this guy had said, he catches a glimpse of your black lace bra, and he finds himself trying not to think about ripping it off of you. Not that it was working.

“You know, you’re a pretty little thing, Agent,” the man smirks, and then he’s reaching for the exposed part of your thigh and you’re wishing he wouldn’t , and Dean clears his throat so loudly it startles the both of you. You hop off the desk as the suspect turns around to look at him.

“I think we’re done here,” Dean says, walking over to the desk and pulling a fake business card with his real phone number on it out of his inner suit jacket pocket. “If you remember anything, Mr. McAnn, give me a call.” He tosses the card carelessly onto his desk.

Mr. McAnn huffs. “Yeah, alright, Agent.”

You and Dean both know the phone call isn’t coming; you’re going to need to find another way to prove the dickhead sitting in front of you murdered his wife — possessed or not.

“Let’s go, Y/N,” Dean grits out, his eyes not leaving Mr. McAnn’s as he walks to the door. You follow suit, and the anger in your boyfriend’s voice doesn’t go unnoticed. Dean’s already ten steps ahead of you by the time you’re fully out of the office.

“Dean!” you call after him, speed-walking to match his brisk pace down whatever corporate building hallway you were in. “Slow down, I’m in heels!” 

You catch up to him and grab his wrist, spinning him around. 

“The hell’s gotten into you?” 

He huffs in disbelief, his hands coming to rest on his hips as he tongues the inside of his cheek, thinking of how to answer that question. 

“You can’t be serious,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest and raising your eyebrows, realizing what’s gotten his panties in a twist. “I was trying to get him to confess , Dean.”

“I’m not — I know. Okay? But —” he pauses, beginning to stalk towards you, a hunger in his eyes that tells you exactly where this interaction is heading. You nearly trip over yourself as you walk backwards, a soft gasp leaving your lips when your back hits the wall. “Doesn’t mean I like watching you slutting it up for the asshole.” 

He’s got you fully caged in between his arms now, one hand on either side of your shoulders, his face inches away from yours. 

“You’re mine .”

You roll your eyes. As hot as he is when he’s jealous and possessive, it’s not like he can fuck you in this hallway. Plus, he’s being ridiculous anyway. 

“Your point ?” you prod, probably further than you should. 

“My —” he huffs again, his hands back on his hips, shaking his head before looking around. “Oh, I’ll show you my fucking point, sweetheart.”

He grabs your wrist, ignoring your squeal, and drags you a few feet down the hall, turning into the women’s bathroom and locking the door behind him. His eyes quickly scan underneath the three stalls before he determines the two of you are alone. 

“Dean —”

He cuts off your protest with his hands on your waist, walking you back into the nearby sinks before hoisting you up onto the counter. 

“Dean!” you yelp in surprise. 

He pays it no mind as he reaches for your blouse, tearing it open in one quick motion, plastic buttons clattering to the floor.

“Dean!” you scold, and Jesus, how many times can you say his name in different ways in one minute?

He remains unphased, focused on two things and two things only, both of which he reveals as he pulls down the cups of your bra.

“Christ, Y/N,” he breathes, cupping your breasts in his hands as he stares at them like it’s his first time ever seeing boobs. His thumbs flick over both of your nipples at the same time, and you arch your back as a moan escapes you.

“Mm, fuck.”

He leans in, his breath fanning over your earlobe as he continues tweaking your nipples. “Might as well have shown that dickhead in there these fuckin’ tits, the way your shirt was hanging open. Left really fuckin’ little to the imagination, Y/N,” he whispers, drawing more sounds from your throat. “He was probably sitting there thinking about doing all the things I’m doing to you right now. And I don’t like that. That’s my fuckin’ point.” He pinches one of your nipples, a yelp leaving your lips. “Understand?”

You nod, unable to form words.

“I can’t hear you.” He pinches the other peak and pulls a little. 

“Oh — fuck! Yes, I understand,” you answer. “I’m yours, I’m yours.” 

“And don’t forget it.” 

His lips find your breasts, and soon he’s sucking bruises into your skin and teasing your nipples with his tongue. He’s everywhere at once, everywhere but where you really need him, and you’re not sure how much more of this torture you can take.

“Dean, please,” you gasp, and he lets out an irritated grunt as he pulls his mouth off one of your breasts, seeming annoyed that you had interrupted his fun with your begging. You can’t blame him – he’s a boob guy. Especially if they’re your boobs. 

“I’m not done yet,” he states, before resuming his attack – for lack of a better word – on your breasts.

You groan in protest, the heat between your thighs building, and you spread your legs as far as your skirt will allow. The cool air that hits your core reminds you that you had chosen to forego underwear today, and you reach down to shimmy your skirt up to your hips while Dean’s still focused on your breasts. You’re able to spread your legs a bit further now, and you can’t help but chuckle at the fact that your boyfriend still hasn’t noticed you fully on display. 

He pulls away an inch or so when he hears your giggling. “Somethin’ funny?”

“You really are a boob guy, huh?” You shake your head in disbelief, biting back a smile. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, and you use the opportunity to lean forward, simultaneously pulling him towards you by his shoulders so you can whisper in his ear. “You’ve been so focused on them you haven’t taken the time to look down yet, have you?”

He pulls away, still confused, until his eyes dart down to your core. “Jesus – wait – did you –”

“Was debating between those panties you really like or just foregoing them altogether,” you shrug.

“Fuck,” he breathes, staring at your dripping core for a few moments before a second wave of feral hunger hits him. “ Fuck .”

Before you can even process his movements, you’re bent over the counter instead of sitting on it, your legs kicked apart with two fingers plunging into your heat. 

“Oh my – Dean !” you squeal at both the abruptness and the roughness of it all.

“Don’t know what you expected, sweetheart, walking around with everything on fuckin’ display.” He crooks his fingers at just the right angle, and you bite back a scream.

“I – fuck – nothing w-was on display – oh God !” 

“Might as well have been. This tight little skirt of yours doesn’t leave much to the imagination, either. And then to find out there’s been nothing underneath it this whole time?”

“Ow!” you exclaim, as a loud smack fills the air, courtesy of Dean’s hand landing on your bare ass. 

“ Louder ,” he growls. “I want the whole fuckin’ building to know they can imagine whatever they want, but I’m the only one who gets to act on it.” He pulls his fingers out of you and spanks you again.

“De – oh, fuck !” you choke out. “Please, Dean.”

“Please what?” he asks nonchalantly, and you can hear his belt buckle clinking behind you.

“Fuck me. Please, I need you to fuck me.”

“ Need me to, huh?” You hear the zipper of his slacks, and you shift your weight in anticipation, your ass squirming. He lands another smack on your left cheek – the hardest one yet.

“DEAN!” you yelp, and you’re certain the entire building heard that one.

“There you go. Now beg that loud and I may just give you what you want,” he chuckles, grabbing a fistful of your hair and bringing your face up from the counter while he runs his cock through your soaked folds. 

“Please!” you groan.

“Mm-mm, not hearin’ you, sweetheart.”

“Deaaaan!” you whine, pushing your hips back, trying to force him inside you. 

“You know what to do, Y/N.” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath – there’s only so much of this you can take. You focus on his cock teasing your folds for a few moments, and that’s all the encouragement you need.

“Please, Dean! Please, fuck me!”

“That’s better. Louder.”

“Jesus fucking – FUCK ME, NOW!”

You’re rewarded immediately, and he bottoms out inside you with ease. 

“Was that so hard?”

“Fuck me,” you reply through gritted teeth, “or I’m gonna go get Mr. McAnn to do it.”

That is both the very wrong and very right thing to say. 

You yelp as he yanks up harder on your hair, your chest leaving the counter. His hand moves to rest on your neck – not choking you, simply holding you in place – and then he pounds into you harder than he ever has before. 

“You are something else, you know that?” he hisses, his thrusts hard and fast. “I know you were only acting like a slut for Mr. Douchebag back there, but it just comes so – fucking – easy – to you, doesn’t it?” He punctuates his words with more thrusts. “And not wearin’ any underwear – that wasn’t for the act, hm? That was because you were hopin’ to end up like this, yeah?” His hand moves from your throat to grip underneath your jaw when you fail to answer. “ Yeah ?”

“Yeah – oh m-my God – fuck , D-Deaaan.”

He smirks, watching you in the mirror above the counter as you slowly come apart on his cock. “No, you don’t have to act like a slut for me, sweetheart. You just are one, hm?” 

You nod to the best of your ability. 

“Open your eyes, look at yourself,” he orders, his grip on your jaw tightening as his thrusts speed up. You do as you’re told, meeting your reflection in the mirror. You’re not sure if your mascara is smudged because of sweat or tears, your hair looks like a bird has made its home in it, and you can’t remember a time that you’ve looked this fucked out. “See what I mean?” Dean questions. “Sluttiest you’ve ever fuckin’ looked. Not that I’m complaining.” 

You feel the dam inside you about to break, and you let out a whimper in warning. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, almost out of breath, his tone laced with pity. “Are you gonna cum?”

“Mm-hm,” you nod, whimpering again.

“You like being my slut that much, hm?”

“Dean, please,” you beg, squeezing your eyes shut, stalling your release as much as you can. You’re not sure why – it’s not like you have to wait for his permission – but you find yourself wanting it. 

“Christ, Y/N,” he breathes, quickly realizing what you’re asking for. His thrusts are becoming erratic, and you know he’s close too. “Hold it, baby. Can you do that?”

“I don’t –”

“Mmm, I think you can. I’m – fuck – I’m close. Be a good little slut and hold it. Want you – shit – want you to cum with me, sweetheart.”

You find yourself nodding, focusing on Dean’s pants in your ear instead of the precipice of your release, and a few seconds go by before expletives are falling from his lips and you know it’s safe for you to let go.

Your dam breaks. “Oh, God – fuck – Dean!”

“Fuuuuuck,” he moans, filling you up. He lets his forehead fall to your shoulder as he catches his breath, post-orgasmic shivers running through him as you ride out your high, your walls clenching around his cock. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he pants, lifting his head to press a kiss behind your ear. “Such a perfect fuckin’ slut.”

You manage a soft giggle as your body settles. “Only for you, babe.”

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder as he stares at your reflection in the mirror. 

“And don’t you forget it.”

#dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader

[freedomfireflies]

Five to Go Live*

Summary: The fifth and final part to One for the Money*

Mr. Styles, your boss (and the CEO of the company you work for), offers to help you expand your OnlyFans business.

But maybe you want more.

And maybe he does, too.

Word Count: 11.5k (I have no idea what happened tbh)

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“Good morning, Mr. Styles.”

The tense frame of the man pacing in front of the window stills when he hears your greeting. 

You’re five minutes early, coffee in hand, ready to begin your workday.

However, he doesn’t turn around as you enter his office. But the slight glimpse of his profile lets you know he’s acutely aware of your presence.

He stays by his desk, offering nothing more than his silence as you set down his drink and move for the couch.

“Good morning,” is his brisk greeting. It’s not any warmer or colder than usual. It’s just him. “Do you have the reports I asked for?”

“Right here.” You drop them onto the coffee table. “Ready for your meeting this afternoon.”

“Good.” He stares out at the city, unwilling to look you in the eye. “And you’ve confirmed with Nadia?”

“Yes. She’s calling for a driver as we speak.”

He nods once, fingers flexing beside his thighs before he finally ventures a glance over his shoulder. “And I suppose you’d like to talk to me about the other day.”

You flip open the laptop and pull up your email, eyebrow raised. “The other day?”

He turns to you, and you feel his heated stare. “I believe I owe you an explanation.”

“Not really,” you respond, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “You agreed to help me with the video, and you did. I didn’t expect you to stay, Sir.”

Your peripheral catches his slight frown. “You didn’t?”

“No.” You open his schedule and begin jotting down a few notes from Nadia’s email. “You’re not exactly the cuddling type. Probably would have been weirder if you had stayed.”

His hands disappear into his pockets as he regards you. “I never meant to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” Another shrug. “I knew what I agreed to, and now we’re done. No harm, no foul.”

The frown deepens. “Still, I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that—”

“Mr. Styles,” you interrupt, turning to face him, “I wasn’t under the illusion that things would change just because we fucked. I didn’t need aftercare, I didn’t need your words of affirmation, and I didn’t need you to stay.”

Something unrecognizable passes over his features.

You lean forward. “We’re good, Sir.”

The office goes quiet. You know him well enough by now to know what it looks like when he’s biting back a response.

And you imagine there are quite a few things he’d like to berate you for, but instead, he merely clamps his jaw shut and nods.

“All right.” He returns to his desk and takes a seat. “Let’s begin.”

The rest of the workweek carries on like usual. Things return to normal. Or at least to the way they were before he admitted to knowing about your outside activities.

And you find that you’re grateful for that. It’s much easier to only imagine him as your boss instead of your…business partner. 

What happened that afternoon in the hotel room was great. Fantastic, even. But it was only ever an act of generosity. A favor, more like. He helped you exactly the way he said he would and now it’s over.

You won’t ever have to think about him like that again.

So…you don’t. 

At least, you try not to. But it proves quite difficult.

After deciding against posting the whole video for your channel, and instead only uploading the part where he comes on your tits, it becomes harder to ignore what you two have done. 

 After all, the response is overwhelming. Positive, excited, and extremely lucrative. Most of the requests are for more of the mysterious man they’ve come to know, and you try not to feel disappointed when you realize there won’t be any more guest appearances. 

You wonder if he’s watched it. Wonder if he remembers that day the way you do.

Sometimes you slip up, and you watch the beginning just to hear him talk to you. You watch the way you undress him. Watch the way he kisses you. Watch the way he drives himself inside of you and begs you to come for him.

But then it hits you. Like a fucking freight train. It won’t ever happen again, and lingering on the one time it did isn’t healthy.

So, you turn it off, and attempt to resume life as normal.

You reach out to Max to apologize yet again for what happened, and he’s incredibly understanding. He asks if you’d like to meet for drinks and go over another scene for the future.

And you agree because you will do anything to put Mr. Styles in your rearview mirror.

You don’t mention the meeting to your boss. You figure it won’t do any good, and even if he disapproved, it’s not like he would tell you.

This is your game now. Not his.

So, with a new lease on life, you head for the bar to meet with Max, eager to find out what he has in store.

He’s happy to see you. Pulling out your chair and refusing any attempts at apologies that you offer.

Which you’re more than appreciative of, although you can’t help feeling a bit guilty that he didn’t get the content he’d been wanting.

“Seriously, don’t even worry about it,” he repeats for the third time since you sat down. “Honestly. I get it, once other people get involved, it gets complicated.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, sheepishly glancing down at your lap. “But still. He shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have let him run you out like that.”

He smiles. “It’s fine. Listen, your boyfriend has nothing to worry about. Really. And we can proceed however you feel is best—”

“Oh, no, he’s…he’s not my boyfriend,” you interject, head shaking quickly. “No, he was just…nobody. He’s nobody. Anymore.”

Max studies you for a moment, seemingly curious at your insistence. “Oh? Does…he know that?”

You swallow thickly and take hold of your glass. ���Yeah. He does.”

A beat before he nods.

“All right.” Max takes a swig himself. “As long as you’re sure this is something you want.”

You nod but can’t help finding yourself hesitating. “Yeah, it’s…yeah. Of course.”

His expression softens. “Boyfriend or not, he still has a hold over you, doesn’t he?”

And you grimace because you hate the way it sounds. Hate how obvious it must be to everyone else. Hate that it’s even a thing at all.

“No, he just…he’s infuriating,” you argue. “I mean, you were there. You saw what he’s like.”

“I was and I did,” he agrees with a smirk. “Infuriating is the nicer way to put it.”

“He’s a dick,” you correct, making you both smile. “But I trusted him. And I trusted his judgment. And him being so…blunt is sometimes a good thing. Because there’s no room for overthinking or questioning what he really wants. He tells you. Exactly how he feels, exactly how he feels it.”

Max nods thoughtfully, urging you to continue.

“And yet there are so many things I feel like he’s keeping from me,” you murmur. “And maybe he doesn’t owe me answers. Maybe it doesn’t even matter, but I just…there was this moment when we were on the same page. When it felt so seamless, and easy, and good. And now…”

Max sighs. “Now he’s nobody.”

You both grow quiet as you let this settle.

“Yeah,” you whisper, taking a sip of your drink. “He’s nobody. And it’s nothing. And it’s over anyway, so…I’m free to do whatever I’d like.”

He laughs. “That’s a great attitude.”

“Why thank you very much.”

“Of course.” He rubs his hands together. “Well, I guess in that case…maybe we should go over—”

“Peach Valentine.”

And almost as if you spoke him into existence, that familiar voice finds you. Cutting right through your conversation as chills fly up the back of your neck.

You almost don’t want to look. Want to pretend that this is merely a subconscious projection of the very last man you want to see.

But you can feel his presence behind you. Can smell his cologne and can see the surprised look on Max’s face.

Of course he’s here.

Slowly, you turn around, letting your eyes find the tall figure looming only a foot or two away.

He’s wearing an expression you know all too well. The one that tells you exactly what he’s thinking without him having to say a single word.

And your stomach sinks.

“Sir,” you whisper, voice oddly timid before you clear your throat and straighten up. “Hello.”

For a moment, he’s quiet. Offering nothing more than a blank stare. Then, he looks at Max. He looks at you. And nobody speaks.

Finally, his jaw sets, and his hands bury themselves deep within his expensive pockets. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m…I’m meeting with Max,” you reply, shooting a smile toward your new friend.

Mr. Styles frowns. “You didn’t tell me you were meeting him.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” you retort, lowering your voice as you send him a pointed look. “Seeing as we’re not partners anymore.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re still my assistant. And your well-being is my concern.”

“Oh? I thought what I did with my personal life didn’t concern you.”

“It does when it has to do with him.”

Your glare begins to mirror his. “Well, since I am in need of a new business partner, I figured Max would be the perfect one to ask.”

Mr. Styles rolls his shoulders back, regarding you carefully. “And since when are you in need of a new business partner?”

“Since my old one walked out on me.”

This does it. His features twist into an unforgiving and rather harsh look of disdain as he steps closer and drops his tone. “I told you, I needed to explain—”

“No, you don’t need to explain,” you correct. “I’m not upset. I’m not bitter. I’m not angry. But that doesn’t change the fact that our agreement is over.”

His teeth grit. “Just because I left doesn’t mean I was ending our deal—”

“It does in my book. I don’t have time to wait for you, Sir.” You sit up, leveling the playing field. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

His fingers suddenly wrap around your upper arm, tugging on you until your feet hit the floor, forcing you to stand. “I need to talk to you.”

A bit surprised, you blink rapidly and attempt to pull yourself free. “Mr. Styles—”

“Now, Peach.”

You want to argue. Want to fight him on this. Want to stay strong, stay with Max. Send the mean man away.

But you know him, no matter how belligerent he’s being. And there’s something in those eyes that you’ve found yourself lost in that persuades you to nod and follow him to the hallway.

The moment you’re alone and the loud music has been dulled to a quiet hum, you step away from him. Put the necessary distance between your bodies as he watches you go.

“You shouldn’t be talking to him,” he says simply, almost as if it were obvious. “In fact, you shouldn’t be here at all.”

You scoff, rearing back to stare at him incredulously. “I’m sorry…you’re joking, right?”

“It’s a work night,” he replies, still infuriatingly cool. “And we agreed you wouldn’t do business with him—”

“We agreed?” Your eyebrow raises. “No, we didn’t agree on anything. You ran him out of the room without so much as checking with me first. And since when are we a we at all?”

He’s far too calm for your liking. “I told you, I’m still your boss. And partner. I want what’s best for you—”

“Really? Is that why you left?”

Once again, he scowls. “I told you, I had things to do—”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you snort. “Look, I don’t care why you left. I don’t even care that you left. But you did leave. So if I want to film with Max, I have every right to do so—”

“You do,” he agrees. “But you’re much smarter than that, Peach. And you know it.”

“Yeah? And what makes me so smart, hm? Sleeping with you?”

His expression twists into something you don’t recognize. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Sleep with you? Or point out that we did?”

“Peach—”

“No, you know what?” You take a brave step forward. “You have no right to come in here and demand that I leave him. Max is a good guy. In fact, of all the people that I’ve messaged on OnlyFans, he’s the only one that hasn’t said something skeevy or inappropriate.”

His expression falls. “Are you being harassed?”

“Not if I don’t respond. The block button exists for a reason. And that’s not even the point. The point is that you told me to do this. You told me it would be good for my channel to collaborate—”

“But not with him.”

“Then who? You?”

The hallway stills as Mr. Styles leans back. “This was never about me.”

“No. It wasn’t. It was about me,” you agree. “That’s what you promised. That this would be about what I wanted to do. And I want to meet with Max.”

The glare returns. “If you’re trying to punish me—”

“Punish you?” You laugh but it’s void of all humor. “Punish you for what? For being exactly who I thought you were?”

“You shouldn’t be here with him,” he says again, and your eyes roll.

“Then where should I be, huh, Sir? Should I be at home? Like a good little girl?” You take another step forward. “Should I be on my knees, waiting for you? Should I be fucking myself with that toy you bought? Pretending it’s you?”

You notice the muscles in his jaw constrict as he steels himself and throws you a look of warning. “Peach—”

“Because if I can’t fuck Max, and I can’t fuck you, then what do you want from me?” Another step. “You’re never happy. I can never make you happy—”

“Peach—”

 “I get that this meant nothing to you. I get that.” You’re only inches away now. “But…you’re so confusing. You’re so goddamn confusing, and I never know what you really want. Sometimes I think I do, and other times…”

His lips purse shut but his eyes are soft.

“I feel like we used to want the same thing,” you admit quietly, heart in your throat as you stare up at the beautiful man before you. Your rage dwindles down to a contemplative annoyance. “And now we don’t. So…excuse me for trying to find somebody who does want me.”

Suddenly, he surges forward. Stepping up to you so quickly, and with so much power that it forces you to stumble back into the wall.

He cages you there, his broad chest brushing against yours as he peers down, features hard and unmoving.

“And you think that somebody is Max?” he sneers, almost as if mocking you. “You think that he wants anything more from you than the money you’ll make him?”

“Who cares?” you argue, but it’s weaker than you’d like. “It’s an investment, you said so yourself—”

“I am your investor. Not him,” Mr. Styles nearly barks, practically chastising you. “How could it ever be him—”

“Because he’s everything you aren’t.”

He doesn’t even flinch, instead cocking his head to the side as he smirks. “So that’s what this is? You’re trying to replace me? Trying to find somebody better?”

“Well it’s not hard.”

The Cheshire-like grin grows. “Fine, Peach. Let me ask you this…do you like who you are with him? Do you like the role he puts you in?”

Your lashes flutter. “I don’t…I don’t know what you mean—”

“Yes, you do.” His head dips until he’s fully in your space, making it impossible to know anything else but him. “Do you like how he treats you as though you’re nothing more than a means to his end?”

A breath catches in your throat. 

“Do you like how it’s never about you? Only him?”

You squirm back into the wall, once again attempting to create a bit of distance, but failing miserably as he places a hand next to your head.

“Do you like how insignificant he is?” His voice has dropped to a dangerous purr, like silk that slips across your cheek. “Or did you like it better with me?”

A question meant to trap you and you can do nothing more than stare at the buttons on his shirt as you will yourself not to gasp.

“Because I think you like yourself better in my reflection,” he murmurs, his other palm now smoothing across your hip, subtly tugging you into his body. “The way I make you beg for me. The way I touch you. Kiss you. Fuck you.”

The words weigh heavy on your chest, making it hard to breathe as his nose softly ghosts against yours. 

“Everything is better with me. And you know it. So why are you wasting your time with him? Hm, Peach? Who are you really trying to punish? Me…or you?”

And you could just slap him. You really could. Could fucking slap the dimples right off his face for being so smug.

“I’m not punishing anybody,” you whisper, nails curling into your palms to brace yourself. “I’m just doing what you told me to.”

“Well now I’m telling you to leave him.”

“Why?”

His eyes flick between yours. “Why do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I want to hear you say it.”

The frown returns. “Peach—”

“Say it, Mr. Styles,” you repeat. “And maybe I will leave him. Maybe I’ll walk out of this bar, and never look back. I’ll delete his number, I’ll block him, I’ll never think of reaching out to him again. I’ll leave. With you.”

You can see the way he internalizes this. Can feel his grip tighten, can see the muscles in the arm beside your head flex.

“Just say it,” you mumble again, reaching out to brush your fingers down his chest. “Tell me what you really want. Because maybe I want it, too.”

Everything moves around you. The world, time, this moment.

But neither of you move.

And as the seconds pass, you can’t help but silently will him to finally be honest with you. To finally succumb to what he really needs. To make everything that’s happened mean something.

Then, his eyebrows weave together, and his lips turn down. “I want you to go home,” he finally says, and your heart drops so fast, it makes your head spin. “You’re drunk, and you shouldn’t be alone with him.”

“I’m not drunk,” you retort, now shoving on his sternum to create that space you so desperately need. “I’ve had one drink. And I’m not alone. You’re here.”

And maybe it’s too dark in this hallway to be sure, but you’re almost positive you see something painful flash behind his eyes.

“I won’t be for long,” he replies as he pushes off the wall and steps back. “I have other things to do besides babysit you.”

And that is your slap to the face.

Your hands ball into fists by your side. “You are such a fucking asshole. I never asked you to babysit me. I didn’t even want you here—”

“Clearly you need it,” he argues. “Since you aren’t capable of making decisions on your own. Even when you’re sober.”

You scoff so loud, it makes your throat sore. “I was doing just fine without you—”

“You were scraping by,” he corrects. “And you could do so much better if you realized that he’s nothing but a waste of time and sperm.”

Your nose crinkles as you make your way to the end of the hall, ready to rid yourself of him. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t…I can’t argue with you over the same goddamn thing. Okay, Max is nice to me. He tells me what he actually feels, and that’s something you could never understand.”

You think you see the briefest hint of disappointment, but it’s replaced just as quickly by a look of unamused indignation. “Fine. If you’d like your sex life and your career to be as mediocre as his cock…by all means. The choice is yours.”

“It is,” you agree coldly, ready to turn on your heel and run. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Styles.”

With that, you exit the hallway, leaving him behind.

And he lets you.

The following day, things aren’t as awkward as you expected. Mr. Styles doesn’t mention your run-in at the bar, nor does he attempt to restart the conversation about Max.

He treats you the way he did when he first hired you. With nothing but professionalism and distance. 

At first, you’re thankful. There are no more sly comments or lingering stares at your chest. He follows your terms to let you make your own decisions. He lets your business be yours.

And he’s nothing more than your boss.

But as the days progress, you can’t shake the nagging thought that something bigger is afoot. Almost as though something is wrong. Off.

Maybe it’s just in your head. Maybe you want to believe he’s more affected by this little falling out than he pretends to be.

But you’ve known him for over a year. You know what it looks like when he’s upset, and this…this is not it.

However, you decide to push away the inclination altogether, and carry on with your work as usual. Because even if something is wrong, it’s none of your concern anymore.

That is until Nadia mentions it over lunch.

“Listen, he’s a very complicated man,” she says when you comment on his odd behavior, waving her salad fork through the air. “He tries so hard to appear uninterested, but I know it’s just an act. Nobody is that heartless.”

You swirl your French fry around in your ketchup, mulling this over. “I don’t know. He doesn’t…I don’t think he’s heartless. I think that’s just…who he is. He has a one-track mind.”

Nadia snorts. “Please. You should have seen him before…”

Your little lunch corner goes oddly silent as she suddenly presses her lips together and winces.

“Before…?” you repeat curiously, head tilting.

“Nothing,” she’s quick to reply, dismissing the comment with a flutter of her hand. “No, nothing. He just…he was more open when he first started the company, that’s all.”

You know there’s more to that story than she’s letting on, but you don’t push. Instead nodding your head as you return to your burger, letting the inquiry rest.

However, the subject is changed for all of three minutes before she sighs, and finally says, “Okay, look, it’s none of my business. And I don’t even know all of details, but maybe this will help make your job…easier?”

Once again struck with curiosity, you motion for her to continue.

“He had an assistant before you,” she begins. “His first assistant actually. I don’t know too much because I was working the mail room. But I do know that they were really close. Maybe friends, maybe more. I don’t know. But they were close.”

You lean back in your seat, endlessly intrigued as you wait for the rest.

“And everybody loved them together. She made him so happy. He was always smiling, always laughing, always walking around the office talking to everybody. Engaging in chit chat and catching up on everyone’s lives.”

It’s odd to picture your boss so open. So…infatuated. In fact, this fantasy she’s painting doesn’t sound like the man you know at all.

You have to wonder how different things would have been if he were still the same.

“Anyway, I don’t know what happened exactly, but something bad,” Nadia sighs. “The rumor was that she was seeing somebody he didn’t like. He got crazy possessive over her, and it drove them apart. She quit, and he became this sullen, hollow version of himself. And now that’s just who he is, I guess.”

“That’s…so sad,” is about all you can offer, frowning some as she nods.

“Yeah. It was,” she agrees. “After her, he didn’t hire another personal assistant for quite some time. Until you, actually. Which was kind of surprising, and I think we were all a little worried for you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, you seem to be handling him just fine, which is great. But…I don’t know. He just became very…cold. Distant, I guess. Doesn’t really create personal relationships anymore.”

You have to admit that this makes sense, although it doesn’t exactly help make things any clearer for you. “That must have been hard for him.”

“Yeah. And maybe he taught himself not to care, but…I think he hides who he really is because of her,” she admits with a shrug. “Which sucks. ’Cause he’s such a good guy, deep down. He just…he’s afraid, I guess.”

You hate the way your heart breaks for him. Hate the way this humanizes him. Hate the way it makes you second guess every interaction the two of you have ever had.

“Does he ever talk about her?” you ask next.

“No, never. I don’t even remember her name, to be honest. It was forever ago. Five or six years, at least.”

“Wow.”

“Mhm. As far as I know, he doesn’t date, either. I think he fucks around a bit. I mean, he’s a guy, after all,” she teases. “But he doesn’t really do anything…meaningful. Maybe he doesn’t know how anymore.”

Your stomach twists around an invisible knife. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” she hums, digging back into her salad. “I don’t know. If he’s being rude, just tell him to fuck off. That always works for me.”

You laugh as the subject is dropped and the two of you carry on with your lunch.

But you think about it for the rest of the day, the information following you back to his office where you’re quick to find that he’s left for the afternoon. 

So, you sit with this discovery as you go through your tasks. Unable to stray from the thought for very long before your throat constricts, and you feel a wave of disappointment.

You text him as you’re leaving for the evening. A simple, “Finished prepping the presentation. Hope you’re okay,” before you tuck your phone away and head home.

Hours go by without a response. Not that you really expected one, but you can’t help feeling slightly guilty for the role you played in pushing him to open up.

And no matter how out of line he was, or how justified you were in asking for his honesty, you know how hard it must be for him to be honest with you.

Especially if what Nadia said is true.

After messaging Max for a bit about your upcoming video, you decide to run yourself a bath, letting the bubbles fill the tub as you watch the water rise.

You’ve barely slipped out of your socks when your phone vibrates on the porcelain sink, making you jump some at the sudden noise.

The familiar name flashes across the screen, making your heart skip as you hesitantly hit the green button and bring the phone to your ear. “…hello?”

“You did it, didn’t you?” Mr. Styles says, but even through the static, you can hear that there’s something off. 

“Did…what?” you ask hesitantly.

“You fucked him,” comes the reply. Blunt and void of any civility. “Max. You fucked him, didn’t you?”

With narrowed eyes, you turn the water off and step out of the bathroom. “I don’t believe that’s any of your concern—”

“So, yes,” he answers for you. Then, you hear him chuckle to himself. However, there’s something chilling about the way he laughs. Bitter, almost. “You’re very easy to read, Peach.”

You can feel your expression fall into one of annoyance as you lean against the wall in the hallway. “Mr. Styles—”

“Was he good?”

You glower. “Mr. Styles—”

“I already know the answer is no,” he continues. “Even your own fingers would be better, but…maybe I just wanted to hear you say he wasn’t.”

You contemplate this for only a moment before you cautiously ask, “Are you drunk?”

You can hear the subtle slur slip through the speaker, and your eyebrows raise as he snorts.

“No, I’m curious,” he retorts, but it makes your heart pound. “And I’m still a subscriber. So I want to know what to expect.”

Your stomach wrenches. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Why are you avoiding my question?”

“Mr. Styles—”

“You like to torture me, don’t you?” he interrupts, and there’s a hitch in your breath. “You always have. From the first day I met you. You were wearing that really nice dress. And your hair was up in that pretty ponytail. And you walked in like you were trying to walk into my life and ruin me.”

Your head falls back into the wall, eyes fluttering shut. “Sir—”

“And I let you,” he carries on. “I let you ruin me. I let you do the one thing I promised I’d never do, and now what? Now you’ve gone and strutted your way into somebody else’s life.”

And maybe he doesn’t know what he’s saying, but you feel this overwhelming rush of emotion, anyhow. “Mr. Styles, where are you?”

“Where would you like me to be?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Says you.”

You huff. “Mr. Styles—”

“Tell Max I said hello,” he says instead. “And then tell him I don’t mean it.”

“Mr. Styles—”

There’s some sort of loud noise on his end before the line suddenly beeps three times and the call goes dead.

And you can only stand there, flabbergasted, as you stare at your phone. Wondering what the hell just happened.

You’re frozen for a good minute or two, running through your options. He normally doesn’t reach out when he’s drinking, at least not to you, and definitely not this late.

Maybe it’s a silent cry for help or maybe he just wanted to bother you one last time.

Either way, it breeds something unnerving in your gut as you groan to yourself and head back to your room to retrieve your shoes.

You don’t imagine he’s out. He has to be at his apartment, so at least you know he’s probably safe. But you don’t know what he might do. You don’t know what that sound was, and if he’s managed to hurt himself, but you don’t think anyone will be there to help for quite a while.

You grab the key he’d given you a few months ago. It was meant only for emergencies, although you’ve never needed to use it.

Tonight, however, you decide that this is as good an excuse as any.

You call an Uber to take you to his place, the lavish apartment building smack in the middle of downtown, quite a bit away from you.  

Thankfully, the traffic isn’t too bad this late at night, and you’re grateful for the quick trip as you’re brought to a stop just outside the sidewalk in under thirty minutes.

You jump out, greet the doorman, and book it for the elevator before hitting the button for his apartment at the top of the building.

It’s a good three-minute ride before you finally reach his floor, and once those doors open, your heart leaps into your throat.

Even the hallway is exquisite, and your dirty Vans squeak along the newly waxed floors as you approach his apartment, and fumble with the key.

You unlock it as slowly and quietly as you can, hoping not to startle him if he is in fact inside, and the moment the door is cracked, you call, “Mr. Styles? Are you here?”

Everything is dark as you enter. Not a single lamp to be seen, only the soft glow of the city lights outside of his many large windows, and the pale shadow of the moon cascading across the floors.

You see silhouettes of furniture, walls, and a few appliances. Enough that you manage not to trip over anything as you make your way into his living room. 

And then, you see him.

The shape of his body is outlined by the window to your left. He’s sitting on the floor, back against the wall as he stares out at the tall skyscrapers before him. 

Your heart sinks as you pocket the keys and approach slowly. “Mr. Styles?”

He’s still. Deathly still, in fact. As if he hasn’t even heard you. He doesn’t even bother to look over or investigate your presence.

And then, he murmurs, “You shouldn’t be here.”

Your breath hitches.  “Maybe not,” you reply quietly, taking another cautious step. “But I was worried about you.”

He snorts, arms slung over his knees, a crystal glass in one hand that’s only got a few drops left. “How nice.”

“Mr. Styles,” you try again, “are you all right?”

Now close enough to catch a glimpse of his profile, you see the sweaty hair matted to his forehead. The strain in his jaw and the red rim around his eyes. 

“M’fine. You can go,” he calls.

You take another step. “You didn’t sound fine—”

“Well I am, all right?” he suddenly sneers, turning to face you as you lean back. “I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“It’s not pity. It’s concern,” you correct briskly. “You’re drunk, and upset—”

“Yeah? What was your first fucking clue?”

You shoot him a look of warning as you bridge the gap and hesitantly crouch down to his level. “Why are you drinking?”

“Because I fucking can,” is his reply, his normally soft green eyes now as sharp as the edge of a sword. “Is that a problem?”

“Maybe. Do you remember calling me?”

“Of course I fucking do. But I don’t remember asking you to come here.”

“You didn’t,” you agree. “But I wanted to. Because I was worried.”

“Why? Don’t you have better things to worry about now?”

You’ve never heard him sound so insecure, and you’re reminded again of Nadia’s story as you glance over his expression. “I haven’t slept with Max.”

This is the only thing that seems to reach him, his lashes fluttering as he leans back, although his scowl remains put. “Why not?”

“We just haven’t yet. We’re still planning the video.”

“So you’re going to?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“You think so.”

“I plan to.”

He scoffs beneath a quiet breath and looks back out the window. “And you needed to come here to tell me that?”

“I came here because I wanted to make sure you were okay,” you tell him again. “And to set the record straight.”

“Why? You were right, it’s none of my fucking business.”

“It’s not, but you still seem to care.”

He snorts. “I don’t fucking care who you sleep with, Peach.”

“Sure, okay. Is that why you tried to keep me from doing it?”

“I was trying to help.”

“You’d help me a lot more if you were honest.”

“I am honest. I’m always fucking honest.”

“Not about this.”

His eyes return to yours. “I told you, you can do better. That’s my honest opinion.”

“Fine.” You take a moment to study him. “Then why did you offer to help me?”

His head drops back against the wall as he mulls this over, but his gaze never leaves you. “Because you needed the help. I knew you could make more money if you just did things a little differently, and I was right.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“What else would it be?”

Your head tilts. “Why did you agree to be in the video with me?”

“You said you didn’t have anyone else.”

“Why did you get me custom jewelry with your initials?”

His teeth begin to grit, the grasp on his glass tightening some. “What?”

“The peaches would have been fine. My initials would have been fine. But you wanted me to wear your name,” you remind him. “Why?”

“I already told you, I wanted him to know who your real partner was—”

“Yeah? Then why did you leave?”

His lips press together. “I thought you didn’t care—”

“I do now. Why?”

“I had somewhere to be—”

“Where?”

“Where?”

“Yes, where? Where did you have to be?”

He seems to fight himself on the answer before finally admitting, “The gym.”

You lean back, blinking quickly. “I’m sorry, you rushed out of there to go to the gym?”

“Yes.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff as you shake your head. “Wow. No, I should have assumed as much. Makes perfect sense. Clearly that was so much more important than just telling me I made you uncomfortable—”

“You didn’t,” he suddenly interjects, shooting you this look like he’s disappointed in your response. “I left because I knew I couldn’t stay.”

“You couldn’t stay? And why the fuck not?”

“Because—” He stops himself, once again clamping his jaw shut as if wrestling with the truth. Then, he drops his head, eyes finding the floor as he glares at the marble beneath. “Because I couldn’t.”

And you want to scream because you don’t know if he’ll ever be honest with you. Don’t know what to do to reach him.

“You know what I think?” you finally huff, and he looks up. “I think this is about her.”

Confused, he glances over your expression. “Her who?”

“The girl who used to work for you. Your first assistant. The one who left.”

Instantly, the atmosphere changes, his entire demeanor shifting on a dime as he presses his back into the wall and shoots you a venomous look of intimidation. “Oh you do, do you?”

“Yeah.” You hold your ground, keep your shoulders stiff. “I think you loved her. I think you were honest with her. I think you let yourself trust her, and I think…she broke that trust.”

You can tell he’s not quite sure what to do with this, furrowed brows still knitted together. “And where the fuck did you get that?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s true, isn’t it?”

His finger taps the edge of the crystal in thought, but his contemplative expression remains. “Even if it were, what does this have to do with us?”

“Everything,” you say simply. “She broke your trust, and you chose not to get close to anyone again. But then you started helping me. And we got closer. And created a bond—created trust. And the second you realized, you ran for the hills.”

He snorts again, but he doesn’t rush to deny it.

So, you carry on. “Max coming along only made things worse for your fragile little ego. And maybe you were trying to keep it from happening again, but you did a really shitty job of it. And now here we are, sitting on your floor, saying everything but what we really mean.”

He’s angry. He’s so very angry, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly, fighting himself on what he really wants to say.

You scoot closer, gently reaching out to take the crystal glass from his hand so you can place it on the floor. Then, you rest your palm atop his arm, and meet his eye.

“Harry,” you whisper, and he sucks in a sharp breath, tensing beneath your touch. “I’m not her. And maybe that’s a good thing, maybe it’s not. But I have only ever wanted it to be you.”

He’s quiet but you have his full attention. And the intrigue in his features urges you to continue.

“Even before you told me that you watched, I imagined you,” you admit quietly. “I’ve always imagined you. Your voice, and your hands, and your face. And yeah, I didn’t mind keeping things…professional. Strictly about the content and nothing more. But…you have to know I wanted more.”

Once again, the back of his head meets the wall, as if bracing himself from your honesty.

“I wanted more,” you repeat. “And I thought you did, too. Maybe that’s why it’s been so hard, and maybe that’s why I tried to use Max to move on. But I never wanted Max. I only wanted you. I just…I wasn’t sure I could have you.”

He looks down at your hand, gaze softening when he sees the way it looks on his arm. Like he’s mesmerized by your touch.

“And I need you to tell me right now what you want,” you say softly. “I need the truth. I have to know if we’re running around in circles for no reason, or if…maybe we can get off this ride together.”

He’s silent for quite a long stretch, letting himself ponder a response as the apartment fills with a solemn quiet.

You study his face in the soft glow of the moonlight, wonderstruck by the sharp curve of his jaw in contrast to the soft curls near his cheeks.

Even now, he’s breathtaking.

Finally, he clears his throat. “Ellie.”

“What?”

“Her name,” he says, “was Ellie. And you’re right, I did trust her. But I ruined it. Not her.”

Now it’s your turn to listen as he recalls this memory to you, nodding gently for him to continue.

“She didn’t…she loved somebody that wasn’t me. That was her only fault,” he murmurs, once again staring at your hand as your thumb strokes his tan skin. “And it wasn’t even a fault. But I hated it. Because I wanted it to be me. And it was never going to be me. We both knew that.”

Slowly, his arm turns over, allowing your gentle touches to dance along the more sensitive skin.

You smile.

“I crossed so many fucking lines,” he admits quietly. “As her boss, as her friend. I pushed her away only to drag her back and try to keep her close. I suffocated her. I let myself need her in ways I shouldn’t have. She had every right to leave. In fact, she should have left sooner.”

You feel the tips of his fingers brush against you as he subtly grabs on.

“And then you,” he whispers, eyes still locked on where you’re connected. “I’d been doing so good. Didn’t let myself slip again, and then you came along, and everything was fucked. Because I knew I couldn’t do to you what I’d done to her. But I let myself think about you anyway. Even when I shouldn’t have.”

You can feel tears crawling up the back of your throat, and the wounded look on his face is like a fist to the heart.

“And for some fucking reason, I thought offering my advice would allow me to know you without ruining anything,” he sighs, tugging you a bit closer until your knees collide with his. “Which obviously didn’t work. And then I was looking for excuses to be with you. To have you. To touch you. Even though I knew better. Even though I had to know better.”

He takes a deep breath. Holds it. 

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he eventually exhales. “And I got scared that the only reason you felt like you wanted more was because I somehow tricked you into it. I confused you, I manipulated the situation. It wasn’t real. And I wanted it to be real. But then Max, and I got so fucking angry, and I knew I was doing it again. And I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to you.”

He won’t look up. He won’t meet your eye, and the hard set of his jaw makes you take hold of his other arm and squeeze it tight.

“Harry,” you whisper, but his head shakes quickly.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he barrels on, fingers wrapping around your elbow, keeping you close. “Because I can’t have it. I can’t have you. And you were right, I can’t be your partner anymore. I can only be your boss.”

You frown but it’s sad. “Harry—”

“Mr. Styles,” he corrects, finally shooting you a look of warning that breaks your heart.

But you aren’t deterred. Instead, you release him so you can wedge yourself between his legs and take hold of his face. “Harry,” you repeat, urgent but gentle. “This? It’s not the same.”

He struggles a bit in your grasp, tensing up as he tries to pull away. But it only lasts a second before he’s settling into your embrace, allowing you to guide his attention to you.

“It’s real,” you whisper. “It’s so fucking real. It was real even before you called me poor and badly dressed.”

This earns you your first smirk of the evening, and the butterflies that explode in your gut nearly make you dizzy.

“You’ve tried to push me away over and over. But I’m still sitting here, on your floor, begging you to talk to me.” Your thumbs delicately brush across the bags under his eyes, and he seems to nuzzle into your palms. “It’s not the same. You’re not just my boss or my investor. You’re my partner, Harry. And I can’t do this without you.”

His arms slowly slip around your middle, encouraging you onto his lap as his legs drop.

And you eagerly oblige, straddling his hips with ease as you look down at him.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” you murmur. “So don’t make me. Please.”

For a moment, you aren’t sure what he’ll do. What he’ll say or feel. He’s still somewhat tense, and far too quiet.

Then, he tugs, crashing your lips into his.

And it’s the most honest thing he’s ever done.

“Turn around.”

The strong command leaves no room for argument as you quickly spin on your heel, eager to obey.

Your ass is revealed to the camera. Bright red from the many spanks Mr. Styles has landed to it. It complements the dark black lingerie set he recently purchased for you, something you’re both rather proud of, and perhaps the main feature of this video.

You hear him hum his approval as he approaches, large hands slipping over the curves of your hips. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs before shoving you onto the bed. “Think it’s time we show them what a wet little whore you are, hm?”

You feel his finger hook into the crotch of the panties before he’s ripping them aside, allowing your swollen cunt to glisten for the lens.

You gasp as the cool air hits you, but it quickly melts into a desolate whine when you feel his touch ghost up the back of your thigh.

“Look at you,” he muses, palms pulling on your cheeks to spread you open, giving your audience a firsthand glimpse of your mess. “So fucking pathetic, aren’t you, Peach? And all I’ve done is spank you.”

“Can’t…can’t help it, Sir,” you pant, steadying yourself on your hands and knees as your eyes flutter shut. “Just want you.”

“Oh you do, do you?” He kneads your bruised flesh with admiration. “Do you think you deserve it?”

You squirm a bit as you whimper, desperate to lean back into his touch before he lands another smack to your thigh, reminding you to stay still.

“Yes,” you finally answer, chin meeting your chest. “Wanna deserve it for you.”

You hear him chuckle under his breath as he allows his touch to travel toward your dripping pussy, large digit pushing through your folds just to make you mewl.

“I bet you do,” he replies, running up and down your cunt to collect you. Tease you. “But we have a deal, don’t we, honey?”

You want to kill him and kiss him all at the same time.

“Yes, Sir.”

“We do.” He pats you again, this time gently. “Go on and grab it, all right?”

With a nod, you outstretch your shaky hand for the object sitting on the bed only a few inches in front of you.

Already tender and slightly swollen from the way he played with you earlier (casually and much too cruel), you feel a rush of excitement as you hand him the chain.

After taking hold of it, he moves to sit in front of you, allowing him better access to the front of your body as he motions for you to sit back on your ankles.

“You ready?” he asks quietly, eyes flicking between yours as he looks for your consent.

You nod. “Always.”

With that, he reaches for your exposed tits and begins preparing your nipples for the clamps.

You swallow a dozen whines and whimpers as he works them shut, the subtle ache quickly dissolving into an immeasurable type of pleasure.

And he’s smiling so big, like he’s so proud of you. Proud of the way you look, proud of the way you feel, proud of the way you obey.

It makes the yearning in-between your thighs that much worse as he travels the other end of the chain down to your clit.

Once again, he plays with you. Drags his fingers up, down, and through to make you writhe, and make sure you’re ready.

Then, with great care but devious intent, he slips the clamp along the base of the sensitive nerves and secures it.

You choke on a gasp, body stilling as the sensation becomes a bit more familiar. It’s quite thrilling. Not painful, but prominent. Taunting you with its power as you glance down at the way it holds you.

Harry leans back to study you, carefully observing every pull of your brows or hitch in your breath. “You okay, Peach?”

You nod, lip sliding between your teeth.

He frowns. “Color.”

“Green,” you say quickly, nails digging into your thighs as you release a heavy exhale. “It’s just…new.”

His expression softens as he reaches out to grasp onto your chin and squeeze once. “I know, my love. But you’ll take it for me, won’t you?”

And you say, “Yes,” with so much adoration and excitement that it returns those dimples to you.

His eyes drift toward the computer, checking the status of the livestream you assume before he leans forward and presses his lips to yours. 

You know your faces aren’t in the frame, but it makes your heart pound nonetheless as he offers you a moment of his affection. 

“How’s your ass?” he mumbles between kisses to your bottom lip.

You nod gently and sigh into his mouth. “Good. Sore.”

And he chuckles as he sends you a devious wink. “Good.”

With that, he stands, and begins to undo his belt as he returns to his spot behind you. He doesn’t plan to be gentle today. Not for your first live appearance, and you’re grateful for his punishing hand as it ghosts down your spine, guiding you.

It travels between your thighs, tapping them briskly as a reminder to keep them spread as you bend back over.

And once you’ve braced yourself against the mattress, you feel those long, skilled fingers nudging at you again.

“Sir,” you whisper, desperate for the friction as he keeps his touch light, merely tracing patterns along your folds while humming to himself.

“Yes, Peach?”

You swallow thickly. “Please?”

“Please?” His thumb moves up to brush over your tighter hole, and you gasp again as you await any sort of contact. “Please what?”

“Please…please touch me?”

“Touch you,” he repeats thoughtfully, as if considering it. “I don’t know. Have you disobeyed any of my rules?”

With a quick shake of your head, you glance down at the duvet beneath you, the expensive fabric soft beneath your clenched fists.

“Have you used any naughty language?” he asks, the tip of his middle finger lowering to circle through your arousal. 

“No,” you breathe.

He begins to push in, leaving your other opening alone. At least for today. “Have you called me by the wrong name?”

Not aloud, you think, biting back a smirk as you murmur, “No, Sir.”

The digit travels a bit further, the feeling of him pushing past your tight walls like heroin as you reel.

“Have you taken your punishment like a good girl?” he inquires next, and you chew on the inside of your lip as you nod.

“Yes.”

And you can’t exactly see him, but you can practically hear his smirk as he suddenly adds a second finger in beside the first, just to surprise you.

“Yes,” he agrees. “You have. Been my perfect peach, haven’t you? Guess you’re showing off for them, hm? Letting them think you’re actually an obedient little cock-whore?”

And maybe you are showing off, at least a little, but it’s hard not to obey this man. He just makes it so…worth it.

“Yes,” you call again, desperate to please him. “Only for you, Sir.”

Suddenly, you feel his fist against your scalp, scraping through your roots as he furiously yanks, forcing your head up.

“Only for me,” he nearly seethes, dipping down to press his lips against your ear. “Want you to fucking say it. Every time I touch you. Every time I make you come. Want you to say it. Remind them who you really belong to.”

Apparently, having his initials glimmer from your nipples isn’t enough, but that’s more than all right with you.

You’ll happily vow your life to him as many times as he needs. Because there’s something empowering about having a man beg you to be his.

And for the first time since you’ve met him, you realize…you’re on the same ground. Equal partners. Equal power. 

You and him.

One.

With that instruction, he curls, now stroking and thrusting into you with a fervent need to force you up the mountain. 

“Only you,” you whisper between salacious moans for relief. “Only, Sir.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, smacking his other palm against your ass before groping at the tender skin. Soothing it and stimulating it at the same time.

The pace increases, faster and faster until you feel as though you can’t breathe. Until you’re trying to meet his rhythm by rocking back into his touch, but the hand on your hip holds you steady. Makes you patient. 

“Only you.” It’s almost inaudible, released through quivering lips as you begin to slip into your first. “Only you. Only…”

He plunges in to the knuckle, beckoning you toward your release as it hits you hard. Fireworks go off behind your eyes as you keen, sweat beading around your hairline, and chest heaving.

“God, only you,” you barely manage as you fight for air. “Just you, Sir. Always.”

He takes his fingers out, allowing the world to see your come drip along the insides of your thighs. And the loss of contact makes your chest ache as you whimper and peek over your shoulder for a glimpse of his face.

He’s smug. Because of course he is, endlessly pleased with the way you’ve come undone so quickly.

Wet digits quickly outstretch for your cheeks, pushing on your lips to accentuate your already obvious pout.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warns darkly. “You know better.”

You glance up at him with remorse and desperation, hoping your tiny hum will be enough to sway him. “M’sorry, Daddy.”

It’s the first time today you’ve used the nickname, and you watch the effect it has on him as he tightens his grip and scrapes his teeth together.

“Peach,” he grumbles, “don’t fucking test me. Not today.”

“I’m not. Promise. Just wanna feel you.”

And that’s the truth. It’s all you ever want. Want his cock, his time, his attention. Anything he’ll give you, and he knows this.

Because he wants you just as bad.

And maybe, if he had the strength, he’d punish you for this little game. He’d waste hours just making you wait for him. Tying you up, leaving you to beg, taunting you with something you can’t have.

But today, that would punish him, too. And you can see that he doesn’t have the capacity to go without you, not even for show.

So, he releases his hold on you only to land a very firm and sharp smack to your cheek. And it stings but it feels so good, forcing another groan as you lean back. 

“And you will,” he finally decides, settling behind you again as he begins to tug his pants down. “Gonna feel me for days, honey. Make sure you can’t fucking sit without thinking of me.”

Just the image of you in one of those boardroom meetings, legs still bruised and clenched tightly together as you sit for hours on end makes you gasp.

He’s gotten braver recently. Normally, he’s tame. Making you rest on his lap in the privacy of his office while he absentmindedly runs circles over your clit. Answering emails as he plays with you. Like it’s just an average workday.

But now he tries to tease you in public. In meetings, at lunch, when you’re apart. Making you sit with a remote-controlled toy deep inside your cunt during a meeting with the board of directors. Changing the tempo over and over again while forcing your silence. Leaving you to squirm in your seat as you silently beg him for mercy.

Sometimes he gives it to you. Most times…he does not.

You imagine this week will be no different. Especially after today. He always gets a bit more insatiable after the two of you have posted a video together. 

He’ll make you watch it in his office. His now favorite tradition. And the comments and response will encourage something in him that makes you giddy. Possessive yet proud. Like he wants to outdo himself next time. Make you come harder, longer, faster. Make everyone watching eat their fucking hearts out.

You feel the tip of his swollen cock brush down your folds, lazily rubbing against you as he alerts you of his presence.

Just the feel of him makes you breathless, back arching as you silently plead with him for more.

He won’t give it to you, at least not yet. Not until he’s had a chance to watch you soak him.

He presses his hand against it, trapping it to your cunt while gliding it through your arousal. Gentle thrusts that have you clenching around nothing until you hear him curse to himself.

“Beg me,” he calls, grasping onto your ass cheek to pull it apart, allowing him a better view. “Beg me to fuck you, Peach. Beg Daddy to make it better.”

“Please,” you comply instantly, a subtle quiver in your voice. “Please, Daddy. Need you. Need to feel you. Hurts.”

“Oh, honey,” he coos, finally circling the rim of your aching hole and pushing in only an inch just to pull back. “Bet it does. Know I’ve been teasing you all day, haven’t I?”

You whine again. “I deserved it. Always love it when you tease me.”

He chuckles under his breath, and you know you’ve made him proud. “That’s right. Know you do, my love. Because you know I just wanna make it better for you, hm?”

“I know.” You attempt to wiggle back into him, but his unrelenting grip keeps you frozen to your spot. “Always do, Sir. Always make it better.”

He slides in again, further this time, allowing your body to stretch for him. Then, he slides out, leaving you to wilt as you swallow a groan.

“And I always will,” he answers, knee knocking into your inner thigh as an instruction to spread your legs a bit further. “Just have to behave for me. Think you can do that, Peach? Think you can be good for me?”

And you’ve never wanted anything more, head nodding quickly before he finally thrusts into you with such power and dominance that it knocks the wind from your lungs.

Truth be told, you never know what you’re going to get with him. What rhythm will drive him. But you’ll take anything he offers. Because hard and slow or fast and eager…it’s perfect. Sets your nerves on fire and leaves you desperate and depraved.

The sounds of him pushing through and pulling out are sure to be captured by the microphone. You can’t see the computer, but you imagine the audience is loving it. They always seem to enjoy sounds as much as you do. And Harry’s sounds are the best.

Your quick breaths intertwine seamlessly with his unforgiving grunts. Like a melody for the soul, and you slowly slide down until your chest meets the mattress, although your ass stays up.

He seems to like this angle, nails scraping down your spine before he lands another smack to your cheek. “There she is.”

Both sets of clamps are stimulated as you’re pushed against the bed, making your eyes roll back every time he drives himself to the hilt.

The pain is delicious. Exactly what you’d needed, and just when you think it can’t get any better…he slips an arm around your stomach and forces you back up.

Instantly, his hand is on your throat, tugging your back into his chest as he settles you down on his cock. 

Dominant fingertips press into the sides of your neck, playing with your airways as you gasp. And for a moment, you are nothing more than his toy. Just a body for him to use, and the idea makes you clamp down on him until he groans and nuzzles his nose into your shoulder.

But you know it’s more to him than that. Know that you’re not just this thing for him to abuse and ruin. He wants to worship you. Treat your body like the divine gift it is, and even though this display of aggression is uncouth…it’s meant for you. To make you feel good. Everything he does is always for you.

“So good, baby,” he whispers, just quiet enough that only you can hear. “Fucking love the way you feel, Peach. Always so warm for me. So wet. My perfect hole.”

You shudder, nails reaching for his arm to scratch down his skin. Desperate to be even closer to him. 

His hand then drops to your chest, finding your breast and groping at it mercilessly as you cry out. The clamps are tugged, stimulating the rings, and forcing your back to arch. So many sensations are being exploited that it’s nearly impossible to think straight. Your mind is mush, focused only on one thing to keep from drowning:

Him.

“Wanna come, don’t you?” he taunts, now louder so the audience can hear. “Wanna come on my cock, so they see what I do to you?”

You nod quickly, unable to vocalize your agreement. But he doesn’t need it. He knows. Can read your body like a book, and it makes him smile into your heated skin.

“Good,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck before reaching down to undo the clamp around your clit. “Go.”

The moment the pressure is released, it hits you. Your toes curl, your eyes roll back, and you make so many noises, you wouldn’t be surprised if the people below Harry’s apartment can hear you.

He works you through each ripple and aftershock, perhaps hoping to send you into a third, but your body needs a moment to recharge. 

And this is more than fine with him because it gives him a bit more time to watch himself disappear into you. His favorite part.

You collapse in his hold, held up only by his strong arm that’s thankfully bare, allowing you to glance down at his tattoos.

He takes his shirt off for almost every video now. He knows that nobody will be able to recognize his tattoos, but he especially knows how much you love them. Love to lick them, trace them, stare at them.

Your perfect pastime, and you think this now as you grip onto his wrist and squeeze. 

He exhales into your shoulder before he’s suddenly cursing and pulling out, the sound of his slick cock slipping from your cunt making you whimper.

With a single pat to your hip, he growls, “On your back.”

You nearly throw yourself down onto the bed, finally able to face him fully as you’re met with the sight of his flushed cheeks.

He’s so beautiful when he’s turned on, and you feel nothing but grateful to be able to witness this sight firsthand. Even your audience is denied such a pleasure, and it makes it feel that much more special to you.

He pushes your legs apart and settles between your thighs, grasping onto his cock before guiding it toward your chest.

He never comes inside you on film. He claimed it was because they don’t deserve to see it, and you didn’t argue. You like the idea. Occasionally he’ll capture a short clip of the way he leaks out of your pussy, but it’s never posted. Instead saved just for the two of you to watch whenever you need.

So while you’ll miss feeling him inside of you today, you know that it’s worth it. You like that you get to keep something for just the two of you. You like this possessive side of him.

Love it, in fact.

Nodding at your breasts, he silently instructs you to grab them, to which you do, pushing them together as he brings his swollen and soaked cock closer.

Slowly, he slides between your tits, disappearing beneath the supple flesh as you both groan your approval.

He’s already seconds away from his own release, but he edges himself by fucking your tits for as long as he can. Staring wordlessly at the way he looks beside his initials on your nipples.

“Fuck, Peach,” he breathes, brows knitted together as his jaw clenches. “Like it like this, don’t you? Like it when I come like this?”

And you do, a soft sough of agreement all you can offer as you look down at the way his tip pokes through the valley you’ve created. The contrast of his pink flesh against your skin is beautiful. Artful, even. And it makes you smile, wider than you have all day.

His pace is slow, allowing you to feel the slickness paint your chest before he’s suddenly tensing, the muscles in his stomach contracting quickly.

You await his offering eagerly, practically panting as you watch him run his palm along his cock before he’s releasing all over your torso and chest. 

He falls forward, bracing himself with a hand beside your head while you throw your arms around his neck to keep him close.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper as he milks the last few drops. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You feel a shiver roll across his body at your comment before he’s smashing his lips into yours, dancing his relieved sighs across your tongue. 

It takes a good minute or two for you both to find your bearings, but once you have, he reaches toward the nightstand where the remote lies.

Aiming it at the camera, he clicks a couple of buttons, and the red light turns off, signaling that the livestream has ended.

Now alone in his massive bedroom, he grins down at you. “My sweet fucking girl. Did so well for me, honey.”

You bask in his praise, nuzzling your nose against his before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That was fun. Like it when you fuck my tits.”

“Yeah?” He’s smirking again, palm now smacking against your breast just to watch it jiggle. “Good. ’Cause I don’t plan to stop.”

Your arms snake tighter around his neck until he’s forced to lay his chest against yours. “Think they liked it?”

“I know they did,” he murmurs, face disappearing into your neck as he breathes you in, sweaty or not. “They love you, Peach. You’re so good to them.”

You press your lips into his hair.

“You’re good to me, too,” he adds quietly, sliding his hand across your body until he can hold onto you. “Always so fucking good. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

A sort of flutter happens in your stomach as you squeeze him tighter. “Ditto.”

You stay there for a few minutes at least, teetering on the verge of sleep before Harry declares you need to get clean. 

He scoops you up and carries you to his large bathtub, dipping you into the warm water once it’s ready and settling himself on the other side to face you.

You talk for what feels like hours, until you’re pruned, and the bubbles have disappeared. You go over the scene, go over what you think the comments will be, and even go over his schedule for the upcoming work week.

It’s weird the way you’ve managed to balance the relationship of boss and lover. You’re able to distinguish the two and create the appropriate boundaries. Making it easier to work together without driving each other nuts.

 Something else you’re grateful for.

You stare at his wet abs as he talks, smiling to yourself as you admire every curve of his stomach, and every nipple he has to offer.

He splashes some water at you when he realizes before grabbing hold of your ankles and sliding your closer.

You kiss until you can’t breathe, and life feels really good.

Really fucking good.

Once you’re out and dried, you make your way back to his bedroom to make sure everything from the livestream is in order.

You scroll through a few of the responses together, making mental notes of what to do next time. And once you’re both in agreement that everything looks good, he adds it to your shared profile.

Appropriately titled,

Peaches and Cream.

I have no excuse for this or explanation, I'm just gonna blame it on the sick meds I took 🙃

I already miss them but I'm absolutely going to be doing some extras and maybe that'll make it not hurt so much 😭💞

Thank you to everyone who's read and been so kind and supportive!!! You have my entire heart forever and ever, I cannot tell you how appreciative I am 🥹♥️ This has been so fun!!

Peaches and Cream forever!!

Previous Part:

~ Four to Go*

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @narry-heart @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @likeapplejuicenpeach @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever @saturnheartz @finelinesss

#harry #harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan #harry styles request #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles smut #harry styles series #smut #concept #ceo!harry #ceorry #one for the money #one for the moneyrry #harry and peach #peaches and cream

[xxshujiswhorexx]

Baby Bunny~

(Chapter 1)

Vox x Reader; Valentino x Reader; Alastor x Reader; maybe Lucifer x Reader

After your untimely death, Mr Vox was kind enough to take you in and give you a job as his assistant. However, it appears that you’ve caught the eyes of few other demons, who are certainly not afraid of a little competition…

Frankly, Vox was a stressed out man.

Endless meetings to attend, scripts to review, and catastrophes to clean up; very little could consistently relax the poor man. Luckily, one of these particular vices just happened to be readily available; you.

Oh, how he loved to watch you flit around his offices, big floppy ears twitching with concentration, large brown eyes peering up at him, searching for approval and validation. It almost made him feel guilty, the way you obeyed his every beck and call.

Regardless, your presence had become a somewhat comforting one in his workplace, ever since you had the unfortunate fall from earth following your untimely death. Your loyalty to the overlord only made sense, given his boundless generosity towards you, providing you with a job as his personal assistant, as well as a small flat inside his studio.

Thus, when he discovered that Valentino had decided to send you on an ‘errand’, he was less than pleased. Of course, you with your unbridled kindness and timidity couldn’t even think of refusing such a request, despite the sex maniac holding no legitimate power over you. So, off you went, suddenly feeling rather exposed in your open white blouse and tight leather skirt (a favourite outfit of Mr Vox), as you wandered through Pentagram City, glancing back occasionally at the directions that Mr Valentino had so graciously provided.

All of a sudden, you feel yourself slam into something, or more aptly, someone. Your nose begins to twitch in fear of the consequences, knowing full well the cruelty of the sinner residing in the area. Peering up at the stranger with teary eyes, you mumble an apology, and pull yourself back up on shaky legs.

“Not to worry, my dear! Accidents happen, of course! Although, you really should watch where you are walking, darling.”

The static in his voice, almost tangible, sends shivers down your spine, his glowing eyes intensely staring into your own, as if to bear witness to your very soul.

“How rude of me, I neglected to introduce myself. I’m Alastor, darling, the Radio Demon.”

The man, Alastor, extends a hand to greet you, but the mention of his title causes you to freeze, and flinch away in fear. The demon’s smile strains in reaction, appearing confused and mildly offended.

“T-the Radio Demon? M-Mr Vox said I’m not allowed to speak to you..”

Alastor’s grin tightens at this comment, his snarl baring gums, yet he chooses to feign ignorance.

“My dear, it’s impolite to not return a greeting.”

Due to the mild threat in his tone, you reluctantly tell him your name, your bunny ears twitching in fear, as you look up at him.

“Now, my dear bunny, wherever were you off to on this fine morning?”

“Mr Valentino w-wanted me to s-speak to Angel Dust about his s-supposedly ‘poor work ethic’. S-so, I was h-hoping to find him at the Hazbin Hotel..” you trail off, unsure of how much information you could safely disclose.

But Alastor’s grin only brightens at the news.

“Well, my dear, you’re in luck! I was just about to head over there myself!” With that, he pulls you closer to him, evoking a surprised yelp from you, and wraps his arm tightly around your waist, setting off at a brisk pace.

Alastor hums a jolly tune, seemingly ignorant to your struggles in keeping up with his quick pace, almost being dragged along. Finally, once you had reached your destination, he finally releases you, this time choosing to grab you by your arm. But, for some reason, he chooses to spare a moment, and look you over.

You stood a fair bit shorter than him, having to crane your neck to meet his eyes, but furthermore you were simply trembling with fear. Your nose was twitching, your floppy ears fluttering with anxiety, and your doe eyes refusing to meet his gaze.

You truly were just adorable. Oh, he was going to have fun breaking you.

And with that, he flung open the hotel doors, the action catching you off guard, as you jump again.

“Awfully jumpy today, my dear? Why, is everything alright?” He asks with a condescending grin.

“Just peachy, Mr Alastor.” You manage to mumble out a reply, starting to overcome your fear of the radio demon.

“Now, now, you mustn’t lie, my darling. But, trust me, you have nothing to fear here.” He draws you closer again, his clawed hand playing with your hair, as you looked up with a tight frown. Once he got bored of your lack of reaction, he decided to switch his focus, petting your bunny ears. This action caught you off guard, their sensitivity causing you to whimper, bringing a hand to your mouth to stifle your noises. Alastor’s grin grew ever wider, finding a new way to push your buttons. He increases pressure on his ministrations, causing you to yelp as your jelly legs gave out and you collapsed against his chest. He finally relents in favour of hoisting you back up onto your shaky legs and wobbly knees, forcing a whine from you at the loss of contact. He chuckles darkly at your compliance, your passive nature truly pleasing him. Perhaps he should keep you around; that truly would annoy Vox… but that’s a thought for another day. For now, he needed to build trust in you.

“Toots? What are ya doin here, cutie?”

Angel’s New York drawl fills the room, his voice full of concern.

“M-Mr Val sent me, Angie. Please, I-I don’t want you to get hurt…” your eyes well up at the thought of poor Angel’s contract, as he rushes over to hold you.

“I just came to warn you, Angie. Mr Val isn’t pleased. He’s mad at you, and he’s gonna make it hard for you. P-please, Angie, come back, for your own sake. I miss you…” you trail off, sniffling.

“I know ya do cutie, and it’s ok that big V’s mad at me. I can take it, sugar. But, toots, what about you? Does Vox know ya here? He’s gon be real mad that you been hanging with smiles over there.” Angel rebukes you, concerned for your own wellbeing.

“M-Mr Val said he’d tell Me Vox that he’d sent me on an errand for him, so I think I’ll be fine…”

“Sure, toots, whateva ya say.” He pulled you in for a tight hug, as you buried your head in his chest fluff.

Angel seemed a lot happier now. You were glad that he had begun to escape Mr Val’s clutches.

“Angel, who’s this?” A chipper voice interrupted your thought, as you were greeted by a tall blonde girl, who seemed ecstatic to see you.

“Charlie, this is Y/N. She’s Vox’s assistant and just came ta check up on me. Y/N, this is Princess Charlie Morningstar; she runs this shitty hotel where I’m stayin.”

Suddenly aware that you were in front of Royalty, you bowed nervously and squeaked out a greeting. Your timidness was met with aws and statements of your cuteness, causing your face to darken slightly out of embarrassment.

“Well isn’t she just adorable! Now my dear friends and guests, I believe I should be escorting our dear bunny back to her workplace. After all, we wouldn’t want your boss to worry about, would we? “

You gulped at Alastor’s words, nodding your head vigorously, as he once again, grabbed you by the arm and began marching away.

“See ya, cutie! Come visit sometime!” Angel yelled as you left.

“Bye-bye, Angie! I’ll definitely come see you again!”

And with that, you set off towards the entertainment district.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox #vox x reader #valentino #valentino x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #reader insert #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #smut #hazbin hotel smut #bunny!reader #this was fun to write #I’m so in love with Christian borle #and Vox ig

[electronicwitchcollection]

~*Grimmjow Smut*~

“One bed trope” & Rutting/breeding

The Quincy war had ended. Soul society had began rebuilding from the ruins, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Buildings had been rebuilt, the 13 divisions coming together in unity after the destruction and loss you all endured. The new head captain, previous captain of the 8th, Shunsui Kyoraku, had led the shinigami into the new world created. Along with the new found peace, soul society had gained some new recruits. One of them being the former Espada, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques.

A brutally gruff man with a lethally short temper and a thirst for battle that rivalled that of Captain Kenpachi. After his efforts in support of the war and the glowing recommendations given by war hero Kisuke Urahara, he had been granted a place in the goeti 13 court guards.

Unfortunately, due to your inability to say no and your constant need to appease your superiors, you had been landed with the gruelling task of "teaching Grimmjow the ropes" so to speak. The arrancar had seemed just as disappointed by this match up as you were. Arms permanently crossed over his muscular chest, he had spent the majority of the past three days of your journey glaring at you. Which was preferable to the snide comments and rumbling growls he otherwise offered you.

You couldn't wait to make it back to the Seireitei, the last leg of your journey should have you arriving back by late morning tomorrow. You would suggest walking through the night to end the painful silence sooner, if not for the angry black clouds rolling closer at a rapid pace. The temperature had lowered considerably, your brisk walking thankfully warming you sufficiently. You pulled the map from your sash, eye brows furrowed as you came to a stop and tried to figure out how far away you were from the inn you had reserved for the night.

"how much longer?" your unwilling companion grumbled from behind you. Fighting the urge to throw the map at his head, you concentrated on the markings.. it's going to be at least another three hours of Mr. Sunshine's radiant personality.

"Are you deaf, woman?! "  Grimmjow growled, testing your patience "How much longer? It's going to rain soon" 

Folding the map back up, you took your time placing it securely in your sash as the winds picked up around you. The fact that you were waiting until you were finished before addressing the crude brute, was less about the efficiency of securing your map and more because you enjoyed making him wait. "About three hours Grimmjow. Four if you keep wasting time bitching" 

"I ain't bitching! It's gunna rain! " he roared at your retreating back, you started back on your journey, not waiting to see if he would follow

"aww, is the kitty scared of a little rain?" You unkindly teased over your shoulder. You heard the rumble deep in his chest, clearly about ready to snap

"I ain't scared of nothing!" such eloquent grammar the Espada exhibited. "Damn bitch, can't you feel the storm coming? Fucking weak shiningami" 

"Listen, Grimmjow, the longer you stand there arguing with me, the longer we'll be stuck in the storm you're so desperately trying to avoid "  you turn to face him, started a little by how he looked. He looked frenzied. Blue hair sticking out as though he had been running his fingers through it. His skin looked clammy and flushed, face had a dull pink tinge, unlike the brilliant red you had witnessed during a screaming rampage. His arms tensed at his sides, bulging biceps trembling minutely as his fists opened and closed in tight fists.

His eyes looked wild. The brilliant blue seemed faded with an animalistic sheen. Blown pupils darted around erratically, avoiding looking straight at you. He must really hate getting wet. The fight left you at the sight of him. Sighing, you offer an alternative, as much as he was getting on your last neves, it really wasn't in you to be intentionally cruel, "there's a trapper shack about fifteen minutes up the side road. It won't be as nice as the inn, but providing there's no one there we should be able to survive one night" 

He clenched his jaw, offering you a tight nod. Taking the hint, you resumed your leading, teetering off the main road to follow the dusty beaten path.

—————————————————

"you've got to be kidding me"

You weren't some materialistic princess, you could slum it with the best of them. Getting your hands dirty had never phased you. The state of the shack, however, was pushing it. The howling wind ripped through the barely held together shack, forcing its way through the rotting wooden slats. Every inch of the place was covered in a sheet of dust, the muddy floor held long forgotten footprints of past hunters. A sooty fire pit sat in the middle of the room, jagged rocks forming a wobbly circle, small hole in ten roof above to allow ventilation for the smoke.

There was a helpful pile of dried logs near the beaten door, clawing onto its hinges desperately. The one saving grace, as it had been pelting down with heavy rain the past ten minutes, the chance of you finding any dry wood outside was slim to absolutely fucking impossible. What made your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach, however, was the single bed pushed into the corner of the room. Thin blanket messily thrown over the questionably stained mattress, two pillows long since lost their plump plush. Two Tatami mats pushed against the opposite wall, probably stoping the wall from tumbling over.

"move" Grimmjow pushed his way into the shack, nudging your shoulder harshly. Shaking him self, not dissimilar to the way a dog would rid its fur of water. Grimmjow looked around the room, Unphased by the grimy appearance. He scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes. "Not up to your standards princess? "  he sneered in your direction, foot kicking the rocks around the fire pit. "Afraid you'll break a nail?"

You roll your eyes, refusing to engage in his snappy remarks. Closing the door behind you, silently pleading with it to stay standing at least til morning, you reached down to grab a couple of different sized logs. Stacking them near the fire pit, you pulled off your backpack, digging through your preserves to find your flint and steel and a pouch of dry kindling.

Kneeling onto the cold ground, you arranged the kindling into a loose pile, striking the flint and steel sending sparks into the bundle. When glowing embers caught, you lifted the pile to your mouth, blowing steadily until a small flame licked to life. Satisfied you began placing twigs into a teepee, watching as they caught light. Silently to built up the pile until a controlled fire crackled in the middle of the room, giving off its roaring heat.

Grimmjow had leaned himself against the wall, arms folded over his chest. Legs crossed at the ankles, he had been staring at you, watching as you created fire.

"No thanks Grimmjow, I don't need any help. Thanks for asking"  You sarcastically remark. The answering scoff you received at least let you know sarcasm was something even hollows understood. Too tired to cook yourself a meal, you pulled out some jerky and a pre-made rice ball for your dinner. Grimmjow didn't need anything to eat. While, you discovered, he could eat human food, he could also be satisfied by chomping down on smaller hollows.

That was a sight you wouldn't forget in a hurry. The animalistic way he leaped at the hollows you had encountered earlier in the day. Sharp teeth ripping into the flesh of the howling beasts with a sadistic grin on his face. Grimmjow swallowing those mouthful's of hollow flesh was something else entirely.

Banning the memory from your mind so not to completely ruin your appetite, you moved to sit on the bed, trying not to think about what that stain was. Grimmjow hadn't moved from his space as far away from you as the cabin allowed. Mindlessly chewing at your food, your eyes started to wander. His fingers had gripped into his biceps, the indents pushed into the flesh looked painful. He kept shifting his weight between his feet, crossing and uncrossing his ankles.

Your chewing slowed as you regarded him. You were in from the rain, drying nicely from the heat provided by the fire. So why did he look just about ready to claw his own skin off? Perhaps he was dreading the sleeping arrangements as much as you were

"so" you started the awkward conversation after swallowing the last of your light meal. He tilted his chin into your general direction at your conversation starter "how are we doing this?"

He jerked his head fully to you then, eyes widened "we ain't doing anything" his husky voice rumbled. It was your turn to tilt you head, this time in confusion

"sleeping arrangements? There's only one bed" you emphasised the point by tapping the bed below you. You see the realisation dawn on his face before pushing it away with a sneer. You couldn't fathom what he could've been so worried about

"pfft, you take it, don't wanna hear your bitching all night if you had to sleep on the floor." Grimmjow moved to the tatami mats leaning against the wall, throwing them unceremoniously to the ground with a thud. You were pleased to see they weren't hiding a gaping hole in the wall. Grimmjow fell backwards onto the mat, crossing his arms under his head and stared at the wooden roof.

Not letting the comment slide, you picked up one sorry excuse for a pillow, throwing it harder than necessary to flop anticlimactically on Grimmjow's stomach. You received a growl for your efforts. Throwing a couple more robust logs on the fire to ensue heat for hopefully the whole night, you felt confident to change into your sleeping gown and not freeze to death. While it showed more skin than your regulation issued shinigami uniform and as much as you didn't relish in the thought of rolling about on that dirty mattress all night with more on show, you hated the confines of clothing while you slept. You would just have to scrub extra hard in your bath the next day.

Locating your gown in your backpack, you climbed under the covers to change, folding up your uniform neatly and laying it atop your bag. Though it would've been easier staying dry in a shower, you snuggled under the blanket trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. The raging storm outside helped ease you into blissful unconsciousness, hoping that by morning the storm would've passed along with Grimmjows pissy mood

You wouldn't hold your breath though

——————————————————

When your eyes snapped open way too soon for it yet to be morning, you had first assumed it was the storm still raging outside that had woken you up. You remained staring at the wall, not wanting to risk waking Grimmjow, less you wanted to deal with his moody ass at being woken. The fire was still breathing, judging by the heat at your back. You listened to the usual sounds of the storm, rumbling thunder in the distance, they ruthlessly pelting rain hitting the roof, howling wind whipping through the trees. Yet sleep avoided you.

That's when you heard the shuffle of clothes rubbing together and a throaty grunt. You roll your eyes, of course the bastard moved around in his sleep. You tried to force yourself back to sleep, but the noises never stopped. You could hear his knuckles crack as they gripped the side of the tatami mat, puff of air escaping the spongy padding.

He squirmed around noisily, small grunts and husky grumbles accompanying his heavy breathing. You sigh loudly, the room stilling. A pregnant pause followed. Pleased with the silence you closed your eyes again, trying to drift off.

A chesty rumble and a thump that sounded suspiciously like a fist hitting the mat had you flipping over, leaning up on your elbow to glare at the Espada "Grimmjow, what the hell are you doing?" 

"Nothing". He tightly snapped at you, lacking the usual hostility. He stared at the roof, refusing to look at you "go back to fucking sleep" 

"I can't, with all your moving around and grunting."  You try not to sound condescending, but really, who could sleep through all that racket. "What's the problem? Are you cold or something? I could put another log on the fire..?"

"Its rutting season" he growled out deeply, voice so thick and sticky he almost choked on the words... Rutting season? Oh. Oh  That'll explain the frenzied look he sported earlier. You were at a loss of what to say, what could you say? Shinigami didn't go through anything so animalistic

"can't you just..? Ignore it?" You ask, ignorance showing

"The fuck do you think I'm doing?" He snapped at you, patience clearly wearing thin

"making a fucking racket" you grumble back "can't you.. step outside.. take care of it?"

He snorted at your suggestion, legs moving around on the mat "damn shinigami, don't know nothing." 

"we don't have rutting seasons"  you reminded him softly

"It don't fucking work like that. Hands don't work. I gotta knot in a pussy" the crass wording had you sucking in a sharp breath. Not quite the civilised conversation you were anticipating, yet the next words sent a rush of heat rushing through you hotter than the fire itself "so unless your offering, shut the fuck up an go back to sleep"

Offering? To have sex with him? What an absurd notion. And yet... Grimmjow was good looking.. in a demented "I'll murder you and everyone you love" kinda way. Tall and with enough rippling muscles for three men. A cocky grin with surprisingly intriguingly sharp canines. While usually spitting insults, his voice was deep and sultry. And his hair, such an unusual colour, yet it fit him so perfectly.

It had been a while since you had indulged in that cardinal desire, your throbbing cunt attested to that. You could help him out.. if only to finally get some peace and quiet enough to go back to sleep.

"Alright, I'll help you" your voice sounded strained to your own ears. Grimmjow sat up suddenly at your words, staring at you as though you sprouted another head

"the fuck you just say?" Utter bewilderment filled his voice, lilt of eagerness filtering through

"I said, alright"it pained you to admit it, twice. "I won't be able to get any damn sleep until you stop moving around" 

Grimmjow pounced across the room, literally leaping through the air and landing easily on your bed. Feverish hands ripped off your blanket, eliciting a squeak of surprise from you at his eager haste. Rough large hands ripped your gown from your body, jagged line separating the cloth covering your body. You glared at him, for ruining your favourite sleeping gown. He payed not attention, throwing the scraps of ruined material over the side of the bed.

He had a crazed look in his eyes, taken over with the animalistic urge to mate. His chest heaved with heavy breaths as he removed his own top, you noticed how he didn't rip his clothing. Surging forward Grimmjow buried his nose into your neck, inhaling deeply. Your scent filled his nostrils, eliciting a rumbling deep from his chest. You cry out as he bit down brutally, sharp teeth sinking into the flesh where neck joins shoulder.

His hips bucked against your covered core at the tang of blood seeping through to his tongue, deep rumbling escaping around the mouthful of neck he had in his mouth, reminding you of the purr of a cat. A big fucking cat. Mercifully releasing you, he swiped a strong, hot lick against the wound, cleaning up the drops of blood pulled out. Seemingly finished marking you, Grimmjow pushed away his pants, large cock bobbing heavily between you. Your eyes went wide at the sight, throat drying painfully.

He was huge. While similar to that of humans, it was bigger than any you had previously seen, by quite a few generous inches. And thick, you wouldn't be able to close your hand around the veiny girth to touch your fingertips. You couldn't tell if the weight appearing in your lower stomach was from dread or lustful excitement at the knowledge it would soon be inside you.

Ignoring your inner turmoil, Grimmjow ripped your panties off you next, throwing the scrap of material to join the rest. Angry retort died on your lips as he surged forward, attempting to thrust into you

"wait!" You nearly scream, holding him back by planting your hands firmly on his chest, twisting your leg to cover your opening. He gave you a warning growl, hand gripping your thigh roughly to move it back from denying him access, crazed instincts telling him to mount. The punch to the jaw you delivered brought him back to his senses some what

"what?" He asked through clenched teeth, finally making eye contact

"you can't just force it in" you said pointedly, glancing down at the angry purpling head of his dick. He gave you a questioning look, head tilted to the side in a feline manor. "You got to get me wet first"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, crawling down your body he crouched down to be eye level with your core, before spitting loudly straight onto your cunt. You felt the hot liquid hit you, and recoiled at the grotesque action. Your mind almost short circuited when he tried again to mount you. You planted a foot on his chest this time, pushing him back.

"fucking now what?!" he almost roared at you, getting frustrated at being denied what had already been offered.

"not like that ,you brute!"

"fucking woman! You said wet, that's wet!" He let out his frustration by pushing against your leg planted on his chest

"We aren't naturally wet inside, Grimmjow. We need to be stimulated by foreplay,". You spoke to him slowly, like teaching a child "you need to use your fingers or tongue to stretch me, your dick will rip me otherwise " you begrudgingly add, he definitely didn't need the ego boost of knowing he was very well endowed. He caught the meaning anyway, cocky smirk making a reappearance on his face. "Try and make me actually want to fuck you, for fucks sake" you add exasperated, flopping back onto the pillow.

This time you allowed him to remove your foot from his chest, letting it fall to the side, opening up your thighs. His wet, warm tongue suddenly tasted you in a steady lick up the slit of your cunt. You sigh, letting your eyes close to savour the feelings, letting yourself relax enough to enjoy it. He repeated the action, delving in between your folds a little more with every lick.

Grimmjow let his mouth salivate at the new taste, his animalistic side relishing in the musky taste of a mate. Letting his spit slide down onto his tongue to leave on your silky hot folds. A breathy moan escapes you, shooting straight to Grimmjows throbbing, neglected cock. He gave an answering growl, plunging his tongue deep into your depths, patience slowly but surly hitting their limits.

He needed to start rutting, and soon. Your own natural lubricant began coating his tongue, setting his tastebuds alight with the heady taste. Pushing his face in deeper, chasing the slightly salty tang, his nose brushed against something that made you jerk below him with a loud moan. He pulled out of you, lower face dampened by his sloppy work, in search for what made you call out.

At the top of your dusky pink cunt was a small protruding bump, inquisitively, he brushed his finger against it. Another moan ripped from you, back arching from the bed, thrusting your hips up encouragingly. Grimmjow rubbed against it again, getting the same reaction.

Not letting up on his thumb pressing against the little button that had you bucking like a bitch in heat, Grimmjow shoved two fingers inside you roughly. He could feel your tight inner walls sucking around his fingers, clenching them tightly. Thrusting them in and out quickly, gaining hardly any give in your vice like grip, Grimmjow sped up his movements, practically punching his knuckles either side of his submerged digits into the soft flesh on your pussy.

You writhed beneath him, pleasure outshining the pain he inflicted on your sensitive mound. A steady stream of appreciative moans left your lips, turning into keening groans as he added another finger, stretching you out in preparation for his even larger phallic. Lost in a sea of contradictory feelings, you didn't feel your orgasm approaching until it crashed over you, pulling you deeper into a spiral of blind bliss.

Grimmjow felt the sudden gush of liquid on his fingers, getting pushed out messily by his thrusting fingers. First he sneered, assuming you had disgustingly wet yourself, pissing all over his hand. Until his sensitive nose picked up the scent, the same heady musk he had tasted from within you. Mouth watering, wanting to taste the tangy substance once more, Grimmjow removed his soaked fingers, going straight to the source to drink down the glistening wetness.

Lust filled fog lifted slowly from your mind, feeling Grimmjow greedily lap at your spasming Cunt, you tried to push his head away. Grimmjow possessively growled into you, gripping your thighs to stop you denying him his reward.

"Grimmjow" you called to him to no prevail, he ignored your voice, lapping at you hungrily. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging sharply. Like a cornered beast he pinned you to the bed by your wrists, staring challengingly into your eyes with a predatory look. His mouth was wet with your arousal, you could smell your scent on his chin as he tumbled above you in warning.

"Grimmjow," you tried again, submissively lowering your tone, whispering meekly. "You need to leave it wet, so you don't hurt me with your cock"

The mention of his cock seemed to remind him of the aching member hanging heavily between you. Releasing you with a huff, Grimmjow fisted himself, groaning at the full tug he gave himself. Lining up with your centre, he pushed in swiftly, burying himself as deep as he could go, stopping only when the engorged head of his dick bumped against your cervix. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, painfully stretching you beyond your limits. Your inner walls protested at the too big invasion, squeezing painfully around it.

Tears stung your eyes, mouth gasping to pull air into your lungs. It was too big, too much to handle. Grimmjow didn't allow you any time to adjust to the size, rutting his hips into you feverishly, cardinal desire to breed consuming his mind. You felt the burn as his rigid cock dragged against your walls, pushing against them unbending. Small sparks of pleasure tried to push through the overwhelming stretch, Grimmjow hitting every sweet spot mercilessly with each frenzied thrust. You concluded he was too big, too thick to miss, accuracy wouldn't be needed.

Grimmjows chest rumbled with a constant primal gravel. Pupils blown wide, the Panthera focused his gaze on the vivid bite mark on your neck. Powerful hips thrusted into you cruelly, chasing after his cardinal need to procreate. Dipping his head, Grimmjows lips found the swell of your breast, sucking the soft flesh into his mouth to clamp his teeth into. The cry you gave only spurred him on to leave his mark. The jagged tenth of his broken hollow mask scraped against your nipple, spike of pleasure burst through the pain.

At your whimper Grimmjow released you, deranged look in his eyes. You flinched when he lowered himself to your face, tilting your head to the side as a strained moan ripped from your throat. Half expecting another bite, your eyes closed, bracing for the new flash of pain. Instead of the sharp bite, you felt his tongue drag slowly up your cheek. The saltiness from your sweat flavoured your skin, Grimmjow hungrily sought out the delicacy, licking at your face protectively.

Rutting instincts being satisfied, the demented haze lessened enough for Grimmjow to filter through is own thoughts and wants. Seeing you panting beneath him, squirming in pleasure, face screwed up in painful bliss was a beautiful sight. But it wasn't what he wanted, what the alpha demanded of his willing mate.

The rough withdrawal of his dick had you gasping at the reprieve, legs fell flat to the bed heavily,muscles twitching in protest. The gap in the brutal penetration was short lived, however, when Grimmjow used his superior strength to throw you to your stomach. Equilibrium fighting to right itself, two large hands gripped painfully into your hips, forcibly dragging you to your knees. Round ass held in the air, glistening cunt on full display for his viewing pleasure.

The Espada slid his hand up the length of your back, cupping the back of your neck to push your face into the mattress. Pushing your hair away from the most delicate part of your neck, portraying the Vulnerable submission the alpha so desperately seeked. He thrusted his dick back into your dripping heat, claiming his mate.

Your back arched at the reappearance of his cock stretching you sinfully. Groaning with the wet slapping of skin meeting skin. Fingers dug into the fleshy part of your ass, kneeling the swell in his palms. Grimmjow had his eyes fixated on the way your ass rippled with every thrust, his cock disappearing into your hot, tight hole. Your wetness spraying out with every plunge, wetting his lower stomach and thighs.

The smell was intoxicating, addicting. Breathing deep he could almost taste the musky aroma, eliciting a feline hiss. His hands spread your ass cheeks revealing your puckered hole. Spitting loudly he watched as his saliva trickled down the valley between your cheeks, sliding over that hidden hole. Using a finger to gather the moisture, not wanting you to bitch at him again, the arrancar pushed his way through the tight ring of muscles.

You yelped at the sudden intrusion, spent body easily accepting the new addition as you laid heavily into the mattress. His brutal thrusts hadn't let up through his curious exploration, steadily pushing you further towards the most natural of highs. Grimmjows chest swelled with pride of having calmed both of your holes, muscles squeezing devilishly tight.

The heat encasing his cock was driving him wild, with feral intensity, the instincts to breed filled him. Slipping from your ass, he gripped your hips bruisingly, snapping you back onto his rutting cock brutally. The pleasure filled scream you have had his balls tightening. He could feel the knot forming in the middle of his dick, getting caressed by the tight velvety walls with each drag of his impressive length

"m'gunna fill you full of pups" he growled out, panting harshly "gunna fill your cunt with my seed" 

You scream out in pleasure, the knot forming inside you pushing against your already straining walls, rubbing roughly against your pleasure spot hidden away in your depths. "Your mine" the growled word's emphasised with increasingly powerful thrusts. A hand left your hip, wrapping it around your throat to pull you back into a painful bend. "My mate" 

Sharp teeth sunk into the back of your neck, latching on viciously. Hot pants forced through his teeth, heating up the bruising skin trapped in their hold. A bright light burst from behind your eyes as you descended into euphoric darkness. Violent tremors raked through your body as you convulsed around the dick forcing you into the most powerful orgasm you had ever endured. The strong hold on your neck the only thing keeping you from spiralling into the darkness threatening to pull you under.

The impossibly tight, the cunt surrounding his cock clamped down. Grimmjow erratically rutted into you in short bursts, knot no longer allowing him to pull out from your sopping channel. The knot snapped in a painful burst, seed rushing from him in blinding pleasure. The Panthera released the hold his teeth had on your neck to yowl loudly into the room. Hips stilling as his seed erupted inside you, filling you with his hot cum.

The lustful instinct to mate melted away at his release. Control over his mind filtered back slowly, allowing him to see the state he had left you in. Angry teethmarks sat proudly at the back of your neck. Slumped forward in his hold, your sweat soaked body hung limply, raggedly sucking in desperate breaths.

Laying himself across your back, Grimmjow Manoeuvered you both to lay down on the small bed on your sides. Knotted cock still buried deep inside you, Grimmjow moulded himself to your back, wrapping his arm around you protectively. On the brink of sleep you squirm, wincing at the pinch in your abused pussy caused by the pull of the knot keeping him in.

"stay still" his gruff voice held a semblance care, large hand soothing over the bruises left by his fingers on your hips "y'gotta let it go down or it'll rip ya apart"

Your body pushed to the brink of what it could take started to shiver, muscles periodically twitching as they relaxed. Thinking you were cold, Grimmjow grabbed the sorry excuse for a blanket, draping it over you. Head buried in your neck, Grimmjow soothed the marks left there with his tongue, methodically licking over the wounds, soothing the dull throbbing.

Arm wrapped protectively around you, slowly deflating cock nestled deeply within you, you fell into unconsciousness with Grimmjows cool tongue lapping at your skin. Satisfied you were cleaned up enough, Grimmjow tightened the hold he had on you, savouring the feel of his cock being warmed by your hole, full to the brim with his seed. Burying his head in your hair, letting your smell fill his senses as he joined you in sleep he so desperately needed, whispering a single word as he succumbed to the pull

"mine"

#bleach #bleach fandom #bleach fanfiction #grimmjow x you #grimmjow x reader #grimmjow smut #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #bleach smut #bleach x reader

[wandaslullaby]

Venomous Trap | Wanda M

summary: wanda does something sinful to get you obey her

18+ DNI

a/n: hey! i'm back ish. i decided that i want to continue this series and voila, here is another little fic that gets the story going. hope you all like it and if you have any ideas or any drabbled about bunny and wanda, send me an ask :)

warnings: fingering, downgrading, humiliation kink, mommy kink

masterlist

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It was a dream. It had to be a dream. There was no way that you got inappropriate with a teacher. This wasn't like you but somehow your cunt was already leaking at the sight of Wanda’s tits. You’d never think a woman would have such beautiful breasts but, then again, you weren’t really sure of anything. 

Waking up that next morning to find a slightly alarming email that you are failing English got you shaken. You never failed a class, in fact, you were top of your classes and English was your strong suit. 

It didn’t make sense. 

Since you didn’t have classes until noon, you decided to go and speak to your councillor. Before you entered the office, you noticed Wanda leaning against the door. 

“Hello, bunny.” Wanda purred, staring at your legs. “Who are you showing off for?” 

You froze and felt the inside of your feet curl. Wanda was not only in your view but she purposely shoved her tits right near your face. Just a centimetre apart and Wanda’s hair tickling your nose, you immediately crossed your legs and looked away.

“Such a rude bunny. Not staring at your mummy’s tits.” Wanda whispered, kneeling down lower. “You weren’t as shy when you were latching onto them.”

You gulped when Wanda raised her voice, earning stares from other students. 

“Are you not going to say hello to them? They missed your lips, bunny.” Wanda cooed, as she latched onto a string of your hair. 

Your cheeks flushed and that gave Wanda the go ahead. She grabbed a hold of your jaw and purposely shoved your face into her chest. “Give them a quick kiss, before Mr Rogers sees what such whore you are.” 

You gave each tit a brisk kiss and Wanda let out a soft moan before she released you. After Wanda was finished playing with you, you heard the door open and Wanda returned back to her normal position. 

“Ms Maximoff. Ms Y/L/N. Join me in the office.” Mr Rogers spoke out, and you hurriedly entered and felt a sharp pain collide with your bottom. 

“Nice ass, bunny.” Wanda smirked and followed in after you.

As you both seated, Mr Rogers turned his hand to retrieve some documents giving Wanda the idea to pull the two chairs closer. 

“Don’t you dare make a sound or that pretty ass will be destroyed.” Wanda whispered, as she pinched your thigh. 

Mr Rogers turned back and sat down in his seat. He was completely oblivious to the two of you joint at the hip. Wanda was stunned as Mr Rogers couldn’t see the bottom half of both your bodies which gave Wanda a little idea of her own.

“As you can see from my email, I’m regretting going to say that you are failing Ms Maximoff class. I’m not sure if there’s anything going on but I’m concerned that you won’t be graduating this year.” 

Tears spilled in your eyes as Mr Rogers explained your test scores but a sudden shiver ran up your thigh. You quickly darted your head to your thighs and noticed that Wanda’s hand was up your skirt. 

Wanda didn’t even look over at you, but kept a stern face as she listened to Mr Rogers talk. You decided to remove her hand which earned a smack to your cunt causing a little whimper from your lips.

“Is everything okay?” Mr Rogers asked, slightly concerned at the fuss you were making in your seat. 

“Y-Yes. I’m just confused into w-why I’m failing?” You whispered, biting down on your bottom lip as Wanda rubbed her fingers on your panties. 

“It says here that you haven’t done any of your assignments or handed in any tests?” Mr Rogers frowned. “This is unexpected behaviour from you.”

You were trying to concentrate on the accusation of not handing in assignments but your brain shifted to a place full of stars as Wanda moved your panties to the side and teased your clit with her fingers. The words were stumbling out of your mouth as Wanda pressed harder onto your throbbing cunt and a little groan rolled off your tongue as Wanda slammed three fingers inside you. 

“I’m not sure what’s gotten into you but this is extremely important.” Mr Rogers frustratingly said. “I don’t appreciate you coming in here, and behaving like a child.” 

You crossed your legs but Wanda only went faster as you were itching out a sorry. “I don’t mean too. I’m just not understanding how I haven’t sent in my assignments? I turned them in.”

Wanda let out a little chuckle and drove her fingers deeper inside you. “I’m sorry about her, Steve. I didn’t know that I was teaching such a dumb baby. Is there a way we can turn this around?”

You tried to deny Wanda’s pleasure, grabbing hold of her wrist but your fingers weren’t nearly long to wrap them around her wrist. Wanda left Steve to fiddle around with the computer and took a quick glance at you.

You were drenched in sweat. The small trinkets of water falling from your eyes was such a pretty sight to Wanda, the Adeline inside her made her even hungrier for you. 

“Doing so well, bunny. Can’t believe how dirty you are? Letting me finger fuck you whilst the dean is here. Such a dirty, dirty slut.” Wanda hissed and began to use her thumb to rub onto your clit. 

You didn’t say a word, as you felt your legs shake at the momentum that Wanda was giving as she was so close to reaching that spot. Steve turned his attention back to the two of you and shook his head, “It says here that you haven’t submitted anything. The system is very accurate, Wanda’s ex-husband designed it.” 

As those words left Steve’s lips, you growled at Wanda but the moment she turned to look at you, you slouched into your chair as she hit your spot. You could feel your clit clenching around her fingers as she vigorously slammed her fingers inside you. 

“Is there a solution here? Is there a way this dumb baby can get her grades up?” Wanda spoke up, hitting your spot once more before a huge grin sprung on her face as she felt her fingers drown in your cum. 

“I think you might need to spend a lot of time with her, Wanda. Make sure she is with you at all times so she can improve her grades.” Steve blabbered on but you were so zoned out of the conversation, you let the tears spill out as Wanda rode your high. 

“Is she crying?” Steve asked as he turned his attention onto you.

“She’s just sensitive.” Wanda laughed and released her fingers from you. “Sometimes she just starts crying. I think it’s because she can’t formulate her words as much so she acts like this.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows as you sat quietly, wiping your tears with your jumper. You felt so ashamed and humiliated that you didn’t even know what to say. 

“Pathetic, really.” Wanda started. “A grown woman behaving like a child. I think this orders some type of punishment?” 

Steve shrugged, “I leave her in your hands. I think from watching how you know Y/N so well, you would be the perfect person to help her with these grades.” 

Wanda nodded, “I believe so too. I will make sure each assignment is handed in and each test is 99%.” 

Steve nodded and let out an uncomfortable cough. “I think that’s all we have to discuss. Wanda, can you please make sure Y/N goes to the nurse to get an examination? She looks rather flustered.” 

“Of course.” Wanda chuckled. “She’s my responsibility now.”

Steve gave you an assuring smile before Wanda pulled you up from your chair as grinned at the trail of your own cum dripping down your leg. 

“Dirty, Dirty whore. You are partially dripping with your cum.” 

You lowered your head and tried to wipe it away but Wanda slapped your ass. “Don’t you even think about it. I want everyone to know what a disgusting whore you are.” 

“W-Why did you delete all my assignments? You knew I passed them all.” You sobbed, following Wanda to her car.

“How else am I going to make you mine, bunny? It was the only way to make sure that no one would question the after class hours and one to one session.”

“You could have just asked...” You said as she climbed into her car. 

“Where’s the fun in that, bunny?” Wanda laughed as she strapped you in her child safety belt.

You looked down at the extra protection Wanda has given you. “I’m not a baby.” 

Wanda only laughed at your answer. “Oh you stupid bunny. I’m going to make you one. By the time tomorrow rolls in, you will be back to square one where the only words you will ever say are, ‘Mommy’ ‘Please’ and ‘More’.” 

You didn’t even want to look at her. 

“Don’t worry, bunny. Mommy will take care of you.”

As Wanda’s words played on your mind, you slowly began to accept that this was life and the only way to survive it, is to live it.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff imagines #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff #dark wanda maximoff

[sturniolosass]

I..want you - C.S

In which Chris tries to handle a relationship that he’s no where near ready for, and you can’t have your emotions be toyed with…

warnings: swearing, feeling neglected, uncertainty, hurt feelings, talking stage chris.

ANGST, FAT ANGST!

Chris and I have been in this "talking" stage for around 3 months but the thing is stuff has been getting really serious and its gotten to the point where we've become so attached to one another that we see each other each day and sleep in each others beds, at one point we both spoke on marriage.. not like seriously about it but what we’d like to gain from it..if you get what i mean.

But this pass week somethings been off, I've texted, I've called, I've messaged him through DMs for christ's sake.. No reply..

So today I've been contemplating heading over to the boy's place and seeing what's been going on.. maybe he's sick, maybe he's down in a rut about something... I'm not sure but I need to see what's going on maybe I'll stop by and even find out they're out of internet or something.. I couldn't imagine the reason Chris would ghost me for 3 whole days.. He doesn't even seem like the type of guy to go talking to a bunch of girls, I couldn't imagine him being unfaithful to me, even though we're barely a couple to begin with.. regardless heading over there wouldn't hurt that bad... at least I hope not..

Getting dressed I head out the door sending chris one last message before I head out to his home.

Hey, I'm headed over, i know I wasn't invited so if you don't want me over or something just let me know...

I wait 10 minutes, No response

I grab my keys and head out the door.

Arriving I hop out the car to knock on the door, I'm greeted with Matt. "Yo! what's up, Chris should still be sleep but he's in the basement if you wanna wake em" he greets. "hey, yeah I've been looking for him" I speak. He let's me in walking up the steps to the living room.. I immediately head to the back of the house towards Chris' room, walking down the steps and then the hallway leading up to his door. I hesitate, thinking of all the things that could possibly go wrong when I turn this door knob.. twisting the door knob I'm met with a pitch black room.. a sleeping Chris laying flat on his stomach with one knee bent up north.

I just sit at the edge of the bed contemplating whether or not I should wake him and risk being greeted with his morning anguish.. Being the pussy I am, I just kick off my shoes and lay with him, picking his arm up off the bed and snuggling under it cozily.. He moves mumbling under his breathe inaudible words... I soon fall asleep right next to him..

Chris' POV

I wake up unexpectedly cuddled into y/n confused as to how she amazingly got into my room yet alone my house... Things like this genuinely annoy me, I've started to distance myself for some time now because of how serious we were getting, it began to really freak me out.. from the goodmorning messages to the worrying about my sleep schedule... things started feeling all too real. Don't get me wrong I really, really like y/n but us doing all these lovey-dovey things really scares me... aggravated I head upstairs to find out who the fuck just let her come down here while I was sleeping... Once I'm up the stairs I see Nick and Matt sitting at the dining room table, Nick editing, Matt eating cereal. "ouuu Mr. lover boy is up, how was you cuddle session?" Matt jokes.."Matt shut the fuck up, who the fuck- who just let y/n in my room and when did that happen? I didn't even go to bed until like 4 am so I know it was one of you fucking early birds" I ask angrily grabbing a Brisk can from the fridge.. "wasn't me." Nick blurts.. "who cares, its not like she was gonna murder you.. she said she was looking for you.." Matt explains.. "bro I was ignoring her for a reason.." I shout.. "well she's here now, what were you gonna ghost her something? did she do something?" He asks.. "yeah she's getting all weird and clingy and shit.." .... "like asking 'how my day was' and' if I slept well' and shit" I add... Matt looks at me weirdly "you mean caring about your well being? you're such an idiot" He gets up from the table heading to his room.. "GRAB YOUR FUCKING BOWL IM NOT YOUR MAID" Nick nearly busts my ear drums yelling at Matt.. "dude are you crazy?" I ask heading to the steps that lead to my bedroom.. "shut up bitch" Nick rolls his eyes...

Your POV

I wake up in Chris' bed alone.. not worried where he went I just wait for him to come back down the steps which is where I assume he went, starting to scroll on TikTok I hear Nick scream at the top of his lungs about 'being a maid' which I laugh at..

I then hear Chris heading back down the stairs, I hurriedly sit up fix my hair worried of what he'll have to say to me, then I start to think of what I should say to him.. I don't even know how I feel.. I wanna talk about us moving forward in our relationship but I also need to figure out why he's been acting all distant lately, I hope he doesn't think I haven't noticed.. because to be honest it feels like he has literally blocked me out of his life for the past 3-4 days..

He enters the room I stare down at my feet He walks straight pass me.. I look up. He heads straight into his bathroom... I flop back down on his bed..

Getting up from the bed I decide to make it, fluffing the duvet, tucking the sheets , fluffing the pillows.. Chris has been in the bathroom for around an hour now, I hear music, assuming he's in the shower, I clean a little more. Throwing away Pepsi cans and food casing from last night, I assume.. grabbing dirty clothes off the floor throwing them in his hamper... Suddenly I hear the water and music stop.. shuffling in the bathroom continues until Chris comes out in fresh love sweats and a black tank top, dropping his dirty clothes on the bed near his bed and heading over to his computer, I grab them and throw then in the hamper to which I assume irritates Chris.. "Can you stop!" Chris shouts... "wha-" I start to speak soon being cut off, "like you're being weird leave my clothes where I left then I didn't ask you to clean for me!" He adds.. "I mean what else am I supposed to do? You've been ignoring my presence sense I got here!" I shout back... "go home! I don't fucking know!" He replies.. "what the fuck is even your problem? like what have I even done for you to react this way to me cleaning for you?" I ask genuinely confused... He doesn't respond.. "hellooo" I speak in a questioning manner... “maybe i just don’t like you anymore and don’t need you to be here, i’m starting to even question why i did in the first place like you’re being so fucking annoying and clingy” he huffs… “all you do is bug me now gosh!” he adds…. I look to the ground genuinely hurt… it honestly makes sense, every guy i like always ends up ghosting me and it makes sense why at this point.. i can’t help that i am too “caring”.. apparently that freaks out a lot of guys..

“what so this is how you treat every girl you like? or liked?” i ask.

"I was ready to drop everything and be your girlfriend, in fact my plan today was to come ask you to be with me..I was ready for everyone to know how we've been these pass few months and not give a fuck what any hater or 'fan has to say.." I say holding back emotions.. "I never said I was ready for that, I never spoke on being together like that" He speaks.. "So what? we were just gonna be 'talking' for however long?" I ask. No response.. He just continues to stare at his computer screen. I just look back and sit down on his bed. blinking back tears.. He stares at the computer screen, nothing on it, not scrolling, no video, no music, nothing... Just staring, deep in thought...

We sit in silence for around 10 minutes before I speak again

"Chris?, can you say something? because I've done nothing but try to keep things working between us.. You've ignored me for almost 3 days when before you'd message me everyday 'How are you' , 'come over' , 'when are you free' , 'lets see a movie' , 'lets hang out before I leave for Boston.' " I count off examples.. "I just don’t get how we can go from something so good.. or what I thought was good, to you completely ignoring my existence." I add.. He continues to stare at the blank screen, until.. "I don't know okay, I just feel weird when I'm around you? you're always so caring and shit like that freaks me the fuck out..." he breaks silence. "I never feel this deep of feelings for anything, its fucking annoying.." He adds... "Well, I care about you.. its true, I care about how you slept, I care if you have a nightmare, I care if you feel a cold coming on, I care if you're upset with how much I care... because I genuinely like you Chris, and I don't know maybe this is one of those " right person, wrong time" moments because I feel like we deserve each other..." I speak whole-heartedly.. He just stares at his hands... I stand up.. "maybe in another life then?" I ask headed for the door... He doesn't respond.

I grab the door knob opening it slowly hoping he'd say something to keep me from leaving...n

"wait" he speaks "I wanna try- I want you- I wanna be with you..." he adds looking up from the floor despair in his eyes. "Chris I just don't feel like you're ready for what I'm ready for.." I reply.. “i’m ready- i am” he pleads… “how when just a moment ago you were telling me you were unsure if you even liked me” i ask… He looks down at his hands, I grab my bag and keys walking out of the room..

I hear him get up rushing out the room, he slows down once he sees me standing at the steps. Walking up to me slowly he pulls me in for a kiss, which i kindly reject hoping he gets the hint.. “i like you a lot Y/N.. i just- i need time to understand my self more. i’ve been used and hurt so many times..” he tells.. I just look at his hands in mine.. letting go i turn to walk up the steps… “can i call you later?” he asks.. I turn back “i feel like time apart might actually be what we need at this time, my feelings are genuinely hurt by the things you’ve said to me today” i reply. “i didnt mean it- you know that…” he looks up at me… I walk up the steps walking past Nick and leaving the boys house “bye Y/N see you sometime again hopefully, i know my brothers an asshole” Nick yelps from the dinning table…

I smile walking out the door.. knowing that’s possibly the end of my friendship with the boys…

fin.

A/N: the long awaited.. sorry yall i got busy but here it is!!! Hope yall like Chris and his trust issues!

taglist- @junnniiieee07 @frankdelreyy @ireadstoriss @freshsturns @unbruisable

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo headcanon #chris sturniolo imagine #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut #chris #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo smut #nicolas sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine

[mrwavellswaps]

The Parental Solution - Loose Ends

(Make sure to read The Original Story first!)

I woke up to a sight I never imagined I’d see. My own dad sound asleep next to me in bed. A couple weeks it would’ve seemed insane. Sleeping in bed next to my dad who I could tell was naked just by how close we were under the sheets. Not that I could say anything since I was as well. I listened to him snore ever so slightly as I reflected on how the hell I’d even managed to get in this situation.

My best friend Jason took over my dad’s body using the potion I bought from a magic shop so he could get away from his terrible parents. Immediately after he picked up on my hidden crush for my dad and started teasing me about it all the time. Whispering dirty things in my ear using my dad’s raspy voice. Wear almost nothing around the house to show off his body to me whenever he could. And with everyday it got harder and harder to hide my growing lust for him. Finally he managed to tip me over the edge last night by sticking a hand into the bulge of his underwear before shoving that very same hand in my face moments later once it smelled deeply of my dad’s balls. After that I lost it and was sucking him off in the middle of the living room while he watched sports on TV as I finally gave in and started calling him Dad rather than Jason, even referring to him by my dad’s name Bryce from time to time. Then later in the evening, after he’d made me swallow his load and clean off his cock and balls, he made me service the rest of his body as well. That is until he’d recharged and decided to scoop me up before carrying me to his bedroom with a smug look on that stolen mature face of his.

Remembering what happened after that only made my ass throb more than it already did. My ‘Dad’ practically ripped open my clothes and tossed me onto the bed before drilling his dick into me in lord knows how many different positions for what felt like hours. All the while telling me how he was plowing me with the same dick that made me. I know I should’ve hated it but… I didn’t. I loved it. I loved every fucking second. And even as I looked over at him in bed with me, his morning wood pressing against the bed sheets, part of me wanted him to do it all again right then and there. Unfortunately I didn’t think my ass could handle another pounding just yet.

With a sigh I got up out of bed as quietly as possible to not wake my dad up. I tugged on some of my clothes from yesterday and made my way downstairs where I brewed myself a hot cup of coffee. I put some bread in the toaster and waited a couple minutes for it to pop out again before spreading some butter on it and digging in. Having some nice toast in the morning was certainly one way to try and distract myself from my painfully pulsing anus.

My attention however was then turned from my breakfast to a knocking at the door. It was a brisk but loud knock, as if made by someone that didn’t particularly want to be doing it. Regardless I set down made toast, wiped off my hands and marched towards the front door. I groggily opened up and of all the people I thought might’ve been knocking at our door, the man that I saw stood on the other side was the last person I could’ve imagined.

He was a middle aged albeit very handsome man. About average height with a sturdy body that’d definitely seen some time in the gym. He adorned a well trimmed salt and pepper haircut with a short beard that accentuated his somewhat thick mustache. But he wasn’t just any hot older daddy. He was Jason’s fucking dad!“Mr Simmons?”

“Ah. Aaron…” I could tell by the sour look on his face that he wasn’t exactly pleased to see me. “Is your father home? I’d like to speak to him.” He asked in a forcefully polite tone.

I had to stop myself from blushing at the mention of my own dad as my mind couldn’t help flashing back to last night. “Uhh yeah but he’s still in bed right now. Long day at work yesterday and what not…” I lied.

Mr Simmons sighed. “In that case I’ll ask you. It’s about my son. Jason.” He began and already I was trying even harder not to blush at the mention of my best friend turned father. “He’s been missing for over two weeks now and we haven’t found a single trace of him anywhere. It’s driving his mother and I mad. We’d begun to think the stupid boy had just ran off on his own until just the other day I was told someone saw him going into your house the night he disappeared. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you? Boy.” His tone turned threatening very fast.

“N-no. I have no idea where Jason is. All we did was hang out and then I thought he went home. I’ve got no idea where he is.” I expressed, clearly intimidated by the scouting man in front of me. Obviously it was another lie but what else could I say? Oh yeah sorry Mr Simmons but your son took over my dad’s body because you’re such an asshole and a terrible father? Yeah no. Unfortunately the older man didn’t seem pleased with my answer.

“Yeah? Well I think you know more about this than you’re telling me. I know you were the one always filling Jason’s head with all the queer bullshit. Trying to turn him into a faggot like you unlike the Christian man his mother and I have been raising him to be.” And there it was. One huge part of the reason Jason had hated his parents so much. On top of all the abuse and manipulation, they were also homophobic bible thumpers. I still remember Jason telling me how they’d always drag him to church while telling him he’d go to hell if he wasn’t straight and christian like they were. Apparently I was the only person he’d felt comfortable coming out to after all that. “You probably convinced him to run away with a bunch of those disgusting fairies didn’t you.” He continued to accuse, his fists balling up slightly.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel extremely intimidated at that moment. “I already told you. I don’t know where Jason is! He didn’t tell me anything alright! If I did, I promise I would tell you.” Once again bending the truth quite significantly but it was all I could do. Thankfully he seemed to buy it for now.

“Fine.” He relaxed his shoulders slightly, no longer looking as though he was gonna beat the shit out of me. “But if I find out you had anything to do with this…” his scowl was more evident than ever as he poked his finger against my chest. “I’ll make sure your faggot ass gets sent to hell sooner than you think.” And with an angry snuff he backed away before turning to leave, prompting me to let out a huge sigh of relief. Thankful to still be in one piece.

Seconds later I heard a pair of heavy footsteps behind me followed by a familiar set of thick arms wrapping around me. “Who was that?” Bryce, my new and improved dad, asked as he kissed my neck.

“It was your asshole father.”

Bryce immediately looked up to see the man marching away from our house. His former father. Before he took over this body of course. “Jesus… sorry you had to deal with him.” He apologised to me. “Though, this might be weird of me to say but, Mr Simmons is pretty hot now I think about it.” He admitted, knowing I couldn’t exactly judge him for it all things considered. “He’s got a pretty nice ass don't ya think?” As he said that I could already feel his hard cock pressing up against my back.

Naturally I couldn’t help checking out the ass of that bible thumper, still being just close enough for me to get a good view of how well those jeans framed it. “I guess so… I mean he’d probably be super fucking hot if he wasn’t such homophobic piece of shit among other things.” As I’d already admitted to myself, the man was a total daddy stud just like my own dad.

“If only a body like that belonged to someone who actually deserved it…” He murmured in my ear with a grin.

Right away I knew exactly what he was implying. But could I do that?! I mean his dad has quite the reputation around here. Being revered by some of the more radical church goers in the community as the perfect example of what a man should be while being hated by most others for being a complete dickhead. Even a lot of other Christian’s around here didn’t like him for how much he screamed about how the rest of us are gonna go to hell or whatever. Especially when it comes to the LGBTQ community. It was honestly disgusting the way he acted most of the time, even towards his own son. Yet I couldn’t help but agree that because of all that… maybe he didn’t deserve such a hot body.

———

There was a jingle as the door to a familiar magic shop opened up. “So this is where you got that crazy potion from before huh?” Bryce asked as he walked inside first, myself following close behind him. He looked around marvelling at the well decorated shop as his eyes scanned across all sorts of items that would seemingly have some kind of magical property I hidden within them.

“Yup. This is the place. I thought it was all fake when I first came here.” I replied as we made our way towards the front desk. However, the man standing at the desk wasn’t the same guy who’d served me last time. He wore the same strange uniform as the other guy had but it was a slightly older looking man this time. I couldn’t put my finger on it but he had a very ‘high school teacher’ vibe about him with the silver flecked hair and the glasses.

He smiled and ushered us over. “Welcome sirs! What can I help you with!” He asked enthusiastically. “We’ve got all sorts of magical items on sale here. Some are even sample-able!”

At first I assumed this was just another dude that helped run the shop. That is until I saw his name tag. “Simon? The guy who helped me out last time I was here was named Gil. He mentioned you were his boyfriend. When I was here he took a potion that made him huge and hairy to prove the magic was real.” I laughed

“Oh so you’re the customer he did that for eh? If I remember correctly he told me you bought nectar of the bodysnacher. How was it? Get the body you wanted?” He asked curiously.

I shrugged and turned to my dad who was standing behind and motioned towards him. “I dunno you’re gonna have to ask him. He’s the one who used it.” I explained. “He’s actually my best friend Jason. Same age as me. But we used the nectar so he could take over my dad’s body. And if you ask me he’s a better dad than my old one ever was!” I smirked, having fully embraced having a horny dad that wanted to fuck me.

“Woah! Now that’s something.” Simon commented. “Good choice though if I may add.” His eyes ran up and down Bryce’s body. The muscled dad had decided to wear some of his tightest clothes to show off every inch of his form, leaving very little to the imagination when it came to the curves of his muscles and the bulge in his crotch area.

“So what about Gil?” I wondered. “Did that potion finally wear off?”

Simon chuckled a little. “Well… uhhh no actually. It should’ve worn off by now but I’m gonna be honest, I was obsessed with what that muscle bear potion did to him. He’s so thick now that hardly any of his clothes fit and the few that do are skin tight. He’s got that massive jiggling belly and such thick arms and legs. God don’t even get me started on his huge ass. And all that body hair just drives me crazy!” He went on a bit of tangent about every minor detail of Gil’s new bear bod. “Long story short, I might’ve begged him to some more temporary muscle bear potions to extend the effects of it.” He admitted with a slightly embarrassed look. “I was thinking of even asking him to take a permanent one that doesn’t have a time limit hahah…”

“God that sounds hot…” Bryce chirped in, his own stolen cock pressing tightly against his pants as he pictured everything this man was saying.

“Anyway. Sorry. That was slightly unprofessional of me to share all that.” Simon stood up a little straighter and attempted to hide his own boner. “Oh! And speak of the devil!” He added, looking past me and Bryce.

The pair of us turn to see a huge bear of a man appearing from behind one of the aisle. I recognised him right away as the same man that sold me that potion last time I was here. Gilgamesh! And just like Simon had said, that potion certainly hadn’t worn off. He was even now wearing the same clothes as last time except a much bigger size to accommodate his bigger body. He recognised me right away and came up to say hello.

“Hey what’s up! Is this your friend that you told me about?” Gil asked as his eyes scanned Bryce’s body just like Simon’s had.

“Yup! But now I’ve gotta call him Dad.” I went on to explain everything to Gil. Telling him all about how Bryce and I had snuck into my Dad’s room while he was asleep after getting Bryce to drink the nectar and putting a pair of my dad’s used socks. We even ended up telling him about how our relationship had progressed to… new depths since then.

“Well I’m glad to hear everything worked out for the two of you!” Gil said as he went in for a big bear hug. “Sorry. Side effect of the muscle bear potion. Makes me wanna bear hug everyone.” He apologised with a guffaw though I certainly didn’t mind being squeezed against his big belly. “Anyway, as much as I love seeing the aftermath of one of my sales, I get the feeling you’re here for something else.”

Bryce and I shared a glance. “Well you see. There’s a man that lives on our street. Total asshole. Harasses those who don’t go to church. Threatens innocent people that do things he doesn’t agree with. And treated his own son like dirt.” Bryce began using my dad’s gruff voice, knowing he used to be that son before everything changed for the better. “But the thing… despite all that he’s still hot as fuck.”

I took over from there. “So the two of us have decided that someone as horrible as him doesn’t deserve to have such an incredible body and that someone else should be given it instead. So we were hoping you might still have some of that bodysnachers nectar around here?” I wiggled my eyebrows a little at the man who’s name was displayed on the shop sign.

Gil smirked. “Ahhh I see. Well in that case we better go take a look.” He enthusiastically slung a big hairy arm over my shoulder before leading Bryce and I over to the very same aisle he’d taken me to last time. I could see out of the corner of my eye how Bryce was stopping here and there to read the labels and descriptions of certain items. My attention however was swiftly brought back to Gil as the burly man stopped in front of some rather empty looking shelves. “Ahhh yes. A large group of old men came here the other day and bought a bunch of bodysnatcher’s nectar in bulk. They were planning something about sneaking into a college frat house and taking over all the young jocks there I think. They wouldn’t stop talking about wanting to be young dumb and full of… well you get the idea.” He explained nonchalantly. Just the idea of that had me hard as fuck. “But if you’re lucky… there might just be…” Gil stuck his arm down the shelf and reached right towards the back until his meaty hand finally grabbed something. “One left at the back!” He he pulled out one last bodysnatcher’s nectar with a big cheesy grin before handing me the vial.

“Thanks so much Gil! I’ll promise I’ll put those to good use. You can count on that!” I reassured him. “How much do I owe ya again?” I reached into my pocket for some money but as I did the bigger man stopped me.

“It’s on the house this time.” He generously offered. “All I ask in return is that you come back again once you’ve taken your new body so my boyfriend and I can judge for ourselves just how hot this asshole really is.” Gil gave me a reassuring pat on the back. “Besides, judging by how interested your ‘Dad’ is in those spell books, I suspect the two of you’ll be bringing us some more business soon enough.” He gestured over towards Bryce who had his nose deep in one of said spell books.

———

“Do you remember where the spare key is?” I whispered, now stood outside Jason’s old house where both of his religious parents of course still lived. Bryce didn’t say a word. He simply reached up and into the hanging flower basket above my head before pulling out a key. “I’ll take that as a yes.” We discreetly unlocked the front door, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as we slipped inside.

With how many times Jason had been to my house over the years, I’d never actually been to his. I gotta say though, it’s exactly what I’d imagined. Dull, muted colours. Mundane decorations and furniture. Crosses hung up on half the walls in the house. There was even a huge bible quote on one of the living room walls as if it were a live laugh love sign. And the awkward, blank faced family photos only made it weirder.

“Now you can see why I hated living here.” Bryce stated bluntly. He almost always acted like my dad to an extent but right now he couldn’t help remembering his old life before becoming a dilf and it wasn’t pleasant. “Let’s just get on with this. My parents' room is upstairs.” He hurried us along, ascending the steep staircase.

Before long he led us to a rather large and tidy bedroom. Freshly cleaned sheets, sparkling mirrors, not a single item of clothing lying around. If I had to give Jason’s parents something, they were definitely clean and organised. Not that it was much everything else considered. I didn’t let the cleanliness distract me from the reason we were here though. “So. Where’s your dad’s stuff?”

“Over here.” Bryce took us over to the left side of the bed. There he swiftly yanked open a few of the bedside drawers until he eventually pulled one open filled with men’s socks and underwear. “This is his. Grab something quick. It won’t be long before he’s back from work.”

I reached into the draw and quickly pulled out a pair of white socks with black stripes on them. “And you’re sure your mom isn’t gonna be with him or anything?”

He shook his head. “Nope. She works late on Monday’s. She shouldn’t be back till the late evening. We’ll have hours to do this before she even leaves work.” Bryce explained. “My dad on the other hand should be here any second so you’d better drink that magic stuff now.”

I didn’t argue. Right away I reached into my pocket and pulled out the vial. Nectar of the bodysnatcher. The very same stuff that’d given Bryce the more mature body he flaunted now. I twisted off the lid and without a second thought downed the entire thing. Right away I could feel something strange. It was the magic settling inside my body and waiting to be activated. Once that was done I kicked off my own shoes and socks before tugging on the clean socks belonging to none other than Nolan Simmons.

“Did you feel it?” Bryce asked.

“Feel what?”

“The spark. When you pulled the socks on?”

I had no idea what he was talking about. “Spark? What spark?”

He looked just as confused as me. “A couple weeks back when I pulled on your dad’s socks before taking his body, I felt a weird spark the moment I pulled them on. You’re saying you didn’t-” Bryce cut himself off as suddenly we heard the front door swing open and a familiar voice from downstairs muttering about how his stupid wife hadn’t locked the door before leaving this morning. Well if we needed any more proof that he was an asshole, there it was.

“Shit, shit. Quick! Hide!” I whispered in a panicked voice. We did exactly as we’d planned. Bryce quickly hid behind the bedroom door while I hid in the closet. I feel like there might’ve been some irony there but I was far more distracted by the sound of Mr Simmons’s angry footsteps ascending the stairs. As he did I could only hope everything went according to plan otherwise Bryce and I would probably end up in a jail cell.

Quickly the footsteps reached the top of the stairs before trudging down the hallway and towards the bedroom. Bryce readied himself. Another moment or two passed by and my heart practically skipped a beat when I saw the same man that’d been threatening me this morning enter the room through the cracks in the closet door. He seemed as though he was heading in my direction and immediately I began to think of what a man like that would do if he found me hiding in here. Luckily however, before he could reach the closet, Bryce came out from behind the door before quickly sneaking up on the man and grabbing him from behind without warning! Restraining the man he once called his father as best he could.

“W-WHAT THE!? GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!” Mr Simmons shouted in a blaze of shock and panic. “LET GO OF ME YOU-GRAHH!” His protest was interrupted as James forced his former father to the ground. Nolan Simmons might’ve been strong but my dad was pretty strong in his own right. Strong enough to overpower Nolan in a surprise situation like this. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!? WHO ARE YOU?!” He continued to scream and shout, not being able to get a proper look at the man that was holding him down.

“Stop struggling asshole. Just give in and soon you’ll feel soooo much better.” Bryce cooed into the protesting man’s ear.

Nolan's eyes went wide. He recognised that voice. The voice of a man he once had a close friendship with that was eventually ripped apart. All because their sons began hanging out and ‘encouraging each other to be queer’ as Nolan put it. “Hold on…Bryce??”

“You’re half right.” I cut the struggling man off as I stepped out from my hiding spot. “You know when you came to my house this morning asking about Jason? Well. I lied. I know exactly where your son is.” I took a few steps closer until I was stood looking down at the very same man that’d seemed so intimidating to me not so long ago. “He’s right there, holding you down.” I said bluntly, causing Mr Simmon’s face to twist in confusion. “I’ve gotta say he makes a much more loving father than you and my former dad combined.” I taunted.

The bible thumper could hardly believe or even understand what he was hearing so instead he resorted to throwing a slurry of homophobic slurs at the two of us. All the while trying in vain to kick his way out of Bryce’s grip. Usually hearing those kinds of hurtful words would’ve pissed both of us off but right now, knowing what was to come for this man, we couldn’t help but pity him. Even if he didn’t deserve it.

“Lift him up a little for me would you dad?. I’ve gotta kiss him to activate the magic, remember?” I asked.

Bryce smirked, adjusting his position a little before carefully maneuvering himself and the other man until Nolan was on his knees with his arms restrained and his ankles pinned. Unable to move. “How’s that?”

“Perfect.” I said while getting a better look at the body before me. That handsome face that seemed so masculine yet somewhat adorable at the same time. Those pecs pressing tightly against his shirt. That noticeable bulge in his work pants. And so sooo much more. And Nolan didn’t deserve a single bit of it. But I did. Then much to the man’s disgust, I stripped off all my clothes in a blink of an eye leaving only the pair of stolen socks on my feet. Standing proud with a victorious look on my face as I let my average dick swing free infront a homophobe.

Part of me wanted to bask in the moment a little more but I was far too eager to get this underway. And so I quickly got down onto my knees and before Nolan could do anything to stop me, I pressed my lips hard against his. He tried to recoil but he couldn’t go far. I had him… or at least I thought I did. I kissed him for a good 10 seconds or so and nothing happened to the point where I eventually found myself pulling away.

“W-what?” I muttered, not understanding why it hadn’t worked. At the same time Nolan took the opportunity to spit at me and shout even more slurs. Even angrier than before as he called us before disgusting perverts. I asked Bryce and he didn’t seem to have any idea either… that is until I remembered what he’d said earlier just after I’d pulled on the socks. “Wait… no spark.” I mumbled. That’s when it hit me. Step 2 of getting the nectar to work was wearing a recently worn article of clothing. These socks were washed and put away unlike the dirty pair of socks Bryce used when he took over my Dad.

“What is it Aaron?! Why didn’t it work?” Bryce asked, starting to get a little worried as they didn’t really have a backup plan.

“I think I know.” I pulled off the fresh socks I’d stolen before walking around and behind to two men. “Just keep him still. I’m gonna try something.” I crouched down and shuffled between Bryce’s legs a little until I had easy access to Nolan’s large brown loafers. Against his wishes I slipped his shoes off and put them to one side, finding it hard to ignore the strong scent that came with them. Unleashing those large socked feet. “If these don’t work then nothing will.” I stated before gripping the sweaty black socks and pulling them off Nolan’s feet one at a time. And I knew I probably shouldn’t since I criticised Bryce for doing it before but I couldn’t help giving the pungent socks a quick sniff. With that I made my way back around in front of them.

“What!? You wanna huff on my socks now you disgusting cock sucker!?!” Nolan yelled.

I took the large pair of socks and began tugging them on. “Oh I want a whole lot more than that.” Just then, as I pulled the second sock on, I felt it. The spark. Coursing through my body. My confidence that’d been wavering momentarily then rushed back in full stride. “I want to touch, smell and see your body wherever I go. I want to turn your homophobic ass into homo this side of the earth. I want… you.” There was an almost crazed look in my eyes that even spooked Bryce a little as I grabbed the sides of Nolan’s head. “And now. You’re going to be all mine.” And with that I slammed my lips against his with even more passion than before. Feeling his thick mustache forced to rub against my upper lips while he groaned in protest through the kiss, unable to stop me.

His groans of protest would quickly turn to grunts of fears as the magic began to activate. It seemed all I needed was a more recently worn pair of socks as now our lips were stuck together and impossible to part. Seeing that the process had begun, Bryce let go of his father and the first thing the panicking man tried to do was pull away from me. But to no avail. Because of this Nolan began freaking out! Forcing both of us up to our feet before stumbling around the room. For a second Bryce looked as though he was about to step in again until I used all my strength to push Nolan onto the bed causing him to fall back onto the soft sheets with my naked body on top of him. And before he had another chance to move I wrapped my arms and legs around him tight.

Nolan made every effort to break free but I’d latched on tight and wasn’t about to let go. Before he could fight against me any further though, the most delightful sensation imaginable passed over my entire being causing me to let out an involuntary moan into the kiss. And to my surprise Nolan made a similar groan. His eyes had begun to roll back slightly as I could only imagine a similar sensation had overtaken him. If anything he must’ve been in even more ecstasy than I was judging by how his thick rod had begun to harden in his pants, causing his bulge to rub up against me. But through all the grunts and groans I could tell he still wanted to fight but the pleasure that ran through him was draining any strength he might’ve had to fight back against me. Before long Nolan's body couldn’t help but give in to me and before long, the next phase was underway.

It’d been one thing seeing Jason disappear inside my dad’s body but actually feeling my own body and limbs begin to get sucked inside Nolan’s large muscular frame was something else entirely! My hands were one of the first things to go, phasing through his shirt and into his back as I still had my arms wrapped around him. My legs then began naturally aligning themselves with Nolan’s bulky ones before slowly sinking in. The feeling was beyond anything I’d ever imagined. Even as my torso began to lower itself into the older man’s frame, there wasn’t even an ounce of pain. Nothing but pure bliss as my entire form went completely numb! I rubbed my crotch against his as much as I possibly could before that too phased through the man’s pants and was pulled down into his body.

Soon enough my arms, legs, ass and cock had all disappeared, pulled inside Nolan’s body much to his distain. Honestly I was surprised he hadn’t gone delirious from the raw amount of satisfaction the magic seemed to bring. Yet somehow he regained some semblance of awareness only to be horrified seeing my torso sinking into his. He practically screamed into the kiss as our eyes were forced to meet. His eyes were darting all over frantically, trying to move his body but feeling too weak to do anything. It was too late anyway as I could feel my face drawing nearer to his as even that was being pulled down at last along with the rest of my head. Before long my vision completely blanked out…

After that Nolan regained full control of his body to an extent. “N-NO! Get out of meeee! Gahhhh!…” he yelled and grunted, feeling my presence inside of his body. But despite his best efforts he couldn’t fight against me nor could he stop his cock from getting unbearably hard. He practically begged Bryce to help him but the idle man did nothing but watch in satisfaction, finally getting to see his horrible father get exactly what he deserved. “Y-you’re demons! Both of you! Unholy demons!!” He claimed while writhing around on the bed, struggling to control himself. He tried to get up from the bed but his cock pulsed even harder, threatening to burst out of his pants at any moment. His balls swelling up fatter than ever before as they prepared to unload every ounce of his free will. “Nooooo… I can’t… I-Urrghhh…” He grabbed at his crotch uncontrollably, mouth hanging open with the overflow of stimulation being forced through it until finally… “FUUUUCKKKKK GRAHHHHHhhhhhhhuuuhh…” What started as a massive roar of protest slowly faded as Nolan blew the fattest load of his life. A massive dark spot forming over his bulge as he flooded his pants with cum.

The second Nolan spilled his ball batter, I found myself being hurled into the driver’s seat. Right away I was hit with the tail end of the orgasm and couldn’t help grinning. Feeling my new fat cock buck as it squirted a few final ropes of dad nut into my already sticky pants. “Ohh yeahhhhh…” I let out a huge sigh of relief knowing that I’d won. Even as the cum soaked into my new work pants, I could feel Nolan soul being absorbed by my own. Feeling every memory and personality trait of his slowly became accessible to me as I became the one and only Nolan Simmons.

“How do you feel Nolan?” Bryce moved closer towards the bed, knowing now that the man he’d once hated was gone for good. Replaced by someone far superior. Me.

I grumbled a little, holding my head before slowly sitting up. I glanced down at myself, seeing the thick muscle I now adorned still hidden underneath Nolan’s clothes. I even had on the same black socks that I’d stolen from him again. Back on the feet they were meant for. I flexed my arms a little, feeling my biceps strain against my shirt before bringing my hands to my chest so I could feel juicy pecs that sat upon it. God feeling this kind of bulk on another man was one thing but feeling it on myself was a whole other level of euphoric. Feeling the power that now flowed through my bigger and stronger body with every movement I made. “I feel fucking fantastic Bryce.” I replied while running a hand over my wet bulge.

Slowly I pushed myself up off the bed, my new larger feet touching the ground for the first time. I wobbled a little at first, not used to my new weight, but I quickly adjusted. Bryce simply stood back and allowed me to explore myself for a moment. Watching on as I made my way towards the circular mirror sat on the dresser. And what I saw made me feel a whole flurry of emotions. Staring back at me was the same handsome face that’d been screaming obscenities at us not moments prior. The piercing eyes belonging to the homophobe that made Jason’s life a living hell for so many years. The salt and pepper hair along with this beard and mustache that were trademarks of a man that embodied all the worst parts of the christian community. But I was none of those things. I might’ve stolen his dashing looks and gorgeous body but I was a proud gay man and an ally to all others in the LGBTQ community. Something the old Nolan would’ve despised being. But what he wanted didn’t matter because I was Nolan now and I plan on putting a hot ass body like this to far better use.

Not being able to resist the temptation, I pulled off my new shirt before tossing it at Bryce so I could finally get a better look at what I was working with and I certainly wasn’t disappointed. Though he kept in very good shape, the old Nolan wasn’t one to show off his physique all that often so I’d never had the luxury of seeing him shirtless before. But if anything that only made this moment sweeter as I freed my new pecs from their prison and began groping them to my hearts content. Adoring how squishy they were but so firm when I flexed them. Admiring the dusting of chest hair that spread across them. I was only able to pull my hands away from my chest when the desire to flex my biceps again grew too strong to ignore.

Once I was satisfied with the admiration I’d given to my broad upper body (for now), my gaze couldn’t help shifting towards my lower half. A toothy grin spread across my face that seemed extremely out of character for this face as I unhooked my belt and undid pants. I could feel Bryce's eyes watching intently and I yanked down both my pants and cum soaked underwear at the same time, allowing my still half hard cock to spring out. And what a cock it was. It’s length was about average sitting at around 6 inches but god the girth! It was one of the thickest chicks I’d ever seen from the base all the way up to its fat mushroom head which was still drooling cum. And it was mine along with the heavy set of balls that came with it. No wonder Nolan always acted like a hard ass with a pair of bull nuts this big to inflate his ego.

I went on to admire my legs a little after getting over the initial shock that came with my new still twitching dick. Running my hands along my sizeable quads before giving my bulky calves a squeeze. But by far what stole the show was my hot muscle dad ass. We’d already gotten a good idea of how big it was by how its shape was still visible even through some of Nolan’s baggiest pants. But now we got the full show. Nolan’s thick cheeks on full display. And naturally it didn’t take long for me to start squeezing and jiggling them to your delight. Though, considering how the rest of my body had a decent coating of hair, I was surprised to feel how smooth my new ass was.

“You havin fun over there…” Bryce commented, prompting me to turn my attention to him for a moment. When I did I noticed he’d at some point whipped out his own dick as was slowly jerking it to the display I’d been putting on. I guess deep down we were both hot for daddy. Our own daddies at that.

“I’ll be having even more fun when I get this tight virgin hole of mine stretched.” I paced over towards Bryce, giving him a truly affectionate look that he doubt he’d ever seen on his fathers face before. “So how’s about you get in the bed and get your cock ready for me.” I commanded, allowing Nolan’s somewhat dominant nature to seep through.

I didn't need to ask him twice. In a flash Bryce was completely naked, showing off his hairy body once again, before practicing leaping onto the bed with his hands behind his head and his cock standing tall and ready. Now this was a sight. Two best friends stealing the body of each other’s dad only to wanna fuck one another immediately after. In Nolan’s case I suppose it was somewhat poetic justice for everything that he did and said. But it didn’t really matter because the only Nolan left around here was me.

With a lustful smirk I sauntered my way towards the bed before crawling on top of Bryce. Allowing my brand new dad ass to hover gently above his cock as we stared into each other’s eyes. Completely lost in the fantasy of it all until I lent down and pushed my lips against his. It was probably the first time these lips had ever kissed another man willingly but it certainly wouldn’t be the last as I felt our beards gently rubbing together while our kiss deepened. As it did I slowly lowered my ass until Bryce’s throbbing cock was massaging my entrance.

It was then that I broke the kiss and pinned Bryce down with my newfound strength. “Now. I’d say it’s about time we use that big dad dick of yours son to fill your old man’s needy hole.” I sneered down at him, letting him know exactly how I felt all those times he used my dad’s voice to call me son. And by the way his dick began lathering my ass with precum moments later, I could only assume he enjoyed it. However I didn’t let him waste too much of his precious seed before reaching back and grabbing his cock, aligning it perfectly with my hole. “Now gimme that dick!” I roared before lowering myself onto the rod with a deep and guttural moan.

Right away I got to work. Bouncing up and down on that dick as best I could while holding Bryce down. It was intense to say the least. With an asshole this tight I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t quite painful at first but I was willing to push through it if it meant being able to take cock even better with this formerly straight christian ass in the future. At times I moaned my own dad’s name, Bryce, while at other times moaning his original name, Jason, in an attempt to fulfil both our fantasies at once. But as I was slowly able to force more and more of his dick inside me, I eventually stopped calling him Jason all together and decided just to stick to Bryce. Because that’s who he was now. My boyfriend Bryce. Another dad that lives across the street from me. Nolan. A former homophobe turned gay power bottom. Aaron and Jason were simply the names of our two sons who ran off together and memories of them would soon fade into obscurity.

At multiple points I could tell Bryce was eager to flip up over and do the fucking himself but I refused to let him. I might’ve been the one getting fucked here but I was still the one in charge. Whether he liked it or not he was gonna stay put and be my personal fuck pole until I was nice and full. And between all the kissing, touching and dirty talking, I could tell that time was starting to grow near. His balls prepared themselves for the tsunami that was bound to come at this rate.

Feeling this only served to drive me further onwards. Making sure to grind my thick dad butt all the way down to the base. Honestly I didn’t think I’d be able to do it on this body’s first time taking dick but lo and behold I pulled it off. It was painful but boy, just the feeling of filling this new ass of mine completely with cock released an almost incomparable amount of dopamine in my brain. The only thoughts running through my mind were ‘dick’ and ‘cum’ as the levels of joy I was feeling almost matched the pleasure I got from hearing Bryce’s moans echoing through the household. Moans that only continued to get louder and needier until finally I got exactly what I wanted.

The man below me tensed up as his cock began to spasm inside me. I didn’t need three guesses to know what that meant. Especially when I felt his thick hot seed coating my insides while I drained Bryce’s balls to the last drop. Watching as he writhed in pleasure beneath me while unloading buckets worth of cum inside. Seeing his hands grip the bed sheets as his former father pressed his ass down on it a couple more times. Continuing to bounce on his cock until he begged me to stop due to how sensitive it was. Eventually, when I felt as though his cock had nothing left to give me, I adhered to his pleas and released his cock from my asshole’s tight grip.

“Better get used to that babe. From now on I plan on making you drain at least one load into me everyday. This new ass of mine is hungry.” I grinned deviously at him before kissing along his neck, feeling my new mustache rub against his skin. “Your dad was wasting it for so long so I’m gonna make up for all the years he neglected this beautiful ass.” My face moved closer to the hairy pit under his arm. “Mmmm now it’s time for papa to get a good taste of that!” I stated before shoving my nose deep into one of his sweaty armpits and inhaling the gorgeous post sex scent they exuded. I couldn’t help but notice how they smelt subtly different now that I was sniffing them with a different nose. Regardless, they still smelt just delicious. So much so that before long I was running my tongue along his pits greedily to lap up the sweat.

“Do you think… we should head back… to my place before… your wife gets home.” Bryce said between labored breaths.

“I suppose so.” I agreed. “Let me just finish cleaning off your pits. Then we can grab some of my clothes and get out of here.” I added before lapping up more of that delicious salty sweat his hairy pits produced.

———

It’d been roughly three weeks since that day. After we left Nolan's house that day, we hardly ever went back. We took everything of Nolan’s that I might need and brought them back to our place where we stayed after that. Of course my new Wife was furious when I said I was leaving her for Bryce but there wasn’t shit she could do about it. I even told her all about the furious gay sex we had and how he satisfied me more than she ever could by filling me up with cum. It might sound harsh but she wasn’t much better of a parent than the old Nolan so it was karma really. After that she was quick to file for a divorce which I was happy to sign upon being given the papers.

Now Bryce and I live happily together. We both worked pretty much the same jobs our dad’s did before which wasn’t all that hard with their memories. We even went to the gym together which was incredibly fun. However the best part was always getting home and taking off our sweaty clothes so we could swap 'em and sniff each other’s damp, pungent gym clothes. While I usually went for the pouch on his underwear first, my ass sweat must’ve smelt particularly good to him as he always went for the back of my underwear first.

This was then almost always followed up by some hot steamy dad sex. I would always make him bust a load in my hole first but if the prostate stimulation wasn’t enough to make me blow my own nut then we’d flip and I’d fuck his ass relentlessly until he was just as full of cum as I was. Regardless it would seem the power dynamic there had certainly shifted in my favour which I wasn’t gonna complain about.

Besides that however we were already living happier lives than we ever had before. The only bad thing about it all was all the questions people would ask and the odd looks thrown our way for this sudden change in our behaviour. Because of this I suggested to Bryce about looking for a new place to start our lives fresh elsewhere. Somewhere that we wouldn’t already be known by the community. Somewhere we can just be Bryce and Nolan, the hot horny couple of dad’s in the neighborhood. Bryce seemed to like that idea so now we’re looking online for places to move to.

The only hiccup in that plan was that we didn’t want to move too far from Gil’s magic shop. We went back after I became Nolan and Gil himself seemed very impressed with the new form I’d taken. After explaining our moving situation however, he told us not to worry about it. Apparently there were a bunch more Gil’s magic shops all around the world. According to him all of them are connected and every single one has a door portal that brings them to the same place. So regardless of where we move we’ll likely still be able to visit. As confusing as that was, I kinda understood.

With that though, Bryce and I were just excited to begin this new chapter together. And perhaps even spice things up from time to time by purchasing a few more items from Gil’s shop. Regardless I was sure that from this point on, our lives were going to be perfect…

If you love my stories then please consider supporting me on Patreon as well!! ❤️

#magic #permanent #male body theft #identity theft #age progression #absorption #hairy #dad #straight to gay #mental change #revenge #sweaty men #smelly

[theglassofmiddleearth]

I'm Always Funny. You're Just Not Smart Enough To Keep Up. (Teaser!)

Max Verstappen X reader

Danny Ricciardo X reader platonic.

Not sure if anyone here is an F1 fan but I've recently gotten into F1 and I've started writing a small fanfiction of Max Verstappen Fake relationship Au! Please tell me if you like this and want the rest of it! Enjoy~

Max had just broken up with his long time girlfriend Kelly Piquet. 

They had disagreed on their future plans and had decided it would be better to part ways. It was an amicable split and Max still visited Penelope. However, the media wasn’t kind to him, not that it usually was.

Fans were in a roar over the split calling him all sorts of names for the past seven months.

It wasn’t too bad until the sponsors started to look a bit concerned over the state of the media.

Y/N, being a small town girl from Perth Australia, knew Daniel Ricciardo from when she was younger. His sister Michelle would babysit Y/N from time to time and that's how she came to meet the ever enthusiastic personality that was Daniel.

Daniel, alongside Michelle, had been like an older sibling to Y/N. He would always visit her or text her to catch her up on his state of affairs. 

After his ill-fated departure from Mclaren, to which Y/N was still fuming over. He had spent two months back in Australia, lounging around before Y/N and Michelle told him to get back into what he really loved.

Sure enough, Daniel returned to RedBull as a reserve driver alongside his old teammate Max Verstappeh and Sergio “Checo” Perez.

It was at this point Max had been receiving scalding comments and the Public Relations (PR) Manager had decided it would be a good idea for Max to date someone new with good media presence. Someone who the fans were bound to like.

That is exactly where Y/N came in. She had been featured on Daniel's social media before and made small cameo’s on RedBull and Mclaren videos, wishing Danny luck in his races or even supporting him in person.  

~~~~~~

Max walked alongside Y/N at a brisk pace. They were wading through the crowd of press just before the paddock and after the car park. Y/N was slightly uncomfortable with the firm grip that Max had on her hand but refrained from speaking up. He, after all, was paying her salary, so to speak. 

“Smile,” Max grunted out. Nodding at the press and giving half smiles in a seemingly out of character style. 

Y/N, who was already smiling hissed through her teeth.

“The hell you think I'm doin’ mate?” She then turned slightly away to wave at the photographers,

“Morning! Hope you’re all well rested! Make sure to drink enough water too!” She called out to the mass of people. Y/N understood that these people had to make a living and if you were nicer to them, they were bound to return the favour, although that was easier said than done.

Verstappen kept a pleasant expression as he continued to walk past people, signing hats along the way. 

“When can we stop this damn circus act?” He hissed into her ear, his voice sounding like the grind of gravel. 

“Whenever your PR Manager lets us.” She replied, her smile unfaltering as she kept walking beside him.

“This is all a stupid waste of money and time.” He grumbled under his breath. “This whole relationship thing and the sponsors.” Y/N cocked her head knowingly and replied,

"You need those sponsors and so does RedBull. Anyways, don’t give me a hard time because of it, yeah? I’m just doing my job to the best of my ability.” It wasn't as if she didn't want the money, however she also did it to help out Danny. Apparently the situation had made Max a little crabby.

Max sighed, “You have no idea who many different people we have to play happy couple for to satisfy the sponsors.” to which Y/N smirked and retorted with.

“I dunno, maybe the whole world, Mr Formula 1 World Champion?” Max rolled his eyes dismissively, effectively losing his facade.

“Do you know how much the sponsors pay me to keep you around? Don’t smart mouth me man.” He spat out, scowling and crossing his arms defensively. He pointed at the camera’s who had now turned back to you at the suddenly escalating conversation as moths were drawn to light.

Luckily they hadn’t heard the conversation, only seen the wild gestures that Max had thrown out in exasperation. 

Y/N, being the quick thinker she was, gently patted his shoulder and stepped closer to him,

“Calm down mate, they’re looking at us. Let’s just get inside the paddock yeah? Then we can argue when we get to the motor home.” She whispered slowly, hoping to ease his stress.

“Whatever, " Verstappen muttered, his voice ever harsh and monotonous.

He led her by the small of her back past the photographers and past the gates and into the paddock. He kept you firmly by his side while remaining silent. It seemed like he wasn’t going to talk until they were both tucked into a private building. Or as private as it would get.

As they briskly walked by, they passed some children who were staring in awe at Max. Y/N smiled at the children and tugged on his short sleeve gently.

“Max, give them an autograph! Look, they're so cute. This one’s wearing a mini version of your race suit!” She exclaimed, clearly taken by the children who were bubbling with energy.

Max, as a result of Y/N’s excitement, stopped walking and looked over at you with his signature grim expression before seeing the children. His eyes shifted and his expression became light hearted and almost charming.

“Yeah, alright I’ll sign a few things for you guys.” He grinned at the kids that had gathered around began thanking him incredulously in adoration as their favourite Formula one driver signed their shirts and caps.

Max suddenly turned to you with a small smile,

“Here,” he said, handing her a sharpie, “You should sign one too. They’ll like it.” Y/N shook her head, shy from the sudden attention. 

“But I’m not famous like you. They don’t know me.” She turned to the children, sheepish, waiting for them to collectively agree. Yet, to her surprise one of the younger girls reached out to hug her and exclaimed,

“I know you! You’re Max’s girlfriend! My older brother says you’re pretty!” The little girl beamed up at her and pointed at an older male of similar facial structure who was blushing.

Y/N laughed in surprise and smiled brightly at the young girl.

“Hey love! Would you like me to sign your shirt?” She kneeled down to face the girl and all the younger kids. The children that were now surrounding you went crazy, screaming “Yes!” and “Please!”

They held out their belongings for her to sign, clearly overjoyed. She laughed in delight while Max looked on, while chatting to other young fans.

Y/N gave each of them a hug before signing their shirts.

“Oh and here!” She took out a large ziplock bag that was filled to the brim with friendship bracelets she had made for the fans.

“Take these! There’s enough for all of you.” She ruffled the closest childs hair. Max watched in amusement as the children who were absolutely beside themselves, trying on their new bracelets.

“You’re good with the fans,” he said, actually sounding genuine and kind for once. Y/N shook her head, smiling and waving at the children still as they walked away.

“Nah, I just love the kids. I want them to have good memories that build into hope and motivation.” She looked at Max and gave him a small smile.

“That’s very kind of you.” Verstappen replied, sounding surprisingly sincere. They both walked towards the motorhouse and as they reached the entrance Max opened the door for Y/N and signalled for her to enter.

Y/N walked through, thanking him on the way and waved hello while passing all the staff and volunteers of the Red Bull team.

The pair made their way, through all the greetings and then into Max’s room where Max closed the door behind them both and then turned to face Y/N.

“Alright, no more fake smiles or pleasantries. He sighed, “Do you know how long we’re stuck with this whole fake relationship thing?” He asked while plopping down onto his bed, unceremoniously to which Y/N shook her head. She herself was unsure.

“Nope. I was hired for a year-long contract but it wasn’t definitive,” She sighed and sat down on his chair and spun to face him.

“I think it wouldn’t be too bad for us to be friends Max.” She sat forward with her elbows on her knees.

“It’s not like we’re attracted to each other. It would make life easier if we got along, no?" Max stared at her, inquisitive.

“Friends.” He said slowly, almost as if tasting the word before he tilted his head to say,

“Friends don't usually get paid to be with one another.” Max raised his eyebrows.

“But, I guess being friends wouldn't be too bad. It’s not like anything would happen between us anyways.” Y/N nodded and chuckled, 

“I mean, I get paid to pretend to be your girlfriend. We could totally do it from afar y’know?” she shrugged, smiling.

“That sounds like a great idea.” Max said sarcastically. 

“I’ll just yell ‘I love you’ through a megaphone at you from a distance and we’ll keep it going that way.” He smirked mischievously, crossing his arms to which Y/N burst into laughter in sheer surprise. 

“Right! That would get all the fans roaring.” She chuckled loudly, enjoying his dry humour.  She gave him a genuine smile before asking, 

“You’re really funny when you want to be huh?”

Verstappen rolled his eyes with a subtle upturn in lips at your amusement. Y/N had an instinct that he was proud of the reaction he got out of her.

“I’m funny all the time.” He retorted, “You’re just not smart enough to pick up on it.” He said with a cocky smile.

 

~~

AND THATS THE TEASER! please comment if you'd like the rest!? Thank You for reading!

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #danny ric #daniel ricciardo #daniel riccardo x reader

[lewkwoodnco]

tis the damn season - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: estranged best friends to lovers trope my beloved!!! 😍 AHHH this is one of my fav fics I've written in a while. Poem below is Golden Boy by Cecil Miller, and the Spanish line is taken from a streetcar named desire by tennessee (idk how 2 spell) williams! this might be less proofread than normal + includes a few of my pre-infection hallucinations? lottt of angst, wc 5.1k!!

P.S. I think I'll be doing a part 2 to buy me presents! but not until a little later ahah and also the 12 days of fics are totally going to spill over hahah

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Lockwood stares out the kitchen window. Both inside and outside, there is a bleak stillness in the air that sinks in his bones like a plague. It's too cold and too early in the morning for anyone to be properly out and about. But the season always messed up his sleep schedule more than usual, and now that they had taken a break from their cases for the holidays, there was nothing to occupy his treacherous mind, and its return to taut requirings of Christmases past.

Slowly, the other residents of Portland Row start to stir. George grumbles about their spluttering heating system and having to plod through the snow to get the mail, and Lucy promptly falls asleep in the cup of tea she's just brewed for herself. They were all exhausted, and rightfully so, given that the holidays was prime time for people to start looking into properly clearing out ghosts to keep their homes warm and cheery.

He slips out just as George's complaints about the heater start ramping up, and his mind is so scattered that he forgets to put his coat on. It's a little more brisk than what was completely tolerable, strictly speaking, but it was only just for a minute. When he reaches the mailbox, he runs into Mr. and Mrs. L/N, old family friends who had helped him more than he deserved over the years. They made some polite conversation while he rifled through the bills and letters.

"Oh, Anthony, we wanted to invite you over to tea sometime this week. Y/N's home for the holidays."

His hand slips and an envelope slices his finger open. It was bound to happen, given his glum and careless mood, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint to suppress his cry of pain in front of them.

"Home...as in here? London?"

Ever since she had left for boarding school, there would always be some talk of her dropping by for Christmas every year. But the plans would never be fully solid, or some other pre-existing commitment would prevent her from making the trip. He was suddenly feeling oddly claustrophobic. He glanced up and down the street, as if expecting her to be hiding in some bushes.

Mrs. L/N seemed to pick up on his distraction, and her brow furrowed with concern.

"Of course London. Where's your coat, dearie? Aren't you feeling chilly?"

"...yes. Now that you mention it...perhaps it's best I head back inside."

He gave a stiff sort of wave and walked back, mind reeling. Eight years. Eight years since he last saw her. What the hell was he supposed to do if he saw her now? How was he supposed to feel?

Luckily, he doesn't get much time to panic because as soon as he walks in, he narrowly dodges a wrench being lobbed at his head. Apparently, eleven freezing days with improper heating was more than what George could bear. It's usually a rather quick fix, but maybe the comparatively more extreme frost this year had corrupted the system beyond Lockwood's capabilities, because two hours later he was still no closer to getting it fixed.

Some time later, there's a knock on the door. He yells for someone to get the door, but he's buried too deeply in the house for anyone to hear him. Grumbling, he dusts himself off and walks to the door himself, head buzzing with frustration. He's so preoccupied with what more he could possibly do to get the heating working again that he doesn't think to check the peephole first. So when he opens the door, he gets the wind knocked out of him.

"Anthony."

It was her; rosy-cheeked yet looking effortlessly warm. Her facial features had lengthened and rearranged themselves as compared to when he last saw her, but there was still something expensive to the twist of her mouth and the crinkles near her eyes.

"It's been so long."

Even her voice was rich, like honey. Now that she was standing in front of him, the stitch in his chest from the morning seemed much more familiar. It had been some seasonally grievious paste that had coated his lungs and stoppered his mouth that made him feel eerily weightless if he dwelled on it too much.

He didn't know what to do. Exchange pleasantries, or skip to the part where he slams the door in her face? Before he could decide, he hears some shuffling behind him, and almost instinctively opens the door wider.

"Y/N. These are my associates. George Karim, Lucy Carlyle...Y/N L/N."

"Right. Lockwood and Co., was it?"

The four of them glance at each other, exchanging fleeting smiles for a good half-minute, before George has the sense to usher everyone inside for a cup of tea.

The kettle's already on, and George hands out the cups of tea waring mittens, his glasses barely visible behind the scarf mummifying the lower half of his head. If she notices the cold in the house, she doesn't comment on it.

They make some polite small talk. She's pleasantly amiable and a perfectly gracious guest, and talks about her Christmas dinner plans. Lockwood is disinterested and surly and wants to talk about his fragmented sense of self. At one point, his responses start to become so clipped that he earns a poorly concealed kick from Lucy, accompanied by a stern look. Luckily, it doesn't seem as if she's noticed. She was looking at the white blanket of snow over their garden carefully, as if dismissing their presence.

"Your garden looks beautiful. I'd love to have a look around."

George and Lockwood exchanged a look. It was freezing outside, and the harsh temperatures were clearly not worth braving for the little of the flowerbeds they could see. George opened his mouth to tell her as much, in his own snide way, but he hesitated. Lockwood felt his heart sink.

The thing was, she had had a magnetic effect on most people ever since they were kids, a quality that made it difficult for any grown adult to refuse her or for any child to oppose her. It was the same reason why she was sitting in his house, drinking out of his teacups, eating his share of biscuits (George and Lucy had clearly conspired as soon as they picked up on her staying for tea). But he had been sure that if there was anyone who could pull away from this siren call of hers, it would be George. The very boy who was meaningfully looking at him, trying to express some uncommunicable panic.

"Er...Lockwood?"

And so, he ended up taking her out for a brief and awkwardly quiet stroll in their garden once she was done with her tea. They meandered through the garden path stiltedly, and every snow-dusted weed and sapling seemed to astound her. Still, she divided her attention sufficiently to continue the ocnversation.

"Homeowner and agency head at fifteen. Impressive."

"Thank you."

"I bet you're the media's darling."

He shrugs.

She turns to him, eyes generously pooling with faux concern.

"It can't have been easy."

It wasn't easy, not that she would know anything about it. He wants to be spiteful towards her, lash out at her. God knows she deserved it. But something holds him back.

"So...that was George. And Luce."

She jerked her head back in acknowledgement, but he could see the slight smile playing at her lips as she did so. He had forgotten how terribly exasperating she could be.

"What?"

She shook her head, but that only made her smile grow wider, and so she finally relented. There's a vulpine twist to her lips that Lockwood has no patience for. "Nothing. I'm sure they're lovely people, of course. But if I wanted to know who you were hanging with while I was gone, I would have asked you."

He shrugged. "I wanted to share a bit of my life now. They're just about all of it."

She hums pleasantly, stopping short in front of one of the flower beds. She bends down and picks up a freshly fallen violet, its deep indigo harsh and unrelenting against the fresh, pure snow, against the season of vacancy and death. She holds it up in front of Lockwood.

"Viola Odarata. Symbolises humility. Flores; flores para los muertos. Flores."

A part of him wants to sneer at her in painful irony. How arrogant of her to think she could waltz back into his life as she pleased.

"That what they teach you in your boarding school? Useless facts about violets?"

She shivers, even though the air is completely still with no breeze, and her lips part. Too late, he realises he's gone too far. Her smile slips a fraction, and she takes on an air that makes him feel obliged to apologise. He resists it, and for a moment he sees something flash in her eyes, but it's gone before he can place it.

"Forgive me, but you don't seem terribly happy."

"The Problem's raging worse than ever. Happy things don't come by easy these days."

"...I suppose. It wouldn't -" For the first time, Lockwood thinks she might be feeling nervous. Her humanity, manufactured or otherwise, draws him in despite himself. "It wouldn't have anything to do with me...would it?"

He takes in her carefully manicured appearance, her intentionally pieced together life made up of the dreams she worked towards and achieved. And all he had was a house that was more of a burden than a blessing on some days and this inchoate dread over a Problem whose end was nowhere in sight. But he doesn't know how to express this resentment, this jealousy.

"I'm alright if you're alright."

Sad, dispirited eyes look into each other, searching for the fulfilment they're sure the other has found. She speaks in a tight voice.

"It's okay with the both of us, then."

She suddenly reaches out, and gently holds his finger with the papercut with a firm but comforting pressure. His first instinct is to pull his hand back, but he doesn't, and as the long seconds pass, he feels increasingly vulnerable. The cut was no longer bleeding, and was even well on its way to healing over just fine, but it was irritated from where he had relentlessly picked at it.

"Looks fresh."

She traces the cut with her other hand, violet folded in her palm, with a feather-light touch. The surreality of the moment - of her standing inches from her, her breath tickling his fingertips, her warmth spreading through him - catches up to him and makes his breath hitch. It was unbearably intimate and made him feel like the exposed, raw wound he had been nursing for the eight years she had been gone. And how like her to return with pockets full of unfounded promise to stitch the tears in his skin.

And just as quickly, she lets go of his hand and steps back, and Lockwood feels as though cold air has been forced into his airways. She tucks the violet behind her ear, and drifts back inside. The tilt of her joints is so familiar that it stirs something in him. Something long gone, something he was gripping like a fist.

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

When they return, Lockwood excuses himself to his room for a bit of air, ignoring how closely George is watching him. He sits on his bed and takes a deep breath. His nightstand has a few miniature picture frames on it, and in one of them the picture's been flipped around. It's a picture of him and her, taken a few months before she left. It's how he remembered her before seeing her today. Sometimes, when the urge grew too great, he would tilt the frame under his nightlight, and make out the barest outline of their figures looped together on the other side of photograph.

He didn't know what to make of her departure, all those years ago. One day, they were swinging on tyres in her parents' garden, and the next day, she wasn't at school. But as the years churned on, the string tying his heart to hers stretched and tore a slow and painful death from him, out of the cavity she left, and he never felt quite the same again. And as they continued to age, the wound became old news and scabbed over what was once raw and paralysing, but a part of him always wanted to know why she did it, to be angry with her for being so callous.

And now she was back, pulling him under by the ankles, ripping the gash open viciously.

He didn't know how exactly to deal with it, after years of thinking of her adjacently, daring only to keep her in his peripheral vision, where he was kept safe. Maybe it was all part of a larger problem; the twitch in his hand and his recurring nightmare.

He's ten years old again, at a train station he's never been to, and likely one that doesn't exist. It's hard to see just about any discerning features, except for the massive train peeking through the fog in front of him. He looks to the right, and sees her strong fingers wrapped around a railing, her standing in the door of the train. He can't be sure of much, but he's certain she's looking at him. He stretches the moment as long as it will last, because it's all downhill from there.

There's a terrible groaning sound, and the train reluctantly starts to chug along, steadily gathering speed. He walks alongside it, gradually picking up his own pace, until he's nearly sprinting. All the while, she watches him with amused eyes, secure in her place on the train. He's panting, choking on the fog, eyes streaming. But if he can just reach her scarf whipping in the wind, the train will stop, and she'll step out, cool and gleaming and impervious to the cloud of dust surrounding her and-

He wakes with a start. He knows how it ends.

She slips through his fingers every time.

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

She stays for the rest of the day, and the four of them spend a cosy afternoon decorating their Christmas tree, carefully dodging the random mugs of hot chocolate littered across the room. While they were digging out the ornaments from the attic, she finds a box that he, evidently, had not tucked away deep enough.

"Remember these?" She holds up a flimsy, crumbling Santa Claus ornament made of construction paper. "We had so much fun making them."

He nods stiffly, subtly shifting the box towards a corner in the living room. It smarts his eyes to look at the hideous thing, as if its very sight was corrosive.

"Took me a while to find them, though. It must be a pain to dig them out every year."

He puts down the bauble he's hanging, and sighs. "I haven't...brought these out in a while."

Even her look of perplexity looks artificial. "Why not? Aren't there so many happy memories attached to these?" Her face falls ever so slightly. "Do memories of me not make you happy?"

Luckily, they're interrupted by Lucy placing a handful of miniature marshmallows into their hot chocolate. When she moves over to George, Lockwood wordlessly starts hanging their crafted ornaments, and she doesn't press him for an answer. When they're done, the tree looks a lot more crowded and chaotic than it normally does, similar to how Lockwood was feeling with her around. He looks at her, and isn't sure how he feels about the asymmetry of having her here.

Later, when she's about to leave, it starts snowing heavily, too heavily for her to walk home. So after a phone call with her parents, she decides to spend the night. Lockwood's in his bedroom when he hears a knock on his door. It's her, dressed in a spare set of Lucy's pajamas.

"I thought you'd be awake."

She wanted to know what he was doing, and what he was doing was wrapping some Christmas presents. Immediately, she obligingly offered to help, and she was too eager for him to outright refuse. Of course, he might have thought differently if he had known how abysmally little she knew about wrapping gifts. And so they stay up till the early hours of the morning, both of them trying equally hard to teach her the most basic of gift wrapping skills. As the night wore on, they got increasingly drunk on laughter over her heinously criminal attempts and Lockwood's limbs started to loosen up. At one point, he had given up entirely and placed his hands over hers, puppeteering the night's only decent gift wrapping while she smothered her laughter.

He doesn't remember much after that. When he next regains his consciousness, he's lying curled up next to her, with the late morning sun streaming through his windows. He watches her breathe, slow and steady, with a face so relaxed, amiable and familiar.

As her eyes start to flutter open, he panics and tries to look anywhere else, which isn't easy given how she's only inches away from him. They glance at each other, silently acknowledging their positions, and the silence hangs heavy in the air. He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to put as much space between them as he can with his arm wrapped under her. "When do you leave?"

She scrunches her forehead as she thinks. It's one of the few parts of her he instantly recognises and he gets caught off guard by a rush of affection, and a flash of an impulse to smooth out the wrinkles.

"Monday."

He pulls a face.

"We'd have the weekend together. Isn't that enough?"

They stay quiet, watching specks of dust float through the sunlight filtering through his partially drawn curtains. With how close they are to each other, they're not looking at each other's face, and it's unclear if she's asking him, or herself, or the dust they're watching. Was it enough?

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

Later that evening, Lucy wants to take a walk along some of the emptier roads in the snow. She takes their trip as her cue to leave but Lucy insists she come along, so she does. The four of them had cycled as far as they could, and when they reached the too-slippery parts of the road, they had dismounted and left their bicycles in a corner. Lucy and George were wandering around a bit ahead of them, while they slowly shuffled through the snow. She had picked up some newspapers on their way there, and was looking through them as they walked, taking particular interest in the odd article on Lockwood & Co.

"You've certainly had your fair share of media coverage."

"Along with a decent helping of frenzied media sensationalism, I suppose."

"My apologies. I forgot I was talking to the Anthony J. Lockwood of Lockwood & Co. Now, is the arson bit complimentary, or would I have to pay extra?"

She was teasing him, and it was irritating. There was a reticent air about him and after some politely delicate probing, which he had been too preoccupied to entertain, she had resorted to amusing herself. Toying with him like a figurine, the way she did all those years ago.

"You wear your grief so beautifully, Lockwood. Like...like jewels between your teeth..."

She pauses, flipping through the newspapers interestedly with inky fingertips, which flickered like shadows next to the soft white snow.

"...and you have such a winning smile. Golden boy." She laughs, and the sound feels like icicles pressing into his skull. "Golden boy," she trills, "you were a bit of a child. The world was having its way with you. You tried to...er, something...golden boy!"

She smiles at him lazily, expectantly, as if anticipating some kind of applause. But Lockwood is in no mood for her childish whimsies.

"I'm fine. I don't have any grief."

She frowns exaggeratedly. "'Course you do."

"I don't."

She mumbles, turning back to her newspaper. "Fine, then. Not like I'm the one holding onto...some kind of...ache."

He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. How could anyone be this self-aware and yet completely oblivious? The strain on his self-restraint peaks and he buckles within himself.

"Why are you here, Y/N?"

She looks away from the snow. "Lucy said it'd be nice out here."

"No. I mean why are you here, in London? Here, at Portland Row?"

Her lips are pressed together, and there's something guarded in her eyes.

"I just...wanted to see how you were doing."

"Liar."

The word drops from his tongue in such an aggrieved manner with such vehemence that it makes her choke.

"How could you say something like that?"

He scoffs. "Please, let's not pretend you weren't dying to leave at the first chance. Not that you had the decency to tell me-"

"-I was ten!-"

"- having me go through the humiliating process of finding out on my own-"

"What do you want me to say, Lockwood? I'm sorry I left? I'm sorry you were alone? I'm sorry I was too selfish to give a damn about you?"

"-and you'll come back, choking on your silver spoon only to leave again and again and again until you're all alone-"

"You never wrote!"

"I didn't think you'd want me to!"

"I didn't know what I wanted!"

"Then what do you want?"

"YOU, you idiot!"

He stares at her, speechless.

"I was ten. And I was so foolish. How could I have thought of anything but you?"

With that, the last of her rosy, polished, alluring boarding-school airs fell apart. He looks at her and sees his own anger and yearning reflected back at him; anger and yearning he's hardly ready to face. Despite all their efforts to get away from the other, to move on, something between them held fast. Or perhaps it was that they were hopelessly, irrevocably intertwined.

"Of all the roads I could have travelled, you are at the end of every single one of them. Every single one of them, except the road I did travel. I'm here, Lockwood, because I thought I might have...I might have chosen wrong."

"So you think you can just stroll back now that it's convenient for you? I didn't know if I'd ever see you again, do you realise that?"

"What do you want me to do, Lockwood? You keep pushing me away. I feel like part of a past you're forever trying to run away from. So fine! I'll leave, then. I'll go back to the sorry hole I crawled out of, back to friends I don't care about, back to dreaming of the only person who's ever truly cared about me. Is that what you want?"

She doesn't wait for a response, and turns around and walks away from him.

"Y/N, come back."

She silently picks her bicycle out of the snow, dusting it off.

"You can't cycle in this."

Still ignoring his words ringing through the dead winter silence, she steadies herself and cautiously swings a leg over her bicycle. Lockwood starts to walk towards her.

"You'll fall. You'll hurt yourself. Y/N. Y/N!"

But she's already off, gliding soundlessly like a ghost through frigid air on icy roads.

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

He's already regretting his words by the time he reaches 35 Portland Row. When he first walks in, the house is so deathly quiet that he's convinced she's left. But her bicycle is thrown down in the garden and he knows she's too averse to the cold to walk home in the snow.

He walks slowly, his measure footsteps echoing on the wooden floors of the house, and he eventually finds her in the living room, sitting with her back to the door, staring at the drawn curtains. The fading evening glow spilling through the edges is streaked across her face and there's a soft crunching sound. As he comes closer, he sees the bowl of ice glinting in her lap, like fractured light, with her face as blank as a canvas.

"Have you gone completely mad? You'll fall sick."

She doesn't even flinch, as if she hadn't heard him. When she speaks, there's a dreamy quality to her typically strong and clear voice.

"I didn't want to come back. This city is nothing I want. I was always going to escape some day. And yet..." she trails off with glazed eyes, as if trying to look through some distant fog. "...and yet."

"You were right." The run back had left him mildly breathless, but was also exactly what he needed to get rid of the buzz in his head, giving way to some much-needed clarity. "About the...heartache. I was just sick of it. You're miles away. I love you in your sleep. I still reach the end of road alone. But I loved you all the while and...somehow that made the pain of leaving you worth it."

"I'm restless. I'm lost. I'm selfish." She swivels her head with an unnerving smoothness, grin wide and grotesque, ice glinting between her perfect teeth. "I'm so alone, Lockwood. Just like you said."

He doesn't know what to say. He walks towards her and picks up her bowl but her fingers close around his wrist like a vice. The gleam in her eye makes him want to pull his hand back. He's too old to play her games and lose.

"That's a bad habit."

"I'm a bad habit. One you can't seem to kick even after all these years: tell me, Anthony, why is that?"

"Y/N, stop. You'll spoil your teeth."

It only makes her grind her teeth even more tauntingly. It's an awful sound. "Good. Let them fall out, one by one. It's what I deserve. Maybe I'll finally learn my lesson."

Her grip on his sleeve lessens, but she doesn't let go. She grips the bowl with her other hand even tighter, as if suddenly terrified.

"Leave me be, Anthony. Leave me...to my vices...and violets and...violence."

He reads her face. He tries to figure her out, to read her like the open book she once was to him. When he doesn't leave, she shovels more ice into her mouth, uncomfortably clacking with her teeth, and continues.

"I was racing ahead...into some glorious sunset, towards some fantastic rainbow, at the end of which was some miraculous snowdrop and a wish to soothe my nomadic soul. I didn't have time for the boy with the sad eyes two streets down from me."

"I convinced myself that you resented my escape from the Problem. I was 15 with the bitter taste of lemongrass in my mouth and a stitch in my chest when I realised I spent all those years missing you. I couldn't run away from it, not truly. So I pretend. I pretend you don't hate me and I pretend I'm not an awful person and I pretend there's a chance you'd want me as much as I want you. I came home to tell you how terribly fond I was of you. It was only at your doorstep that I realised I had run out of places to hide."

"I don't have time for love. Nor the capacity for it. But I am tired of trying to outrun it."

She closed her eyes. Her voice was barely a croak. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was leaving. If I could...I'd wish away the past eight years of misery." She opened her eyes. "Some nights, I can pretend they never existed. But I can't wish your happiness into existence."

Lockwood somehow finds his voice. "I thought this was the life you wanted."

"It is Christmas, once again, and my heart is lonely as an island...once again. What part of this could I possibly want?"

He lets go of the bowl of ice and covers her limp, frozen hand with his own. She speaks in a low voice, barely stirring the dust in the room.

"I'll never forgive myself."

He sits down next to her, his feather-light lips pressed to her temple. She feels drained, and exhausted, as if the spirit that had driven her for so long was finally fatigued. Her breathing was uneven and her lungs felt lopsided. But what a blessing it was to finally fall in the one place she knew her landing would be soft.

"One day. One day, I'll..."

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

He pulls out a fresh violet from his coat, still damp from the morning dew.

"Call it even?"

She accepts the flower and gives him a sweet smile. He revels in this smallest of victories.

Their peaceful moment gets shattered by the deafening train horn, which unpleasantly reminds Lockwood of where they are.

She hesitates for a moment, but then extends her arm and holds his face. There's a troubled look on her face, like there's something indescribable she wished to communicate just at the tip of her tongue. But the compulsion passes, and she settles for a trembling brush of his cheekbone with her thumb.

"You're such a darling, Anthony. I don't care what any newspaper or lawsuit has to say about you. You'll always be a darling to me."

"Good, because soon enough you might just be the only one."

She grins, widely at first, but then it chips, and for once he can admit that the sight breaks his heart. She gives him a hug, and he holds her like she's one of the precious metals that adorn her jewellery.

"You'll come back, won't you?"

"Perhaps. See you another weekend."

When they break apart, she swiftly picks up her suitcase with white knuckles and marches to the carriage without looking back. The train horn blares for a final time. The doors shut, and the wheels groan to life. He searches for her face, and finds it, but the reflection of the train station lights hides her eyes. It's at this moment that a disconnected part of him realises he doesn't want to wait for another weekend. He wants her here, and he wants her now.

The train picks up speed, and Lockwood tries to match it. But he's not trying to run. He knows that won't work, it never does.

"Y/N!"

That gets the attention of most passengers, including her. This train accelerates much faster than in his dream, and he's got an awful stitch running down the side of his torso by now, but he's beyond caring at this point. When she sees that it's him yelling like a maniac, she presses her flushed face to the window, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Would you stay?"

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits @ahead-fullofdreams

#taylor swift #lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood imagine #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #tis the damn season #evermore #12 days of fics '23

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi! For the family day event, I'm thinking of Papa Zigvolt and Trey? Trey just sees Sebek dragging this older gentleman who looks a lot like a more smiley, softer version of himself looking very confused before stopping right in front of him before saying " CLOVER THIS IS MY FATHER THE DENIST" and then Trey is just so excited to talk teeth

THEY'RE MEAN THEY'RE LEAN AND THEY'RE GREEN just like the vegetables L*ona refuses to eat--

I'm sorry if I'm getting these NRC Family Day interactions out sort of slowly!! I've been working on a few substantially larger/longer fics on the side (one of which I hope to get out within the next few days to pay homage to The Little Mermaid). Until then, enjoy the green hair duo :3c

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

"Wow, Sebek! Your school's so big and fancy. You really go to such an amazing place to learn? I always knew you were really talented, but now I'm even more impressed! You're such a cool kid, I can't believe I get to call you my son."

Sebek grunted, only half acknowledging whatever nonsense his father was now spouting. Mr. Zigvolt had been at it since he passed through the NRC gates, gushing about every little thing he laid his eyes on and praising his child in that mild-mannered way only a normal, unremarkably bland human could.

Sebek supposed that it was only natural that the weak-minded were blown away by that which laid beyond their grasp, and yet his entire face still warmed. (He had insisted its source was annoyance, but Lilia begged to differ. "Aw, you're so cute when you're embarrassed, Sebek. Excited for your father to pay you a visit, hmm?")

“That’s enough talk out of you,” Sebek snapped, his volume revving up. He was ahead of his father by several brisk paces. “Stop dragging your feet and gawking!! If you’re going to behave like a common tourist, then I will have no qualms about leaving you in my dust!!"

Mr. Zigvolt blinked, adjusting his glasses. The lenses were grimy, smeared with traces of oil from his fingers. "Ah, is your blood sugar low? It's about lunch time, and I know we've been walking around the campus all day... You must be hungry."

"Wh-What!! No, that's not what I..."

Mr. Zigvolt stuffed his hands into his pockets and rifled around. He produced a ball of hard sugar in colorful polka dot wrapping paper and held it out to his son. "Here, have a piece of candy to tide you over. We can get you something more filling at the cafeteria later."

“NO, I DO NOT WANT A PIECE OF CANDY!!” Sebek boomed.

His voice carried through the entire courtyard, drawing attention from passing families. ("Mama, why's the big forehead guy shouting?" a little kid asked of their parent. "Shhh, don't make eye contact with him!" their mother hissed.)

"I am no longer a child! I am 16 years of age, and a young man at that!! I'm not to be subjected to this juvenile treatment!" Sebek insisted loudly, batting away his father's hand.

"Oh..." Mr. Zigvolt replaced the candy in his pocket and offered a sheepish grin. "Well, you can always ask me if the mood ever strikes."

He was so plain, so even-mannered and inoffensive. So... dull. His father was nothing like his mother--powerful, commanding, and boisterous, every bit as proud as her fae bloodline. How was he possible descended from such a man?!

"Gnnkgh!" A hand flew to Sebek's temple, and he let out a groan. "You can be so... infuriating!"

A voice so similar to his father's in tone met him. "I'd know that thundering voice anywhere. So it was you after all, Sebek."

The first year froze, his words catching in his throat. "Y-Y-You are...!!"

Mr. Zigvolt raised his eyebrows at the boy approaching from across the lawn. He bore thick black spectacles and a red vest, a club painted below his right eye. "Who's that, Sebek? Friend of yours?"

"H-He is no such thing!!" Sebek latched onto his father's arm and tugged hard, suddenly frantic to escape the scene. "C-Come then, make haste! We have many more esteemed faculty members to speak with!!"

"Hold on, Sebek. Don't go running away from me now. I promise I won't bite."

"G-Gah!!"

Sebek nearly fell backward when Trey popped up to his right. He had just been a few yards away seconds ago—how had he manifested so suddenly?

The freshman grappled at what remained of his composure, mustering a haughty response. "For a mere human, you managed to catch up to us rather quickly."

“It’s kind of hard to not notice you shouting from across the courtyard," Trey pointed out. “And I wouldn’t call myself speedy, but I guess that comes from playing soccer and whipping up cupcakes as a kid.

"But hey, that's enough about me. I'm glad I caught you. I wanted to say thanks for helping Ace and Deuce with their homework the other day. They just barely scraped by getting beheaded for failing thanks to the points from that assignment."

"Hmph! Their collective incompetence was an eyesore for the entire library, that's all! Moreover, their loud dawdling was disturbing my own studies!!" Sebek smirked (not realizing the irony in him complaining about other people's loudness). "As vice dorm leader, you should be ashamed that you have not properly disciplined your card soldiers!!"

"Er... sorry? Still, I appreciate that you helped out your fellow freshmen. It saved me a lot of trouble in the long run."

"I didn't do it for YOU!! And besides that, you shouldn't be relying on others to fulfill your duties for you!!"

Mr. Zigvolt observed their interaction with rapt awe. It took Trey a few moments, but at last he took notice of the unassuming man standing beside Sebek.

"Excuse me. You are...?"

"N-NO ONE OF REAL IMPORTANCE!!" Sebek interjected, hastily wedging himself between his father and the upperclassman. At the same time, Mr. Zigvolt said, "I'm Sebek's dad."

Though the son most certainly drowned out his father, it was Mr. Zigvolt's statement that Trey honed in on. His yellow grape eyes widened with realization.

"Mr. Zigvolt? THE Mr. Zigvolt?!" Trey asked, a new sparkle set to his irises. He excitedly clasped the older man's hands. "You're him?! The dentist? Sebek's told me so much about you!

“I’m Trey Clover, a third year student. It's a dream come true to finally meet you, sir."

"Oh, he has?" Mr. Zigvolt brightened too. "It’s so good to know that Sebek has made new friends at school! He's only ever played with Silver back home, I was worried he wouldn't branch out of his comfort zone.”

“F-Father…!! Do not converse with him!! And Clover, you WILL refrain from this conversation!!”

"You have to tell me more about your dental practice!" Trey begged, ignoring Sebek. "I heard that you deal with a wide range of clientele. Since there are so many different species of fae, their teeth must be extremely different as well.

“You must have so much knowledge and experience under your belt. I’d love to be able to learn more from you.”

“Ah, it’s so rare to find people your age who take an interest in dentistry!”

"H-HEY, ARE EITHER OF YOU HUMANS LISTENING TO ME?!"

“Not now, Sebek! I’m listening to your dad,” Trey said dismissively. His attention returned to Mr. Zigvolt. “I’m just a hobbyist myself! I have spare oral hygiene supplies lying around, and I use a unique shape of toothbrush for the different areas of my mouth—but I’m sure that pales in comparison to the tools at your disposal, sir.”

“It depends! Sometimes it takes a little extra elbow grease or modifications to my current tools. For example, my wife and children all have slightly curved, conical incisors. Think like the teeth of a crocodile. They need a good, thorough flossing, and an extraction tool that conforms well to that curved shape.

"In nature, that flossing would be done by plover birds. Have you heard of them? They pick out leftover food from inbetween the teeth of crocodiles. It’s a symbiotic relationship.”

“In fact, I have! It’s very different than what we do. Some of my students don’t even brush their teeth twice a day… It’d take a load off my back knowing that birds could swoop down and clean their teeth for them in their sleep.

“My younger siblings have the same issue. It’s pretty bad for them and my dorm members alike since they all readily have access to sweets. There’s no shortage of cake in the family bakery or at Heartslabyul’s unbirthday parties.”

“That’s the trouble with kids sometimes, they don’t always realize the importance of dental hygiene. I’ve never had an issue with Sebek though. He’s always been good about cleaning his teeth.”

“Really! So diligent. I mean, Sebek’s diligent in his studies too, but I didn’t think it extended to oral care too.”

“Yes, that’s my Sebek! Very serious in everything he does.”

Mr. Zigvolt chuckled as he counted off the memories. “He’d pretend to slay monsters with his toothbrush. One of his favorite ones was this neon design. It would play a little jingle when you pressed a button on it. He’d tell me and his mother that he wanted to have a pristine smile for his prin—”

“THAT’S ENOUGH, FATHER!!” This time, nostrils flaring, Sebek barreled at his dad and completely walled him off. It was simple feat, given the first year’s imposing stature. With a scathing glare lobbed at Trey, he began to herd Mr. Zigvolt off. “We can’t be late for a very important date to speak with the instructors!!”

“Huh, did we lose track of the time…?”

“Ahahahah…” Trey’s awkward laugh cut the tension like a knife. “I think your son’s just being bashful.”

“ME, BASHFUL?!” Sebek looked as though his soul had been sucked right out of his body. He fought to maintain a frown and his staunch stance. “P-PREPOSTEROUS!!”

Sebek’s instant denial only made Trey’s mouth twist. “You think so?”

But the fact is that, despite all his protesting, he still let us talk. Mr. Zigvolt was so happy to talk about his profession, and about his son. Deep down, there must be a part of Sebek that wants to understand his dad’s love for him too. Maybe that’s why he…

“What’s with that smug look on your face, human?!” Sebek challenged, rattling Trey from his thoughts. “I don’t like it!!”

“Aaaah, Sebek! Please, let’s not fight with your friend! He’s such a nice young man, please don’t yell at each other.”

“We are NOT friends!!”

Trey curiously inclined his head to one side. “… Sebek, your dad’s a great guy. I hope you realize that.”

“Wh-What!! I…” Sebek faltered, then doubled down. “Do not presume to tell me how to think!! My father is… he is…”

A human. Someone he could never hope to understand—but someone who loved him regardless. Never angry, always patient.

Sebek hesitated, and the statement was left unfinished.

“… Sebek,” Mr. Zigvolt said gently, “it’s okay. I think we’d better get going. I held us up, and your teachers are still waiting to hear from us, right?”

Sebek clenched his teeth, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “… Yes,” he said very stiffly. “Let’s go. I would not wish to stain the young master’s good name by being tardy for an arrangement.”

“Well, good luck then,” Trey offered. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Zigvolt.”

“It was nice meeting you too, Trey-kun.” Mr. Zigvolt smiled softly. It was the smile of the average man, not particularly outstanding or beautiful--but it was full of tenderness like a sweet that melted upon contact with the tongue. "Thank you for supporting my son."

#twst #twisted wonderland #Sebek Zigvolt #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #Trey Clover #NRC Family Day #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #*casually and vicariously bullies Sebek via his dad/j*

[ask-mr-brisk]

How dare you! No one boops Mr Brisk and gets away with it.

#the world's most abhorrent youtuber #we cross paths again #mr brisk speaks #moominvalley #mr brisk #moomin #boop

[cherhys]

Northern Lights

Cassian x Reader 

Summary: When your best friend Cassian invites you on a trip, it quickly turns to full-fledged hiking and camping. But don’t worry, Cassian has a surprise up his sleeve that’ll make it all worth it...

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: I think my teeth may have rotted after writing this; read at your own risk

Notes: We’re back with fic number two! I’m swamped with midterms (not sure how I managed to write this tbh), but who can resist Cassian right? ;)

The wind is shocking with the lack of its usual abrasive bite. Instead, the breeze would be enjoyable if you weren’t starved, tired and gauging the exact angle at which to hit Cassian to knock him off of the steep pass he’d taken you on. When your friend approached you three days ago with that boyish smile you could never say no to, how were you supposed to know that “a short trip up North” would equate to roughing it out in the wilderness?

Your sigh is loud enough that Cassian turns around, the large pack on his back seeming to bother him little. Yours is half the size and yet you were borderline about to topple backwards if your shaking legs and sweat-soaked shirt are anything to go by. 

“You alright back there sweetheart?” Cassian has barely broken a sweat, the tan column of his neck on display as he reties his thick locks. Usually, you’d take your time to ogle him but his good looks only infuriate you further. 

“Of course Mr. General. I am having the time of my life.” Your tone is as dry as the sparse vegetation around you. The winter season was fast approaching, but the Steppes were always perpetually frozen, although Cassian doesn’t seem to mind. 

A sly grin spreads across his face, “That’s what I like to hear hon.” He pointed to a ledge that seemed infinitely far from your current position, “That’s where we’re camping for the night.”

You squinted against the sun, the reflection of the snow banks blinding, “I know you have to be kidding. Please say you’re kidding.” 

His grin stretched impossibly further, “Afraid not. The winds are shifting so we will have good protection up there.” A groan had left your mouth before he’d even finished speaking. This was simply unfair. You may not have been an Illyrian warrior, but you certainly weren’t out of shape. An Olympic hike through knee-deep snow just wasn’t on your to-do list for the week.

“Oh c’mon sweets,” Cassian pouted and leaned in, “Surely spending time with me isn’t so bad?”

His leather and sandalwood smell overwhelmed your senses but you tried not to inhale lest he notice, “I could’ve spent time with you in the House of Wind, sitting on a cozy couch, by a warm fire, with food in my belly, and a book in my hands.”

He waved his hand through the air as if the godly evening you had just described was smoke in the wind, “But this is so much more fun! And,” he grabbed your hands to pull you against his chest, “It’s just the two of us for miles and miles.” 

When you agreed, the trip seemed like a good opportunity to spend more one-on-one time with your best friend, as he (and everyone else, including yourself) had been busy as of late. A twinge in your chest reminded you that your recent unavailability isn't the only reason you agreed to this trip, but you'd be loath to admit anything else. Cassian was your dear friend and that became more apparent than ever with the recent addition of a certain Archeron sister to the House of Wind. That reminder had you pulling your hands away from him and swatting his chest. 

“I’m cold and hungry so let’s go.”

His smile faltered but he swiftly recovered and started at a brisk pace back up the path.

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

“This is perfect.”

Cassian stood in the center of your makeshift campsite, his hands on his waist. He had dug out an impressive firepit, bracketed by stones, with a large pot hovering above. A fire was already blazing, casting shadows on the two tents you had pitched. 

He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done, “I am just too good.”

“Careful Cass. Your head might get so big that you’ll float away.” 

You sat on a log by the fire, warming your hands in the rapidly cooling evening. You had made surprisingly good time to the campsite and the sun was only now setting. Just as I projected, Cassian had spouted but you both knew that was bullshit. 

The crackle of the flame is interrupted by your growling stomach. Your cheeks redden at the sound–the hike had certainly taken its toll on you. A booming laugh drowns all noise out as Cassian approaches his pack, a soft smile on his face.

“Hungry, sweetheart?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes as you press your hands to your stomach, “Yes, I’ve decided to turn to a life of cannibalism in the absence of any other food.” 

You bare your teeth in what you hope is a menacing enough look, the fire only further exacerbating your pearly whites. Cassian paused in the rooting of his bag, and wiggled his eyebrows, “I bet I’d taste delicious.”

You huffed an unimpressed sound, rubbing a strand of hair between your fingers, “You’d be too chewy with all that muscle. Not a pleasant experience.”

He let out a low whistle, looking at his covered arms as if he could see through to his rippling biceps, “I am well built aren’t I?”

You frowned, “Is that all you gathered–”

Cassian’s sudden exclamation had you jumping, “Found it! Here you are, m’lady.” 

He dramatically kneeled before you, and with a flourish presented you with a honeyed nuts and oats bar. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you at his foolish antics. The heat of the fire reached something delicate in your chest, a soft warmth sweeping through you. He always did know how to make you laugh. 

Not to be outdone, you took the bar from his hands and stood, “Thank you, brave warrior. For your service, you shall be knighted with the highest honour.” 

Using the snack, you graciously touched each of his shoulders while he watched you with an unreadable look on his face.

“Rise, Sir Cassian.”

He chuckled as he stood, the sound more tender than his usual roguish laughter. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. Although I think a lady like you is more deserving of a proper meal.” 

You smiled teasingly and looked around the snow-covered hills, “Is there a Rita’s around the corner that I missed?”

He leaned in conspiratorially and lowered his voice, “Even better.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, letting him play into his grand reveal. 

“I,” He placed a strong hand on his chest, “Chef Cassian, will be preparing your meal today.” 

You blinked. Never had Cassian offered to cook for you in all the years of your friendship. Frankly, you weren’t even sure he could cook. 

“Alright then, I'd be happy to assist you Chef Cassian.” However, he was shaking his head long before you finished speaking. 

“Unfortunately there’s only enough space in the kitchen for one amazing chef, sweets.” You glanced around–kitchen, ok sure. 

Before you could protest he turned you by your shoulders and began to lead you toward your tent. 

“In the meantime, you will get some much-needed rest and I will wake you up once I’m done.”

You tried to slow him down, but it was futile against a male as large and strong as Cassian. Succumbing to your fate, you narrowed your eyes at him over your shoulder, his own shining with mirth.

“Are you calling me ugly right now?”

“No, I’m saying you look tired.”

“Those are the same thing, how dare you–”

“Please go and sleep, sweetheart.” Once you reached your tent, he relinquished his hold on you. While regaining your balance in the kicked-up snow, Cassian caught you off guard and placed a swift kiss on your cheek. 

You froze, not expecting the burst of affection but he had already turned and made his way back to the fire. Slowly, you unzipped and entered the tent, falling into a quiet sleep with your cheek still burning from his touch. 

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

The delectable smell of food and the gentle caressing of your hair rouse you from your slumber. The large hand is warm and sure against your head, a comforting weight that only relaxes you further. Nails scratch lightly against your scalp and it takes everything in you not to lean into the touch and moan. 

“Wake up, sweetheart.” The deep voice is unmistakable and you quickly realize whose hand it was in your hair. 

You briskly sit up, startling Cassian at the sudden movement, his hand still poised in the air. You hastily fix your hair and shift in the sleeping bag, attempting to put some distance between you both. 

In your hurried movement, you fail to notice the slight downturn of his lips. He watched you pull away and he couldn't help but clench his fist, the feeling of the tresses of your hair still fresh in his mind. He opens his mouth to speak, to say anything to relax the tense look on your face but you compose yourself in the blink of an eye.

“Is the food ready? It smells delicious.” With a speed that even his most experienced warriors would envy, you swoop to put your boots on and exit the tent into the night.  

You halt your rapid steps, floored by the work Cassian so painstakingly put in. The food he had prepared–it was your favourite. He had spread the meal out on a larger stump, your plate already portioned for you. There is even a bundle of snowdrops he must’ve collected himself, placed as a makeshift centrepiece. 

Your breath is caught in your throat, unable to fathom that he had done this. Done this for you. I mean, of course, this is your best friend just showing he cares right? Your chest is nearly bursting with a feeling you have avoided acknowledging for so long. 

“I told you I was an amazing chef.”

Cassian’s comment snaps you out of your emotional stupor, turning to look at him as he sidled up beside you. He wears a cocky grin on his face, but his hand is rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Yes,” You breathed softly, your words clouding before you, “You are amazing.”

His eyes widened at your admission and even in the cold, you could see the pink creeping across his cheeks. You held Cassian’s stare, his hazel eyes molten in the firelight. He cleared his throat, bringing you both back to the chill around you.

“Well, dig in sweetheart. I’d hate for the food to get cold.” 

He gestured to the logs around the impromptu stump table, and you didn’t need to be told twice. After the surprisingly tender moment, all you were left with was your ravenous hunger. Food had never smelled so delicious. 

You both sit and begin to devour the various dishes. The warm flavours melt on your tongue. Everything is spiced to perfection, and exquisitely cooked. The different textures dance in your mouth, and you couldn’t help the little moan that slips out at the delicacies he’s made. It isn't lost on Cassian’s ears and he’s licking his lips, despite the array of food before him. 

While the meal has warmed you, a gust of wind has you shivering.

“Cass, if you really wanted to cook for me, I’m sure you could’ve done this back at the House.” You joke, rubbing your hands up and down your arms. 

He looks contemplative for a second, “Yes, I could have. Except then I wouldn’t be able to show you what I’ve been looking forward to.” 

Your eyebrows furrow as he gestures around you. You had thought the spot he picked to camp out was, more or less, random–certainly not one that he had picked with the intention of showing you.

Cassian stands and dusts his legs off, reaching for your hand. He leads you over to sit on a log a little ways from the fire. 

“This place is called Aurora’s Peak. Yes, Velaris has a gorgeous night sky, but even there the light pollution dulls the effect,”

His voice is clear in the night around you, a comforting beacon you fixate on and lean into. His hazel eyes are bright but never brighter than the smile on his face. 

“The real beauty of the starry night can be seen here, far away and secluded from any cities. Look.”  

You do as he says, and look up at a sight that takes your breath away. Never have you seen the cosmos so clearly. The constellations twinkle brighter than ever, thousands of stars illuminating the darkness. But it's the dancing glow in the sky that mesmerizes you. Green, pink, purple and yellow light curtain the horizon, like streaks of paint on a canvas. In your centuries alive, it is a beauty you’ve never witnessed.

While you gape in awe at the dynamic flickers, Cassian watched you–his beauty. His eternity. He lightly brushes his fingers against the apples of your cheek, sweeping across not unlike the lights in the sky. You turn, breathless for so many reasons. You wear your bottom lip between your teeth; that all-consuming feeling in your chest is back again. The enormity of your feelings for the male before you consume you, and even under the vast sky, they seem boundless. But he isn’t yours. 

Your eyes flutter shut; you can’t keep looking at the reflection of the stars in his eyes, at his rosy pink cheeks, and his lush lips.

“Cassian–” 

He cuts you off by placing his forehead against yours. You both breathe the cold air in, exhalations mingling. In all your centuries you’ve never been so close. Never dared for fear of crossing that unspoken boundary. 

He slowly–ever so slowly–caresses his cheek against yours, revelling in the feel of your skin against his. He moves back across to the other cheek, delighting in your soft touch. You’re shaking like the nettles in the pine trees around you, Cassian daring to sweep you away like a gust of wind.

He moves in an arc from your cheek to your forehead and presses a light kiss there, his plush lips burning your skin. You’re both breathing heavily, and you lift your hands to where his palms are cradling your head. He spreads his calloused fingers gently, encircling yours with his own. 

Unspoken words pass between you as you pull back slowly to look him in the eye. His gaze is searching–questioning and worried even now. But beneath that, there is tender love. A passion as old as time and a fierce longing that overwhelms one’s very soul. With one spoken word, with one denial–you know he would lock it all away if you so wish.

As if you could ever deny him. 

You tilt your head up slowly, and he moves in without hesitation and claims your lips for his own.  His kiss is exactly as you imagined; sublime, perfect, and so very Cassian. Your lips move to a tune of their own as if you have embraced each other a million times before. Your hands move to his soft hair, eliciting a groan from him when you let it down from the pesky leather tie. The brush of his tongue is soft against your bottom lip, and a new wave of adoration washes over you. 

Your love, your heart–they were always his. Always had been. Even your soul was his, as a spark brightens deep within you–

You pull away, gasping and you feel it then–that light in your chest, a thread that glows with every colour of the northern lights above you, connecting you to Cassian’s very soul. He feels it too, evident by his mirror gasp. 

There are no shocked glances shared between you. You both had always known this is who your eternity lies with. With glistening eyes, you pull him into your embrace.

You whisper into the nape of his neck, before the stars as witnesses, “I love you.”

He tightened his hug and placed a kiss on the side of your head, “I love you too, sweetheart.” 

Cassian enveloped your body in his strong arms and took you to his tent, snow crunching beneath his boots. For now, the passion can wait, as you both simply bask in the glow of the bond.

Final Notes: I hope you enjoyed reading this! I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights... 

#cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian/reader #cassian x y/n #cassian fanfic #cassian #cassian acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #cherhys

[oftenwantedafton]

Pas de Deux - William Afton x Female Ballerina Reader ~ A Ballora Origin Story

Chapter 1

Rating : Explicit

Warnings - none for this chapter

Summary: It’s your senior year of high school and at 18 you’re on the cusp of becoming one of the best students in Mrs. Afton’s ballet class, where only the most elite train and compete.

But the closer you get to Mr. Afton, the more you question what it is you truly want to be.

Also available on AO3

You see the red glow of a cigarette before you realize who its owner is, leaning against the brick and mortar of the building adjacent to the ballet studio you attend.

“Hi, Mr. Afton.”

You think he might nod a greeting, but it’s difficult to discern much when he’s cloaked in shadows.

“Mrs. Afton said she’ll be down soon.” You switch your duffel bag to your other hand. The evening air is cool against your damp skin, the moisture lingering from the rigorous exercise you’d just performed. The woman was merciless, but her reputation was well founded. She expected the best; you either rose to the top under her tutelage, or floundered and faced expulsion. There were no exceptions.

The paper roll of tobacco ignites again and this time it illuminates the older man’s features, revealing a shadow of stubble along cheekbones and jaw. There are soot colored stains beneath his pale eyes that speak of long hours at the children’s party themed restaurant again. You don’t understand precisely what maintaining the animatronics involves, but it clearly is exhausting.

He gestures with the cigarette towards the row of second story windows facing the street. “I saw you earlier. You’re the best in the group,” he murmurs.

You blush, feeling warmth creep into your face. “I don’t know about that.”

”The way you move. It’s…” He takes another long drag, leaving the sentence hanging open. The silence lengthens and you seek an end to the awkwardness.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” you blurt out.

“On occasion. Don’t tell my wife,” he adds with a smirk.

“I won’t,” you promise. You shiver suddenly, wishing you had brought your hoodie with you; it’s getting colder at night now.

“Here.” He shrugs out of his blazer, stepping forward and draping it around your shoulders. You’re suddenly enveloped in warmth, his lingering body heat covering your skin. He’s so tall compared to you, another exhalation of smoke wafting down. You inhale deeply and drink it in. He’s made no move to step back, studying you with those icicle pale eyes. “You ever smoke before?”

“I’ve tried it.” You swallow, refusing to falter beneath his gaze. “I liked it.”

He hums thoughtfully, removing the cigarette from his mouth. “You want to finish it?”

“Okay.”

He holds it just before your lips, so the lit end faces away from you. You lean forward slightly, accepting the offering, shivering again when his fingers brush your lips.

Behind you, you hear the sound of the stairwell door clanging shut and you hurriedly remove the cigarette, tossing it to the ground and grinding it beneath your sneaker. The brisk click of high heels can only belong to one person.

“William, why haven’t you started the car yet? It’s freezing out here.”

“Needed some fresh air. I’ve been indoors all day.” He rummages in his pants pocket and produces a set of keys. He unlocks the trunk and relieves you of your burden.

“So have I,” the other woman snaps impatiently, dumping her bag next to yours.

William unlocks the front passenger door and then the rear, holding the door as you slide in. You’d been getting a ride home from ballet lessons for several weeks now, an arrangement your mother had made since you didn’t have your own vehicle and she was now working second shift.

“Can we get going? I have an early class tomorrow.” Mrs. Afton drums her perfectly manicured crimson nails on the door handle impatiently.

You’re well accustomed to the female instructor’s abrasive nature by now. Her husband’s eyes meet yours in the rear view mirror after he closes the door and gets behind the wheel. You’re not entirely sure you comprehend how these two had ever become a couple. Sure, she was pretty, thin and willowy, with full lips and sparkling eyes. Maybe she’d been kinder when they’d been younger. Their personalities were just so different. William was quiet and reserved, while she was loud and energetic.

Perhaps it was the old adage opposites attract.

When you move to return his blazer after you reach your destination, he insists you keep it, touching your hand briefly before handing you your bag and shutting the trunk of the car.

”I’ll see you Friday,” he says, hovering near the car, seemingly reluctant to part ways.

You nod and say goodnight, hearing another sigh of exasperation from the passenger before you turn away.

You spend a long time in the shower letting the hot water cascade over you and soothe sore muscles before changing into your favorite pajamas, oversized and well worn. You cannot resist bringing the loaned fabric to your face, inhaling William’s scent. Nicotine and that morning’s aftershave fill your nostrils and you think about your mouths sharing the same cigarette, a virtual kiss.

***

The fragrance dissipates over time but still you keep the blazer hidden deep in your bedroom closet. William never asks for it back and you don’t think you’re willing to part with it.

One evening you share another cigarette and lean against the building next to him, so close your arm brushes his each time you move to take another drag. His fingers tangle with yours in a seemingly accidental collision during an exchange and you drop it. He doesn’t let go and you let him caress your hand. You can feel the shiny taut lines of well healed scars and the rough edge of a newer scab across one knuckle. He hisses and you think maybe you’ve hurt him until you see his head rock back, striking masonry, teeth catching his bottom lip. Your heart pounds as you continue to stroke the injured area.

Your companion curses, grabs your upper arm and pulls you further into the alley. He presses you against the rough side of the building, one forearm braced above your head, his tall figure looming over you.

“What are you doing to me?” His lips graze one ear and ghost over your throat, brushing feather light against your mouth and then he’s gone, moving back towards the entrance of the studio.

He watches you in the mirror the entire ride home and you wonder how he manages to operate the vehicle safely.

You tremble like an addict going through withdrawal and your heart continues to jackhammer long after he’s dropped you off.

#fnaf fanfic #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton x you

[cult-of-the-eye]

Mag 81 A Guest for Mr Spider

FUCK FORMER HEAD ARCHIVIST

Wait I need to check the timelines - this was 2 days after leitner's death

New spooky music???

My man is so fucking dramatic I love him so much "grand of sand behind my eye" love the way he speaks

Yeah FUCK JURGEN LEITNER

Omg the greying hair is canon??

Child in the 90s makes him at most 27 GOD DAMN. I was imagining like mid 30s...can you imagine a fucking 27 yr old using words like "ilk" when talking to you

Oh shit he's an orphan poor guy

Yeah ok a lot of his personality seems to make sense if you realise he was raised by his grandma

You know those memes that are like people raised by their grandparents are exceptionally polite but in a brisk way, talk fancy and are super posh? Yeah that's him.

Getting such neurodivergent vibes

Yeah he sounds like a main character from the start Jesus Christ he's such a kid who got traumatised and then grows up to be a horror protagonist vibes

My First Leitner lol like kids had to be introduced to them at a young age like those my first toys

He's so funny I can just imagine him as an 8 yr old getting super like affronted at this like how dare my grandma think I am of subpar intelligence he's such a little bitch from the start

"The eponymous Mr spider" even talking about his childhood trauma he's busting out the vocabulary

Fuck that story actually kinda rattled me I had my hand over my mouth in shock for most of it

I think it was the bit where the horsefly brought his son and they were both crying that got me, I could definitely imagine it scaring an 8 yr old

The way it drags out as well, with the pages of the same scene it really heightens the suspense

Is his childhood bully someone we should keep track of?? Love how he says Michael probably cause he sees him as a bully lol

It's interesting how despite him bullying him (quite badly seeing as though he beat him up) he's still like yeah but he saved my life and that means he deserves to be remembered

My bro didn't save your life on purpose, he was just trying to make it worse and happened to come to a terrible fate cause of that

I guess underneath it all he was still a kid who watched someone die, knowing they'd get eaten by a fucking spider, he still held him in some regard

The way he specified the guy was his bully even after he was being eaten though lol

He was desperate to get the book back? That's a leitner thing I guess, the book makes you want to keep it so it can finish whatever it wanted to do to you

On my relisten (which I will do once I've finished the series I'm sure of it), I'll have to look out for any reaction of leitners name

I wonder why Jon didn't react more to Carlos vittery's statement, like it must've terrified him? I saw a post a while back explaining Jon's thoughts and IT WAS GENIUS it was like of course he doesn't react, he must be terrified that someone knew about his experience and somehow did this to mess with him or it was a joke and he can't let anyone know that the Head Archivist is not Good at This ugh it's so good I'll tag it if I can find it

AHHHHH HE REGRETS DISMISSING THE OTHER STATEMENTS AHHHHHH

HE FINALLY ADMITS THAT HE NEEDS HELP WE LOVE THIS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT YES YOU FUCKING DO BITCH.

yeah at least he's right about Elias killing leitner

GEORGIE THE EX GIRLFIEND

ITS SO WEIRD TO SEE HIM ACTUALLY NICE TO SOMEONE WOW HIS VOICE CHANGES SLIGHTLY AS WELL HES LESS ACADEMIC

THE ADMIRAL

Awwww he's so cute with georgie

GHOST PODCAST GHOST PODCAST

THE WHAT THE GHOST T SHIRT IS CANON???? AHH THATS SO CUTE

Can he not go back to his own flat?? Did he bring all his clothes to the archive and then subsequently leave them there? Does he even have a flat??

God Georgie is so nice I would kill for her

It's so funny that an apparent supernatural cynic dated a ghost podcaster

WOW SEASON 3 OFF TO AN AMAZING START I CANT WAIT TO KEEP LISTENING IM GONNA TELL MY THERAPIST ABOUT THIS TOMORROW!!!

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #jarchivist #a guest for mr spider #the web #tma season 3 #georgie barker #tma georgie #jurgen leitner #what the ghost #the admiral

[jomiddlemarch]

That it alone is high fantastical

“Oh, Mother, you’ll never guess! You’ll never guess in century of guessing!” Rilla cried out, sounding so much as she had as a little girl, for a moment, Anne could convince herself the War had never happened and that somewhere in Rainbow Valley, Walter sat writing a crown of sonnets in his leather-bound journal, his face dappled by the light, back braced against the bole of a birch tree, his grey eyes unfocused as he searched for his next word.

There was still a white stone in the graveyard. Shirley was in Toronto, having refused (albeit politely) to return to Glen St. Mary, much to Susan’s dismay, and Jem walked with a pronounced limp, his uneven gait announcing him as much as Mary’s voice.

There was a mystery there, Jem and Mary Vance, but Anne couldn’t see any way through it and Gilbert, lying beside her in bed, both of them tired but sleepless, told her not to try. Jem had seemed less removed, less falsely cheerful lately, and had begun talking about the medical course again, perhaps a specialty in obstetrics, a hospital practice. As far away from men dying in battle as he can get, Gilbert had observed and Anne had recalled Joyce’s little face, white as a mayflower blossom, and held her tongue.

Rilla, remarkably, given her exuberant entrance, had done the same in the absence of Anne’s response. Miss Oliver had left Ingleside some weeks ago, so there was no one to suggest Rilla either elaborate or calm herself, as her likeness to a whistling copper tea-kettle was increasingly pronounced.

“If I’ll never guess, dear, you must tell me,” Anne said. It was a relief that Rilla could still be the young girl she ought to be, for all that she wore Ken Ford’s diamond ring on her finger and was capable of a brisk, warm matronliness when it came to raising Jims, now reserved for the writing of letters to his new British stepmother and clucking over the missives she received.

“Faith Meredith has eloped!”

Anne did admit to herself she would never have guessed that, because for all her imagination, she wouldn’t have guessed something impossible.

“But, Rilla, Jem is with your father today, doing the Lowbridge rounds. Susan and I packed a lunch with plenty of pie for Dad and some of that flapjack Jem took to after being in England,” Anne said. He’d been in hospital in England, recovering from the injuries he’d sustained at the Front, in the prison camp, during his escape, none of which was spoken of. Only flapjack and stewed tea and how no cook in England was a patch on Susan and that you may tie to, uttered with some semblance of his old roguish humor.

“I didn’t say she married Jem, Mother!” Rilla exclaimed. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright. She had a look of Gilbert at his most delighted about him, an expression Anne remembered from their childhood. Anne opened her mouth to speak but Rilla interrupted.

“It’s Bertie Shakespeare Drew! Faith Meredith is Mrs. Bertie Shakespeare!” Rilla said.

If Anne hadn’t already been sitting down, she would have, suddenly and gracelessly. As it was, the shirt she’d been mending fell from her lap.

“That’s—why, Rilla, are you sure?”

“I heard it directly from Mary Vance,” Rilla said, lifting a hand to stop Anne from speaking. “And Miss Cornelia Bryant. You know Miss Cornelia has no taste for gossip. Miss Cornelia’d heard it from Mrs. Meredith—”

“Poor Rosemary,” Anne said, before she could stop herself.

“Why poor Rosemary? I suppose they thought Faith and Jem would make a go of it, at least, perhaps Reverend Meredith and Mrs. Meredith did, but the War’s done funny things to people and Faith and Jem, they just didn’t fit any longer,” Rilla said. Sometimes, Anne felt Rilla reminded her of someone she couldn’t name and realized her youngest daughter spoke with the wisdom Anne’s own mother might have had. Plenty of folks in the Glen would find such a thought eerie, but Anne was comforted, for all that she ought to be the one offering a thoughtful explanation rather than receiving it.

“I suppose I meant the surprise, an elopement—”

“They must not have wanted to wait. Or were afraid someone would try to talk them out of it. Bertie’s mother maybe,” Rilla said.

Rosemary or her father, Anne thought. Jem, if he’d been given the chance, perhaps. Perhaps not, if Rilla was correct.

“Bertie Shakespeare Drew,” Anne said. “I remember when he was born. He’s just Jem’s age.”

“He’s not much like you remember him, Mother. He’s all tall and stalwart now and they say he’s going in for engineering, that he learned quite a bit in France, found he had a talent for that sort of thing. And his ears don’t stick out quite so much anymore,” Rilla said.

“There’re more things on heav’n and earth,” Anne said, mangling the quote a bit, fairly certain Rilla would not correct her. “D’you suppose Faith calls him Bertie? Or his full name—it’s quite a mouthful.”

Queenly Faith Meredith, the undisputed beauty of Glen St. Mary, who had a sense of humor but also a sense of herself as beyond any teasing, now to be Mrs. Bertie Shakespeare Drew. Anne smiled to herself and thought how Mary Vance would find a way to make Jem grin over it all. She’s lucky to get him, Mary would say, reversing the order the Glen would have assumed, and Mary, canny and unexpectedly kind, would have the right of it, perhaps.

Susan would be quite outraged and the pastry of her next pie might suffer for it, but Gilbert had always taken an unchristian glee in Susan’s outrage and wouldn’t mind the pastry being a bit heavier. It was still the best piecrust on Prince Edward Island, now that Mrs. Rachel Lynde was no longer living to give Susan a run for her money.

“Miss Cornelia said Faith was heard to call him Will, when she spoke to her parents. It’s after Shakespeare of course, and because he was so determined they marry,” Rilla said. 

“And because Faith wanted to,” Anne said. She wasn’t sure if she meant the elopement or the name, but it was all of a piece.

“Miss Cornelia said they’d gone to New York for their honeymoon and she hoped Faith didn’t come back with a bunch of silly Yankee airs but Mary and I didn’t think that was likely,” Rilla said, sitting down beside Anne, picking up the shirt and starting to sew.

“She didn’t come back from England any different, after all,” Rilla said.

“Except that she didn’t marry your brother,” Anne replied.

“D’you know, Mother, even without the War, I don’t think they’d ever have gone through with it, Faith and Jem,” Rilla said. “It was, how shall I put it, like a childhood fairy tale, the honorable knight and the maiden fair, all sorts of adventures they had in Rainbow Valley. They were always going to grow up. We all were.”

Not Walter, Anne’s heart said. Not Joyce.

“I’m glad of Ken’s name, anyway. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t elope for anything. I want our families around us, as many as we can get, even if we have to wait. We’re rather good at that,” Rilla said. She’d finished the one shirt and picked up another. She peered at it, frowned. “I can’t think what Dad does to his clothes—”

“I’ve made up a thousand stories to try to explain that and I still don’t think I’ve figured it out,” Anne said. “Some things, my darling girl, are beyond explanation.”

This one's for @freyafrida because I didn't manage to squeeze Faith/Bertie Shakespeare into my Jem/Mary fic...

#anne of green gables #aogg #rare-pair #faith meredith #bertie shakespeare drew #faith x bertie #faithbertie? #romance #post rilla of ingleside #anne shirley #POV anne #rilla blythe #ken ford #rilla x ken #jem x mary #miss cornelia bryant #humor #angst #grief #walter blythe #joyce blythe #more allusions to class issues in glen st. mary #hope you like my faith and bertie fancasts