#<- idk what warnings are appropriate for this exactly

[ancientbygone]

i didn’t do it, i didn’t do it for love; what did i do it for?

[sequel piece to kill the sparrow]

[mysicklove]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐃

DAY 16: PILLOW HUMPING + PHONE SEX

With: Tamaki Amajiki

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Sub! Top! Tamaki, bottom! gn! reader, praise kink, slight breeding kink, reader is a slight tease and tamaki is trying not to pass out from embaressment, fantasies, creampie in fantasy Y/N? does that need a tag?

A/N: another fic i STRUGGLED with. idk whyyyy.

Tamaki knows he shouldn't be doing this. He knows that if anyone ever saw him, he would be deemed a weirdo, a pervert, really. But it was just so hard. 

It's not fair that you left him alone. Its not fair that you made him miss you until his heart ached. It's not fair that you havent touched him in longer than three weeks. Its not fair that he is here, straddling a pillow, while you probably aren't even thinking of him at all.

The whole thing makes him fume red. Humping a pillow was as desperate as it gets. His hand wasnt doing it for him anymore, he needs to move his hips, pretend he is fucking something. It was bound to give him more satisfaction. Or he hoped it did, but it doesnt change the fact that it was embarrassing.

The pillow was soft, but sturdy, and held a bit of stability. It wouldn't crumble against the sheets with each thrust, nor be too feathery to really feel anything. A good pillow – it will work fine.

He wears one of your shirts. An oversized one, that seems to drown him with the fabric. It smelled like you, and he has to refrain from pressing the collar of it against his nose. It would only turn him on more, and thats not what he needed right now.

Tamaki's hands tremble as he adjusts himself. He flips the hem of your shirt upward to give himself a view of his thin cock. Its red, and pulsing, ready for him to begin moving. He brings his hands up to his face, covering it with the back of his palm. “So embarrassing,” He whines into the empty room, but not moving from his position on top of the pillow.

He stables himself, and then very hesitantly drags his hips forward. The bottom of his dick grazes against the pillow and he takes a deep breath. Its soft, slightly cold from the lack of human contact with it, but he doesnt mind warming it up. He grinds himself forward again, his two hands gripping at the front of the pillow to slightly pull it up, giving him more area to brush himself on.

He whimpers, closing his eyes and falling into a steady pace. It's not as pleasurable as he wanted it to be, and it was driving him insane. But he liked the feeling of riding something, and he pretended the pillow was you. The thought spurs him on, and his pace begins to pick up. The movements of his hips are short, quick, and he slightly bounces on it. Tamakis breath becomes short, and he sighs into the open air, throwing his head back and humping whatever surface of the soft fabric he could. 

A couple minutes go by and he was on the verge of crying from frustration. It barely made him feel any better, and he was going to have to be here for awhile if he wanted to cum. He grabs onto your shirt and brings it up to his nose, inhaling your scent and groaning into the fabric. It made him feel a bit better.

Suddenly, he hears the familiar vibrations from his phone. He was getting a call, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk to someone. But, he wasn't one to ignore something that could be important. So, he leans forward and flips over the phone. When he sees your name with an abundance of heart emojis that you typed in for your own contant info, his eyes light up.

He inches toward the answer button, but pauses for a second, realizing the position he is in. It was definitely not appropriate to talk to you like this, but he wanted desperately to hear your voice. It was gross and pathetic, but didnt you say you like when he acts pathetic? Besides, you could definitely fix his problem. You know exactly what to do to make him feel good.

So he answers the phone, and waits for you to speak. 

“Hey love,” You hum through his phone, and he almost whines out from that alone. He glances back down at his cock, a glob of precum dripping down pathetically onto the pillow. He covers his face in embarrassment.

“Hi Y/N,” He mumbles into the mic, staring at his fingers, and doing anything he can to ignore his cock. He wants to ask you for help, but how? Even after all this time of being together, he has never voiced his sexual wants and needs. It was just too hard to, and besides you always seemed to find out his desires one way or another.

“Whatcha up to?”

Tamaki pauses. Lying was definitely not one of his specialties, and to you? He was a goner for sure. He goes silent for longer than 30 seconds. “Tamaki?”

“Something I shouldn't be doing,” He whispers, falling forward to rest his cheek on the mattress. He still lays straddling the pillow, but now his cock was trapped between his stomach, and the pillow. 

A slight giggle comes from the phone, and he gulps, ignoring the way his dick twitches. “Are you doing something naughty?”

Naughty. Such a childish word, but it was the perfect adjective to describe his situation. It made him feel small, and strangely it brought comfort to him. He nods into the mattress, his hips moving without his permission, and continuing their grinding movements.

“You've gotta speak up for me, love.”

He may be shy, but he would never dare to not listen to a command. “Yes. Sorry.” 

“Yes what?”

He lets out a small whimper, barely audible over the phone. “‘m doing something…naughty.”

The dark haired boy squirms on the bed, listening to the way you inhale sharply. His hands begin to travel downward, but he stops himself before he could start stroking himself off. “What are you doing, love?”

He goes silent for a couple seconds, and he continues to shift around the bed. He gulps and looks down at his leaking cock, and then away. “I’m….I’m humping a…pillow?”

You let out a dramatic, slightly teasing gasp. “So dirty, Tamaki!”

He wants to curl up into a ball and die from embarrassment. He knows you are just poking fun at him, but truly everything about this was so humiliating. “I-I know! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I just miss you so much!” He warbles into the mic, wiping away a stray tear before it could fall.

He was so unbelievably cute, and his plea made your heart throb. “S’alright, relax, love. I miss you so much. So so much,” You reassure, closing your eyes to listen to his breathing. ‘

You hear a sniffle on the other end of the phone. “Why are you crying?”

You expected to hear a response declaring how much he missed seeing you, or having you around. Or maybe how lonely he felt. What you didn't expect was for him to say, “‘m not crying! Im frustrated because I cant cum!”

Tamaki being blunt about his needs was unheard of, and the shock of it made you bark a laugh. He shakes his head into the mattress, but begins his humping again. You already knew at this point what he was doing, and he was already as embarrassed as it gets, so he rather search for more pleasure than wither is his own misery. 

“Well are you doing it right?”

He pauses his movements. Was there a right or wrong way to do it? His horny brain was screaming at him to just get any sort of friction from the white item, but was there a better way to do it? To feel more pleasurable? “I-I dont know…”

“Aren't you pretending that I'm the pillow?” Your words make him yelp, and you hold back a snicker. You were right of course, but the fact that you knew about it made him want to dig himself a hole to hide in.

But nevertheless, his hips havent stopped their movements. Its a slow pace, just enough to make his breaths heavier. “Yeah,” He breathes into the mic, so quite that you almost missed it.

You hum to yourself, hand traveling over your own body to get yourself in the mood. “Then you need a hole to fuck, dont you, pretty boy?”

The statement causes him to lose his breath and he can't think quick enough to find a response. You continue on, “Put two pillows together so that you can get friction on both sides of your pretty little cock. It will feel so much better,” You encourage, and his eyes instantly travel to the extra pillow just inches away from him. He gulps, but grabs onto it, and places it under his lower stomach and on top of his dick.

“N-Now what?”

“It's not rocket science, silly. Fuck it now. But make sure to keep the pillow beneath your stomach, so that the hole is tighter.”

He blushes at his stupid words, but instead focuses on your advice. He pulls out, and then pushes himself back into the two soft cushions. He groans out, and sets the phone on speaker and places it next to his face. This was way better, and he needed to focus.

You hear his breaths get quicker and you smile. “There ya are. Does it feel better, Tamaki?”

He uses his hands to push the pillows together, creating a even smaller hole. But he nods at your words, staring at your profile picture with tears in his eyes. “W-Wish it was you. Not as tight…Warm.”

You hands travel toward your pants at the words. “Yeah? Use your imagination, love. Pretend that's me, what do you want to do with me?”

His whole body caves over on himself, and he bucks his hips frantically. His face is a bright shade of pink, and he wears a wobbly, but content smile. “Wanna—Wanna….You to tell me what to do,” He whines out, fingers dragging along the beds sheets, wishing it was your back.

You snicker at him, not surprised by his words. “You are hopeless, Tamaki. So submissive, its so cute, you know that? You know how cute you are?”

He covers his face with his arm, moaning and whining into the soft skin. “Stop it…” He mumbles half heartedly, loving every drop of praise from your mouth.

“You love it,” You tease, and he secretly nods into the bedsheets, but not daring to tell you. “Alright, let's have you cum, hmm? Can you close your eyes for me?”

His eyes flutter shut before you could even finish your sentence. “‘kay.” 

“Good job,” You murmur, and he gulps, nuzzling his face into the bed, pretending it’s your chest. “Now move your hips for me. In and out, yeah?.”

He doesn’t have to do much, considering that he has been doing this exact same movement for the past couple minutes now. He doesn’t say anything, afraid you may poke fun at him again. “Tamakiiiii,” You purr, “I need to hear a response.”

“Sorry. Yes, yes, I‘m doing it. Promise!” He splutters, trying to maintain a steady pace of breathing. It was feeling so much better with both sides hugging him, but your voice was definitely helping as well.

You let out a breath, and smile. “Good boy. Now, tell me, what are you imagining. Wanna hear the specifics, love.”

He whines at this. He didnt want to expose his thoughts; you would definitely think he was weird. A pervert who cant go a couple weeks without cumming. “Nooooo,” He whimpers, eyes still shut. “So embarrassing.”

Your voice turns commanding in an instant. “Oh? Stop moving then.”

Unwillingly he listens, his body so used to listening to your commands, that he doesn't even process what you said until he stopped his hips. He groans into the sheets, and feels his cock twitch within the pillows. It doesn't want to stop. “Noooo,” He complains once more, hating the way tears begin to build up, and threaten to spill over his closed eyes.

Your heart throbs at the small whimpers he lets out, and your strict tone seems to melt away. “You have to listen if you want to cum, baby. I know its embarrassing, but I want you to feel good. Dont be shy, I won't judge you.”

You hear a sniffle from the other end of the phone. “Okay. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. C-Can I move now? I'll tell you my…my fantasy.” 

You hum encouragingly at him, and he takes it as a yes, slowly beginning to move his hips again. He sighs at the softness, nodding his head to himself. But, he doesn't get too lost in his pleasure, he has to hold up the end of the bargain. “I-Im pretended the pillow is you.”

You roll your eyes slightly, a grin on your face. He was obviously nervous if he was stating the obvious. “Yeah? Are you fucking me nice and hard?”

Your words are so lewd and he fumes red at them. “U-Um…Yeah. Y-You feel so good.” Referring to the makeshift hole as you, makes him feel slightly bad. He knows you are may more than that to him. But it was obvious that you were trying to initiate some sort of phone sex, and he didn't want to ruin the moment.

Your fingers travel down to your pants, and you finally get comfortable. You begin to touch yourself, trying to imagine yourself into his fantasy. “So deep Tamaki,” You purr, sighing into the mic.

His eyes widen for a split second, but he quickly shuts them again. At your words, he finds himself thrusting himself deeper into the hole, mewling out as pre covers the soft fabric. He finds himself imagining you beneath him, grinning up at him with a flushed out, but cocky grin. 

“Fuck,” He whispers gently to the image of you. “I missed you so much. So so much.”

“Missed you too,” You murmur, throwing your head back slightly. “Doing so well for me.”

His hips stutters at the praise, and he gulps. Whenever you praise him, it sends his head spinning, and he loves it more than anything. “F-For you. Only for you!”

The position he was in was so lewd. His mouth slightly gnawing on his hand, his hips thrusting into two pillows, and his body a bright shade of pink. The bed was even creaking from his intense movements, but he didnt seem to care. “P-Praise me…More, please?”

“You're doing so good. Making me feel so good, Tamaki. Are you going to make me cum?”

He nods his head frantically, loving the idea more than anything. To make himself cum was one thing, but making you feel good enough to cum was a whole other thing. It made the service sub in him preen, and his thrusts are more desperate now. He imagines you shivering, and moaning into his neck, maybe even leaving scratch marks down his back. “Yes. Yes, I'll make you cum. I'll make you feel so good, please!”

You smile lazily at the wall. “Such a good boy. I'm so lucky to have such a pretty and obedient boyfriend.”

A wobbly smile is tugging at his face, and he feels like a schoolgirl. Giddy, and nervous around you and your voice. He swears the fantasy becomes more surreal. The pillow seems to be hugging him just how you would, and in the back of his mind he can hear the slapping of skin upon skin. “I love you. I love you so much, you feel so good. I can't hold it much longer!”

“Aw are you going to cum already?” You tease, feeling your own high approaching rapidly.

At the words he lets out a dramatic whine, feeling guilty. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Y-You just…oh god. Feel so good!” He warbles, shaking hands gripping onto the phone. He spreads his legs out wider, finding a new position to thrust his hips. His hair begins to stick to his head, and with every breath, a moan slips past his lips.

You are on the same page, hands moving quicker to hopefully match his high. “Its alright. Im going to cum to. Are you going to cum inside me? Wanna fill me up?”

He heaves at your words, hearts in his eyes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. He did desperately. It was way better than pulling out, or cumming into the condom. “Please! Please!”

His moans are high in pitch now, and his pace is sporatic. They are frantic though, and the entire bed shakes with his fierce movements. 

“Good boy. Cum inside me then,” You purr directly into the mic, and his eyes fly open when he cums. He lets out a high pitched scream, and bites his hand to try and stay quite. The boys hips ram into the pillow, and his thoughts are cloudy, thinking about how deep he must be cumming in you. His whole body is shivering in pleasure, and he wears a small smile.

You cum a moment later, shaking and sighing, but not making as much noise as your beloved. You didnt mind, his high pitched moans and screams were cute, you just wished he got over that stupid need to bite his hand whenever he cums. It muffles them way too much for your liking.

Post nut clarity hits Tamaki like a truck and his face turns a bright shade of red. Asking you to praise him, and even begging to cum “inside” you? Humiliating.

“I know what you are thinking, love. Dont be embarrassed. It was fun. Good. What lovers do,” You reassure, knowing his anxiety gets the better of him. 

He takes comfort in your words immediately, slightly nodding to himself and trying to think of something else to hopefully die down the embaressment. He feels exhausted, and instead focuses on that. He pulls out of the pillows with a sigh and brings the phone to his face to begin wishing you goodnight.

His eyes widen when he realizes something, and he lets out a dramatic gasp.

The sound makes you perk up, and you are on immediate alert. “Whats wrong?”

“Oh no. This is bad. What do I do now?” He begins to mumble, eyes scanning across the bed.

“What? What happened?” You question more frantically now, pulling the phone closer to your ear.

It goes silent on the other end for about thirty seconds. He pulls away the two pillows and gulps as his stares at his own product. This was bad. Truly a problem.

“What am I supposed to sleep on tonight?”

It takes everything in you to not hang up on him.

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[whimsiwitchy]

Controversially Young Girlfriend (part three)

Hugh Jackman x popstar!reader 

series masterlist & main masterlist

summary: y/n is a globally beloved pop star. She is known for her talent and dedication towards her craft. Recently, she has also been known for her preference for older men. After a breakup with her former older boyfriend, she had a run in with the hottest dilf right now, Hugh Jackman. Y/n tried to warn him, but what can she say, she has an effect on hot, older men. 

warnings: age gap (23/55), cursing, y/n used, implied shorter reader, afab reader, she/her pronouns, sexual themes, fighting (verbal).

warnings will change as the story progresses! all descriptions of real people in this story are FAKE. I do not know these people and this is purely fiction. Please let me know if I missed anything!! <3

authors note: idk yall, this kinda ate ngl. I’m so proud of this and I really hope you all enjoy it as much as I did! <3 also I’m sorry to all the Pedro girlies…I had to. 

part three: uninvited

The past few days seemed to drag on slower than you wished they had. The rest of your time in London was spent doing various interviews centered around your upcoming album release and Ashley dragged you around to every possible tourist attraction around. It was all rather mundane- every interview was the same and every attraction too crowded for your liking. You were being a grump but you were tired and anxious. All the hype around your sophomore album delighted you, truly it did, but the doubts always took up more space in your mind than you cared to admit. With this album, you took a lot of inspiration from the pop girlies of the early 2000s, Britney being the biggest influence. You allowed yourself to explore your sexuality and true self. The songs were erotic in the best way and in just a few weeks, everyone would have access to that side of you. The image you’d been portraying wasn’t that of a ‘soft good girl’ per say but you hadn’t been this open and honest before. It was terrifying. 

You landed at LAX around two in the morning, giving you a few hours of sleep before your 11am meeting. This was one of those times you didn’t mind using the perks of your fame. You had a car waiting to pick Ashley and yourself  up to take you straight home, allowing both of you to get some sleep as the driver fought through the airport traffic. The moment you reached your small house, you threw your luggage across the living room and dropped face down into the couch, falling back into a deep sleep with Ashley right next to you. When your alarms go off at nine am, you’re banging your head into the couch cushions, the seven hours of sleep feeling like a blink. You roll slightly allowing yourself to fall the short distance from the couch onto the floor. “Ow…” You mumble, rubbing the back of your head. Dragging yourself up, you sluggishly made your way to the bathroom to take a quick shower. It was something you should have done last night. Just thinking about all the germs sitting on your body right now made a quick chill of disgust roll down your spine. You heavily disliked sleeping in your ‘outside clothes’ but the tiredness beat the cleanliness last night. 

Sweat pants and a hoodie weren’t exactly meeting appropriate but it wasn’t anything serious, just a little gathering to figure out some last minute details for the album listening party being thrown for your friends and family. You didn’t want it to be a huge deal but your label saw it as a marketing opportunity. If it were up to you, it would be a simple get together at your house but they insisted on it being at some club that would have paparazzi waiting to take pictures. You aren’t even sure why you're needed at the meeting because your input wasn’t even being considered, you just sat and gave the ‘stamp of approval’. Ashley was still knocked out when you walked to your kitchen to grab a small breakfast- a protein yogurt and some apple slices. You’d much prefer french toast but your trainer has been onto you about your diet with a tour coming up. You needed to be in good shape to dance and sing at the same time, it was ridiculous how hard it was. 

“Hey Ash, imma head out, i’ll be back soon.” You shake her shoulder lighty. She opens her eyes to some degree and mutters, what sounded like, an ‘okay’. You sighed as you started the engine to your 2000 green Toyota Corolla. It had been making a funny noise before your trip overseas that you had forgotten all about it. A lot of your newer, richer, friends have made fun of your car but you couldn’t find reason to part with it. It still ran and got you where you needed to be. You loved your fugly little car. The car ride was surprisingly short, traffic light. Pulling into the office parking lot, you sent a quick text to Stacy. 

You: please tell me you’re here already 😭

Stacypoo <33: I am. 4th floor, take a right. I’ll wait in the hall for you. 

You sent a thumbs up and made your way to the front doors. The elevator ride was quick, luckily you were the only one in there, saving you from making any awkward small talk with some random person. You were too tired to keep up your friendly demeanor. Stacy was standing outside of an office door when you first saw her. Giving quick hellos, she motioned you into the room. 

“How long do you think they’ll have us sitting here this time?” You ask jokingly. You’ve made yourself as comfortable as possible in the cheap plastic chair with a thin cushion on the seat. With your elbows propped up on the table, your head sat heavy with both hands holding up your cheeks. 

She lets out a snort before responding. “Who knows. I swear these people make us wait on purpose as some kind of power move.” 

Stacy had left London a day before you had. The moment your last interview was over, she was jumping on the first flight back home. She looked well rested and put together. You envied her ability to bounce back into routine so quickly. The two of you filled the small room with back and forth conversation about the day in London she had missed. Three people from your management/ label came tumbling in fifteen minutes later. As you suspected, you were doing a whole lot of nothing. 

“The team we hired are allowed to go into the club at noon to start decorating and the party will start at 10pm.” One of the people spoke, you think his name is Mark, but you aren’t completely sure. 

“Will y/n need to be there at a certain time or is 10 fine?” Stacy asks. 

“She can show up at ten but she won’t be in the main room until 10:30 so she can give a speech and introduce the album.” Stacy gives a nod and types that into her laptop. You didn’t like the idea of giving a speech. 

“Okay, let's go over the guest list one more time and then we can wrap this up.” Mark, you think, says. You’re paying closer attention now, they hand you a list and you skim it. There's a lot of names of people who you consider more of an acquaintance than a friend but you can’t really uninvite them. 

“Um, can I actually add two more people to this list?” You ask and Mark nods. Stacy is giving you a questioning look. 

“Can you add Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman? I um.. I met them the other day and they said they were fans. It would be cool to have them there.” You smile and from the corner of your eye, you can see Stacy pursing her lips, trying to hold back a laugh. One of the other people in the room, not Mark, adds their names to the guest list. Stacy and Mark talk for a few more minutes before the meeting is coming to a close. Once Stacy and yourself are enclosed in the elevator, she’s looking over at you with a lopsided grin, shaking her head slowly. 

“What?” You give her a small chuckle, feeling extra giddy. 

“You're unbelievable. Why even extend the invite to Mr. Reynolds when all you want is to see Huge Jackman.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at the play on Hugh’s name. 

“So not true. They like my music, why not invite them to hear the album before anyone else?” You deny her accusations. 

“Whatever you say y/n.” She drags out the ‘ever’ a little too long to emphasize just how much she doesn’t believe a word you say. The elevator is opening and the walk to the parking lot is silent. Stacy bids you goodbye and says that she would be in touch soon before she’s walking away. 

“Wait! Stacy!” You call out to her and she’s turning back to you.  “I need you to track down Hugh’s number, I want to personally invite him.” You smirk and she’s just shaking her head in a joking manner. 

“Byeee Stacypoooo!” 

—

When you got home, Ashley was awake and watching tv on your couch. You sat with her and talked about everything you had learned at the meeting. She was more excited for the event than you were, it was her type of scene. You knew you'd end up having fun once you were there but you were nervous. You might have left out the fact that you had invited Ryan and Hugh as last minute guests- it was something she could find out the day of if they showed up. She left not too long after, leaving you to pick up your home a little bit. You cleaned it pretty thoroughly before leaving the country but you felt a little overwhelmed by the unpacked luggage that sat in the middle of your living room floor. You packed too much clothing for the short trip, a lot of what was in the suitcase never even got worn. You decided to throw it all in the washer anyway. Dirtys clothes touching clean clothes makes them all dirty in your mind. In the middle of moving your laundry into the washing machine, your phone quacked signaling that Stacy had messaged you. She earned her own notification sound after the endless mixed texts and calls over the first few months of her working for you. It was a terrible habit you had, not answering your phone, but you usually paid attention to it when you were expecting contact. You pressed start on the machine and sauntered over to the kitchen counter your phone sat on. 

Stacypoo <33: the deed is done…have fun loser 

There was a second text that contained a number to which you assumed was Hugh’s. You smiled brightly as you texted Stacy a quick ‘thank you, love you’ text with a million heart emojis. You wasted no time, immediately creating contact for the man you were so eager to see again. 

You: hey hugh, it’s y/n! my label is throwing a listening party for my album that’s coming out soon and I thought it would be really cool if you were there. no pressure to come if you don’t want to but it’s on september 14th at Disco Lights at 10pm. 😊💕

You hit send, put your phone back on the counter, and ran across your house, needing to be as far away from the device as possible. Keeping yourself busy was probably your best option right now, so that’s what you did. You continued where you left off by putting your suitcases back into the storage closet in your hallway. Living alone made you realize how neat of a person you were. Back home it felt like you were constantly cleaning but you didn’t have to do as much in your own home. It was a simple three bedroom with one and a half bathrooms. Two of the three rooms weren’t used that frequently- one being a guest bed and the other being an at home studio/ office. The most you had to do was an occasional dust and sweep. You ran out of things to do too quickly. It had maybe been an hour since you sent the text and you were too nervous to even take a peek at your phone yet. You walked over to the counter comically slow and stared down at the phone screen, too afraid to look at the notifications. There were only three outcomes to this situation- one he doesn’t respond, two he can’t come, or three he agrees to come. You were hoping it was the latter option. The worst outcome was him ignoring you, you hated being ignored. It would also overall be the awkwardest outcome because his team will more than likely extend the invite to him as well. Maybe it would have been easier that way but you really wanted an excuse to get his number and talk to him. 

It felt like eternity had passed before you finally grabbed your phone, but in reality it was probably only a minute, you’ve never had the best self restraint. You unlocked it, opening the home screen, not even bothering to look at the pile of notifications, instead opting to go straight into the message app. 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Hey y/n. I’d be delighted to come. 😁

You let out a loud screech after reading the message. If you were laying down, you’d be kicking your feet in the air and twirling your hair. You knew he was old but the way he texted did something to you. It was weird but the simplicity in his words was such a turn on. Everything about him turned you on, he was sex on legs, and he was coming to your party. You checked the time he sent the message to see that he responded only ten minutes after you had sent yours. You felt bad for leaving him hanging for so long. 

You: YAY!! I’ll see you there 😘

The added kiss was bold and flirty, you’d hope he would see it as such. You wanted to continue texting him but didn’t want to bother him, so you left it up for him to decide to text you back or not. Just as you were about to swipe out of the app, three little dots popped up at the bottom of the screen. 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: What should I wear? I haven’t been to a club in awhile. 

You: wear whatever you want. I'm sure you’d look good in anything ;)

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Thank you sweetheart. I genuinely do need help though. I’m too old to pick out club clothes. 😂

You: hmmm.. if it would help I could send you a picture of my outfit? maybe it will inspire you 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Yeah we can try that. 

Ashley begged you to go shopping with her the moment you told her about the event and you both have had outfits picked out for a few weeks. When you got home that day, you put on the outfit, snapping a quick mirror picture to send to your hair and makeup artist so she could start brainstorming. You opted to send the same picture to Hugh. 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Oh! That’s nice. 

You laughed at that. The picture of you wasn’t the best quality but you still looked hot. You were wearing a silver mini skirt that was lined with large sequins, ones that reminded you of a purse you had when you were younger. The top was a silver latex halter top that made your cleavage look devine. To top the look off, you wore a pair of shiny silver heels that could almost be classified as stilettos, but you wanted to be able to move around comfortably. You could have easily pulled the outfit out of your closet and snapped a picture of it but you wanted to tease him.

You: thank you! did that help at all? 😊

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Yeah, it did... Thank you sweetheart. 

You: no problem! 

He didn’t respond right away this time and being the menace you are, you were hoping it was because you made him flustered. 

—

The two and half weeks leading up to the listening party seemed to drag on now that you were more excited for it. Now that Hugh was coming, you were also extra nervous. While you got your hair and makeup done, all you could think about was how everyone was about to hear about your sex fantasies for almost an hour straight. You were counting on the beat of the music and the fact that this was everyone's first listening to distract them from processing the lyrics right away. You hadn’t heard much from Hugh and you were scared that you might have offended him with the picture you had sent. You decided to send a text two days ago asking if he was still planning on coming, to which he replied positively. 

Butterflies danced around your tummy as you posed for a few pictures before you went out to join the party. You could hear it in full swing, a playlist that you had curated playing in the background. Breathing in and out slowly, someone handed you a microphone and you were being ushered to a small stage that sat in the back of the club. The music got turned down and the lights centered towards you, a wave of quiet flooded the room. 

“Hi everyone! I’m beyond thankful for everyone here tonight. This album has been so much fun to make and I feel like it really represents me as an artist. It pays tribute to the amazing women of the late 90s and early 2000s who changed the pop game and who inspired me to make music. I really hope y’all like it! Without further ado, here is ‘Secret Sounds’!” The gathering of your friends, family, and acquaintances cheer as the first song starts to play. You rush over to the side to hand the mic back to the crew member and you begin to make your rounds. You stop here and there, speaking to people you hardly know, thanking them for being here. The club was packed, making it hard to move around without stopping to talk every step you took. There were only a few people you really wanted to see right now. A smile is glued to your face, soaking in all the love in the room, with it only being partially forced. You can see Ashley across the crowd and you start making your way towards her. You don’t make it far before there's a hand on your shoulder stopping you. 

“Hey baby.” A familiar voice comes from behind you causing your smile to drop as you turn around. 

“Pedro…what are you doing here?” You ask with a mix of shock and irritation in your voice. 

“You invited me, remember?” He’s smiling as if he hadn’t broken up with you in the cruelest way almost two months ago. 

“I thought you’d be smart enough to take the breakup and me ignoring you as being uninvited.” You roll your eyes. 

“Don’t be like that baby.” He’s smiling down at you with those stupid puppy dog eyes. He reaches down to grab your waist but you step back before he can. 

“Don’t touch me!” You say louder than anticipated but no one’s paying attention to you over the loud music. “You broke up with me, remember?” You’re thoroughly pissed off. 

“I know, baby and  I regret it everyday. I want you back y/n. I need you back…” He’s reaching for you again, you step back again. 

“I said don’t touch me..” You don’t yell this time. You need to get away from him. This was supposed to be your night and he’s ruining it. You go to turn around but you’re stopped by a very hard object.

“Is everything okay over here?” A gruff voice asks and you feel two hands grab either side of your arms. “Are you okay?” You look up to see Hugh looking down at you, concern in his eyes. 

“Hugh..” Your voice is weak and breathless. 

“Oh don’t tell me you already moved on?” Pedro lets out, anger lining his words. “What is he, your boyfriend? I wasn’t old enough for you y/n? You had to run and fuck my friend?” His voice grows louder and louder but miraculously no one seems to notice the commotion. 

“He’s not my boyfriend…” You mumble, too embarrassed by the situation. 

“What’s it to you? Huh? Why don’t you mind your business and leave.” Hugh’s voice matches Pedro’s energy effortlessly. He lets go of your arms and instead points an angry finger at Pedro. 

“You know what, I don't need this and I don’t need you.” Pedro says looking into your eyes with a malicious stare. “Good luck with her, she’s nothing but a good fuck and trouble.” He’s walking away before either of you could answer. You felt Hugh go to move towards the directions Pedro went but you stop him by putting your hand on his chest. 

“Don’t…” You whisper and you weren’t sure if he could hear you over the music. Tears were starting to pool at the bottom of your eyes, threatening to escape. 

“Are you okay y/n?” Hugh asks and that’s all it takes before you let out a soft sob. He puts his hand under your chin and is lifting your head. “Let's get you out of here, is that okay?” All you can do is nod. You grab his hand and walk towards the hallway that leads to the room you got ready in. You open the door and make your way to the couch that sits along the wall. Hugh follows behind, closing the door and takes a seat close to you but not too close. He doesn’t say anything, what could he say?

“I’m sorry.” You let out, tears still falling. You pull your knees up, trying to hide the tears from Hugh, even if he already knew they were there. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.” He cautiously places a hand on your back and rubs it in soft circles, soothing you. You untuck your head for a moment. 

“You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” You frown at him. 

“What he did is not your fault. Okay?” You can’t find the energy to answer him right away, not sure if you truly believe his words, but you nod anyway. 

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come.” Sadness fills your voice.

“What? Why not?” He asks confusingly. 

“Everyone is going to think what Pedro thought, that you’re my boyfriend. We shouldn’t be seen together. It won’t be good for you.” 

“Hey, don’t think like that sweetheart. Whatever we are is our business, nobody else's. I want to be seen with you, I'm here to support you. I don’t care what people have to say. I’m not him.” His hand stopped moving around your back, eyes filled with an emotion you can’t quite place. 

I’m not him

You don’t respond but you do feel better about the whole situation. You can hear the fourth song of your album playing and you get hit with another rush of sadness. 

“I should probably go back out there, people will start to wonder where I am.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. 

“Let's get you cleaned up. Stay right here.” Hugh stands up and grabs a tissue, wetting it slightly by pouring a few drops of water from a water bottle onto it. He walks over and bends down, sitting on his knees right in front of you. Even at this angle, his head is still resting above yours. Hugh grabs your chin lightly and begins to dab the tissue, wiping your tears away. You can feel the heat from the air leaving his nose hitting your face. It’s comforting in a way.

“There we go, good as new.” He says with a big smile. Your faces are inches away from each other and you wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull him in. 

“Thank you Hugh. For everything.” You return his smile, eyes locked onto his. You took a moment to appreciate his appearance. He was wearing a pair of black jeans and a gray, almost silver button up, as if he tried to match with you. 

“Don’t mention it sweetheart” He stands up and offers his hand to you. “Now let’s get the star of the show back out there, yea?” 

You grab his hand and smile. “Do I look okay?” You ask, afraid that your disheveled state might have ruined your hair or outfit somehow. You pull him towards a mirror to check your full appearance, a firm grip still on his hand. It engulfed yours beautifully. 

“You look gorgeous.” You can tell he means it by the look in his eyes and the small smile that sits on his face. You see a flicker of something in his eyes, you don't fully catch it, but before you can think it over, he’s leaning down to leave a soft kiss on the crown of your head. 

“Let’s go.” He says pulling you out of the room and back into the sea of people, never letting go of your hand.

Thank you for reading!!

part four

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[reidmarieprentiss]

hii. Idk if this is too weird/confusing… but

I have this idea of post prison reid and bau agent reader.. We all know that post-prison, reid is like different.. he’s more rough looking (??That beard, rolled up sleeves and disheveled look) but also carry himself with so much more confident? And how he gets more muscle. Overall just getting sexier. But we also know he’s got a lot of trauma bc of what happened. Maybe the reader is loving this whole changes, but as a gf, she’s also kind of worried about his wellbeing. Maybe when he caught the reader eyeing him and got distracted by how good he looks given everything (you can get a little suggestive), but it turns to a conversation about this whole ‘change’ thing??? you can go with it however you think best.

I just.. i think a lot about post-prison reid, how it feels like he burried most of his discomfort/trauma so quickly and idk maybe just started to put up this tough guy kind of ‘persona’ (at least for what i felt watching him in s13-s14 ish lol)

Anyways! You can write however you think best with this. Thankyou so much!! Love your work🫶🏻🥰 💜

Not Strong Enough

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Warnings/Includes: post prison Spencer, crying, showering together, prison flashback (kinda)

Word count: 1.7k

a/n: this was such a good request omgggg i hope you like it 🫶🏻 and thank you so much for trusting me to write it ! <3

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The evening sun cast a warm, golden hue across the apartment you and Spencer shared, the place you had carefully maintained while he was away. The familiar scent of his cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the subtle aroma of the dinner you had prepared earlier. You were in the living room, absently flipping through a book, though your eyes kept drifting toward the doorway where you knew Spencer would appear any moment.

When he finally did, your breath caught in your throat for the hundredth time since his return. Spencer leaned against the doorframe, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off those arms that had grown more defined during his time away. His hair was a bit longer, tousled in a way that seemed deliberate, and the beard—God, that beard—framed his face in a way that made him look both dangerous and irresistible. He had always been handsome, but now there was something different, something more rugged, more raw, about him.

You loved it. You couldn’t deny that every time you looked at him, a heat blossomed in your chest, and you often found yourself getting lost in daydreams that weren’t always appropriate. But beneath that attraction was a worry that gnawed at you, a concern for the man beneath the changes.

Spencer caught your gaze, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smile as he pushed off the doorframe and walked over to you. “You’re staring,” he teased, his voice low, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You couldn’t help the blush that crept up your neck, but you didn’t look away. “Can you blame me?” you replied, letting your eyes travel up and down his body with unabashed appreciation. “You look… so good, Spencer. God. Really good.”

He chuckled softly, sitting down next to you on the couch, his presence commanding your full attention. “Is that so?” he asked, leaning in closer, his eyes darkening as they locked onto yours. “What’s so good about me?”

Your breath hitched at the proximity, and for a moment, you forgot the concern you had been harboring, lost in the way his presence seemed to envelop you. “You know exactly what I mean,” you murmured, your hand coming up to trace the line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his beard against your fingers. “You’ve… changed. Not just how you look, but how you carry yourself. There’s this confidence, this… edge.

Spencer’s eyes softened, the playful glint fading as he turned his head slightly to press a kiss to your palm. “I’m still me,” he said, though there was a note of uncertainty in his voice, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

You nodded, your heart aching at the vulnerability you could sense just beneath the surface. “I know you are. But… I’m worried about you, Spencer. You went through so much, and I know you’re strong, but sometimes… it feels like you’re trying to be someone you’re not. Like you’re putting on this tough exterior to hide what’s really going on inside.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he leaned back against the couch, his hand slipping into yours. “I guess… I had to be tough in there. It’s not easy to just turn that off, you know? And maybe… maybe it’s easier to pretend I’m okay than to face everything that happened.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart breaking a little at his words. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Spencer. You don’t have to be strong all the time. I love you, and I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Spencer looked at you, his eyes searching yours, and for a moment, the mask he had been wearing since his return slipped, revealing the hurt and the fear that he had been burying deep inside. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Scared that if I let myself feel everything, it’ll break me.”

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, hoping to convey all the love and support you felt for him. “Then let me help you carry it,” you whispered against his lips. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He kissed you back, deeper this time, his hands coming up to cup your face as if grounding himself in your presence. When he pulled back, there was a softness in his eyes, a vulnerability that you hadn’t seen in a long time. “Thank you,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “For being here. For loving me, even like this.”

You smiled, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Always,” you promised. “No matter what, I’m here.”

Spencer pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if you were the anchor keeping him from drifting away. And in that moment, you knew that no matter how much he had changed, no matter how much he tried to bury his pain, he would always be the man you loved. And you would be there, every step of the way, to help him find his way back to himself.

—

The sound of the shower running had become a comforting backdrop in your shared apartment, signaling Spencer's return to some semblance of normalcy. But tonight, something was different. As you passed by the bathroom, you heard the faintest sniffle, a sound so soft you almost dismissed it. Almost.

You paused, hand hovering over the doorknob as concern twisted in your chest. Slowly, you opened the door a crack, peeking inside to see Spencer standing under the spray, his back to you. His shoulders were hunched, and you could see the subtle shake in his frame as he tried to keep himself together.

"Spence? Baby?" you called gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gasped, the sound muffled by the water cascading over him. "Hi, darling. What's up?" His voice was strained, an obvious attempt to mask the turmoil you knew he was feeling.

"Are you okay?" you ventured, your heart aching as you waited for his response.

There was a long pause, the sound of the water the only thing filling the space between you. Finally, he sighed, the weight of it heavy with unspoken pain. "...No."

You stepped into the bathroom then, your concern outweighing any hesitation. "Can I come in?"

"In the shower?" His voice wavered.

"Yes, baby," you replied, letting a small, reassuring smile creep into your tone, hoping to ease his mind even just a little.

You heard his quiet "yeah" before you quickly stripped down, the urgency to comfort him overriding any other thought. When you stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over your skin, you found him standing still, his hands clenched at his sides, as if he were trying to hold himself together by sheer will alone.

Without a word, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder blade. You held him close, your touch gentle but firm, grounding him in the present, away from whatever memories had resurfaced.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you asked softly, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

Spencer's chest heaved with deep, shuddering breaths, the kind that come right before a sob breaks free. "I guess…I was just remembering what it was like to shower…there."

He didn’t need to say more. You knew what he meant, the horror of those confined spaces, the fear that had accompanied every moment, the helplessness that had seeped into his bones. Your heart ached for him, for the pain he was carrying, the trauma he was trying so hard to bury.

Gently, you spun him around, cupping his face in your hands. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears already mingling with the water on his face. You brought his head down to yours, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead, lingering there as if you could somehow kiss away the memories, the pain.

"You’re home, you’re safe, and you survived," you whispered against his skin, your voice filled with all the love and reassurance you could muster.

He nodded, his breath hitching as the first sob escaped, his tears flowing freely now. You held him as he cried, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. He clung to you, his hands fisting in your hair, as if afraid to let go, afraid that if he did, the memories would swallow him whole.

But you held him, strong and steady as you whispered soothing words into his ear. "I’m here, Spence. I’m not going anywhere."

Minutes passed, or maybe hours, you weren’t sure. Time seemed to stand still as you held him, the water now running cold but neither of you caring. Eventually, Spencer’s sobs quieted, his breathing evening out as he rested his head against your shoulder, utterly spent.

You kissed the side of his head, gently guiding him to turn off the water. "Come on, let’s get you dried off."

He nodded, his movements slow, almost reluctant, as if he feared the weight of the world would crash back down the moment you let go. But you didn’t let go, not even for a second. You wrapped him in a towel, guiding him to the bed, where you both sat down, still wrapped around each other.

As you pulled the covers over you both, Spencer rested his head on your chest, his arms around your waist, holding you close. "Thank you for being here," he murmured, his voice hoarse from crying, but laced with gratitude.

You stroked his damp hair, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Thank you for coming back."

And as you held him close, you knew that no matter what demons he faced, no matter how broken he felt, you would be there, every step of the way, helping him piece himself back together. Because you loved him—every part of him, even the broken ones—and you would never let him face the darkness alone.

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

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[rhaenyratargcryen]

i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight | logan howlett/wolverine

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summary: drifting from town to town and never lingering in one place for too long has served you well since you began to realize something might be...different, about you. you've never been able to put a finger on what exactly that difference is, until you end up at the same bar as a mysterious, albeit deeply captivating, stranger. author's note: this literally came from an idea of a reader that could share their own feelings through touch, which then snowballed into an arguably too long one shot (if i'm not careful, that's what i'm going to become known for hahaha) i recently rewatched x-men (2000) after seeing dp&w (twice) and haven't had time to rewatch the others. i know at the end of the first movie, logan leaves the school - so i feel like this would take place, hypothetically, either after he returns/before x2, or between x2 and x-men 3. idk it's not that deep seriously just imagine early 30-something year old hugh jackman's wolverine while you read this <3 kind of still a shithead, not yet entirely traumatized lol!!!

pairing: logan howlett/wolverine x f!reader word count: 10,353 (uhhhh hahaha next question) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), sloooow burn, user rhaenyratargcryen had to google everyone's powers multiple times just. be warned

18+/mdni i am sooooo serious and please don't repost with or without asking for permission. i'm not into that kind of thing, if you want to share pls reblog!!!!

title is from she wants revenge's "tear you apart"

It’s a Sunday, when Logan finds you. Or, you’d soon come to find, perhaps it was you who had been the one to find him.

You’ve grown accustomed to becoming a familiar face at every shitty bar in every small town your drifter lifestyle drags you to, and this hole-in-the-wall in the Hudson Valley that smells slightly of piss and even more of cigarettes is no different.

The motel down the street that you’d unpacked your menial possessions into is the perfect distance from the dive — you could walk home at the end of the night, and not worry you’d find yourself in trouble with a stranger. Well, the wrong kind of stranger.

Sitting at the end of the bar, you’re nursing your third drink in the fading light of the afternoon as it comes through the row of windows to your right when the light blinks out, abruptly, and you look up to find yourself face to face with a very ruggedly-handsome man with…mutton chops, you think? You snort. They haven’t been in style for centuries.

Your gaze drags across his face, down to his torso, then rests for a beat too long to be appropriate on the way his jeans sit low on his hips, a bit too tight on his thighs if he was to ask you. He stiffens under your wandering eye, watching you carefully as your attention returns to his — begrudgingly, considering he’s disturbing your peace — beautiful face.

He’s hot, you’ll give him that, but you try your best to glare and look unapproachable; it’s a Sunday and you’re drunk on bottom-shelf whiskey, trying desperately to communicate that you’re not quite in the mood for conversation with a stranger at the moment. 

This man will not take a fucking hint. 

He gestures to the seat directly to your right. “Mind if I sit here?”

You glance pointedly at the rest of the seats at the bar, which are all notably empty, but you say nothing and grunt your indifference. This guy doesn’t look the talkative type, but you really hope he isn’t looking for a chat. Luckily, he sits down silently and gestures to the bartender, who seems to recognize him and pours him a finger of whatever you’ve also been drinking.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s picked up the glass and swirled the liquor around in it, but before he can take a swig, he opens his mouth with the glass practically pressed to it and mutters, “You know what you are?”

“That’s an odd fucking thing to say,” you remark, pulling your glass closer to you and closing both fists around it, turning to look directly at him. Your heart stutters as you watch the left side of his mouth curl slightly into a smirk. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck you mean by that, dude?”

The man grunts and throws back his whiskey, swallowing it in one go. Before you can get another word in, he lifts his left hand up, flexing his forearm, and you watch as three shiny, silver pieces of metal pierce through the skin between his knuckles with a sharp snikt sound.

“What the fuck,” you rasp, pressing a hand flat down on the bartop to push yourself up and away from him in the seat next to you, knocking your own drink over in the process. No one else in the bar seems fazed, like he comes in here and does this — whatever this is — often. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make an attempt to come closer to you than he is, and eventually your heartbeat calms down, and your flight response becomes a fight response. You bristle, a bit pissed off at what you read as an attempt to scare the shit out of you for fun.

“What’s your problem?”

“Ain’t got a problem, bub,” the man murmurs, leaning against the bar and grinning, the claws retracting. He wipes the backs on his knuckles off onto the thighs of his jeans, blood staining the denim red. “Was just trying to get you to do whatever it is you can do.”

You thank the bartender, who has dropped a rag in front of you to clean your spilled liquor and replaced your empty glass with a full one. 

“Sweetheart, I could smell you the second I stepped foot through that door. I haven’t seen you around here before, you new in town?”

Smell you? You’re about one more strange statement from him away from losing your goddamn mind. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what you mean by smell. Please.”

He leans closer to you, that smirk on his mouth a provocation, so close that you can practically taste the whiskey on his breath. “You ever heard of mutants, dollface?”

—————

Now, seeing as that wasn’t the kind of conversation you wanted to have in public, you had tried to push him — Logan, his name is, you learn — back by his chest, but the man was an immovable object. Probably a good thing you’d ultimately decided it wasn’t worth trying to hit him.

“Excuse me,” you’d uttered, slapping a twenty dollar bill down on the bar top and slipping out of your seat carefully, quickly realizing how drunk you really are. When you right yourself, you turn to him and angle your head to the door behind you.

“We can have this talk somewhere else, yeah?”

Logan had looked up at the bartender, muttered, “Add hers to my tab?” and palmed your money to give back to you, following you across the room. When you’d tried to object, Logan had held his hand up and told you your money wasn’t good here anymore.

Now, you lead him through the door to your room, stripping yourself of your jacket and kicking at the dirty laundry on the floor at the end of the bed at the same time.

“Want to tell me what the fuck that was all about? Do I know you or something?”

“No, sweetheart,” Logan says, unzipping his moto jacket and slipping his arms from the sleeves, revealing a crisp white t-shirt and biceps thicker than your neck. You subtly try to shake your head, snap your attention away from them, but he smirks, catching your eye. “You don’t know me. But I think you’re like me. We’re drawn to each other, you know. It’s like some sort of…beacon, a homing device. I was coming to the bar anyway. I knew what you were, second I saw you.”

“And you think I’m…also a, what, a mutant?”

“Not think. Know. You seriously can’t think of a single thing recently that might have felt a little, I don’t know, off? Can you see things you couldn’t before? Have you been hungrier? Felt more on edge?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying and failing to think of any big change, but you come up short. Shaking your head, you glance back up at him. “No. No, everything’s been the same. I’ve been on the road a bit, moving from place to place, but that isn’t unusual for me.”

“Any particular reason you chose Westchester County to land on?”

“I don’t know…I just,” you blanch, realizing he’s right, except it hasn’t been one big change – it’s been little by little. “I felt drawn east.”

Logan considers this for a moment; you can see the ditch between his eyebrows deepen with thought, before he seems to come to some sort of conclusion.

“I think you been in fight or flight for a long time, trying to survive on scraps and strangers’ generosity. Let me guess. No family left? Nowhere to call home? Somethin’ big and bad happen to you?”

You say nothing and he watches a scowl slip across your face, humming when he realizes he’s cut deep, to the bone.

“C’mere,” Logan murmurs, and you take steps backward as he comes toward you, the backs of your calves meeting the bed. He holds his hands up, palms facing you. “Hey, okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m not in the business of scaring little girls.”

“I’m not a little girl,” you scoff, staring at him out of the corner of your eye as he advances, albeit a little more slowly, on you.

Logan shakes his head. “You’re still much younger than me, sweetheart.”

“What? You don’t look older than 31, maybe 32.”

“Yeah, well. Looks aren’t everything, okay? I’m just — I’m not in the business of scaring girls. I wouldn’t’a let you bring me back here if I was going to hurt you; that’s not who I am.”

You suppose you don’t have much choice but to trust him. 

“I wanted you to come here,” Logan breathes, hands returning to his sides. He gives you a look, asking permission to move closer to you, to touch you, and you tip your head forward in a slight nod. “So I can do this.”

He grasps your forearm in his hand, places your palm on his bicep, and immediately winces. White flashes in front of your eyes, and a sharp pain nearly splits your head in half. You gasp his name, beg him to stop. When he pulls your hand from him, it almost looks like the print of it has been burned into his skin.

“I have a friend who’s an empath,” Logan murmurs, pupils blown, once his heartbeat has recovered to its resting rate. “She has to touch someone, to affect the way they feel. It’s good for, you know, calming people down in situations where they might be worked up. You, on the other hand…”

Logan trails off and you shake your head, bringing your arms up to fold across your torso, shivering gently. “What? I’m what?”

“I think, when you touched me, you made me feel what you were feeling. You were scared of me, huh? I could feel it, immediately. I could taste copper in my mouth, I started sweating.” Logan laughs softly, running his fingers across the skin of his right hand. “My palms are still sweaty.” 

He’s still staring down at his hands, at the stretch of skin on his arm that still stings with the feeling of you. Your eyes rove over his handsome profile, at his strong nose. His jaw ticks when he looks back over to you, one eyebrow curled.

”Sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

Already walking past you, Logan gestures toward the bed. “Sit,” he orders, and you blanch and do as he says. He digs a cellular phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and ducks his head, disappearing wordlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Groaning, you fall back onto the bedspread. Fuck, this whole ordeal has sobered you up, and quick. Why is there a strange man in your bathroom? You could make people feel what you’re feeling? What was going to happen now?

You run through every possibility — you could leave before he comes back, abandon your stuff, take your car and run — but by the time you come to any sort of conclusion, Logan emerges from the bathroom. 

“C’mon,” he says, sliding his jacket back over his arms, zipping it up and gesturing toward the door with his head. “Got somebody who wants to meet you.”

You sit up straight and look around at your belongings. Logan seems to take this hint and starts gathering the articles of clothing strewn across the room, along with those still somehow neatly folded in the motel dresser, ignoring your protests and stuffing them in the suitcase open on the floor against the wall. After a few moments of watching Logan pull together your worldly belongings, you fumble with the drawer on the bedside table, open the bible, and pull out your passport and an indeterminate, but large, amount of cash. Logan eyes it but says nothing, and when you zip your suitcase closed, he picks it up for you without a word.

“You won’t need to come back here,” Logan mutters as you slam the tailgate on your truck closed. He points to the room you’d just left, then rounds to the driver’s side of your truck and starts walking across the parking lot, looking over his shoulder to shout, “You can leave your key in the room. There’s plenty of empty beds where we’re headed.”

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Logan stops and turns back to face you, his jaw set. “Pretty soon, people’ll figure out what you are, sweetheart. And they won’t take to you as nicely as I have.”

You snort. Nicely. But you know he’s right. It seems like things are a little different around here, for people like you. But you know that now you know what you are, that will change. As you’re trying to figure out what to say to him, Logan starts backing up.

You’re still unsure of how to talk to this man you’d only recently met, who’d already had a hand in changing your life fundamentally, but you hold a hand up, asking him to stop. He does. He watches you carefully, probably trying to decide whether or not you’re going to run away. You’re still not sure yourself.

“How did you know that you needed me to touch you?”

“Call it gut instinct.”

“It didn’t hurt, by the way,” you murmur, turning to look at him. A few paces away from you, one of Logan’s eyebrows arches, and you wring your hands together.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It felt good.”

—————

The place you’re headed — plenty of empty beds, he’d said — is less than a ten minute drive from the motel you’d been staying at, it turns out. Logan had told you to wait by your truck while he went back to the bar to pick up his bike, then drove ahead of you all the way there, your headlights illuminating the back of his body. Wrought iron gates await you, and they ease open as you pull up the long gravel drive.

Logan drops his kickstand and leaves his motorcycle directly in front of a large set of wooden doors, and you slow nearly to a stop, trying to decide where’s best for your truck. Logan’s one step ahead of you and dismounts the bike, pointing you toward a line of cars on the other side of the little lot, following you on foot as you shift into park and turn the vehicle off.

“What is this place?”

Logan is popping your tailgate open when you open your door and he pulls your suitcase from the bed — the act takes him little effort, you notice. You thank him and try to take the case from him, but he shakes you off and leads you to the building.

“It’s a school,” Logan says, pushing through the front door. Immediately you’re greeted with the sound of children’s laughter, of feet running on wooden floors, of voices echoing off walls in the distance. You catch the door as it closes behind Logan, trying your best not to be distracted by the subtle opulence of just the foyer.

Logan drops your suitcase by the front window, then unzips his coat, removes it, and hangs it on the coatrack to his right. “We’ll figure out your room situation soon, but I wanna take you down to meet Charles first.”

“Charles?”

“He owns the place,” Logan mutters, crooking a finger to indicate for you to follow him. “He’ll want to see what you can do.”

Pursing your lips, you decide to press your luck with Logan. “What about what you can do? Is it just the claws?”

Logan smirks, coming to an abrupt stop in the dark hallway. He turns to face you, and you can see his teeth shine as he smiles. “What? You hoping for somethin’ else, a bigger show than I gave you earlier?”

You stand your ground with him, but your heart is racing, and he cocks an eyebrow like he can tell. He relents, shrugging.

“I heal pretty fast, too.”

Charles’ office is behind the last door on the left, at the end of the hall, and you’re shocked when Logan knocks, rather than entering the room like he belongs there.

“Come in,” you hear, then realize you hadn’t actually heard it. It’s more like you’d felt it knocking around the inside of your skull. Your heartbeat picks up again.

“It’s okay,” Logan says out of the corner of his mouth. “He does that sometimes.”

The door opens, and you’re met with an almost-empty office — only a bald man sat behind a large wooden desk.

“So,” the man says, folding his hands upon the tabletop. No hello. No, it’s lovely to meet you. “You’re an empath, are you?”

“I — I guess?”

“Hm,” he murmurs, glancing at Logan, who stands behind you and to the left, slightly.

“She is, Chuck,” Logan assures Charles. “I felt it myself. She can show others her emotions, make them feel what she feels. She was scared when she met me — had my heart racin’. I could see myself through her eyes.”

He hadn’t told you that part, and you worry he’d noticed that your heart hadn’t only been racing because you were afraid. Charles clicks his tongue, and surveys you, your dirty shoes, the wild look in your eye, and clears his throat.

“If you wouldn’t mind, young lady, I’d quite like to feel for myself, as well.”

A blush heats up your face and you step forward, throwing a tentative look at Logan over your shoulder. He nods, dispelling any fears, and you step forward until you’re standing at the edge of Charles’s desk. You reach across, shaking, and take the man’s hand in yours.

“Oh,” Charles murmurs, his pupils dilated. “That’s certainly new. You’ve no need to be afraid, dear, we only want to help you. As I’m sure Logan told you, it’s a dangerous world out there, for our kind.”

“And we’re safe here?”

“Yes.”

Logan brushes past you and rounds Charles’s desk, leaning down to murmur something in the man’s ear. You can hear their hushed, hurried voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying, and the longer you stand there as an onlooker, the more out of place you feel. You shift your weight from your left foot to your right foot and look out the window as they talk.

The sun is setting outside — the late summer glow illuminating the office, warming your face — and you decide to clear your throat, drawing the men’s attention back to you.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to be alone for the night. I think.”

“That’s alright, yes,” Charles smiles, raising a hand and curling his fingers inward. The door opens behind you, and you jump. “This is a lot for one day, I understand. Logan, if you would show our guest to a spare room? One in your wing, perhaps, in case she is in need of anything.”

You glance at Logan and watch him nod, then turn and wink at you. You roll your eyes at him. He doesn’t know you, and the familiarity with which he interacts with you is unnerving, but at the same time, you find him intriguing.

It’s almost like the man you met at the bar and the man guiding you out of this room are two entirely separate people. The man from the dive was overeager, compensating for being the one thing there that was out of place. This man is relaxed. This is his home.

You wonder as you watch him if this is who he really is. 

“Charles is telepathic,” Logan murmurs, almost as if he can also hear your thoughts racing. He glances over at you, holding your eye a beat too long. “He’s also telekinetic.”

“Hence the door opening on its own.” You pause. “And the creepy voice inside my head.”

Logan chuckles, shrugging and bending down to retrieve your suitcase from where it now sits at the bottom of the staircase. You watch the muscles in his biceps flex, your mouth suddenly going very dry. “You get used to it. People say he can read every mind within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius of wherever he sits. Can’t imagine all that noise all the time.”

Humming your consensus, you follow him, gaze trapped between his broad shoulders. Even the back of his neck is enticing. “If he could read my mind, why wouldn’t that have been enough for him to know?”

“There’s something different about what you do,” he says, guiding you up the stairs to the second floor and down a long, carpeted hall. “It requires touch. Charles can read your mind, sure, but there’s more to your influence than just your thoughts. It’s baser, more animalistic.”

Finally, the two of you come to a dead end, and Logan opens the nondescript wooden door to your left. He walks inside without waiting to see if you’ll follow and places your suitcase down on the end of the twin-sized bed against the farthest wall.

“You need anything, I’m two doors down across the hall, okay? Seriously. Anything.”

You haven’t moved from where you stopped in the doorway to watch him, one fist pressed against the frame you’re leant up against. He brushes past you, so close you can smell his cheap aftershave, the whiskey on his breath still lingering, though he hasn’t once seemed drunk. The hint of something more pungent. You open your mouth — before he gets too far, you want to ask him the question you haven’t yet had the courage to voice.

“Logan?”

The man pauses, his face inches from yours. Your gaze flicks between his eyes, then down across mouth, to where his throat moves as he swallows. “Hm?”

“Why are you helping me?”

What you mean is, You don’t seem like a generous man. What you mean is, I’m not afraid of you, but I haven’t yet decided if I can trust you. What you mean is, Why me?

He pauses, considering your question, then places one hand on your bicep and squeezes. His eyes are wet, like someone who remembers too much and not enough. Before you can catch your breath, he’s moved on, that same hand now wrapped around the doorknob of his own room. A small smile graces the lower half of his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I got a habit a’ pickin’ up strays.”

—————

The days pass by quickly, and they’re exhausting. There’s a war brewing, they all say. A war none of you had ever asked to be a part of, but have no choice in joining. You wake daily before the sun rises, called downstairs to do endless exercises to strengthen your control over your ability, you’ve come to think of it as. The problem is that you’re not sure you’re capable of the things they need you to be capable of.

“Can we stop, for today?”

You’re bent at the waist, arms dangling, both hands clutching the opposite elbow. It helps you decompress. This isn’t physically tiring work, necessarily, but the mental strain is undeniable. You’re avoiding Charles’s gaze, which you know will have a disappointed glean to them.

“What, can’t handle it already?”

You perk up at the sound of Logan’s voice, and when you turn your head towards it, you see him walking towards you across the yard, light wash jeans slung low on his hips once again. The sleeves of his white tee are rolled up, straining against the corded muscle of his biceps, the collar cut into a V at the front.

Since you first met him, you’ve learned a few things about Logan: one, he’s Canadian. Two, he can drink you under the table, and he will absolutely let you drink yourself to sleep, but he always makes sure you end up in your own bed at the end of every night. And three, his powers are more than just the claws: he has a regenerative healing power, alongside superhuman strength, and superhuman stamina. The thought of that last one makes you blush.

You spend most evenings with him on the floor of your room, drinking cheap whiskey while he chain smokes and deals you in after every round of cards he kicks your ass at.

“Need to work on your poker face, darlin’,” he always says, smirking and shuffling the cards again with his lithe, thick fingers. 

And on the nights when you can’t find sleep, he sits up with you in your room, reading Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, even some Stephen King, while you curl up on your side and let the even sound of his breathing lull you unconscious.

You get used to each other’s presence. You don’t talk much while you sit together – is there really anything more to say? He’d clocked you that very first day. You were alone in the world, before, but not anymore.

He doesn’t do this with anyone else, you notice. Allow them into his small circle of trust, or whatever this is. You’re friends, you think. He hasn’t let himself have many of those.

You’ve also learned a few things about yourself, the most important being that with some practice you no longer get a splitting headache using your ability; that you can control when and how you use it; and that you’ve been meditating on some other, perhaps more enjoyable and creative ways, to make use of it.

Although you’d tried to deny it from the start, unfortunately — mostly for yourself — the attraction you feel toward Logan is unshakable. He’s rough, and sharp, and impermeable, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. You can’t tell if it’s the circumstances under which the two of you met that have him feeling that way, but you’ve developed a fun back and forth over the last few weeks.

“What, sweet cheeks,” Logan pokes at you, left hand on his cocked hip. “Is it that hard for you, still?”

Shaking your head, you grin at him, one hand cupped over your eyes to block the sun behind him. You turn to glance at the back of Charles’s chair, already heading away from the two of you. Your attention falls back on Logan.

“C’mere, then,” you murmur, standing up straight and mirroring his body language. One of his eyebrows arches and his canine teeth appear as his smile widens. “I’ll show you how easy I can get it goin’.”

As he crosses the remaining bit of yard between you, that smug look on his face, you channel fury. You push every ounce of attraction and good will you feel toward Logan out of your mind, and you think: anger. I’m angry. At my circumstances. At what the world does to people like me. At how much I’m underestimated — at how much I underestimate myself.

By the time Logan has made it to your side, hand already outstretched, you’ve made up your mind. And you place one hand on the side of his face.

Immediately, you feel heat, but the cracking headache from that first day you’d met never comes. Instead, you feel an ache deep in your gut, a wave of want, of assurance that you’re where you need to be, with exactly the right person. You hold your palm against him for another minute and his face falls forward, towards your chin, before he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls it away, gasping with relief when you let him go. 

Logan’s cheeks are flushed, and when he looks back up at you, chest heaving, you realize he hadn’t felt your anger. You didn’t have much to be angry about — sad, sure; scared, yes — so anger must have been the wrong emotion to pull from. You’d wanted to get him worked up, but not like this.

Instead, you worry you’ve just ruined any ounce of trust the two of you had built between you. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leans away from you, his eyes running from the top of your head, down to where your own hands now sit at your sides.

“I’ll talk to you later, kid, okay?”

Logan doesn’t let you respond, instead turning to leave you standing, heart falling, lost in your head in the middle of the yard, while all around you birds chirp and children play.

—————

“Well, well.”

You jump, the back of your head snapping against the top of the inside of the fridge, and you groan, pressing the heel of your hand to the now-tender spot, pulling it away to see if you’ve made yourself bleed.

“Burning the midnight oil?” Logan laughs, padding across the kitchen and rubbing a hand against the top of your head where you knocked it. “Sorry, bub. You okay?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in a few minutes when my eyes uncross.”

You’re too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your scalp to think about anything else. You glance down at Logan’s flannel pajama pants and his bare feet. He grabs you by the shoulders and steers you against the kitchen island behind you.

“Lemme get you some ice.”

You watch, back pressed to the edge of the counter, as Logan pulls a tea towel from one of the kitchen drawers and a tray of ice from the freezer, popping them out onto the towel and folding it into itself, wrapping the tail to give you something to hold onto. You prop it against your skull — instant relief. You eye him warily, accusatory.

“What are you down here for anyway?”

“Same thing as you, I think.”

Logan refills the tray with water and places it back into the freezer, and this thoughtfulness surprises you, you’re embarrassed to admit. You wouldn’t have thought him to be so considerate. Then again, he had just handmade an ice pack for you. Your eyes glaze over and your mouth goes dry just watching his fingers work. 

You haven’t seen him for days, not since you’d accidentally let him feel…whatever it is you feel for him. Every day when you’d gotten out of bed, even when that was before the sun rose, he would always already be gone from his room, the door open and his duvet cover tucked neatly underneath his mattress. He hadn’t taken any of his meals in the dining room with the rest of your peers, hadn’t joined in on any sparring sessions like he usually loved to do. His bike had stayed parked outside — you’d kept an eye out for it every day. You’d begun to worry that something had happened to him.

The silence starts to dig into you. You can’t help it; you have to break it.

“Thought you died, I didn’t see you for so long.”

“Yeah, well. I had some shit to take care of.”

You scoff at that. “I saw your bike outside, Logan, you never left the school. What kind of shit did you have to take care of?”

Another beat of awkward silence, and you can’t stand whatever wall has come up between you. You want to knock it down.

“You remember what you said to me in that bar?”

“What’s that?” Logan looks up at you, a sharp look in his eye. A warning, almost, but unfortunately, you’re feeling a little bolder than usual. Perhaps you’re concussed.

“You said that we were drawn to each other because of our abilities. I think maybe that wasn’t the only reason we found each other.”

He leans back against the freezer and stands quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His dark eyes regard you in the dim light of the kitchen.

You step forward into his space, one hand coming up to press against his chest, through his shirt. The other, the one holding his makeshift ice pack, lands at your side.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat at your touch and he swallows around it, his heart stuttering under your palm. He’s waiting for the feeling to rush into and overwhelm him. It never comes. 

Logan exhales, then reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flush a furious red and he chuckles at the feeling of it against his fingers. You’re tempted to shift your hand over to touch his skin, to fill him with this rush of unexpected desire you feel, but you can’t quell your thoughts that that would be a bad idea. Even though the position you’re in right now might be regarded as a bad idea, too.

Since you met, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend — if that. But you’ve been replaying the other day in the training yard in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s got the same desire you do.

“You know, you’re right,” Logan murmurs, and you cock your head, looking to his face for an explanation. He takes the towel full of ice from your hand by your side and holds it against your head for you. “What you think about me, it’s all true. I’m not a nice man.”

“I don’t know. You say that, but you seem pretty nice to me. You took me in. You’re helping me understand what I am, what I can do. Logan, fuck’s sake, you tuck me into bed when I drink too much.”

Logan laughs softly, tilting his chin to take you in from a different angle. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“I just can’t figure you out. You act all mean and tough and scary, but I see the way you look at me, and I’ve only known you, what, a handful of weeks? I see how you are with some of the students. I see how you are with Charles. You got some deep, dark past you don’t want anyone knowin’ about, sure, but you’re a nice man, Logan. You’re soft on me. I can tell.”

Considering you for a moment, Logan’s lips parts to respond, then he thinks better of it. His eyes fall from yours to the way your chest expands with every breath. You’ve wondered about you and him, and that one look gives you all the courage you need to say it.

“Since I got here I’ve had this feeling, that with you and me, there’s something bigger. Tell me you feel it too, that I’m not goin’ crazy. And if you don’t, Logan, tell me that, then. Anything to stop this awful, sick feeling I get whenever you walk into the room.”

You wait to see if he’ll tell you to fuck off, that he doesn’t see you that way. That he’s soft on you, sure, but this is as far as it can go. Instead of saying anything at all, he surges forward to claim your mouth with his.

The kiss is hesitant, at first, before Logan can figure out whether you’re going to push him away or not, but when you open your mouth to deepen it, it turns furious. It’s all teeth, tongue, Logan’s hips caging you in and driving you back against the counter behind you. He’s got one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gripping the countertop, and when you carelessly bring a hand up to rest a hand against his cheek, Logan gasps against your mouth. The towel full of ice finds its way into the sink.

Shocked, he peels himself from you, panting. You hadn’t thought about whether you’d project or not when you’d touched him — and if his blown-out pupils are any indication, he’d felt it. All of it. The ache deep in your gut and the clench of your thighs. The flare of your nostrils as his scent hits you, heavy and earthy and masculine. The undeniable way you fit against him, your chest pressed to his, the shock of his hips aligned with yours, like you were made for one another. You want him to have you, have all of you, and with your palm still pressed to his skin, he knows.

“Is that really what you want?”

It’s practically a growl, and you pull your hand from him, allowing him to recover, but only slightly. He’s got himself worked up all on his own. 

You can see in his face that he wants you, too. You nod, bring one hand down to clutch the waistband of his pants and tug him forward against you again. He groans, gathering some of your hair in one hand and gripping it tight. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not exactly a — a gentle guy.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

Logan laughs, breathy, and tilts his head back to take you in. He throws a glance down at your hand tucked into his pants, the backs of your knuckles pressed against the swell of his stomach. “I didn’t have you pegged for the fuck-me-in-the-kitchen type.”

“I’ll let you take me back to your bedroom, if you want.”

Whistling lowly, Logan leans his face in close to yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheekbone. “And if I told you I wanted to take you right here?”

“I’d tell you that’s fine, too,” you swallow, angling your face up to try to press your lips to his, but his grip on your hair stops you. He grunts, tugging a little harder, so you have to look into his eyes. They’re soft, wary. For all the talk he talks, he’s a man of few words when it matters, and you can tell he can’t believe you’d want a guy like him. You’re not exactly a gentle girl, either, but he sees how much more the world has gotten to him than it has to you. You’ve still got the potential to be someone who wouldn’t want him.

“You really want me?” You hear the unspoken emphasis. You could have anyone else, and I can’t see why you’d pick me. 

“Since the day we met,” you mutter, his breath against your mouth driving you insane. “Logan, please kiss me.”

He brings his other hand, the one that’s been holding your hips in place this whole time, up to press against your cheek, and he closes the distance between you once again. The hand still gripping his pants tugs them forward, and you can feel his insistent cock where it’s now pressing against you. You moan into Logan’s mouth and this seems to drive him mad, holding your head in his hands like you’ll float away and driving his tongue against yours, languid and fluid but at the same time persistent. 

“C’mon, doll,” he says when you break away to gulp down a breath, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I got a queen bed in my room.”

As Logan drags you out of the kitchen and to the wing of the mansion where the two of you live, practically a world of your own, you trace your fingers down his back over the top of his shirt. His body shivers under your touch and he laughs, turning to look at you as he pushes through into his bedroom.

“Hey, yeah,” you murmur, watching him drag his shirt up and over his head, exposing his bare chest and the patches of short, wiry hair growing there, the vein on his lower stomach that leads your gaze down to wonder at the bulge in his pajama pants. You tear your eyes away and meet his smug stare. “How come I gotta sleep in a twin?”

He laughs at you, reaching out to curl his fingers around the bottom of your sweater and lead you closer to him. He hums, muttering, “Don’t worry about it.”

Then he’s kissing you again, your eyes closing at the sensation of his mouth against yours. His hands are underneath your shirt, skirting across your bare back and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. His fingernails scratch gently against your skin and you moan again, sighing into his open mouth. He smiles before pulling away, only slightly.

“Feels good?”

You nod, flexing your fingers at your sides. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so sweetly. He catches sight of your hands and runs the tips of his own fingers down your arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, mouth close to the shell of your ear. He tucks his teeth around it, too, gently, but you cry out at the surprising sensation. “You can touch me.”

You nod and place an open palm against his sternum, his bare skin heating beneath your hand. You want him to feel the way your mouth has dried at the thought of being beneath him in his bed. You want him to know just how far you’ll let him go. When you open your eyes to look at him, a different beast entirely has crossed his face. His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smile.

“Hm,” Logan grunts, nostrils flaring, teeth baring further.  “I can smell how bad you want me, baby. Could down in the kitchen, too. I can feel how tense I make you. Do I still scare you? Huh?”

You shake your head, whisper, “No,” your voice hoarse. “You don’t scare me, Logan.”

“No, I didn’t think so. I don’t even think it scares you, how much you want this. I think it excites you. Think you been wonderin’ what it’d be like for a while, huh?”

Logan’s arm tightens around your waist and pulls you flush against him, your hand trapped between your chests. You gasp, the warmth of his body flooding yours, filling you with heat, with want, which then rushes into Logan, his eyes rolling back at the sensation. 

“I wasn’t sure about you when I first met you,” he bites out, tilting his head to meet your eye again. “But fuck if I wouldn’t move heaven and earth for you now.”

Your heart stutters at the admission, the reassurance that you’re not alone in the way you feel about him. You peel your palm from his skin and sigh in relief when his gaze softens. Logan pushes his face into your neck, lips pressing tenderly to your pulse point, forcing a soft groan from your mouth. You feel him smile against you and when his teeth graze that same spot, your knees buckle beneath you.

Tucking your hands back between your chests, you push Logan gently away from you and he goes willingly, a sharp contrast to the man who was rooted to his barstool the first time you’d tried to touch him. The look on his face would frighten you if he hadn’t spent so much time convincing you he wouldn’t hurt you. His expression is dark, contemplative.

Logan’s eyes watch, hooded with desire, as you back away from him, your knees buckling when the backs of them hit the edge of his bed. As soon as you sit, he begins stalking toward you, your heart racing against your sternum, and you meet his eye just as he reaches you. Taking your cheek in his hand, he angles your face up and watches as your eyelids flutter closed. His hand travels down, fingers running over the side of your neck and cupping the warm flesh where it meets your shoulder.

“I can feel your pulse,” he murmurs into the warm air between you. “It’s racing.”

You gasp when you feel his hand search out your heartbeat through your chest. Opening your eyes to meet his again, you see that the desire in his face has been replaced with something that looks frighteningly close to affection.

He grasps your wrist, thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin above your pulse there, and guides your hand to press against his own heartbeat, a mirror to yours, thundering in his chest, too.

“You do this to me. Not because you want me to know what you’re feeling, sweetheart, because this is how I feel.” He swallows, voice thick in his throat. “I want you so bad.”

The confession comes out rasping, like the words had been ripped from his chest. Your hand trails down his bare stomach, the backs of your knuckles dancing along the planed ridges there. The skin beneath your fingers jumps when you skirt across it. Pushing your fingers into the waistband of the flannel pants, you groan at the sensation of the heat coming off of his skin. “This okay?”

“Fuck, baby, you’re askin’ me if this is okay?” Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek once again, and you glance up at the grin on his face. It lights up his eyes. It’s like Logan’s fighting two different parts of himself: the very human desire to be gentle, to be careful, and the beast inside of him that wants to tear you apart.

Laughing, you tug down on the elastic, cheeks heating when you don’t feel another waistband. He’s bare beneath, and as you’re eye-level with his hips, you come face-to-face with his flushed, heavy cock as you strip the fabric from him. The tip of it weeps as you palm him, stroking him gently so his foreskin pulls back and reveals the crimson tint of it. You can’t say you’re shocked by the size of him, considering how large a man he actually is.

“Fuck, Logan,” you breathe, mouth watering, and you know the way you’re looking at him would be a bit embarrassing if he wasn’t looking at you the exact same way, his lashes fluttering as you push the adrenaline coursing through your veins into him. He wraps one big hand around yours and squeezes, groaning at the sensation.

“Here, baby,” he says, pulling your hand from his cock and placing it into your lap. He laughs when you whine in protest, stepping out of his pajama pants entirely and leaving himself naked. You’re still fully clothed and it almost pains you. “Plenty a’ time for me to stuff myself down your throat later.”

The way he says it has a low, fuzzy warmth rushing into your gut, but you quit your protesting when Logan kneels on the floor at your feet. “Lean back.”

You do as he says and inch yourself further up the bed, knees still hanging over the side of the mattress, anchoring yourself to his bedspread with your elbows. Logan crooks his fingers into your own pants, kissing the skin he exposes as he pulls them down, down, leaving you in only your tee shirt and soaked-through panties. He eyes them as you unconsciously angle your knees outward, but ignores your desire completely, instead leaning up to bite the hem of your shirt and drag it up and over your stomach.

Gasping, you rush to pull the fabric from the grip of his teeth and pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor beside the bed and cupping the back of his head in one hand, fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the base of his neck. You ease him upward, his palms pressed into the bed next to your waist, and pull him into a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how you feel without saying a word. Logan pants into your mouth and squirms out of your grip, pupils once again blown wide. He leans down to press his lips to the base of your throat, your elbow falling back to the bed to hold yourself up. 

Your gaze follows his descent down your torso, watching as Logan drops a kiss to your breastbone, to the areola of your right breast, then to the one of your left. His lips engulf your nipple and you moan softly, biting your bottom lip when he flicks his tongue across it. He drags his lips down your stomach, settling against the knot of one soft peak of your hip bone. He bites gently and your stomach clenches at the feeling. When you place a hand against his cheek, his eyes flutter shut, his nostrils flaring at the feeling flooding his body. The pleased, humming warmth he’s making you feel. 

“Logan,” you whisper, watching him continue down, mouthing at the skin on the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. “Please.”

“Please what, honey?” You can feel him smirk against you. “Gotta use your words.”

“Please put your mouth on me.”

“Am putting my mouth on you,” he says, smug, and you gasp, tossing your head back when he bites you again, this time enough to make your delicate skin bruise. “Whaddaya want?”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“With my mouth?” Logan tuts, bringing one hand up to pull your panties to the side and expose your warm, wet flesh to the cool air of his bedroom. Your hips twitch. “You sure?”

You angle yourself up, trying desperately to find his mouth and claim it yourself. He laughs at the desperate want plastered across your face. “Oh, fuck off, you god damn tease, just fuck me.”

Logan shakes his head, leaning in to lick along your wet cunt and a sharp, bright cry rips itself from your chest. Your thighs try to close around his head as he presses his thumb into your pubic bone and holds you open, laps at your clit, but he growls and grips one in his hand, wrenching it away from him. His eyes shine up at you from between your legs.

“Why’d’ya wanna do that, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t make it hard on me,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and suckling gently while you cry out. He carries on like that for quite a bit – just his mouth against the most sensitive part of you, fingers pressing into your thighs. Your legs shake and you cover your mouth with your hand; you worry about coming too quickly until he eases up, pushing one finger inside of you to fuck you with.

Your hand grips the hair at the top of his head, and Logan groans at the pressure. Hissing, he presses his palms flat against the insides of your thighs to wrench them further open, encouraging you wordlessly to hook your feet across his back. When he’s satisfied, he crooks a finger around your panties and pulls until they tear, the shreds of fabric no longer an obstacle in the way of seeking out your pleasure. 

“Want me to make you come?” The question is asked with his mouth pressed against your cunt, and you gasp, back arching, at the feeling of his words. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

You nod furiously, writhing as a second finger works itself inside of you, curling upward to meet head-on that spot inside of you that sends sparks behind your eyes. Your heels dig into the skin of his back and you reach down, blindly fumbling for Logan’s hand. He smiles wide and takes it, tangling his fingers with yours as your hips rut against his face. 

He talks you through it between strokes of his tongue against your clit, his fingers pumping in and out as he tells you how good you are for him, how good you feel for him, how he can’t wait to feel you around his cock. You throw an arm across your eyes and whimper, hips twitching as you come down, pulling his hair and crying out for him to let up. He places one last kiss above your cunt, smiling as you gasp, and leans back to admire you.

Logan places your feet on the floor and plants his hands beside you, using the mattress as leverage to hoist himself up above you. He grins down at you and for however fucked out he already looks, you know you must look a thousand times worse.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, giving you a taste of yourself by easing his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his cock, weeping and solid and insistent against your hip. Fuck. 

You groan against him, your lips stretching into a smile as he kisses you languidly and reaches out to help you wrap your arms around his neck. “Here.”

Standing, Logan holds your body close to him. Your head notches into his neck and suckles there while he pulls you up the bed, settling you against the pillows underneath him. He props himself up on one hand as his knees push against the insides of your thighs, opening you up for him.

One hand on your flushed cheek, Logan fists his cock, smiling down at you. “Y’alright there, sweet cheeks?”

“Head’s fuzzy,” you murmur, reaching out to grip his hips with your hands. “Want you.”

Logan smirks, leaning back on his heels and running a hand through his hair, scalp sweaty. Your own fans out behind your head. He gawps down at you. “Look like a goddess like this, you know.”

Your blush deepens and you push a hand against his stomach. “Stop.”

“You do,” he smirks, leaning down to plant kisses across your face, down your jaw, to your neck. “Mm, so fucking pretty when I’ve just made you come. Smell so good.”

You gasp when he presses his mouth right behind your ear, gripping your hips. His cock drags across your stomach, a heavy reminder of his own neglected desire. You reach down to fist a hand around him and tug, pulling a groan from him.

“My girl want me to fuck her proper? Hm?”

Open-mouthed and with a heavy gaze, you watch as Logan sits back and fucks himself up into your fist, hips stuttering when you tighten your grip. His chest glistens with sweat, heaving as you push the burning feeling in your veins through to him. He gasps, stretching a hand down and holding your wrist still.

“Hey,” he growls, head thrown back. “Play fair.”

“Why should I?” He’s glaring down at you now, which only eggs you on. You shrug. “S’fun to watch you come apart like this, big strong man.”

Logan groans, pulling his hips back, and his cock falls from your grasp. “I’ll show you comin’ apart, baby.”

Sitting back on his heels, Logan wraps his hands around your hips and jerks them forward until your cunt is close enough to him that he would barely have to move his own hips to fuck his cock into you.

“You got a condom?”

“It’s okay,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. On the pill. I’m clean.”

Logan looks down at you, trying to gauge what headspace you’re in, if he should grab one anyway – and you shake your head. “Don’t need it, please.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” you repeat. He smiles, squeezes your hips tight. He nods, bringing one hand down to grip himself and ease toward you. Runs the head of his cock down your cunt, getting himself nice and slick, up and down and up again until you’re a panting mess, wiggling your hips. It’s torture. “Please, Logan.”

“Oh, now you’re askin’ nice?”

You groan, wild-eyed, and he wants to laugh at the look on your face but he chokes it back. You need him – bad – and he can’t say no to you.

“Alright, baby,” he says, hushed, gripping your thigh with the hand not currently around his cock. Guiding himself to your entrance, Logan pushes his hips forward, groaning as the head of his cock disappears inside of you. Despite how wet you are, the stretch burns, your body unattuned to his size. He presses forward, bit by bit, licking the tip of his thumb and pushing it against your clit to ease your discomfort, and you gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he pulls your hips flush to his, leaning down to press himself to you completely. Hand still pressed to your clit between you, Logan circles his hips, watching your face, how you react. He watches your eyelids flutter, watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He gives a shallow thrust to gauge your readiness, and you moan, low, in the back of your throat. 

“S’okay,” you grunt out, hands braced against the outsides of his thighs, eyes trained on his lips. “Fuck, please. I’m so wet, Logan, please, please fuck me.”

Logan groans, your words going straight to his cock, twitching inside of you. He grips your waist in his hands and gives another exploratory rut, this time short, puncturing. Your breath is pushed out of your lungs. He rocks his hips back once again, pressing forward slow before punctuating the thrust with a sharp jolt, shocking the air from you once again.

Your nails dig into his thighs and he nods, his forehead rubbing against yours. “Okay baby, okay. I’ll fuck you, yeah. This what you want?”

His hips ease back, pulling his cock from your warmth almost all the way, before thrusting back in, deep, to the point. Then again, and again, and again. Your head has fallen back, Logan having to hook an arm around the back of your neck as you’re forced up the bed.

“You’re so warm, pulling me back in, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re so tight, god, like you were made for me.” 

“Fuck,” you whisper, mouth pressed to the side of his face. Your cunt tightens around him and you whine. “Already fuckin’ me so good.”

“You gonna come for me, baby? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And you are. Again. You’re gonna come for him again. His cock is driving into you so fast you can’t escape the warm sensation in your gut – and you don’t want to. It feels so good, it’s like your whole body has turned to goo beneath him. You press a kiss to the underside of his chin, his beard scratching at your lips, but you don’t care. 

“Yeah, baby? Can feel your cunt tight around me, can feel you ‘bout to come.”

“Gonna come, Logan,” you gasp, reaching one hand up and gripping the headboard as tight as you can, but your elbow still folds, your arm putty with the pleasure. He brings his other hand up from your hips to hold you by the top of your head, to keep you from slipping further up the bed, and your hands instinctively come around to clutch his shoulders.

Immediately the pleasure coursing through you lights every nerve ending in his body fucking alive. You feel him tense beneath your fingers, pulse quickening.

His hips snap down onto yours, his cock dragging up against that rough spot inside your cunt, as your orgasm floods through you. You hardly register the deep rumbling coming from his chest as you cling to him. Logan’s breath comes gasping as the feeling of your orgasm floods through him, too, hands gripping the flesh of your ass to hold you in place while he fucks down into you.

His eyes are closed tight, stomach clenching, and when you drag one hand down to rub circles on your clit, he buries his cock deep inside of you and holds himself there. 

You scratch your nails gently down Logan’s back as he basically whimpers into the air between you, leaning up to catch his lips with yours as he rocks his hips, stuffing himself deeper, until you feel him come. He groans and spills himself into you, hips glued to yours, occasionally quavering with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” he huffs once he’s back in his body, one hand against your cheek, brushing your hair away from your mouth so he can press a kiss to them. His eyes search for yours, bright and enlivened. “You okay? Huh?”

You nod, your head loose on your neck, and he laughs. “Fuck,” he repeats. “That was fucking crazy. Is that how it feels every time?”

At that you sheepishly shake your head, eyes coming up to meet his. No, that’s not at all how it feels every time. You can tell by the look on his face he’s trying not to seem smug about that.

“That was good, though,” he murmurs, his face softening, “fuck, that was so good.”

He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. You cry out when he pulls his cock from you, still holding your face and whispering sorry, baby, sorry. He presses a kiss to your mouth between apologies.

He unfolds himself from you and stands, running a hand through his hair. Pulling his pajamas back up over his legs and his shirt over his bare torso, he tells you he’ll be right back, and you must fall asleep after that because the next thing you know you’re curled up on your side while Logan runs a warm, wet washcloth across the inside of your thighs. You hiss at the sensation and he nudges a hand against your hip until you roll over onto your back.

“You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, reaching for him and he obliges, dropping the cloth to the floor and crawling up the bed to wrap himself around you, slinging your leg over top of his. “You just wiped me out, s’all. And who thought you’d be so fuckin’ talkative in bed.”

He laughs and presses his lips to the end of your nose, his nose grazing your forehead.

You pull at his shirt and kiss him square on the mouth, a thank you for making you feel so good. So safe with him. Your bare chest is pressed to his, and you know he can probably feel how fast your pulse is racing, arms wrapped around your back. You still in his grip when you feel something pressing against your bare stomach.

He’s hard again. A fire reignites somewhere low in your belly, your mouth watering, and when you catch his eye, he grins, like he can read your thoughts.

“You wanna put that mouth to use now, sweetheart?”

[marvelfanfics1]

hiii! idk if you’re requests are open but I was wondering if you could do a daddy wade x little girl reader (i can already hear him call her peanut!)where she skins her knee playing but tries to hide it from him and when he finds out she tells him she wanted to regenerate like her daddy🥹

Just like you

Pairing: daddy!wade x little!reader

Warnings: age regression, fluff, hurt knee, tiny mention of blood, comfort

As a little with a mercenary as a caregiver who's often gone during the day you know how to keep yourself entertained without getting bored, sometimes watching too much cartoons than you were allowed but other than that you were a good peanut.

Another day with Wade being gone and about to earn some money, with the promise to be there for movie night, you were busy playing to make the time go faster.

Looking through your toy chest you pull out a cape, giggling in delight you quickly fasten it around your neck. You also grab two stuffies to play with, rushing to the living room.

Wade was a hero in your eyes, obviously. He doesn't exactly tells you what happens exactly during his jobs, just snippets and not any gory details for obvious reasons, but nonetheless he's your hero. That's why you love to pretend you are a hero yourself.

As you keep playing that you're rescuing your hostage stuffed bunny from a cat you run around the living room, jumping up and down the couch you lose your balance and fall knees first onto the hardwood floor with a yelp.

You sit on the floor, pouting at your now bloody knees and hesitantly touch one and wince at the sting. "Owie..."

But you don't start crying. Your daddy doesn't cry either, he sucks it up and keeps going with the knowledge that he will regenerate in no time. So, with a huff you get up and continue playing as if nothing happened.

A while later you are sitting on the couch watching a cartoon as you hear the front door unlocking and Wade steps inside, still wearing his suit and carries a bag of takeaway.

"Daddy's home!" He loudly announces himself. "That'll never get old." He walks over to the counter that separates the kitchen from the living area to set down the bag and takes off his mask as well.

The second his hands are free you quickly get up and run into his awaiting arms. "Missed you daddy."

He smiles, picking you up by your thighs and kisses the tip of your nose. "I missed you too, peanut. Bet you had more fun than me. You didn't start our movie night without me, did you?"

"Nooo, I could neva! Waited jus' for you." You giggle, eyeing the bag of food your stomach growls. "What's this?"

"I got your favorite takeout." He says, chuckling at the way you're almost drooling at the sight. "Get settled on the couch and I'll be there in a minute, 'kay?"

You nod enthusiastically, rushing back to your previous spot when Wade set you back on the ground.

Soon enough he got changed into something comfortable and you both are eating your dinner on the couch while he tells you about today's job, making sure it's appropriate for your current headspace.

When you finish eating and Wade has put on the movie you got to choose this week you get more comfortable.

Wade sits back down next to you, grabbing a fluffy blanket to cover you both but stops when he gets a glimpse of your knees. "Peanut, what's this?"

"Huh? Oh, that happened when I was playing hero. S'okay, jus' hurts a little!" You shrug it off with a smile.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" He sighs.

"Wanted to be like you daddy." You mumble, looking down at your hands.

His eyes soften at that, a small smile replacing his frown. "Like me?"

"Mhm, wanted to regenerate like you 'cause is so cool!"

"Oh peanut, you're too sweet for this world. Wait here, I'll be right back."

Sure enough he comes back with a pack of hello kitty bandaids, kneeling down beside the couch and quickly unwrapping two of them, placing them carefully on your knees. "There, all patched up. You're still just like me, y'know? You just need a little longer to regenerate than me and that's okay."

"Really?" You ask a little uncertainty, tilting your head.

"Oh, hell yeah. You're just as cool as me and that means we deserve this." He pulls out two lollipops and you squeal, instantly reaching out for it. "Let me unwrap it first."

He settles back down next to you, letting you snuggle into his side before taking the wrapping off and handing you your treat.

He wraps an arm around you, kissing your head. "You'll always be my cool peanut."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✧˖°

Taglist

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For everything:

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[sugugasm]

# JET LAGGED ! — toji fushiguro

✩༄ toji fucks you dumb on a private jet.

• pairing - ceo! toji x wife! reader

• content warning - f! reader, public fucking??, dom! toji, sub! reader, doggystyle, throat-fucking, ass slapping, use of pet names such as ( baby, slut, mama ) breeding kink, reader has a tramp stamp and toji has hand tats idk why.

• a/n - hiii omg, i had fun writing this one. please excuse any mistakes i was high making this. 🧍🏽‍♀️i love u all and thank u for reading, i hope u enjoyyy <33

you poured a glass of champagne before getting comfy in your seat. your husband, toji, had strung you along on a business trip to europe. you’ve always wanted to go — and he knew that — so he had a thought.

why not bring his favorite woman to accompany him on this journey?

you took tiny sips from your glass as you read over a few pages of your current book, toji sitting across from you with your legs on his lap. he was rubbing your freshly painted toes all the while staring at you like a starved man.

“everything okay, my love?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows in an inquisitive manner. you looked so damn cute. you’d gotten your hair done before the trip — those lengthy, pretty braids that he loved to pull on while you cried out his name from under him.

“you look good.”

if there was anything you knew about toji, it’d be that he hated being pissed off — and that’s exactly what you’d done. being such a brat that you couldn’t wait until you landed at your destination, you decided to fuck with him in an attempt to get him all riled up — but you were playing with fire here.

if there was anything you knew about toji, it’d be that he hated being pissed off — and that’s exactly what you’d done. being such a brat that you couldn’t wait until you landed at your destination, you decided to fuck with him in an attempt to get him all riled up — but you were playing with fire here.

“i should bend your ass over and fuck you right now, but that wouldn’t be very appropriate of me now would it?”

your lashes batted at him, a slight smirk on your pretty face. “what’s stopping you?” you test, earning a look from toji. he wanted you — so badly too, but he knew the flight attendants would most definitely hear your moans echo throughout the plane.

cause when toji hit it, toji hit it good.

“what’re you bein’ a brat for?”

“what’s wrong, baby. can’t play your own game?” he knew what you were referring to. the little kitchen mishap this morning before your departure. he’d been teasing you — kissing the sweet spot on your neck in an attempt to have a quickie before heading to the airport. the two of you were already behind on time and you knew how important this trip was — toji, on the other hand, was willing to put it on pause.

“y/n, watch your mouth.”

“you started it,” you mumble, but rather quietly cause you knew that if he heard that fall from your mouth you’d be in a load of troubl—

“what was that?”

you pretended not to hear him, quickly averting your eyes back to the book in your hands. toji removed your foot from his lap and arose from his seat, now standing directly in front of you, being face to face with his bulge.

“take my pants off.”

your doe eyes gape up at him, “toji we’re landing in two hours, would you sit down and wait until—”

“does it look like i give a fuck? take my pants off.”

he had to be joking. there was no way he’d fuck you on this plane right now — not when there was a possibility of someone seeing you. toji was a private man. you’d told him once before that you were into the idea of fucking in public, but he shut you down — saying, ‘that pussy is only for me to see.’ he liked to keep you to himself, although that statement didn’t really seem to apply right now.

you couldn’t deny the pool between your thighs as you reached for his belt. you peered up at him just to see him already staring down at you with a stern look on his face. once you removed his slacks and underwear, his thick cock sprung out, hitting his stomach and leaking with precum.

he obviously wasn’t too mad about your attitude.

“you know what to do.”

and you did — without another hesitant thought, you stuck your tongue out and licked at his slit. after a few more licks, you engulfed him into your mouth, lips closing around his tip as you slowly began to move your head back and forth. this only earned praise from toji, him muttering things like ‘yes, just like that’ and ‘such a fuckin’ slut’ from above you.

the praise only encouraged you to take him deeper, your head moving faster and his hand coming to the back of your head in a team effort. you were swallowing him up, almost the whole thing, but he was wide and your mouth was only so big.

“that’s it, take it all. feel it hittin’ the back of your throat, hm?” he asks, watching your eyes begin to tear up as your mouth produced the most lewd sounds he’s ever heard. you were gagging and moaning around him, trying your absolute best to make him proud. toji noticed your fists beginning to bawl as your nose got closer to his pelvis.

you poor thing. with a a few more sucks, he allowed you to let him go, letting your back hit the seat as you coughed and caught your breath. you had a mixture of pre-cum and saliva on your face — and he was still leaking.

with his dick in his hand, he lifted your chin up, allowing himself to get a better look at you. your plump lips were swollen and you were breathing hard. his pretty girl. toji tapped his thick cock on your lips as you gave him a small grin.

by the look on your husbands face, you knew he was about to wreck you. you loved when he got like this — frustrated and determined, even if it ended with you not being to walk straight the next day.

“turn around and arch your back. lemme’ see that ass.”

you wasted no time doing so, hiking your dress up and moving your thong to the side, showcasing your pretty cunt that was just glistening and waiting to be stretched. your pussy drove him crazy. from how pretty it was, to the way it sucked him in when you fucked — it was a blessing and you felt like heaven.

bringing his tatted hands to your ass, he spread your cheeks apart to give him a better view of your thumping hole. he kneeled down, placing his tongue on your folds to get you nice and ready — even though you were already soaking, and he wanted a taste.

“ooo- fuck, baby!” you yelp, feeling him tongue fuck you for a brief moment, then sending a slap to your ass. before standing, he spat on your cunt and used his thumb to spread the liquid across your folds. with a hard cock in his palm, he aligned himself with your entrance, rubbing his tip against it.

“look at how wet you are, doll. i could just slide right in.”

“toji— please, fuck! stop teasing me.”

that response sent a harsh slap to your ass, “talk to me nice. that mouth is what got you in this position to begin with.” he wasn’t wrong. you did in fact get yourself into this — but you’d do it over and over again.

“t-toji, please put it in baby. i need you. i’m sorry..” you cry out, a bit too loud, as you inch your ass back on him to feel something. laughing at you desperation, toji finally slides his cock in — your pussy warm and tight. you were squeezing him just right, but you were holding back for some reason.

“it’s too big— aah, oh my god.”

“don’t run, mama. remember all the shit you were talking before, hm? now you can’t take dick?” he asks, his head tilting to the side as he works your pussy. the stretch was a mix of pleasure and pain. the man wasn’t even all the way in yet and you were begging for him to take some out.

after a few more gentle strokes, toji’s speed eventually picked up. you could feel every crevice of his cock glide against you and he felt so fucking good. he was giving you long strokes, pushing all the way in and then sliding all the way out leaving only a bit of his tip in every time.

he was so deep.

“goddamn, y/n. you’re creamin’ on it, such a good girl,” toji groaned as your ass began to clap back on him, your flesh coming into contact with his stomach as you left a white ring around his cock like a snail trail. the sight of his dick sliding in and out of you had his face scrunching up as he followed your rhythm, giving you hard strokes.

you reached out your arm behind you, pushing and clawing at his stomach, “oh— aah, toji, you’re in my stomach baby! fuck please cum in me, i want it so bad!” you shout. toji was honestly surprised no one has come to check on the two of you yet. you were so noisy — maybe they got the hint.

“make me cum, love. you can do it—fuck! pussy’s takin’ me so well. look at that— in and out in and out.” his inducing words only motivated you more, your ass jiggling with every thrust he gave you and your pussy singing a pretty song. toji could feel his stomach tighten up when you came again, clenching around him with the intention of milking him for all he’s got.

“shit—m’ bout to cum. fuck, yes. gonna’ fill this pussy up.”

with one final thrust, toji came. his grunts and small moans sounded so good — almost making you want to cum again on the spot. he lazily slid out of you, your pussy making a squelch sound as you released his cock. he kissed the tattoo on your lower back and all the way up your spine before planting one on your lips.

“are you still mad at me baby?” you ask with an innocent, yet breathless smile on your face. he slaps your ass playfully and you wiggle it, giggling. after toji pulls his pants up, he helps you fix yourself up — adjusting the straps on your dress and putting your shoes back on your feet.

“thank you for bringing me, toji.”

the scar on his lip turning upwards into a smile as he mushed your face in his hands, giving you a kiss.

“anything for you.”

©️ all rights reserved to @saaturno. please refrain from copying or reposting as your own.

[lazypanartist]

Hobie Brown x Artistic/DIY Reader x Roommate Gwen Stacy

Idk. Vibes? Someone rbd part 3 with something like 'bisexual vibes', so.. yeah. Here's some content

Pt 1 - pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4

Warnings: maybe spoilers for ATSV, IDK. Reader's in the punk scene and from Hobie's universe. Whole lotta projection. Also kinda trauma healing Gwen? Super OoC but that's life.

Features personal Hobie HCs I guess. It's just self indulgent. Also! Roommate Gwen?

Please RB, likes alone don't do anything for the algorithm!

-----

She doesn't *quite* live with you, but Gwen's presence in your flat is almost constant

With the exception of spider business, of course

Coincidentally, that's when your boyfriend is still home, too

Gwen tries to keep her presence in your flat..

Small.

Cleaning up after herself, regardless of how little she's put on the table

Curling into the side of the couch

Keeping the TV volume down if she watches anything

It almost seems insecure, the way she's pulled into herself

"She has a massive personality, luv.. I think she's still adjusting."

He's already told you how she ended up befriending him, and, well.

You don't have any reason not to trust him

So you let her do her thing

With a few small adjustments

Her hoodie gets tossed to her spot on the couch when she's away

Along with your vest she's appropriated

With a new patch - one of her mask, sewn onto the collar

She's startled when she sees it just laying there when she gets back, quickly hanging it back up

She reacts that way the first two or three times, then just leaves the small mess be

It's in her spot now, anyway

The next adjustment

Volume

If she's watching something, you can see her leaning towards the TV, almost straining to hear anything from the staticy box

When you pass her like that, just.

Grab the remote and turn it up a few notches

When she glances your way you just shrug on your way to the kitchen

"Couldn't hear it."

And slowly, she adjusts to that, too

A few months after she starts staying over, your greeted with a small surprise

A familiar sweater - one of Gwen's - is thrown over the back of a chair instead of being folded or on a hook

You offer Hobie a small raise of your bow, and he only smiles in response

"You move in yet?"

Gwen glances up at you from the couch, feet kicked up on the table

She shrugs

"Not exactly planning on asking dad for my stuff

You nod, glancing towards the TV

The higher volume is what indicated she made it back before you

"Well. If you need anything, just ask. Or grab it, if you know where it's at."

She sighed quietly, offering a small smile

"Yeah, sure."

Hobie bumps your him as you enter the kitchen

"See?"

"She's still a little closed off, Hobes."

He presses his shoulder into yours.

"Yeah, well. She's still adjusting."

"Definitely different than a month ago."

It's almost wistful, you realize

He chuckled behind you, pressing a small kiss to your cheek

"She'll get there."

You huff out a quiet affirmation, watching as she stretches out just a bit more

"Yeah, I know. She just needs a little time."

[dolliestfairy]

Dolliest 🎀

Vincent Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Asa emory, & Patrick bateman with Chubby!fem!reader who dressed like a Doll! ʚ ₊˚ ᥀✿

Author Note ✿ : hello lovlies, sorry i have been on a break for like 3/4 days because i just like um.. really need some break and also i had a lot activities going on, but i still try to write something for you all, so please sit down and enjoy :). if you like my writings please give me reblogs and feedbacks. tysm! also we almost got 140 followers atp, Tysm for your support lovlies!!

Trigger Warning ✿ : insecurities, fluff, some murder stuff idk, blood & insect mentioned, and some comfort also :), and maybe some misspelled word. overall enjoy! Reader skin color is NOT announced.

Dividers from @v6que ꒰ঌ ໒꒱. Gifs are not mine.

✿ Vincent sinclair

- you're an Art, thats what Vincent think the first time he saw you.

- and oh my god... he freaking loves it watching you dressing yourself!!

- believe me, he would never let anyone take down your confidence, if the one who take down your confidence is his brother (take example : Bo Sinclair) he wouldnt be scared to defend you like it his life-priority.

- but if the one who takes down your confidence is his next victim?? they are dead. even if the victim was important bla bla bla, he doesnt give a fck. how dare they talk down to his beloved partner?? such a unforgivable act.

- Love, i mean﹍LOOVEE drawing you. you're gonna see THOUSANDS paper with a drawing that look Exactly like you, EVERYWHERE. he even had his own fav drawing that he's dedicated to you.

- he, drawing you, and protecting you from anyone who mocks you including his brother, is a way of how he show himself that he is truly in love with you.

- if you're feeling insecure? better be ready to be suffocate from his affection.

✿ Jason Voorhees

- Man is silently drooling behind his mask.

- kinda like a Mommy kink....

- love the way you dress yourself with those soft pink dress and accesories, those glam nails and hairs and those soft makeup... perfect.

- but theres a time where he felt himself is not appropriate for you.

- we know this man is a insecure boy, but if you manage to cheer him up with your own way, istg your life is going to be put into this big mans life-priority.

- like.. he'll do everything to keep you happy.

- sometimes he even steal accessories or clothes or even make up that he found from his victim, where he collect them all and give them all for you.

- you might feeling kinda nasty seeing those gift is still covered in blood and with like a rotting-corpse smell... but if you accept it brightly he's gonna die on that place & in that moment.

- really love you. if you're insecure, he's going to slit somebodys throat for making you that way, but if you're feeling insecure because your own self? well then, he's going to go to hunt some victim, to get some MORE AND MORE stuff that you may like, well i mean.. thats just how he shows his love for you. his chubby doll 🎀

✿ Asa emory

- didnt know how to feel....

- but he does somehow, loves the opposite vibes you both gave. like he's the bad murderer boy who likes insect and some nasty nasty stuff, life in a nasty place and then theres you! who brighten up the nasty place he live in, always dress like a doll, pink pink, Vanilla perfume n stuff..

- just perfect and balance combination.

- when his victim saw who he is and when they saw YOU who is behind him they're gonna find themself asking "y-you.. you-you didnt get k-killed?..." and only to get the answer of him "she's my Princess."

- BUT... thats on a rare occassion. sometimes he just called you "my partner" or something. but if he's feeling in a good & cocky mood then he's going to call you his princess.

- and just like jason, he likes to give you a beautiful beautiful stuff who is always & almost covered in blood.

- if he's sees you wearing the stuff he gave you he can feel his cold heart melting.

- jk.. he doesnt feel his cold heart melting, because you already melt him in the first place. he just can feel his cold & thick heart is being burned by your affection.

- and when i'm telling you this.. he's enjoying, every, single, one of it.

✿ Patrick bateman

- oh my god..

- he's a real cocky man. but let me tell you something..

- HE SPOILS YOU SOO MUCH LIKE OH MY GOD.

- like i'm not even joking. he spoils you... really really spoils you to the bone, to your soul like you feel like you're suffocating.

- because he's still a patrick bateman, he loves to suffocate everyone, you're no expectation. the only differences is that he suffocate other people with death.

- but with you?... oh he's going to suffocate you with.. LOVE, LOVE & LOVE!

- in which he doesnt even believe any of that.

- but he does, believe it with you.

- patrick is a aware man. he knew himself real well, so when he found himself on a one knee for you, he found himself surprised and well um.. unbelieveably.

- never in his wildest life he would ended up with someone like you.

- at first he tried to denied, but as times goes by, he cant help, but felt his cold and tough soul was slowly melting over your words and touch.

- you're so.. so.. precious. soft, and round.. need to be protected and loved.

- it has been Too long for patrick bateman since he have been feeling this type of.. feelings.

- but you manage to somehow make him feel it again! and he wont waste it!

- the way he suffocate you, choking you with his affection and love is just how he shows himself how madly he is in love with you..! please dont waste it darling, please dont..

- let your soft appereance burn his cold soul as he would burn this world for you.

[mrskreideprinz]

| I Wanna Make My Murder Look Like A Suicide | 

Pairing: Diluc x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Dark content, Yandere, Yan!Diluc, Fem!Reader, Reader wears a dress, Diluc is your husband, Abuse, Manipulation, Reader is disabled, Reader uses a cane, Reader is referred to as Diluc’s ‘Wife’, Mentions of past forced feeding, Arranged Marriage, It is implied that reader’s family was abusive, Scratching (Reader), Diluc is very cruel in this, Kaeya appears towards the end, Dissociation, Reader has a mental breakdown, Stockholm Syndrome (? I’m unsure about this one ?), 4.6k Words. 

A/n: Reupload because I deleted this foasijfasodi but yeah idk I really just think yandere!Diluc is neat. Also, the title are lyrics from the song Cotard’s Solution by Will Wood and The Tapeworms.

Summary: When your family arranges a marriage with the wealthy owner of Dawn Winery, you jump at the first chance you can to escape your cruel family, but what new hell awaits you on the other side?

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked in a cold tone. 

It threw you off for a moment but only briefly, because if there’s one thing you could promise yourself it’s that your husband, Diluc, would never harm you. But somehow you couldn’t help but clutch onto the fabric of your dress, the same one he gave you on your first wedding anniversary, hands shaking for some unknown reason.

“I was just going for a walk. Would you like to j-” He cut you off mid sentence, snapping at you in response.

“No, I don’t want to go anywhere and neither should you. It’s”— He checked his pocket watch before quickly tucking it back into his pocket— “Three in the morning and both of us should be heading to bed.” 

“But-” Before you could get another word in he’d grabbed your wrist and pulled you forward.

That was your cue that it was indeed time to end the night, in bed… with your husband. Your beloved husband who would never steer you astray. So, then why did you have this feeling in the pit of your stomach that something was terribly and unmistakably wrong? 

Soon the sun rose and pierced through the window of your bedroom, waking you up with its warm rays and urging you to get ready for the day. You didn’t have anywhere to go or anything to do exactly—to be fair you never did—but that never stopped you from looking your very best. So, you quickly put on a decent looking outfit, brushed your hair, and grabbed your cane. And just as you were about to descend down the stairs you saw the flower embroidered basket out of the corner of your eye. It always tempted you, or maybe taunted is the more appropriate word, and you decided against fighting your desires and instead hooked it over your free arm. 

You checked both ways before tip-toeing downstairs, hoping your walk was closer than it was last night. Closer and closer you came to the front door, you knew it was silly but you really wanted to take a walk and you couldn’t understand your husband’s rejections towards it. Your hand was on the bronze knob and you were just about to turn it when a hand placed itself on your shoulder. You jumped and looked to see who it was and to your surprise and relief, it was Adelinde. It made getting caught a little less scary and a lot more tedious, because you knew there was nothing you could do to keep her watchful eyes off of you. 

She smiled fondly, too fondly, and finally spoke. “You’re supposed to be resting. Come on, let’s get you some breakfast. Master Diluc is expecting you.” She led you into the dining area.

Pulling back an open seat, Adelinde helped you into your seat, pushing your chair closer to the table while the both of you waited for Diluc to arrive. And once he did she did the same for him and walked outside as he dismissed her. Not once did she look back and it made you nervous for reasons you weren’t sure of. The both of you waited in thick silence for the food to arrive, and once it had he took a few bites before he ordered everyone in the house to give you two some privacy.

It was that moment, that moment right then and there that made you question just what exactly your husband would say or do. Maybe an answer to last night’s little event, or something truly dreadful instead. It was the very minute you happened to look at him that he set down his utensils and spoke at last.

“Are you unhappy?” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just questioned the very existence of you in his life. 

You were stunned, but not too much that you couldn’t speak. 

“Of course I am! What kind of question is that?” you replied defensively. 

Your heart began to pound harshly against your chest, and you could feel the sudden drop of your stomach. Clenching the fork in your right hand you tried grounding yourself, controlling your emotions, but the feeling was so strong you started to cry. 

Diluc reached over and gingerly wiped away the stray tear on your cheek. “Please, don’t cry.” You were silent aside from the hurtful whimpers you let out. “I’m not mad.” 

Diluc slowly made his way out of his chair and knelt beside yours in an effort to comfort you, but that did quite the opposite. He gently held onto your left hand and looked at you with softened eyes, except for the fact that they were grey and empty. You tried to stop crying but your tears became uncontrollable, and soon you were sobbing into the crook of your right arm’s elbow. It felt like your world was caving, as if your heart stopped and the air was stripped straight from your lungs. The worst part was how you had no clue what was the real problem, that was until you said that loathsome phrase you always did end up blurting out.

“Are.. Are you leaving me?” you asked timidly.

The fear in your voice was evident but you couldn’t find the strength or courage to pretend otherwise. Sometimes when you blurted it out you hoped he wouldn’t answer, just so that there was no choice for rejection. It was better that way you told yourself, even though he had never rejected you. To be frank, if he hadn’t put that worry in your head in the first place, then you wouldn't have reacted this way. But if there’s one thing you learned from this marriage it was that Diluc would show you only what he wanted you to see. So, to the world he was an honest man, a doting husband, and above all, kind, but that was not the reality you lived. 

Diluc took both of your hands now and gave them a tight grip, looking you deep in your eyes. “I will never leave you. Okay, sweetheart?” 

His words felt less like a promise and more like a threat. You used to have so much more fight in you, but these days you barely had any left. So, you nodded and allowed him to give you a hug before the both of you finished up your breakfast. The remainder of the day was spent watching out the windows of your regal prison, dreaming of the day you could finally feel the sun on your face again. This was the pattern of your every day, from the moment the sun went up and till the very time it fell below the ground; wishing and praying that someday your fate would change. Perhaps that day was closer than you presumed, but you were doubtful. 

The pattern continued for weeks, you had constant flare ups and Diluc would consistently refuse to let you leave the house. Until, one day ,the pain had lessened enough to the point where you didn’t need your cane or wheelchair, and instead could truly stretch your legs for once. It was by no means a permanent thing but you wanted to celebrate this small relief, and with what you might ask? A nice walk through the outside breeze of course. Today was the day you were so sure that Diluc would let you outside, or at the very least walk with you. 

So, you found a comfortable outfit to wear, looked at your aid with a triumphant smile, and carefully descended down the stairs. You were proud to be able to have a day free of your mobility aid, it was liberating, but you knew once you saw Diluc at the bottom of the steps that something was wrong. Something was very wrong, indeed. Slowly you walked down the staircase and once you were face to face with your husband, you could see his face was that of a truly frustrated and fed up man. 

He knows, you thought to yourself. 

“You’re late,” he said in a cold tone as he pulled out a chair at the table for you, and helped you into your seat. 

You kept your sights on your food as much as you could, because you knew damn well that Diluc could sniff out your true feelings with ease. Making sure to hold eye contact with Diluc as much as you could stomach, you took deep breaths as you readied yourself to ask the question you’d been dying to ask. This all depended on how healthy you appeared, if he caught even a whiff of pain or weakness it was all over for you. 

“Sorry,” you said weakly. 

Already your heart was banging hard in your ear drums, causing chaos before the eruption had occurred. You both waited patiently, and you, silently, for the remainder of the food to be served to you. Once you had been served the usual meal you were given, you stared at it for a good moment while Master Diluc began digging in almost immediately. Maybe he was in a better mood today, you thought to yourself. Maybe, or maybe not. He soon noticed you hadn’t touched your food and ushered for you to eat. 

“Eat,” he demanded, a hint of urgency lingering in his voice, but the overall tone was still harsh. 

It was when your teary eyes were long focused on the meal with no urgency to touch it that he raised his brow in suspicion and watched you with an angered expression. It was one thing to try to run away from his hot and cold exterior, but it was another to avoid his good deeds entirely. He set down his utensils with a loud clank and looked straight forward at you, trying his best to contain his rage. 

“I said, eat.” He demanded through grit teeth. 

This was the side of him that many– no, everyone missed completely. Those close to him didn’t see how cruel and unforgiving he was behind closed doors. They didn’t know that if all your food was not eaten how Diluc would sit there to make sure you ate even just a little more than you could stomach, against your begging wishes, of course. No one, and I mean no one except those that resided in the home, knew about his harsh tendencies. And that meant that not a single soul knew just how horribly he treated his sweet angel of a wife, but maybe it was better that way. After all, if someone like you was stupid enough to stay then maybe you really did deserve all the torture he’d constantly put you through. And you’d think that after his hardened voice demanding you to eat that your fear would kick in and force you to shovel down your food, but you’d be wrong. 

“Is there something wrong with the food, my dear?” He asked through grit teeth, again. 

You shook your head and tears fell into your food. 

Diluc stood up from his seat and stared you down. “Then what is wrong?”

You said nothing. Instead, you continued to cry into your food as Diluc stared down at you like a troublesome child. You just couldn’t stop, no matter how hard Diluc told you to calm down, relax, or ease yourself, it was all to no avail. It only furthered your pathetic tears. Diluc wanted to know the truth, just for you to tell him why you refused to eat, but if you told him the truth he’d only become more angry and you weren't sure you could handle that at the moment. You weren’t sure you could handle this life a moment longer, but unfortunately you didn’t and never had a choice. It was tragic really, but that was life for you. 

It wasn’t that you hadn’t tried to leave him before, trust me, you tried, but it was all to no avail. You could hardly make it downstairs without some help, so what made you think you could escape all on your own unscathed. When your family arranged the marriage you blindly accepted, thinking escaping your heartless family must be a better life than if you were to stay, but boy were you wrong. Diluc was sweet at first, kind and gentle just as he is in the public eye, but it wasn’t till the honeymoon that you realized something was terribly wrong. And by time you realized your mistake it was far too late. 

“I-” You started to speak, but were quickly cut off by your choking tears. 

You tried your best to speak up, say something, anything, but each time you were silenced by gut wrenching cries. The one time you attempted to look up to address the situation you were met with cold, unfeeling eyes and averted your gaze with hiccuping sobs. 

“Ugh, will you just spit it out already?” Diluc groaned in frustration. 

That only furthered your sobs and worsened it. Your hands tangled into your hair and began to scratch at your scalp for relief, but you only ended up with a sore scalp and traces of blood underneath your fingernails. Your tears grew bigger, your cries louder, and all sense of rationale left your body. The atmosphere was foggy and unclear, like looking into a cloudy looking glass for reasoning and coming up with absolutely nothing in return. You swore you heard a voice through the thickness of it all, but even as you were dragged from your seat in the dining room and led back into the privacy of your own room, you held no grasp on reality. It must’ve been hours, maybe days, or so it felt like, before you started to come to. A strong grip held you close to something, something warm, and rocked you comfortingly as small shushes could be heard near your ears. 

It was only moments later that you began to recognize the world around you, and the familiar figure holding you close. Too close. It was none other than Master Diluc. Why he was holding you in such a tender and intimate position, you weren’t sure you knew, but you one thing was for sure, it felt extremely uncomfortable. You writhed in his holding, trying your damnedest to squirm out of his hold, but he was much stronger than you. A pins and needles sensation spread from your hips to the tip of your toes, and you could barely move from your position. Your hands were free aside  from the vice grip Diluc had on your arms, almost crushing them as he held you closely. You felt the need to cry all over again, but suppressed it as hard as you could. Thankfully, your attempts worked and this time you remained strong.

You tried to remain quiet and confident, but your confidence was shattered the moment you heard his sweet yet poisonous voice ring through your ears. “You’re awake.”

Unfortunately

“Y-Yes. What happened?” You asked, trying to put the pieces together. 

Diluc shifted into an upright position and prepared to tell you some of the truth. He couldn’t have you trying to run off, again. Unfortunately, what Master DIluc didn’t know was that your determination far outweighed any punishment he could potentially give to you. After he explained it to you in his own version, you nodded in agreement and expressed your exhaustion. You wanted to go to bed and forget all about this day., even though it felt like it had just begun. Sure, Diluc had his suspicions as to why you so suddenly wanted to sleep after such a conversation, but he brushed it off as his own paranoia. After all, he’d curated a life that he made damn sure you could never run away from. At least, not without some help. 

That night was spent with eyes vigilantly open, wide and observant as you rested your head on the pillow, keeping out for when Diluc would come to bed. If he caught you in bed awake right now he was sure to have a few words, but you’d simply lie and say the pain kept you awake, which wouldn’t exactly be far from the truth, but it wasn’t the truth. You watched out the only window you had in your room, gazing at the open sky full of stars and the full moon and wondered what was taking Diluc so long. What was taking him so long? He should’ve long been in bed by now. So, why was he still hard at work in his study? Regardless of the reasoning you calmed yourself down, trying your best to satiate your impatience, because if you weren’t careful it could very well be the thing that led to your downfall. 

It must’ve been about an hour or so later when you heard the heavy footsteps of your husband head up the stairs and then quietly trail into your shared room. You could vividly hear him discard his clothes and climb into what you guessed were more comfortable ones. He kissed you softly on the forehead, foolishly believing you were asleep, and climbed into bed with you. Feeling his hot breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine, you couldn’t remember the last time you slept without him breathing down your neck, literally. It was awful. Although you were thankful that tonight his vice grip wasn’t holding you in place —making it perfect for your little escape plan— there was still a heavy feeling of discomfort floating throughout the bedroom. 

You were patient, and all that patience of yours finally paid off when you heard the light to heavy snores of Diluc behind you. It was time, time to make your escape. It would be tricky getting out of the bed with him in it, but thankfully Diluc was a heavy sleeper. Slowly and very very carefully you removed the blankets from your body and started to slide down to the edge of the bed. Closer.. Closer.. Closer.. Until finally, your legs hung off the edge of the bed. Diluc shifted in his sleep and let out a loud snore which caused you to jump in your own skin, but looking back you saw he was still fast asleep. Letting out a silent sigh of relief you steadied yourself with both hands as you placed both of your wobbly feet to the ground. Now, the next part would prove one of the most difficult tasks, getting your cane. It currently sat in a cage with other canes and umbrellas you owned (not that you ever actually left the house) and could potentially make a lot of noise if you weren’t careful. 

Cautiously you tiptoed to the cage and took a slow, deep breath before reaching inside and slowly pulled it out. It was a wooden cane so if hit at just the right amount of speed it could make quite enough noise, not as much as it would if it were metal, but it would be just enough to awaken the young master. With extreme caution you began to pull it out, further and further, until it was almost fully out, but in an unfortunate turn of events your hand began to grow weak and numb and you dropped it. Thankfully, you were able to grab it with your other hand before it could wake up Diluc, but not before it banged against the cage in a painfully loud manner. You froze in place, not moving a single muscle until you heard the light snores of Diluc once again. Carefully pulling out the entire cane you then positioned it as you usually would for the day and used it to help you hold your weight upright, as you gradually turned the doorknob and opened the bedroom door. 

Peeking out the door you could so no one and nothing except for the moonlight illuminating the hallway. Now was as good a chance as any to make a run for it, and so you quickly tiptoed down the stairs with the help of your cane to steady you, eagerly walking towards the door the moment your feet touched the first floor. Your hand hovered above the knob as you stopped in shock. Was this it? Were you finally going to leave this miserable and pitiful life to live one full of joy and freedom? It is what you deserved after all, you thought. It’s what you had always wanted and needed. Without wasting a moment sooner you turned the knob and braced yourself for whatever waited for you outside those doors, and stepped outside for the first time in a long time. 

It must’ve been summertime because the heat was thick and the air was muggy. If you had been out on a daily or constant basis you were sure you would’ve hated it, but in that moment you loved nothing more than to feel the heat and thick, muggy air. You never realized how beautiful the Dawn Winery was from the outside until just now. Crystalflies flew through the air and around the grape vines. The moon was full and the stars shone brightly in the nighttime sky. It was beautiful, everything you’d always dreamt of and more. The flowers were even more beautiful than you had remembered and they smelt even better than you could’ve ever dreamt of. Everything was perfect, absolutely perfect. That is until you saw the mansion lit up with lights and realized that he and possibly everyone else was awake. 

You tried to make a run for it as best as you could but you were stopped by a hand on your wrist pulling you backwards and down onto the ground. You fell into a puddle of mudd, soaking your nightgown as you looked up in horror at the man that was supposed to be your husband. His face was cold and full of fury, you’d never seen him look like this before. This wasn’t like those other times when you tried to take walks, because this time you had actually tried to leave him. Leave him all alone with only his wounded pride and broken heart for comfort. He was seething with rage and all you could do in reply was cry, cry like a child that had been caught with their hands in a cookie jar. You didn’t know what exactly prompted you to cry so much, so hard, and so pathetically, but you continued to do so anyway. 

“Come inside, now.” Diluc demanded.

But now that you had a taste of the outside world after such a long time of being deprived of it you wanted more, so you shook your head and rejected his commands. This only further angered Diluc, because he then pulled you up by your forearms and dragged you back inside. You clawed at the door frame trying to stay outside, but he was much stronger than you. He threw you onto the floor and slammed the door shut, proceeding to lock it tightly with a key you’d never seen before. Immediately Diluc started cursing at you, a bright fire in his eyes that consumed his very being began to spread as you realized you had royally fucked up. You couldn’t even focus on a word he was saying because all you could imagine was whatever hell he was about to put you through.

One Week Later…

“Come on, let’s get you all nice and pretty.” Adelinde said, tightening your brand new dress that Diluc had bought you.

It was an apology, a present, but you knew the true nature of the young master, and nothing could fix this marriage, not even your own freedom. You stood there and looked in the mirror as Adelinde fixed your hair with a smile. You too would’ve smiled if it weren’t for the grim reality you faced. Especially on days where Diluc invited over his brother for dinner. Kaeya had no clue of anything that went on in the mansion, not a damn idea, but that didn’t mean he had no suspicions. Kaeya was smart like that, could catch onto things quickly especially being the cavalry captain, and this sort of thing was no different. 

After Adelinde had gotten you all nice and ready the two of you descended down the staircase where you ran into Diluc and his brother, Kaeya. Kaeya looked towards you and smiled, helping you down the rest of the way. Kaeya always was a helpful and kind man like that, constantly helping those in need. Sometimes, just sometimes, you wished he’d help you escape this place, but that was a childish dream. The two of you exchanged pleasantries as you all sat at the dining room table and awaited your food. Everything was going well until the events of a week ago started to come flooding in. You tried your best to hide it but with how brightly the sun started to shine through the windows you couldn’t help but miss the heat and the thick air you once touched. 

“Are you alright?” Kaeya asked, but you playfully brushed off your odd behavior with laughter and a joke, but he was not convinced.

No, Kaeya was not so easily swayed by the same type of joking behavior he too would use to cover his own emotions. So, he watched you the entire dinner all the way till the end. He noticed how flinched against his brother’s touch and noticed how your gaze always seemed to find itself lined up with the open windows. Something was wrong, something was not right about this and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. He would not let you suffer a moment longer, no matter how impossible the mission seemed. Kaeya wanted to tell you this, he wanted to reassure you that he was going to help you escape, but he could never find the right time with Diluc and Adelinde breathing down his neck as he was sure they did the same, and much worse to  you. 

It soon came time to say his goodbyes and as he did he locked eyes with you, saying things with them that he would never dare to say out loud in front of the young master. Even though it was just a dinner, and a revealing one at that, he planned to have many more dinners with Diluc in the future, warm up to you, get closer to you, and hopefully gain your trust enough to help you escape this awful, awful place. That is if he didn’t get killed in the process of it all… 

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟏𝟓   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   RENZO'S HOUSE, NAKAWE, OCTOBER 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

Leonor stayed for a few days, treating Renzo’s guesthouse as a hideaway for avoiding the reality waiting outside its walls. Jim was there for only a blip of that time. He was more of an observer than a participant. At first Leonor found the camera blocking his face distracting, but she got used to it the way one might a deformity. It was part of him. He must have been a shy child. Maybe picking up photography gave him a way into the world—a means to navigate it, to notice without truly being seen. It soon made sense to her why he and Renzo had become friends. There was a basic similarity there, although Renzo had much worse luck at being unseeable. But, Jim’s departure was welcome. Renzo intended to go out with him, to introduce him to would-be mutual friends, but Jim ended up alone. Leonor had leaned against the kitchen counter without an ounce of guilt and watched as Renzo scrawled a list of addresses and phone numbers. ‘Pick up a pocket dictionary,’ he’d warned. ‘Your Uspanian is worse than mine, brother.’ So it was. Jim gave them a cheerful salute before he disappeared into the backyard’s foliage, and Leonor decided she admired the pluckiness of braving a foreign city, all alone and clearly out of place.

❧ this concludes a sweet three-part arc, and i think it's a good one ! partial to the bonfire wide shot, personally, but it's all nice and fluffy. (& idk what exactly she’s reading aloud but let’s say it’s faulkner, as i lay dying. rip 2 leonor.)

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

Leonor stayed for a few days, treating Renzo’s guesthouse as a hideaway for avoiding the reality waiting outside its walls. Jim was there for only a blip of that time. He was more of an observer than a participant. At first Leonor found the camera blocking his face distracting, but she got used to it the way one might a deformity. It was part of him. He must have been a shy child. Maybe picking up photography gave him a way into the world—a means to navigate it, to notice without truly being seen. It soon made sense to her why he and Renzo had become friends. There was a basic similarity there, although Renzo had much worse luck at being unseeable. But, Jim’s departure was welcome. Renzo intended to go out with him, to introduce him to would-be mutual friends, but Jim ended up alone. Leonor had leaned against the kitchen counter without an ounce of guilt and watched as Renzo scrawled a list of addresses and phone numbers. ‘Pick up a pocket dictionary,’ he’d warned. ‘Your Uspanian is worse than mine, brother.’ So it was. Jim gave them a cheerful salute before he disappeared into the backyard’s foliage, and Leonor decided she admired the pluckiness of braving a foreign city, all alone and clearly out of place.

She slept through morning again the next day, waking up occasionally to find herself still alone in the bedroom, eyes squeezed shut while the sun warmed her face, determined to stay in the sheets as long as she could. At one point, she looked around as Renzo ducked into the room. He lingered by the door. That must have a been a wake-up call of sorts, or perhaps his attempt at being polite. The sound of his footsteps going downstairs receded, then the music began. It wasn’t gentle piano or upbeat jazz, as appropriate for lazy mornings, but thrashing drums and electric guitar riffs blaring, if muffled, through the floor. With her face in a pillow, Leonor smiled. ‘It just does something for me,’ he told her once. ‘Loud music. Where it hurts a little. Distracts me.’ She asked from what, and he shrugged, ‘Cravings.’ Lying in his bed with her eyes closed, she imagined him downstairs doing the same thing, perhaps on the rug or with his feet hanging off the edge of the lounge chair. He was as likely to be crouched down chewing his lefthand nails, pacing with a magazine, staring at the vinyl collection with his hands knotted in his hair.

But, she wasn’t ready to go find out what he was up to just yet. When she did get up, it was with a mission. She picked up the Polaroid camera on the bedside table and held it at arms’ length to snap a picture of herself. While it developed, she opened the drawer and rummaged around. This table was the least used of the two—the guest one, in a way. There were hard candies inside, a few pocket knives, and a datebook with nothing inside. She peeked inside the plastic shopping bag shoved behind the table’s lamp: cheap red wine and cough syrup, both unopened.

The rest of the room’s nooks and crannies held the same kind of intriguing, mundane miscellany. In the large wardrobe across from the bed, he kept the clothes he wore most often. There was a dresser elsewhere with socks, underwear, tee shirts, and party favors he didn’t leave out downstairs. His favorite leather jacket was hanging, tucked haphazardly in the center, flanked by plaid flannels and jeans. Feeling around in all of the pockets, she found empty cigarette packs, less loved lighters, spare change, loose pills and matches, and scraps of paper—circled phone numbers, stick men without faces, and titles to what she assumed were books and songs predominated. One nondescript receipt had “Call Nora,” large and underlined, on the back. Tossed on the bottom shelf, some of his beat-up boots and sneakers concealed wads of cash tucked inside them.

His books were filled with marginalia, and Leonor took pride in identifying what belonged to him and what had probably been there when he acquired it. Some were gifts. Some belonged to libraries thousands of miles away. Among some, she saw pages of a script. She scanned the dialogue and concluded she wanted to ask about it later. Was he going to transform himself into “Sam,” whom context clues suggested was very busy running a quirky jewelry emporium and impersonating his possibly deceased landlady? Leonor could imagine it. He would swallow the angst on these pages whole and do something incredible with it. It would be charming, too. Although he refused to watch it with her, she had seen his turn as a rancher with a chronically ill child and wept over it. But, she hoped he didn’t find “Sam” that appealing. It didn’t look like a Uspanian project, after all.

What piqued her interest most was packed away behind his armchair in a box of keepsakes. The binders she flipped through were photo albums. She couldn’t picture him doing any scrap-booking. Were they made for him, then? By who? She didn’t recognize anyone in the photos, except for Renzo himself. He was younger, clean shaven, usually smiling toothy grins that didn’t reach his eyes. There were also worn blankets, souvenirs from places she had never heard of, innocuous trinkets she viewed differently now that she knew the backstory behind the toy cube on top of his television set. Maybe he was what some called a pack rat, but she believed his junk all had stories attached—consequential ones that would feel to her as it from another universe.

Looking through this box, she reflected on the patchwork way his life had come together for her. He knew her biography from start to finish, with the emotional filler that accompanied recounting it. There wasn’t much to tell; it was a couple decades’ long and uneventful for, conservatively, twenty of those twenty-one years.  It was less of a book and more of a pamphlet. “Born A Princess? Three Steps To Succeed.” His was longer, and she understood it as nothing but events, one after another, linked with knotted threads that looked like desperation, recklessness, craving. It wasn’t a book. It was the messy, unorganized, impenetrable cabinet of research that could become a collection of books someday, maybe. He had already lived four or five lives before she was old enough to seriously contemplate hers. Even then, she couldn’t conceive the kind of reinvention he alternatively stumbled or dove into without a second thought. Or, at any rate, she hadn’t really tried to.

What grabbed her amid the box’s treasures was a single framed photograph. She extracted it with care and held it in her hands for a long time. Music still thudded through the floor, so loud that she could feel it, but this was a peaceful moment. In the frame, what could only be his child self peeked at her from behind a notebook, and a woman who looked like his mother stared with the same heavy eyes. Only, hers were dark—browner than brown, black even, familiar in a different way.

Leonor stared at the photograph of them together until her vision blurred. She sniffed a few times and dried her eyes with the backs of her hands, letting the frame sit in her lap while she collected herself. Once she had, she stood up without much forethought and went to place it on the bedside table. There was space for it on his side, between the stack of books, alongside his ashtray and remote controller, with room to put it face down when needed. She sank to her knees. With her chin on folded arms, she resumed soaking in this rare glimpse of his first life. She struggled to picture what was beyond the frames of the photograph but tried anyway.

Her eyes drifted from his to his mother’s and back again. She did know what this woman had been like back then—a composite cobbled together from his mentionings, usually in some contrast to Leonor’s own mother, leaking unfathomable realities of his upbringing that made her balk and hold him tighter. ‘She wasn’t a bad mother,’ he claimed. ‘She’s just fucked up. Congenitally. And I am glad I got her variety of it instead of his, to be clear.’ Today, she lived in a place called Little Rock in a house Renzo bought for her. He noted that his father was with her more than ever, but that didn’t make much of a difference to anyone. 'He wants to move to Los Angeles,' Renzo recounted with a scoff. 'We told him, "Great, fuck off then!" No dice.'

As Leonor sat looking at the photograph, she wondered if there were others pictures in that house—whether she looked at them more than Renzo apparently did and whether she would agree with his assessment of their time together. Then, she tried to imagine them in a room together. There were huge windows, drenching the colorful furnishings in sunlight. In this fantasy, Leonor wore white, not because her mother had been dead for less than a year but because Renzo liked when she wore it. His mother liked her, too, and she liked Safya, who promptly breezed into the room, alive and bearing enough vitality to make up for what the three of them lacked.

At first, she suspected Renzo hadn’t noticed the photograph newly on display. That was fine, she decided. The prospect of having to explain herself sent a small chill up her spine. 'Oh, I found it' wouldn't suffice. He came into the room well after she had moved on to another, less invasive occupation. She was flipping through old music magazines on the balcony when he showed up at her shoulder, stripped down to just his white socks and announcing that she needed to come wash his hair. They could both fit in the bathtub without injury, most likely. Plus, he was proud of himself for having bought a hair dryer. It was the same one she had, in fact; that he didn’t know any other kind wasn’t important.

As they left the room so he could show her, he lingered to glance over his shoulder once, then a second time. His expression reflected in the bathroom mirror when he caught up with her was troubled, at least until their eyes met and seemed to distract him again.

[Muffled loud music, Leonor humming]

LEONOR | I’m excited to get the prints. RENZO | From Jim? Yeah. Good man. He misread you, though. LEONOR | You think so? Maybe … The candids were better.

RENZO | He wanted to impress you. Magazine spread treatment. LEONOR | Hm. It started like that, didn’t it? I’m offended, actually. RENZO | [chuckles] Oh, yeah? LEONOR | Like I can’t appreciate something simple.

RENZO | It’s an easy mistake to make, you know. LEONOR | That’s what you thought. RENZO | Big time. You wore pink sequins and a fucking tennis bracelet to a bar hang. Message loud and clear.

LEONOR | I felt ridiculous! It doesn’t come easy. I suppose it never needed to. I do like it, I really do—simplicity. Small things. Normalcy. RENZO | Normal is relative. LEONOR | You know what I mean. Like this. We have people for this. [Renzo laughs]

RENZO | I could tell—after a while, that very first night. Yeah, you started out awkward and uptight—maybe that was discomfort, maybe it was judgment—but I saw it. Genuine interest. Curiosity. Fucking rare.

LEONOR | Really? RENZO | You’re complicated, Nora. So sincere it makes me sad sometimes. Sweet—bittersweet. And surprising. I love that about you.

LEONOR | It would be better if you read it. I can’t do the accent. RENZO | Drawl. It’s a drawl. Anyway, I like listening. Doing this. LEONOR | Being together. RENZO | Being together.

LEONOR | Speaking of … I wanted to ask something. Hear me out?

LEONOR | I want to go to an event with you. Not one of mine; one of yours. Something real. Professional. That you care about. Maybe there’s nothing anytime soon, but when there is … I want to be there.

LEONOR | What? Is that crazy? RENZO | No, it’s not. I just don’t think it’s a good idea. LEONOR | Why? RENZO | You know why.

LEONOR | You don’t want to reconsider. RENZO | Don’t know.

LEONOR | Do you remember Arturo? RENZO | [sighs] Sure. LEONOR | The worst part about … all of that? I ended things where there was no way he’d get any closure—at all. I just kicked him out. He was going to go weep for Mama, with my family. That was certain. Then, I made him nothing with a few words.

LEONOR | Eventually, it occurred to me that it wasn’t actually an impulsive choice. Having him around that morning made me feel awful—I wanted to crawl out of my skin just looking at him; isn’t that terrible?—but … Grief makes it all bigger, doesn’t it? RENZO | It does, yeah. Too big. LEONOR | Five years. Living Mama’s life. I didn’t want to marry him. I don’t want to marry anyone. I told myself, later, that he must’ve known —felt it?—so it was okay. Not explaining or apologizing. Hurting him .

LEONOR | I gave him everything. I didn’t owe him anything else. He could figure that out on his own. RENZO | Alright, a little fucked up. LEONOR | [chuckles] Yeah. Not that I regret anything.

LEONOR | Don’t do that to me. I don’t need a promise, reassurances, whatever. It’s a request, that’s all. When the time comes, do it with your eyes wide open, okay?

LEONOR | —seriously, you could put on a dress shirt but not pants or shoes? I bet it’s a stunt. I think you like the attention. RENZO | Me? You know me better than that.

RENZO | Can’t a man be comfortable in his own yard? [Leonor laughs]

RENZO | I wish you didn’t have to leave. Wish you could stay in bed all day instead of talking to some fucking journalist for television. LEONOR | Me too. But it’s work. I have to go. Reality calls.

RENZO | This one isn’t just work. It’s going to hurt. Not ready, are you? LEONOR | Do you have to ask? RENZO | You didn’t bring it up again. Last opportunity.

LEONOR | [whispers] It’s so close. A year. It didn’t feel like anything—I knew it would happen, that’s all—and now I can feel it. Right here, in my chest. Bigger and bigger. RENZO | I know. LEONOR | Will it always be like this? RENZO | Yes. Sometimes it gets easier. Sometimes it doesn’t.

LEONOR | And if it doesn’t? RENZO | You can handle it. LEONOR | How do you know that? RENZO | Hell if I know. Being beat over the head with life experience. Knowing you. Lucky guess? Gut feelings are truth, usually.

RENZO | No tears. You’ll mess up your eyeliner. LEONOR | It’s okay. They all want to see me cry anyway. RENZO | Yeah, well, fuck that—I don’t.

LEONOR | Maybe later? Ruin my eyeliner, I mean. RENZO | Happy tears, sure. We can arrange that. LEONOR | Good. I need something to look forward to.

[anjumstar]

anjum's bkdk recs 20

Ten more (complete) sfw bkdk fic recs. If you read any of these and enjoy them, lmk! And, more importantly, let the authors know with a comment! Plus, send me your recs, and maybe they’ll make the next list!

Legend

hyperlinked title by author | word count

Genre warning(s): where relevant Summary/review

💚🧡 = fave

Recs are under the cut, organized by word count, low to high.

61. notebook by delicate cherry, sobashouto (snowandfire) | 2.3k

romance, general A really short and sweet fic that’s kind of the moments just before bkdk start dating. The boys aren’t quite seeing eye-to-eye, Baku isn’t communicating exactly what he’s feeling, but that’s what makes it feel really in character. They’re not great at this, but they’re just starting to try.

62. Hey, I’m Fine by majjale | 3.2k 💚🧡

angst, romance Angst with a happy ending! I didn’t trust this author, though, haha, I really thought I was about to get staked through the heart. (I don’t always read tags…) Lovely characterization, especially for Deku. It’s tender and domestic meets pro hero life. Love that intersection, as it’s basically all I want for bkdk. Pro hero canonverse action with soft domesticity. Perfect.

63. Diversion Tactic by garbage_dono | 7.5k 💚🧡

romance A cute take on UA bkdk getting together! Feels grounded in canon with good characterization. And it’s somehow fresh in its initiating event, with following gay panic from our beloved Bakugou.

64. Not All Heroes Wear Capes by vulcanhighblood | 11k

romance, fake dating, get together Fake dating fic! Bakugou has the brilliant idea to fake date Deku to get paparazzi off Deku’s back. Maybe not brilliant, lol. The fic has good doses of Baku’s brand of immaturity, it feels age appropriate, and Deku surely has a backbone against Baku’s silly scheme.

65. half drunk, happy by froggenbie | 13.2k

warning: drunk (non-explicit) (bkdk not dkbk) sex romance, get together Bkdk are roommates after graduation, and they start having drunk hookups. Then they’re not so drunk. I knew the writing would be quality right at the beginning of this fic. Sometimes you just know. Bkdk have their horrible communication skills but natural chemistry and deep need for each other and it was a great take on a familiar story.

66. Go Get Your Man, Young Bakugou! by red_sneakers | 16.6k

comedy, romance This one is pretty silly. Not quite crack, because I can kind of believe it for these losers XD They need a bit of help and extra guidance to get together, but it’s nice to see the boys being stupid together while falling in love.

67. Voicemail by raeryn | 20.7k

angst warning: MCD If you wanna cry on the train like I did, read this one. I’ll go ahead and tell you, since it’s clear from early on—Deku is dead and Baku isn’t handling it well. The story is his long journey to reaching some level of closure with some help from his friends. Unhappy ending isn’t usually my fave genre, but idk, this one ends nicely, even if the sad doesn’t fully go away.

68. Walls I Didn’t Know I Had by Elisa Jaded | 21.5k

hurt/comfort, romance Post-war, Katsuki wakes up from his injuries to find that Deku isn’t in the shelter with everyone else. Turns out he’s somewhere else, in desperate need of Baku’s support. They find happiness again together, good balance of realistic angst to romance!

69. Healing Pains by lurethegalaxy | 23.2k

romance Pining Bakugou and oblivious Deku is such a delicious flavor. Bakugou having done some level of emotional work on himself—but still being constipated to heck and gone—while Deku just avoids avoids avoids feels so correct to me. I liked living in that take with a fic recent enough that it feels really grounded in what the directly post-war aftermath would have felt like.

70. The Night We Met by majjale | 37.3k

angst, adventure, romance Another painful one. Baku is immortal and Deku keeps dying. AU. Now, you know I hate AUs, (and I had the same issues here I always do, tbh…) but the prose is magnificent. I wish I’d been highlighting as I read. Even if I imagine these as OCs, it’s worth the read because of the writing quality. The brief, cryptic author’s notes add to it. If you’re okay with a pretty heavy dose of angst, please give it a go. (I linked the series, as there are 2 very short sequels)

more recs can be found here 💚🧡

[beenbaanbuun]

christmas choi jongho thoughts…

genre: fluffy smut (bullet point form)

words: idk

warnings: loss of virginity, protected sex, christmas celebrations, praise, kissing

so i fully believe that our boy jongho is a gentleman above everything

i’m talking gives you his jacket, buys you flowers, holds your bag, that sort of thing

so when he finds out you’re a virgin, obviously it’s no problem at all

he’s more than happy to wait until you’re ready because again, he’s a gentleman!

he can make do with his hand for a little while

he really doesn’t mind as long as you’re comfortable

and then like 5 months into your relationship, it’s december!

the relationship might have been relatively new so spending actual christmas together was probably a little intense, but christmas eve?

that was practically christmas day: the prequel

the two of you sit there in your apartment in matching pyjamas, two mugs of hot chocolate sitting half drank on the table and a shitty hallmark film playing in the background

the two of you are illuminated by nothing but the lights on your tree as you snuggle together under the fluffiest blanket you could find

you keep sneaking looks at one another, both of you in awe at how the other looks under the multicoloured lights that shine down upon the two of you

the films only half finished when jongho passes you a gift

you look at him confused but he just shrugged

“the films boring, baby,” he grumbles before gesturing to the pristinely wrapped present in your lap, “she’s going to realise she’s made a mistake and run off back to the country boy who can show her ‘what christmas really means’… boring.”

you giggle at his run down of the plot of every hallmark movie ever

then you unwrap the gift

it’s a necklace. a locket to be specific

you open it to see a picture that he must’ve taken in secret: you cuddled up to him in bed, his lips pressed to your forehead as your cheek lay smushed up against his chest

“it’s nothing much… kind of cheesy now i think about it.”

you shut him up with a kiss before passing over your gifts

you passed them back and forth until all that was left was your final gift

it was silly, and now you were kind of doubting whether the gift was perhaps too silly

you pass it over anyway and bite your lip as he rips into the wrapping paper only to find… a box of condoms?

he looks at you with a raised brow and a smirk on his face

“a box of condoms, hm?”

you blush and nod

“they might come in useful…”

“oh, they might?” he chuckles as he studies the box, “how come?”

“don’t make me say it,” you whine, “i gave you the box to get out of saying it…”

he chuckles because how can you be so cute???

like you’ve just passed him a box of condoms and yet he still wants to giggle and blush and kick his feet because you’re absolutely adorable

so he decides to tease you a little just so he can watch you cutely squirm a little more

“but i don’t know what you mean, baby,” you grins at you and you can’t help but swoon at his pretty smile.

the way to corners of his eyes crinkle as he shows his gums AGDJSGDJSGAMDHSJ

he’s just so pretty and you have to do everything in your power to stop yourself from leaning forward and kissing him right then and there

but you somehow manage to hold back

“please do tell me why exactly you bought me this box of condoms…”

even though his teasing is annoying, you can’t help but giggle along

“choi jongho,” you murmur, “i swear i will take my gift back if you don’t…”

“don’t what?” he smirks

it immediately turns into a pout when you try to take the condoms back

he eventually concedes and stops his teasing

decides that kissing you would be much more appropriate for the time and place

it’s soft and sweet and intoxicating

you chase his lips as he pulls away but he just giggles at you before diving in for more

“jongho,” you whisper as you pull away, “do you want to put your present to good use?”

“absolutely, baby.”

and it’s literally the most magical thing because once again…

JONGHO IS A GENTLEMAN

strips you of your pyjamas himself, asking before he removes each piece if it’s okay

in fact, he asks before he does anything just to make sure you’re fully comfortable with everything (gentleman…)

holds your hand throughout the whole thing because he needs to make it romantic

peppers small kisses to your face as he pushes in to distract you from the initial stretch

“you’re doing so well,” kiss on the nose, “so perfect for me, aren’t you?” kiss on the forehead, “like you were made for me…” kiss on the lips

and he’s right. the two of you fit so well together and when he starts to rock his hips back and forth, you can’t help but notice how natural it feels when he slots back into place, cock buried deep inside of you

if he’d had prior warning he definitely would’ve busted out the rose petals and the candles

you lying naked on the sofa with the lights of the christmas tree bathing your bare skin felt right, though

when he realises he’s close, he takes one hand out of yours so he can play with your clit

the pout that forms when his hand slips out of yours is quickly replaced by a gasp of pleasure as he steadily pushes you to orgasm

it takes a moment or two for him to find a rhythm that works in getting you to the edge, but once he does, you reach it pretty quickly

he can’t help but tell you how pretty he thinks your moans are

“you sound so beautiful,” he pushes deep inside of you with shaky thighs, “i wish i could listen to you forever.”

and then, once he’s snugly within you, he cums into his condom and flops down on top of you

snuggles you close as you both dip in and out of dreamland

[cxsmiicc]

her little devil - lady lesso x reader

happy halloween yall idk wym im totally not 20 minutes late posting this shush

warnings - smut, orgasm denial, eating out, light fingering, vibrator, possessive lesso, halloween party

posted on ao3 also <3

2.2k words

-----

You picked at your chosen costume, suddenly doubting if it was the right one. The red latex clung to you in ways you were unused to and growing insecure of, neckline dipping far lower than you would usually wear and skirt stopping mid thigh. More than a little alcohol had gone into this decision. Well, too late to change now. Grabbing the headband with horns attached, you slammed out of your room before you lost your nerve, smoothing your hair around the cheap plastic as you walked down to the party. Clarissa and her damn parties, ever since the schools had merged it seemed like there was one every other week. And she just had to have the wonderful idea for a costume party, as though you didn’t have enough on your plate with classes and grading and her.

You banished those thoughts to the back of your mind, you had a party to attend after all. Of course whether or not you wanted to was a different matter, you would much rather spend tonight hiding away with a bottle and a vibrator. If you could escape early that could still work, it all depended on how fast Clarissa could corner you into taking drink after drink. For all she preached about good deeds that woman could coerce anyone into doing damn near anything with minimal effort.

Swinging the door open, you spotted her immediately. She was facing you, gesturing for you to join her and whoever it was she was talking to the second you were visible. The mystery woman turned around and your mouth fell open in shock. Lady. Fucking. Lesso. Her hair was straightened and dyed black for the night and there was a drip of blood decorating either corner of her mouth. She smirked at your reaction to her outfit and fangs became visible, successfully creating a fiery heat between your thighs. It only became worse as your eyes slid downwards to the generous amount of skin on show, matching your own outfit in everything but length. Where your dress was short and flared hers was long and fitted, flowing down and accentuating her every curve before pooling on the ground. Breaking yourself out of the haze, you made your way over to the two of them, first smiling at Clarissa before turning your attention to your boss.

“A vampire? Very appropriate Red, if I can even say that with you looking like this.”

“Seems like I should call you that tonight. Even I didn’t think to be quite so on the nose with my costume. The Evil history teacher, dressed as the devil? Somewhat obvious, don’t you think Clarissa?”

The blonde could only stare at the two of you and giggle, already too tipsy to care about pretending she couldn’t sense the tension between you and her fellow dean.

Rolling your eyes at the state of her, you turned back to Lesso to keep the conversation going, “So, what gives with you putting in effort tonight? Call me crazy but you don’t exactly strike me as the type to go all out for a work party.”

“Maybe I just felt like dressing up,” she spun where she stood, giving you a glimpse of the low back of her dress and sending a wave of arousal crashing through you, “My reasons are none of your business, though you seem to be enjoying it just the same.” A wicked grin graced her features, red lips quirking upwards as her eyes flitted across your body. “I must admit, you don’t look half bad yourself.”

“Oh? Careful Lesso, that almost sounded like a compliment. Wouldn’t want the ice queen to show emotion now would we.”

She laughed at you, low and slow and right in your ear. Right when you didn’t think it was possible to be any more turned on by this woman and she goes and does it.

“Ice queen… now that would’ve been a good costume idea.”

“Ah ah, what happened to not wanting to be too on the nose.” It was your turn to smirk as she registered what you just said, eyes darkening with what you would swear was lust if you didn’t know who you were talking to. All of a sudden you felt a tear on your costume and she was forcing you out of the room before you even knew what was happening, one hand firmly on your hip and the other on your shoulder. Everything was a blur as she guided you all the way back to your room, flashing her finger at the door to open it before you collided with the ageing wood. It was only to fling you down on the bed that she finally let go, pacing the empty space on your floor and offering no explanation for what she had just done.

“Care to tell me what that was all about?”

Rather than answering, she just stopped her pacing and crashed her bloodstained lips to yours, kissing you with a desperation you didn’t think her capable of. Just as quickly as she had started it, she pulled away, both hands buried in her hair as she resumed her pacing.

“Do you even know what you do to me.” Her voice came out low and gravelly, sending another spike to your core at both the tone and her words. “Always prancing around the school in those little outfits, it was driving me insane knowing I couldn’t just tear them off and have my way with you. And then tonight, oh tonight,” You stood, drawing closer to her as she kept ranting, too caught up in what she was saying to pay you much attention. “You thought you could just waltz into that party with that much skin on show with no consequences?” She grabbed your wrists and slammed them against the wall above your head before tracing a hand down your torso. “That teeny tiny costume, oh so low cut with a skirt that barely covers your ass. Latex? Not your best idea, my little devil.” Keeping her hold on your hands, she slid a nail down the ripped neckline of your outfit, successfully exposing your breasts to her. “It all would’ve been fine, had it not been for your wardrobe malfunction. Only I get to see that much of you, are we clear?”

All you could do was moan in response as she lavished attention on your chest, drinking in the sight of you half bare and entirely at her mercy.

“I said, are we clear.”

“Mmm, we’re clear, we're clear.”

“We’re clear mommy.”

“Yes mommy, you’re the only one allowed to see me like this.”

“Good, now help me take the rest of this off. Latex is a bitch to sweat in, and I'm guessing someone’s more than a little bit worked up right about now.”

She released her hold on your wrists and you dropped your arms, allowing her to peel the dress off of you and discard it on the floor, leaving you in nothing but your black underwear and horned headband.

“I want to see you, please?”

“Of course, go lay down for me and I’ll be right there.”

Rushing back over to the bed, you lay on your back and craned your neck to get the best possible view as she dropped her dress to the ground and walked over with a sway of her hips that only darkened the visible mark on your panties. She wasted no time in straddling you and pulling you into another bruising kiss, swiping her tongue along the seam of your lips and gaining the access she wanted right away. It was everything you expected of her, rough and selfish while still showing enough care to keep you enthralled as her tongue swept through your mouth, swallowing each others moans as she rolled her hips across your stomach, leaving a trail of arousal in her wake. The pressure of her on top of you was almost too much as she maintained both the force of the kiss and the motion of her hips, groaning whenever her clit hit your skin. Your hands were buried in her hair, ruining the sleekness she had worked so hard for earlier that evening but now couldn’t care less about, not when the thing she had craved for so long was finally happening. She pulled away and you whined and attempted to pull her back in, earning a glare from the older woman as she slipped down the bed until her head was between your thighs. Lighting her finger once more to vanish your underwear, she began kissing down your thighs, slowly drawing closer to where you wanted her the most.

“Please…” you let out.

“Please what?”

Please eat me out, please mommy.”

“Anything baby.” 

Her tongue ran across your entrance and you gasped at the sensation, eyes falling closed and the sound morphing into a groan as she reached your clit. She nipped at the sensitive spot and you saw stars for a moment, the sinful moans leaving your lips only spurring her on. Focusing on your entrance, she kissed and teased at the flesh, dragging sounds you had never heard yourself make before from the base of your throat. Dipping her tongue into you, your back arched off the bed as she picked up the pace, plunging it in and out as your breath came in short puffs of air, most of which were immediately used up on the truly barbaric sounds you were making now. Your walls clenched around her as you reached the edge, spouting gibberish in an attempt to convey how close you were, only for her to retract her tongue and go back to marking your inner thighs. Whimpering in confusion, you opened your eyes to find her staring at you, lips still moving slowly against your skin. Pulling away, she licked the taste of you from her mouth before speaking.

“You really thought it’d be that easy? That you could wear that little outfit, tease me like that, and still get to cum?” The look in her eyes was dangerous, almost predatory.

You looked away, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Look at me,” she grabbed your chin, balancing herself by planting her other hand on your thigh. “If you can’t take it, don’t act like such a brat.” Leaning back onto her heels, she pulled you up with her, forcing you against the headboard when you were upright, mirroring her position and sitting on your own heels.

“Hands on the bed.”

The same glow that usually emanated from her finger this time came from her eyes, conjuring thick swathes of silk and binding your hands to the bed. Scanning the room for a moment, her eyes settled on something on your nightstand and she smiled, leaning over you painfully slowly to grab it. Hand wrapped around her prize, she went back to sitting opposite you, close but not quite touching.

“Now, just what do we have here?” Her hand unclenched to reveal your vibrator, the original plan for tonight before everything went sideways. “Is this what you were planning on doing after the party? Putting in an appearance and then sneaking off to touch yourself? And here I thought you were better than that.” She poised the toy over her entrance, fingers hovering over the settings. “Eyes on me love.”

Pushing it in with a groan, she started it on a lower setting and let her hands roam her upper body, stopping at her chest to tease her nipples, plucking at the bars going through them and successfully causing you to drip onto the sheets. One hand dropped down to turn up the intensity before immediately resuming rolling her piercings between her fingertips, letting every little sound fall from her open mouth, the blood long since smeared across your face and legs. Violet eyes bored into yours during her entire display, the colour barely visible around her blown pupils. The bed shook as she turned it up one final time, rocking her hips for more friction as she reached her peak, eye contact finally breaking as her head fell back and she released a wicked moan that had you writhing against the bonds, aching to feel something, anything other than the soft fabric of the bedsheets. She tipped her head back down, eying you hungrily.

Voice lower than usual she said, “Go on, say whatever it is you’re thinking.” 

The sight of her using your vibrator, the thing that had been inside you oh so many times now inside of her, had triggered some need inside of you that you didn’t know you had. Everything about what she had just done was driving you wild with need, as she could so plainly see by the wet patch on the bed beneath you.

“Please mommy, please touch me I need you gods just please.” Your voice came out far higher than you were expecting it to, barely less than a whine. “I won’t do it again, you’ll be the only one allowed to see that much of me.”

“Damn right.”

She advanced, two fingers easily slipping into your dripping cunt and lips muffling your gasp. The binds stayed around your wrists, rendering you putty in her grasp.

[deansapplepie]

Till THE DEAD do us part | Chapter 4

A/N: This story will take place in all the seasons, but it’s not exactly a rewriting cause I’d have to re-watch everything to use the exactly lines of the characters, also I think it’s better if I tell a side story without changing the main facts of the story.

This story has a Female Reader, but I don’t describe her appearance, so anyone can identify with her.

Chapter 3 Chapter 5

Chapter 4: Pinky Promise

Summary: The group arrived at the CDC and were welcomed by Dr. Jenner, that asked just for blood samples so they could stay there. The group ate better than they have been eating in weeks and also drank a lot. Y/N and Daryl talk about the past while they share a bottle of whiskey and things get just a little bit out of control.

Warnings: swearing, little angsty, fluffy, alcohol consumption, sexual tension (?), a hot kiss 🥵, Minors do not interact. Nothing extremely sexual and detailed, but if disturbs you in any way it’s better not to read. Maybe some characters are ooc, idk 🤷🏼‍♀️

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Grimes!Reader (Rick’s Sister)

Word Count: 2,877

Extra notes: I proofread the text, but English is not my first language, so feel free to correct any mistakes, of course with love. I’m consulting a timeline of everything that happened, but it can happen that I put events out of order, but I don’t think it’ll make much difference in the story. ALSO, I’m very nervous about the path this chapter went so I’d be glad if you told me what you think.

As soon as the door opened everyone entered, but there was no one. Where were the person that opened the damn door? After some minutes a man appeared, gun on his hand and he just lowered when you proved you offered no danger. His condition to give you shelter, was to take blood samples of all of you to examine. A fair price for a scientist, how could you deny?

After you picked everything you needed from the cars, the man named Jenner, closed the metal doors and you followed him to get your blood samples taken. You were not over joyed to get your blood taken, because normally your veins were pretry dificult to be found and people would end up torturing you with a needle until they found your vein.

“You’ll probably find my vein here.” You said pointing to a place one inch from your elbow. Yeah, your vein was easy found in a very strange place. “My veins are difficult to find, that’s why I’m telling you.” ‘And because torture is not my kind of entertainment’, you thought.

“Don’t worry, I’ll only do it when I’m sure I found it.” He tried to make you calm. And he didn’t lied, he really waited till he found it and then he collected your blood without much trouble or pain.

He took everybody’s sample and then took you to the kitchen. A full supplied kitchen with good food, alcohol, water and all the appropriate devices to prepare anything.

“Glenn, did we die and I didn’t notice? Cause this looks a lot like heaven.” You commented with the young man.

“If we did, I didn’t notice it too.” He replied. God! You didn’t think you would miss so much having a kitchen with all the appliances you were used to.

You prepared the food together and the drinks were served. Everybody was so happy, having a good meal, drinking and chatting. There was a long time you didn’t feel such a light atmosphere. You all joked and smiled, maybe the alcohol was helping a little.

“Hmmm, never thought I’d taste such delicious wine again.” You commented next to your brother.

“Go easy on the alcohol sis.” Rick told you, as if he knew how to drink.

“Shut up Rick, you know I can handle alcohol better than you.” You said making him have a good laughter, in no way you were a better drinker than him. “Hey! Let a woman have her dreams.” Everyone joined Rick on his laughter, brightening the room with joy.

Very reluctantly Lori gave Carl permission to taste a little of wine, and he hated, so she was happy. Glenn was getting drunk for the first time and all of you were encouraging him, even Daryl, which was really funny to see him all lose and even smiling, genuinely and openly smiling. Alcohol was a dangerous thing, but it could also show you things you didn’t know about other people, good and bad. You sneaked some appetizers to Luna, which she gladly took.

When dinner was over Jenner showed you around, there was rooms where all of you could stay, and bathrooms with hot shower. Oh my God, you couldn’t even remember the last time you took a hot bath. You claimed one of the rooms and went directly to the bath.

You took your time in the bath, washed your hair, let the hot water fall against your back and relax your muscles. It was so good, it had been only two months and you already missed this little luxuries from the old world so bad. When you finished drying yourself, you brushed your hair and put some comfortable clothes, your sleeping shorts and a tank top. Then, you missed something important, where was Luna?

You left your room and passed looking on the rooms that had the door open. You saw Carol putting Sophia to sleep and you couldn’t help, but smile. They deserved happiness and you were glad they were safe here, as you were glad you family was here too.

“Carol, did you see Luna? I can’t find her.” You asked her from the door.

“No, I just came from the rec room with the kids and didn’t see her. Maybe she’s with Rick or Shane?” She suggested, you didn’t know. You didn’t want her messing around in an unknown place.

“Ok, thanks. Gonna continuing looking for her. Have a good night Sophia! And you too Carol, rest yourself.”

“Have a good night Y/N/N” they replied.

You continued looking in the rooms that you could see open, but she was nowhere. You saw the door of Daryl’s room half opened and decided to knock, maybe he saw her somewhere.

“Come in” you heard he say, and you were not expecting the scene. He all cleaned up, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, his back on the wall, sitting in the sofa and Luna all over him.

“Am I interrupting something?” You asked playfully, Luna looked at you and swinged her tail, but she didn’t move from where she was.

“Not my fault she likes me better.” He took the bottle to his mouth all cocky.

“Seriously, I’m already thinking about giving you her custody. It’s obvious she doesn’t love me anymore.” You dramatized sitting on the sofa right next to him.

As soon as you touched the couch, she came all your way with her cold nose, and she laid on both your laps. “I think she wants to say that she likes us both.” You stated.

“Want some?” He offered you the bottle of alcohol.

“Is this even a question? Just give me the bottle Dixon.” You take the bottle and take it to your lips, whiskey was not exactly your favorite drink, but having the alcohol in your system was too good. Just not having to worry about being sober and ready to fight at any moment.

You stayed a long time in silence, just passing the bottle around and sipping from the drink. Here it was, that comfortable silence that you used to share and right now you could do it without worrying much. You rested your head back on the wall and looked at his profile, he was handsome and also cute, you felt kind of lucky for being able to take a look at this pretty serious grumpy face everyday.

“What did ya do before all this?” He asked and sipped on the bottle.

“You mean before I became a professional Zombie killer?” You joked, a bitter taste in your mouth having to talk about your failed career. “I was a vet. What about you?”

He looked at Luna and nodded like it made a lot of sense since you had Luna, but in fact anyone could have an animal. “I’d go around with whatever shit Merle was up to. In few words, I was a nobody. I had nothing as cool as you had.”

“Don’t say this. You weren’t a nobody. In fact, when it all happened, I was unemployed. So if you were a nobody, I was just like you.” Your head still resting on the wall, your eyes still on his profile and you thought how could he think so low of himself.

“Ya weren’t nobody, princess.” He turned to look at you and you swear that your heart skipped a bit when you looked in his cute baby blue eyes. “Ya just didn’t have a job.”

“So didn’t you.” He didn’t understand why you’d try to cheer him up and tell him he was more than what he actually was. Since he could remember he knew everyone thought that the Dixon’s were no good. Nobody wanted to be around his brother or him, and it didn’t change at the quarry. And why should it change now? He’d always be what he was, but you seemed to look at him with a whole different look than anybody else and you never told he was no good or a piece of shit… you mostly had good things to tell him, even when he was a dick with you.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, D.?” You looked at him and you almost could see all the gears working in his mind. You still looked in his eyes, both of your heads resting in the wall.

“Ya think I’m better than I am.” He also looked in your eyes and tried to see anything that showed you were fucking with him, but he didn’t. You were like Rick, you had honest eyes and couldn’t hide your emotions at all even if you tried. And at the moment you didn’t have any bad emotion in your face.

You wanted to say that he thought too low of himself, that he was better than he thought. You could see it, but it was not like you were good with words, and in the last 24 hours you got him upset more times than you would like, even if he was the asshole in one of them. Maybe it was the alcohol speaking, but you couldn’t put yourself to look away from his face, and now your eyes wandered all over his face, from his handsome eyes, to his lips, the small freckles under his eyes and the cute mole above his lips… God! You really wanted to kiss him, and your intoxicated brain could not think straight, if you were sober you’d never have the courage you were feeling at this moment.

He was no different from you, not that he had never spent any time admiring your features, he had done it many times. Your beautiful eyes, your nose, your lips and even your jaw. God, if ever existed one, he had thought more than he would like to admit about running his mouth over your jaw, your lips… kiss, lick and even bite your neck. But before, you were never this close to him and he had never got this drunk with you or near you. He had not felt like this before, like if he didn’t touch someone or were close to someone… he wouldn’t be able to breath. He thought it was pathetic, well that was what Merle would say, because feelings was something only pussies did. The alcohol in his body talked stronger than Merle’s voice in his head, and all he could think was that your faces were a few inches from each other and that he could feel your warm whiskey breath and the smell of your clean hair, and when you crashed your lips against his, he wasn’t able to control anymore.

You pressed your lips against his and you didn’t expect he’d kiss you back, you expected him to push you away and tell you to fuck off. But once your lips were on his, he kissed you back. Your hand went to his face and caressed him, while his hand went to the back of your head pulling you closer and you couldn’t help but feel more invested into the kiss, your lips moving in sync, your tongue caressing his bottom lip and he couldn’t help but open his lips and let you deepen the kiss, take your way, do whatever you wanted to do… He was completely at your mercy and at this moment he wasn’t even ashamed of admiting it, at least for himself. It didn’t take much longer for you to part from the kiss, you needed to breath. You pulled apart slowly, forehead against forehead, heavy breaths and rosy moistured lips. You were so into the kiss that you didn’t even noticed that Luna had gone to the floor, your bodies were much too against each other and one of your legs were on top of his.

When the reality hit, of what had just happened, he pushed himself to the farthest side of the sofa from you. “We shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have done this.” He got up and were about to leave the room, but you were faster holding his hand.

“Daryl, you can’t leave your own room.” You said getting up and trying to look into his eyes as much as it was possible standing up, since your height difference. “If someone have to leave, it must be me.” He didn’t say anything, red cheeks and trying to piece everything that just happened together. “I iniciated it. The fault is on me. Did I kiss bad? Did you not like it?”

“No, it was good. It’s not…”He tried to find his words, but his thoughts overflowed his mind while his brain separated the things he could say and the things he couldn’t. “We’re friends, friends don’t do it.” He had never called you a friend out loud, but this was the perfect time to say it instead of saying how fucked he was and how he didn’t know how to do emotions, he didn’t believe in love or that he could be loved, and how you two getting involved like this would just fuck the whole group.

“Well… when friends get drunk shit happens sometimes. Never happened to me, but… there’s a first time for everything.” You over explained a little, because you were kind of nervous. “It’s all my fault, don’t blame yourself and don’t worry too much. There was a long time I didn’t had a good kiss and you were just too cute... I’m sorry.”

“I did it too, ya don’t need to be sorry.” He averted your gaze, shy, still concerned with everything going on his mind.

“This will not change things between us, right?” You asked and he didn’t answer, still avoiding your eyes. Shit. Shit. Shit. You had probably ruined one of the few good things you had in this shitty world. “Daryl, promise you’ll not avoid me and we’ll still be the same.”

“Ya won’t rest until I promise ya something today, aren’t ya? What is it with ya and promises?” Why were you always asking things from him? At the same time he wanted to tell you to fuck off, he wanted you to be close, at least close enough so he could keep an eye on you.

“I just don’t want things to get odd between us.” You raised your hand in between both of you, all fingers down and just your pinky up. He looked at your hand and could not believe that you were doing it. “Ok, now promise that we’ll still be friends.”

“What are ya? Five?” Who in your age made pinky promises? Why did you have to be so… vivid? “Fine. Let’s make the fucking pinky promise.”

He took your pinky in his and then you sealed it with your thumbs. “Happy?”

“Yes, now I can rest assured that we’re still friends.” You smiled and he rolled his eyes, but deep inside he felt a small warmth and oh, he was so afraid of this, because he had never felt anything like that before and he had no idea of what to do with it. “Have a good night Daryl, and thanks for the drink.”

“Luna, come on girl. Let’s go to sleep.” You called for the german shepherd, she got up from where she was laying, got a lick on Daryl’s hand and waited for him do caress her head, after it she followed behind you to your room.

You closed the door, put your back on it and slided to the floor. You could still feel his lips on yours, his hand at the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair and the heat of his body. How could you ever have a normal life after this? It could sound dramatic, but there was so long you weren’t this close to a man… Years actually, you didn’t even get on dates after Paul and he never did you feel this good as just kissing and touching Daryl made you feel. Fuck. Shane was right, you definitely had a crush on him, maybe more than this. And you Y/N Grimes didn’t do ‘more than this’, not anymore. You didn’t even do ‘less than this’.

You got up and decided it was time to go to bed and try to sleep. Luna laid by your side and you snuggled to her. “What should I do Luna?”

“Woof!” She said and gave a lick to your face.

“I already did it Luna, and I don’t know if it was the correct thing to do. I didn’t even know if he liked it.” Anyone would think you were crazy, but talking to Luna from time to time kept your sanity in place. “I’m not you, you know?”

Final Note: Thanks for everyone reading, liking, reblogging and commenting, it’s really good to receive your feedback.

Taglist: @sunnybunnyy2

[quixoticall]

To Hell I Go

MASTERLIST // PROLOGUE

Suggested Listening: Anything Zach Bryan but particularly, “Open the Gate”, "Nine Ball" and “Oak Island”

WC: 6.9k Chapter Warnings: Gun violence, injury, a bit of Billy redemption I'm sorry idk how that happened, major character death (not really tho) p in v smut, oral (f and m receiving), barn sex, Steve and Sunshine being sassy with each other, parental death

Author’s Note: Hi!!! First, I want to say how grateful I am for the positive feedback. I love writing this story and I am so glad you enjoy reading it so far!! I wanna give a quick disclaimer, I did minimal historical research and am mostly going off vibes and the fact that I’ve spent most of my life in the American Southwest/South and come from a long line of cowboys and ranchers.

Reblogs and comments are always cherished and they are incredibly motivating!

“Excuse me, Miss, I’m hoping you could help me.”

The seat next to you shifts, bringing your attention away from the blurs of jagged mountain edges and gnarled Joshua trees you were watching from the train’s window.

You turn towards an unfamiliar face: angular and delicate, framed by tawny hair that’s cut much too short to be decent on a young woman.

You know better than to call attention to yourself so you just nod politely and hope this interaction is brief.

If your demeanor comes off cold, the girl does not seem to register because she launches into a flurry of words.

“I’m with the Sheriff’s office and few towns over, see, and there’s been a slew of train robberies recently. Have you heard about them?”

You shake your head minutely, your eyes stay trained on the cabin door, hoping Max comes back to pull you away from this interaction.

“Really? You haven’t? It’s all anyone can talk about! There’s been a series of train robberies around Fairbanks and Wilcox. Passengers have been robbed of their valuables and once they even robbed the safe onboard. We reckon it could be the Creel gang but we don’t have too much evidence—“

“Pardon me, but what Sheriff are you working for exactly, Miss…?” You cut her off.

“Buckley. Name’s Robin Buckley and I work for Sheriff Hopper, of course, have you heard of him at least?”

“Can’t say I have. What exactly do you do for Sheriff Hopper, Miss Buckley? It’s unusual for a young lady to be working for a sheriff is if not?” You query. But then again, the girl, herself was unusual, dressed in a man’s shirt tucked into a patchwork skirt with a pair of trousers peaking out underneath and talking fair more than appropriate.

“Well… I’m his secretary of sorts and his deputy’s too.”

This catches your attention and once again your eyes glaze over the peculiar girl. If she was here it was likely Steve or Hopper would be too and if that was the case, you had to lay the lowest of lows. Your eyes scan the cabin of the train, looking for any sign of the sheriff or his deputy.

“What is it that you do, Miss?” She stutters out, blushing under your gaze.

“I’m a governess,” you explain, smoothly, rehearsed. “My ward and I are traveling to California currently.”

It’s the role Creel had assigned as part of his plan. You the governess and Max your ward.

It was a deceptively simple plan: you and Max would board the train, disguised as harmless members of society. Then, once on board, Max would sneak off and make sure the luggage carriage was unlocked from the inside giving Tommy and Carol the opportunity to sneak on during the train’s first stop.

The two would have the opportunity to loot through passengers’ luggage and then Billy would be waiting for them a few stops later, to help them escape.

Against your own doubts, the plan had worked three times thus far but with you’re not sure how much luck you have left with what the Buckley girl has just divulged.

Almost as if by summons, Max appears at the carriage door, face calm but eyes panicked. Behind her you spot the source of her distress: Deputy Harrington.

He’s taller than you remember, you can see that now that he’s standing. Broader too, but undeniably, impossibly him.

“I’m sorry Miss Buckley, it was real nice talking to you, but I’ve got to be going now,” you say hastily picking up your skirts to step around the girl.

Stumbling into the aisle, you hurry to the opposite vestibule door, hiding your face as best as you can.

You’re almost out the other end of the carriages when something posses you to look back, perhaps habit or something worse.

Eyes lock, recognition flashes and yells erupt.

“Stop!”

You are out of the train car in a flash and onto the open vestibule. Knowing you have no place to run but the engine room at the front of the train, you decide to climb upwards onto the flat top of the traincar. You’re not too far from where Billy is meant to be, if you could stay hidden until then you had a chance.

You launch yourself at the thin, metal ladder, weighed down by your pretty, impractical traveling clothes.

You struggle onto the roof and crouch low to brace yourself against the destabilizing wind and rattling movements. Heavy bootfalls trail behind and you rush towards the next car, bracing yourself to either fall or jump.

“Sunshine? Is that really you?” You turn around once more—Orpheus cursed yet again—and for a moment time has gone backwards.

Steve looks equal measure heartbroken and confused.

“What are you doing here?” He bellows over the clash of scrapping metals and whipping winds.

“What are you doing here?” You shrill back.

“I’m… I’m the deputy,” he says as if that’s explanation enough.

“Well la-di-dah.”

He is unaffected by your sarcasm and inches closer, a little awed, a little stunned.

“What are you doing here?” He repeats.

What are you doing here? In this unrecognizable life with the weight of the world on your shoulders?

You could tell him. It’s Steve after all: your life-long confidante, the keeper of your sins. (What’s a few more sins and secrets between the two of you?)

There is no “two of you” anymore though and this is not your Steve either, standing in front of you, brandishing a badge. This is a stranger, an enemy even. This is the bastard who killed your horse and who is working with your most loathsome foe.

You edge away from him, towards the end of the roof.

“I’m robbing a goddamn train,” you finally respond before gathering your skirts and leaping.

You land, just barely, in a piled heap of frills, then right yourself in a rush before taking off running.

He doesn’t follow.

_______________

You trailed behind Steve into the stable.

“Steve I’m not going to hold you to a promise that we made when we were sixteen, if you don’t want to marry me, just tell me, I won’t be mad,” you yelled after him. And you loved him enough to make that true.

Your words stopped him dead in his tracks in the middle of the straw-strewn floor.

“Of course I want to marry you,” he said, eyes sparkling but mouth downturned in a frown. “I’ve wanted to marry you since I was thirteen.”

Your heart softened at this.

“Then what was all that about?”

You had agreed that you would finally reveal your courtship to your family when you got back from finishing school. The two of you had been loving each other in secret for three years now— seeing each other in the cracks of time between your schooling when others wouldn’t suspect. It hadn’t been something you had outwardly discussed, the secret. It was just something both of you were too shy to bring up. It had seemed so good, so pure. Something you didn’t want to be questioned over or given grief about or held against you. But once you were done with school, it felt like adulthood began and you could start loving each other in plain view. Get married even. It was time to tell your family, the two of you had decided together.

Except before you could’ve broached the subject at dinner that night, Steve excused himself from the table, suddenly. There was a mare with a broken leg he desperately needed to check on. Bullshit.

“Your father started talking about setting you up with that Carter fella and I lost my nerve,” Steve sighed. He looked at you with an apology etched in his warm eyes.

“He was only saying that because he didn’t know about us,” you soothed. You drew closer, reaching a hand up to smooth out the crease between his eyebrows.

“No, he was saying that because he wants you to marry you off to someone with money, someone in ‘society’. They didn’t send you to that fancy school just to end up with some ranch hand orphan,” Steve argued back but there was no heat left to him. He just sounded despondent and defeated.

You knew there was some truth to what he was saying. The expectation for you to marry well had always existed, unspoken but present still. And while you would hate to disappoint your parents, it wouldn’t be for nothing and there wouldn’t be anything lost. Your family had money of its own, your sisters’ future did not rely on you securing a rich husband and you let Steve know as much.

“Plus, Daddy’s a good man, he’ll want me to be happy and you make me happy, Steve.“

He smiled at you for the first time that night and it felt something like sunshine.

“You’re right,” he admitted, finally and he took your gentle hand in his work-worn one. One, two, three kisses dotted your cheeks before he pulled you close lips slotting hotly together. His hand gripped the stiff fabric of your bodice hungrily, the pressure drawing soft moans from your mouth.

Your back was against the wall the next instant and Steve’s lips were burning a trail of kisses down your neck. One of his hand traveled from your waist to your thigh, hitching it high around his hips and his lips found yours again. You tightened your leg around him to pull him closer, chasing the sweet friction of his body against yours. He whined into your mouth lowly in response. The next moment, he had pulled away from you and you whimpered at the loss. He was in his knees, his hands wading against your voluminous skirt.

He found your stocking-clad thighs underneath the fabrics and wasted no time in finding the edges of your undergarments.

“Can I?” He asked, earnest and hungry.

You nod feverishly.

“Words, darlin’. Give me your words.”

“Yes, please, Steve, yes.”

Steve disappeared underneath your skirt and you gasped when you feel his hot lips against the soft skin of your stomach. Your underthings were gone in an instant and his mouth traveled lower. Your legs parted and one thigh ended up on his shoulder.

This was new. Something you and Steve had never done, not for lack of wanting and now that you were here, it was sloppy and fervent and perfect.

His mouth locked onto where you need him the most. His lips, soft and malleable, latched onto your hot cunt and his tongue moved to circle your clit.

Your head rolled back against the weathered wooden wall.

“So sweet, so pretty,” you felt him mutter against your skin.

“More,” you pleaded and suddenly you felt his hand circling your slit, so close to where you needed the pressure.

“Inside, Stevie, please.”

“You want me to fill you up, darlin’? You want me to fuck you with my fingers.”

“Yes, please,” you moaned.

“Tell me who you belong to first,” he ordered. “Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours, I’m yours, Steve,” tears welled in your eyes from the desperation.

“Damn right, you’re mine, sweet thing. No one else’s.” As he said that, a finger breached into your tight heat and began to slowly pump in and out.

The stretch became even more delicious when Steve added a second finger. You vaguely thought to yourself that you wanted to feel like this forever and you felt a sense of release approaching.

You cupped a hand against your mouth, stifling the moan that rips through when the rush finally hit you. Your legs wobbled, nearly giving out. Steve peppered a final set of kisses around your body before reappearing from underneath your skirt, eyes heady with lust. You trailed down the wall to sit across from him, eyes fixed on the bulge in his pants. You crawled closer, while Steve watched you with eyes transfixed. You placed a hand on either thigh parting them slightly so you could sit between them.

“I want to make you feel good, too,” you told him, thumbing his waistline.

“Yeah?” He said wantonly while his head lolled against his shoulder.

“Will show me how you like it?”

He nodded eagerly as you unclasped his belt buckle. He helped you undo his pants and free his cock from the confines of his pants.

You had heard things about sex, at school, from your more adventurous classmates and knew the basics well enough to put some into practice.

You reached out to palm the length of his cock, a gentle, experimental tug caused Steve to hiss in response.

“Put your mouth on it, for me darlin’,” his drawled.

You obeyed readily and took his tip into your mouth.

Groaning, he leaned back on one palm while the other threaded itself through your hair. You bobbed your head a bit and with his encouragement your movements grew and became more fluid. You tried your best to navigate the sheer length of him. He was larger than you had ever imagined and you could feel his tip pushing at the back of your throat while you used your hand to stroke what couldn’t fit in your mouth.

He watched you with lust-filled eyes, “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth. Wanna keep you there forever,” he muttered as he pushed your head lightly, making you gag which elicited another moan from him.

“That’s it, honey, gag on it.”

You could feel him throbbing inside your mouth as you sped up.

“C’mere, I need your sweet little pussy around my cock, right now,” he urged suddenly, pulling your mouth away. You obeyed, eagerly, and he guided you onto his lap legs straddled on either side and skirt bunched up around your middle.

He rubbed circles on your thighs as he eased you down onto his cock. The stretch was foreign but not painful, however, with every inch burned a little more. It was delicious. With some coaxing on Steve’s end you had managed to take him fully and your thighs were flush against his. You felt so full, tears were beginning to dot the corners of your eyes.

“Doin’ so good for me, honey,” he praised, cupping your face to wipe the tears away. “Now, I just need you to ride me.”

His hand moved lower, digging into hips as you began to rock against him. The burn had given away to a delicious friction and you wanted more. Your hips moved quicker against his drawing out a deep groan from Steve. He then pulled you close, capturing your mouth in a searing, wet kiss.

You rocked against him, finding a steady rhythm, whining keenly as a heat grew in your lower stomach.

“Hush baby, someone’s gonna hear,” Steve muttered, strained, before placing his hand over your mouth while only made you burn even hotter.

You felt your release coming up on you again. “Steve,” you panted against his palm, “I’m gonna… “I’m gonna.” You were so wrecked you couldn’t even complete a sentence.

“I know sweet thing, I know, you’re doing so good for me,” Steve soothed in response, “me too.” And with that he began moving his hips up to meet your thrusts with his own.

It had turned into something rough and fast, each thrust reaching deeper than the one before.

You finished, grasping for purchase at his shirt as you rode out the feeling. A few moments later you felt a spasming inside of you as his body went suddenly rigid and then relaxed.

The two of you untangle yourselves, panting as you came down from the bliss.

“Steve?” You probed, a little later when the two of you were propped in an exhausted heap against the wall.

Steve hummed in response.

“Is yours bigger than normal or are all of them like this?”

He was speechless for a moment before breaking out into full guffaws. Your own giggles erupted into full peals of laughter that could not be contained.

Eventually after the laughter had subsided and silence had overtaken the two of you while you became lost in thought, Steve murmured your name.

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna talk to your father tomorrow, man to man and ask for your hand, I promise.”

That was the last time you saw Steve Harrington.

_______________

“Max is missing,” you announce, to no reaction.

You continue, “we need to go find her.”

Deputy Harrington and his lackey had foiled the train robbery.

You had managed to get away along with Tommy and half the loot, thanks to Billy’s good timing. Carol and Max had not been so lucky.

In the days after the scuffle, the crew had hung low and part of you hoped that Max had managed to get away somehow. She was willful and resourceful. But, it had been nearly five days and there had been no sight of the young teen.

“We don’t go back for anyone,” Billy drawls through the cigarette in his mouth, “thems the rules”

“She’s your sister, Billy,” you insist.

“Her mama married my pops and then

they both died, that don’t make us blood,” he grunts.

“Fine,” you huff, disgusted, “I will go back for her then.”

“No you will not,” Creel murmurs from behind you as he enters the small rundown kitchen and both you and Billy shrink back a bit involuntarily.

Creel—Henry Creel, although you don’t dare call him by his first name—is the head of your entire operation. He is a terrifying type of man in that there was something otherworldly about him, as if one day he’d peel his vest away to expose winding gears in his ribcage or angel wings along his back.

Lifetimes ago, Creel had been a society man, his family’s name well respected in West Texas, but there had been some unknown incident that had resulted in the deaths of his parents and sister leaving him as the sole keeper of the Creel name and fortune.

Soon he had started setting up betting houses, prying on gamblers, cheating them out of money and then running them into the ground when they inevitably couldn’t settle their debts.

He was a grifter among men and a king among grifters. Add to that some bootlegging, a bit of robbery, and a touch of murder and Henry Creel ruled over an empire of crime. Of course, he needed folks to do his bidding which is why he came to collect the members that made up his gang.

Creel collected members for his gang carefully, only picking the most talented and they had to be ruthless but not as ruthless as him because he needed his crew to fear him, to obey him.

He turns to you and speaks, slow and measured, “You are my best shot by far and I cannot risk losing you, especially for such an insignificant cause. So, I don’t want to hear another word about this, understand?”

“Yes,” you agree tightly, fists balled tightly at your side.

“Wonderful,” he smiles, long, unfurling and mirthless.

_______________

Creel seemed to want to make sure you didn’t go after Max because the next day he sent you to pick up some packages for him at the boarder. He had emphasized the value of the items and the expectation for everything to be returned to him speedily and in tact. You didn’t bother asking what the parcels possibly contained, it was better that you didn’t know anyway.

The trip had been uneventful enough, the handoff occurring under the cover of pitch black night somewhere in the Rio Grande Valley. There were three packages, long and cylindrical, wrapped in soft leather that clanged when they moved. You strapped them to the sides of your saddle and set off, whispering a quiet thank you to the young woman that had dispatched the goods and riding through the night.

There’s only 50 miles left between yourself and the Creel House when you hear it. A steady gallop coming from behind you, accompanied by the jingle of spurs. You know who it is without having to turn around.

“Excuse me, Miss, but you look familiar,” Steve calls out as he appears at your side.

You ignore him but he continues, “You look like a girl I knew back when I was a youngin’ back home—look just like her, actually. A rancher’s daughter—pretty thing. Last I heard she married some rich fella, left her town and never came back.”

Your jaw clenches.

“You’ve got the wrong girl. I ain’t married,” you hold up a ringless hand for emphasis.

“I can see that,” the deputy next to you muses.

“And I ain’t no rancher’s daughter either,” you add.

Steve chuckles dryly at this, “My mistake then, Miss, must be my mind playing tricks. But y’know who else you look like? One of the Creel gang members that robbed a train out in Wilcox last month.”

“Yeah? Well, you look like the bastard who killed my horse,” you snap back and he falters.

“Apologies for that,” he responds sounding truly ashamed.

You scoff at what little good his apology does you and pull at your reins. He is matching your stride for stride with all the ease in the world, which is making it near impossible to lose him.

You are familiar with this path though, having ridden it dozens of times while working for Creel. You know that while the path may be clear now, there is a patch of brambles coming up that is a difficult maneuver for anyone unfamiliar with it. Anyone who has traversed it before however, would know that there a steep and unseen descent that, if going too quickly, would result in a very painful tumble into a patch of cacti. That was your only chance of escape, you just needed to make sure Steve kept his pace and was distracted enough to not see the trap you were setting.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to surrender, Miss,” he declares, claiming your attention again.

“And I’m gonna have to say no, Deputy Harrington.”

“You can’t do that!” He huffs.

“Says who?”

“Me! The deputy!”

“I’ll make you a deal then,” you call out spotting the briar patch in the short distance, “if you can catch me I’ll go with you willingly. Promise.”

You yank hard at the reigns and dig your heels speeding up before suddenly veering off to the right sharply. Steve had picked up considerable speed and by the time he sees the bramble and cacti it’s far too late. His horse is left struggling for footing and he tumbles downwards into a nest of needles and spines.

“Apologies for that!” You yell over your shoulder before riding off in the opposite direction. You spend the rest of the way back convincing yourself you’re not even a little bit sorry.

_______________

“Steve didn’t show up for his morning chores,” Lottie informed you over breakfast. “You wouldn’t happen to know where’s he’s at, would ya?”

“No! Me? Why would I know?” Your answer spilled out a bit too quickly, the events of the previous night still fresh in your mind and conscious.

Hattie wrinkled her nose, “Because y’all are attached at the hip.”

“Right. Well, I haven’t seen him. Maybe check with Eddie?” You suggested to the excitement and delight of your sisters who were enamored with the slightly older ranch hand who had come to employment a few months back.

The two were practically tripping over themselves to go find him. They returned with Eddie in tow and still no inkling of where the other ranch hand might’ve been.

“Sorry, Miss,” Eddie drawled, “haven’t seen ‘im since last night. Seemed like he had a good night though,” he smirked, “was sighing up a storm. But his boots are gone and a few of his other things too.”

You thanked the three and sent them off to continue the search.

Steve had never missed a day of chores in his life, that itself was vexingly peculiar but, your father was also gone all morning and based off the previous night’s promise, you were inclined to believe they’re together, so you didn’t panic, but you were still worried.

When your father returned later that afternoon alone, you rushed to meet him at the door.

“Daddy, Steve didn’t talk to you about anything today did he?” You asked casually as he laid his boots by the door.

“Naw, haven’t seen him all day,” he looked perplexed, “although the girls tell me he’s missing.”

This was when your worry transformed into panic.

Supper time came and went and Steve was still unaccounted for. The same was true the following morning.

By midday, you had plead with Eddie to let you into their shared room to search for any sign for where he might be. Your mind was overflowing with worry and confusion.

Eddie escorted you and you watched, with pity in his eyes as you riffle through Steve’s things desperation mounting with each overturned blanket or skimmed-through book that led nowhere.

“Wait, what is that?” Eddie pointed at the headboard where it seemed like a thick glossy piece of paper was tucked between the bedpost and the wall.

You wiggled it out and extend the edges open for the two of you to see. It was a poster, the type that hung in saloons and public squares.

Cheyenne Rodeo, was printed along the top in thick lettering along with, Winner Rewarded in Cash Prize.

Underneath that, in smaller print and circled in pencil were a series of dates a week away.

“Shit,” Eddie muttered over you shoulder.

_______________

“Shit,” Billy mutters behind you. “It’s that mutton-punching deputy again.”

You groan and turn to look. Sure enough, coming up around the bend was Deputy Harrington and his trusted Secretary Miss Robin Buckley.

You and Billy are tucked behind a barn and while you’re clearly visible he is unseen.

“I’ll handle this,” you say firmly and Billy is quick to protest but you cut him off, “Billy, I swear to God, if you don’t let me handle this I will shoot your weasel off while you sleep.”

He recoils immediately, “I’ll wait here then.”

“Be ready to make a run for it,” you advise nodding to his horse, Pistol.

You take a moment to breathe deeply and straighten your posture in your saddle before ambling into the dirt road.

“Howdy,” you call out to the pair who are fifty paces away, their figures outlined bright with sunshine.

“Hello!” Robin Buckley greets near cheerful with a boisterous wave, “It’s good to see you again!”

“Don’t you have anything else to do besides following me around?” You question, squinting at Steve.

“Got wind of some stage coat robberies along this road and as the deputy, it is my duty to come and investigate,” he responds haughtily.

You scoff, “Duty?” You gesture at the angry red scratches that litter his body, clear remainders from your previous run in. “Was it your duty to get into a fist fight with a barn cat, Deputy Harrington.”

He reddens, tugging at his collar higher pulling your attention to his appearance. It’s the first time you’ve gotten the chance to take him in fully, head on, without having to flee in the opposite direction.

He’s dressed neatly in a blue buttoned shirt with maroon trousers and a fine set of suede chaps. A tan vest showcases his glinting silver, official badge. His hat and boots look worn but clean. He looks good, neat, well-kept.

A clear contrast to your mismatch, threadbare clothes and your wind beaten face and unkempt hair. No wonder he barely recognized the first time you crossed paths.

His eyes rake over your body, as if he’s read your mind and suddenly you drowning in self-consciousness and struggling to keep yourself from running a hand through your hair.

Twinkling laughter cuts through your tense regard for one another. Miss Buckley seems amused by the exchange.

Steve glares at his partner, “Robin, c’mon.”

She puts her hands up in guiltless surrender. “Sorry but you never mentioned she was funny.”

They divulged into a low argument that you only catch pieces of.

“—said charming not funny, she’s definitely both—“

“—find my suffering amusing—“

“—never tell you anything—“

“—thats fine, Red will tell me—“

Your ears perk at the last statement from Robin.

“Max? You have Max?”

The two exchange an uneasy gaze.

“Miss Mayfield is currently being detained at the county jail for suspected involvement in the Wilcox Train robbery.” Steve declares, inciting your outrage.

“She’s a child, Harrington!”

“She’s a suspect and besides, you can see her soon enough because you are under arrest.”

This elicits an eye roll from you.

“Not this game again,” you grumble.

“This isn’t a game,” he argues and to prove his point, unsheathes his pistol.

You stiffen at the sight but keep firm.

“Deputy Harrington,” you start, tone measured, “you and I both know that Henry Creel will not take kindly to his best markswoman being detained and he is not someone you want to make an enemy of, trust me, you won’t survive it,” you emphasize for his benefit, not your own, “so why don’t we part ways here and maybe you two find something more your speed. Maybe there’s a child nearby cheating at a game of jacks you can arrest and—“

A shot rings out, loud and disorienting, making your ears ring. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Billy, who had since appeared from behind the barn, that unloaded his gun, not Steve. He hadn’t hit either the deputy or his secretary, however he had managed to spook their horses enough to cause enough commotion and confusion for the two of you to slip away.

“C’mon!” You hear Billy shout, snapping you out of your stupor and with only final glance back, you urge your horse forward leaving Steve in the dust, once again

_______________

The news came, as all terrible news does, on a raining Sunday afternoon.

Up until that day, you had maintained your hope that Steve would come back, protecting it like a tepid flame in a storm.

But all hope was extinguished when your father handed you a torn news article. It only had four words printed on it: Cheyenne Rodeo Claims Casualty. Above was a photograph of a young man rough riding a bull. It was grainy and small but the photo was undeniably him. Steve. That four word title and photograph were all that you were afforded, the only thing that had been ripped out of the Wisconsin Tribune.

“No, no,” you shook your heard frantically, “it can’t have been him. Where’s the rest of the article? I need to see the rest of the article,” you demanded.

Your daddy sighed, grievously, “that’s the only thing Uncle Tony sent me.”

“Steve’s not dead, Daddy! He can’t be!” You shrill, “He’s the best bill rider to ever be.” Steve wasn’t supposed to meet the same end as his father, he was better than that.

“I’ll go to Wisconsin,” your father soothed, “I will find out myself.”

“Can I come with you?” You asked.

“I’m afraid you’ll slow me down, darling and besides it’s far too dangerous. But don’t worry, I’ll do what needs to get done.”

“Will you bring him back?” You pleaded, sounding like a petulant child.

“As long as he wants to come back,” your father warned back, watering the seed of doubt that had been growing in your chest since the morning Steve had disappeared.

Your daddy was back two weeks later. Alone. One look at his apologetic and grievous face and you collapsed onto the soft mud.

Steve was dead. Your father had confirmed it. He hadn’t been able to track down the newspaper but he had seen the certificate and he provided a singular printed death announcement to show you.

Steve was dead.

He had left and died with no explanation or reason. You would never know why he had done what he had, perhaps it was pride or recklessness, no one could say.

He had the privilege of living and dying by his own whims and follies and you were left behind with the messy work of grieving him and putting all the pieces back together.

_______________

“I appreciate what you did back there.” The words come out stilted and uncertain when you say them aloud. You can’t even look at Billy when you speak, instead your eyes face forward, focused on the terrain in front of you instead of the man riding at your side.

You’re not used to thanking Billy and it doesn’t seem like he’s used to being thanked based either.

“Don’t mention it,” he muttered, as he shielded his eyes away. He looks like he wanted to say something else but the words were stuck.

“Out with it,” you urge, “whatever it is you wanna say.”

That was all the permission he needed to ask his totally unabashed question.

“Did you and the deputy fuck?”

“Billy!” You chastise, heat rushing your cheeks.

He shrugged, “You said ‘out with it’. And it just seems like you two know each other… well, is all.”

“We don’t know each other,” you answer hoping he drops this as quickly has Max had months before.

“C’mon darlin’, don’t bullshit me.”

You sigh.

“We may have crossed paths once or twice before.”

“Is that it? If you ask me, there’s some history there. Does he owe you money or something?” He presses, laughing.

“You sure are goddamn stubborn, y’know that?”

He smirks at you, a perfect picture of roguish handsomeness, “I’ve been told, yeah.”

Shaking your head disparagingly, you choose your next words with care,

“We knew each other when we were kids. And kids say things they don’t mean, they make promises they can’t keep and eventually those promises get broken but that doesn’t mean the world ends.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit dramatic?”

You laugh, “Max used to say that all the time.”

He joined into your laughter, “Yeah, kid was a pain in the ass but she had a way of keeping you humble.”

It was true. In your deepest moments of self-pity and despair, Max always managed to bring you back to reality in her unique, biting way.

You sober at the thought of her, imprisoned, “You really don’t care that she’s locked up?”

Billy exhales heavily, “it’s all the same to me. I told you we ain’t kin.”

“Bullshit,” it’s your turn to call. “If y’all ain’t kin, why didn’t you just leave her behind when your parents died?”

Billy stiffened. “I was fourteen scared shitless and she wouldn’t leave me alone. If I woulda known how things shook out, I woulda dropped her at some orphanage to keep us from this mess. Maybe she’s better off where she’s at.”

“You don’t truly believe that, do you?”

“I dunno,” his tone darkens, a previously unseen vulnerability on display, “is this the life you would want for your kin? Or yourself for the matter?”

The conversation dies after that.

_______________

You had spent three years trying to mend your grief following Steve’s death.

Nothing quelled your spirit and everywhere you looked, you couldn’t help but be reminded of him.

You stopped riding and shooting. You gave up reading. You would ruin your chances with every suitor that your daddy sent your way by refusing to talk altogether, no matter how much your parents tried to convince you that it was time to declare yourself engaged. You weren’t ready, you kept insisting to your parents despite their attempts to find you a match, perhaps you would never be ready.

It had taken three years for the Steve-shaped wound to finally beginning to scar over, you couldn’t stand another heartbreak. Regardless, one came anyway.

Your father was dying. An illness had set in that was eating him away. In the span of a few months he had become bed-bound and weak. It was just a matter of time, was what the town doctor had told you.

You did your best to be a solid pillar for the rest of your family, braving your father’s bedside care when the others couldn’t stomach it, taking over the ranch’s books and ledgers when your father fell to delirium. Grief was familiar enough that you knew how to manage around it.

The day your father died, it was sunny and bright which seemed like a cruel joke. Your sisters cried while you organized the funeral. Your mother refused to leave her room for three days, finally coming out in time for the service, hair impecable and wearing her best dress.

The funeral was well attended, of course it was. Your father was well known and respected in your community and you recognized everyone that came through the church doors that day in one form or another. Except for one man.

He was tall, imposing. Well dressed, but not showy. He stood in the back, the entire service, and then after that too. He waited until it was just your family left before he approached.

“Hello,” he purred, reaching out to kiss your mother’s hand, “my name is Henry Creel, and I’m here to talk about a debt that needs settling.”

Men were rotten. It was a fact truer than the blue sky. Most rotten men had the shame to be upfront about it, but not your daddy, it turned out.

No, he turned out to be the worst kind of rotten—the kind who hid all his ugly behind a gleaming veneer of false honor and integrity until all the rotten caught up to him. And then, he had the audacity to die and leave the consequences to you to deal with.

Turned out, your seemingly pious father had a penchants for gambling and, according to Creel, he was quite bad at it because he had left an outstanding debt the size of the moon. What made it worse was that he kept pushing payment off in a strange dance the two had: Creel would demand payment, your father would barter for a bit more time, claiming he was waiting for some money he had in the works, the money would inevitably never appear and then they would go back to the start. Henry Creel was angry, he had made clear. And he would be receiving his rightful payment, regardless of your father being six feet under.

“Hand the ranch over to me,” he offered your mama, “and all the debts will be settled.”

“Not a chance,” you challenged, “the ranch is worth more than what my father owes you.”

Creel regarded you for the first time, and you could see the machinations of his brain whirring.

“There has to be another way,” you proposed, trying to sound sure and steady when you felt neither of those things.

“Perhaps,” Creel began, “Perhaps, we could come to a different arrangement. Tell me girl, do you have any skills of note?”

You swallow thickly at the question, unsure what answer to give.

“She can shoot,” Lottie volunteered, “real good, too.”

“And she a fast rider,” Hattie added.

“She went to this fancy finishing school in El Paso, too. They taught her how to be a proper lady and a wife,” Lottie supplied.

“And she’s pretty—“

“Hattie,” you interrupt, “that ain’t a skill.”

“ I know but I couldn’t let Lottie say more than me!”

Creel chuckled, unamused, “ The little one is right, if yielded correctly, beauty could be a skill.”

You blanched. The way he said that paired with his lecherous smile didn’t sit right with you.

In the end, you were given a choice: you could sell the ranch and let your family fall into a sure poverty, or you could work for Creel, doing the rotten work that men like him needed done.

The choice was made and you were once left paying for the sins of another man.

You rode off behind Henry Creel into the unknown night a few hours after your father’s funeral, reminding yourself the entire way that you had made the right choice and hoping you’d be better than your father at being rotten.