#Echo lake trail

[faguscarolinensis]

Sorbus scopulina / Greene's Mountain Ash on the Echo Lake Trail on Mount Blue Sky in Evergreen, CO

[rabbitcruiser]

Five hundred Mormons left Iowa City for the Mormon Trail on June 9, 1856.

[kittyj58]

Roaming in New Jersey: Echo Lakes Stables

[bumblesimagines]

‘i never thought i'd ever see you again.’

‘i never got your name.’

w/ milly’s rhaenyra and male! reader ? like maybe male reader ends up being her betrothed rather than laenor xd

Pronouns: He/Him/His

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, Alicent and Viserys marriage, arranged marriage trope, not much tbh?, some lying by omission, some mentions of rhaenyra's complicated relationship with gender

Rhaenyra's veins buzzed with anger, irritation, and exhaustion, the reins tightly gripped in her hands leaving imprints along her palms as she rode through the forest. The wind lashed at her face, her silver hair whipping behind her; the closest thing she could get to mimicking the feeling of flying with Syrax. Her father's words echoed in her mind, reminding her she'd never be the son he always longed for. Always just the princess, always just the daughter meant to marry some noble arse and have a million of his babies, even as the heir to the throne. 

A furious groan escaped her lips, her eyes beginning to sting with tears. She rapidly blinked them away at the sight of another person up ahead by the lake and tugged on the reins, bringing the horse's speed down to a trot. Her chest heaved with pants and her hair had no doubt lost the pristine style her handmaidens had brushed it into, the bright color of it being the only telling part of her royal blood. The stranger crouched by the lake looked over his shoulder at her and stood, wiping his dripping hands on his pants. 

"Princess Rhaenyra," He bent at the waist in a bow, his boots leaving prints in the mud as he approached his grazing horse. He wrapped his hands around the reins and swept his eyes over her, his lips curling playfully. "Which fool has upset the heir of the Iron Throne so soon into the day?" 

Rhaenyra released a dry, breathless laugh. "My father." She answered, half-expecting him to trip over himself to take his words back but he hummed and nodded, heaving himself up on the saddle of his horse. The horse huffed softly and raised its head, chewing on the last bits of grass in its mouth.

"Fathers make the worst fools." He said, gently tugging on the reins in her direction, the calmness in his demeanor reminding her of her uncle in a way. There he stood in the presence of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and he seemed as if he were speaking to an old friend. Rhaenyra relaxed at that, used to most trying to suck up to her or being intimidated by her titles, but she couldn't help eyeing him with a hint of suspicion.

His clothes lacked any specific coloring symbolizing one of the Great Houses for they were mostly brown and akin to what the smallfolk typically wore but even the most confident of peasant men were prone to stuttering or stumbling over themselves. The stranger simply smiled at her, dipping his head as his horse walked past her and back into the forest.

"I never got your name," Rhaenyra called, pulling on the reins and pressing her heels into her horse's sides. The horse complied and moved after him swiftly, slowing down once they were walking side by side on the small natural trail leading back to the Royal camp. With a better look at him, Rhaenyra had to admit he was handsome, especially with the mystery surrounding him. 

"Surely my name is unimportant to a lady such as yourself, Princess." He spoke with a hint of a playful tone, his head tilted back to watch the birds fluttering about overhead.

Rhaenyra hummed quietly and looked forward once again, dread beginning to bubble up in her stomach. She'd made a bit of an outburst after her and King Viserys's little spat in the main tent, and she hardly had the patience or desire to face her father or the other nobles who'd witnessed it. "You claim fathers make the worst fools." She glanced at him. "What makes yours a fool?"

"He's stubborn, as most old men are." He sighed. "He never allows his mind to shift from his opinions, even if it may cost his family. Though, I suppose when my mother is the one making the actual decisions, he desires to show his fellow men he's in charge."

"I'd like to meet your mother." Rhaenyra chuckled softly, the words repeating in her mind and making her throat tighten with intense longing. Nothing would ever be able to replace the immense gaping hole in her heart left behind by her mother's passing and her father's decisions afterward. The vultures circled and circled until her body had been reduced to ash before they swooped down to peck at the leftovers. Otto... Alicent. 

Rhaenyra inhaled deeply through her nose and plastered on a polite yet fake smile, turning to look at him once more. (Y/N) finally dropped his attention away from the sky and turned toward the princess, arching a questioning brow upon noticing the look on her face. "What is it, Princess? We must make haste if we wish to return to camp before nightfall." 

She groaned. "I do not wish to return to camp. I... I wish I were someone else, frankly.. someone nobody would be able to sell off to some fancy man like a mare and made to live the endless cycle of falling pregnant and producing child after child until my husband is content. I am a princess and the heir to the throne yet- yet I am treated no better than your common lady." 

"Us men do have more freedom, though I am afraid you'd be forced to marry regardless of being of either sex, Princess. It is what's expected of the highborn folk." He shrugged lightly, glancing over the branches above and scanning the sky for the position of the sun. "I suppose we may ride through the forest for a while longer but if anyone were to search for us, they'd be... far from thrilled seeing us unchaperoned and alone together. They may even have us wed." He winked playfully.

"Is that not what lowborns dream of? Marrying royalty?"

"Aye, some do. There's many a tale of beautiful lowborn daughters being swept away by a handsome dashing knight. You cannot fault the imagination of the desperate." He spoke and tugged gently at his reins, directing his horse off the path and further into the Kingswood. Rhaenyra followed, pleased to hear the bustle and chatter of camp drift further and further away. 

"Where are you from, man with no name? A distant land?" She questioned teasingly, taking note of the way her thighs began to ache. It'd been too long since she last took to a saddle, she realized. Rhaenyra would remedy that quickly when she returned home. The stranger laughed softly, a pleasant-sounding thing, and gave her a grin. 

"If consider The Reach a distant land, then yes." He responded.

Commonly known for being the home of chivalry and where knighthood was greatly esteemed by its residents, the Reach was perhaps one of the wealthiest regions in all of Westeros. Rhaenyra had heard plenty of it from Alicent back when they exchanged more than forced pleasantries. Her former friend oft' spoke of showing her around Oldtown, the home of House Hightower and the most notable city in the Reach. There were many houses, many places her newfound friend would live and work near. She tried recalling all the houses from the Reach that'd attended the hunt.

"And whom may your lord be? Lord Hightower?" 

"Lord Tyrell." He answered. "He believes I am too young to not be wed with children by now. He is a kind man, if not perhaps rather daft at times. I'm fond of him, truly, even when he becomes aggravating."

"It's rather surprising to hear you are close with Lord Tyrell." Rhaenyra's brows raised. Sure, plenty of lords and ladies favored the servants who took care of them frequently, but they hardly ever got close enough with them to speak so freely.

"Oh," He chuckled. "He's known me since I was a babe."

By the time night fell, they'd strolled through part of the Kingswood in avid conversation, only putting an end to their riding when it was deemed better to collect some wood for a fire. Rhaenyra leaned back against a fallen log and listened to the comforting sound of fire crackling, the embers rising and spinning through the air with each delicate breeze that swept by. She watched them dance with the breeze while her thoughts drifted elsewhere, to what life may have been if she'd been born as her father's desired prince. 

"You should sleep, Princess." The Tyrell boy spoke from his spot beside her, his arm perched up on the log and hoisting up his head. His eyes remained closed but his body seemed alert, fingers twitching with each distant crunch or animal cry. "We'll rise with the sun and return to camp lest anyone realize you spent the night away with a stranger. I'd rather remain off King Viserys radar."

"Is that so? What if I wish to tell my father of how I met an odd man out in the woods? That'll surely garner his attention." Rhaenyra giggled softly and turned to look at him, watching the corner of his lips twitch upward. 

"It certainly would, Princess." He murmured and lifted his head, gently rubbing his knuckle over his eye and glancing over the dark woods around them. The fire illuminated his face in a warm, near-golden glow. Rhaenyra thought of her father's insistence that she wed someone, anyone. What would he do, she wondered, if she told him of a lowborn she liked? 

"You never told me your name."

"It is of little importance, as I said. You will return home to King's Landing soon and all this will become a distant memory in days to come." His eyes slid over to her, and she hummed quietly, her lips parting to insist otherwise but she knew the life of court would sweep her up and she'd only recall him late at night when her thoughts stopped running. "Sleep."

"I do not plan on forgetting you." She told him in a surge of confidence and some rebellion, planting her hand on the forest floor beneath them and leaning forward to press their lips together. Not her first time kissing someone, for she and Alicent had exchanged curious kisses during their youth but her body nonetheless tingled with excitement. 

"Princess," He sighed but she placed her other hand on his cheek before he could draw back and scold her on whichever societal rule they broke. "You-"

Rhaenyra tilted her head back slightly, swiping her tongue over her lips and giving him a small smile. "I wish to be free for a moment. Will you help me?" She asked softly, staring into his (E/C) eyes hopefully, otherwise it'd be a rather awkward night. 

"Whatever the princess's desires."

The time had finally arrived when her father had grown tired and displeased with the lack of progress in their combined search for a suitable husband. He'd strongly considered Laenor Velaryon in hopes of mending what'd been broken when he chose Alicent over Laena, but the rumors of the young Velaryon preferring boys over girls reached King Viserys ears fast enough for him to change his mind and choose another strong contender. 

"I believe you'll be quite content with Highgarden, Rhaenyra," Alicent spoke softly, her words directed at her but eyes distant as she bounced little Helaena in her arms. Her handmaiden remained silent as she attempted to wrangle a wiggling Aegon and Rhaenyra could only grimace at the struggle. "It is.. a beautiful place. My mother was friends with Lady Tyrell in her youth and oft' spoke of the beauty of it." 

"I see." Rhaenyra sighed. "I am.. certain it is as lovely as you claim. But I will reside in King's Landing, as it is my duty as heir, is it not?" She lifted her brows at her father.

King Viserys sighed deeply and opened his mouth to speak but the carriage lurched to a stop and their names were called into the air, signaling their arrival at the seat of House Tyrell. Rhaenyra inhaled through her nose and held it to calm the irritation simmering in her veins, reminding herself there was a chance at seeing the mysterious stranger from Kingswood. Her legs shifted under the skirt of her beige-colored dress, thighs pressing together as she felt the ghost of his lips roaming over her shoulders and the touch of his hands when they cupped her face. 

"The Princess and heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen!"

Rhaenyra gathered her skirt in her hands and stood up from the cushioned seat, moving toward the door and carefully stepping down. Her eyes first wandered over the large white stone castle surrounded and protected by three rings of stone walls. Many of the outer walls were covered by sparse greenery, from ivy vines to beautiful roses. She could hear the delicate sound of a harp playing coming from the open doors leading into the castle. Everything felt... calming in Highgarden. 

"King Viserys," Lord Tyrell greeted eagerly, bowing as far as his frail bones allowed him to while his wife gave a short curtsy and regarded them with an air of coolness. Rhaenyra liked her already. Lifting his arms and offering a pleasant smile, Lord Tyrell said, "Welcome to Highgarden. It is an honor to host our King, Queen, and Princess."

"What a beautiful home you have." Alicent complimented, her elbow subtly bumping into Rhaenyra's arm. 

"Yes," Rhaenyra nodded and Lord Tyrell's features brightened with the praise. "It is... incredibly soothing being here already."

"You flatter us with your praise, My Queen, My Princess." Lady Tyrell offered a polite smile, her hand rubbing along the subtle bump in her belly, soaking in Rhaenyra with her eyes before she turned sideways and nodded up the flight of stairs for someone else to join them. "And we are incredibly flattered you answered our proposal. May I introduce my son, Ser (Y/N) Tyrell."

Rhaenyra's gaze flickered away and her eyes widened into near saucers. The stranger from the Kingswood grinned mischievously back at her, no longer clad in dirty clothes and instead in dark green with the sigil of House Tyrell. (Y/N) Tyrell... what a sneaky bastard, he was. Rhaenyra clamped her teeth into her bottom lip and forced herself to be silent under the watchful eyes of everyone around them. Her heart fluttered, a million questions and playful complaints flying through her mind.

"King Viserys, Queen Alicent," (Y/N) bowed in greeting to the two, a fond smile gracing his lips when he gazed upon her half-siblings before a playful twinkle appeared in his eyes once he turned to her. He scooped her hand into his and raised it up to his face, brushing his lips over her knuckles. "Princess Rhaenyra, what an honor to finally meet you." Rhaenyra finally smiled. 

"Now with the pleasantries aside, we've hosted a feast in honor of your arrival and this beautiful betrothal." Lord Tyrell said and eagerly beckoned them within the castle as servants swiftly took their belongings into the castle and to their temporary bedchambers. Her father and Alicent followed, the two men chatting blissfully and sharing laughter while their wives walked idly side by side. 

"Would you like a tour of the gardens? They're in full bloom this time of year." (Y/N) offered her his arm and she took it, giving a nod and allowing him to guide her into the castle where the sound of the harp grew closer and louder, the gentle music filling the bright halls. 

"I never thought I'd ever see you again," Rhaenyra admitted, gazing over the light-colored walls. Everything in Highgarden seemed bright and warm, especially welcoming and calming. The Red Keep oft' felt dreary and cold but Highgarden seemed vibrant with life and more open with large windows allowing the light to pour in. "Why did you keep this hidden? I would not have cared if you were a noble."

"I never said I was a lowborn, Princess. You assumed I was." (Y/N) reminded her lightly, guiding her down a flight of stairs and into a large vibrant garden with a gorgeous fountain in the middle spouting water in a continuous flow. He plucked a bright red rose from a bush and offered it to her. "It appears the Gods had plans for us regardless, though."

Chuckling, Rhaenyra took the rose. "It appears so."

[soulofapatrick]

Kiss Me Tired - Percy Jackson x Female Reader

Summary: you can't sleep so go to find your best friend - Percy

Words: 1.9k

warnings: none

Y/N’s POV

I find myself tossing and turning, the sheets tangling around my restless limbs, as elusive sleep evades me once again. The Apollo cabin is quiet, the soft hum of night almost suffocating in its stillness. Moonbeams trickle through the window, casting gentle patterns of the wooden floors. 

Grateful for being on the bottom bunk tonight, I slide from under the covers with practiced ease. The gentle thud as my feet meet the floor barely makes a sound, but each step feels amplified in the silence of the sleeping cabin. Slipping on a pair of shoes without lacing them up, I make my way to the door, my heart pounding louder than the muted thuds of my footsteps. The door creaks slightly as I ease it open, wincing at the noise before exhaling a relieved breath as it swings shut behind me. 

Staying close to the comforting cover of shadows, I weave my way through the lingering clusters of campers, their hushed conversations mixing with the rustling of leaves in the night breeze. The children of Nemesis and Nyx, silhouetted against the faint glow of the campfire, seem engrossed in their own whispered discussions, oblivious to my presence as I navigate the edges of their gathering.

I skirt the edges of the Poseidon Cabin, a refuge I’ve often visited, and slip inside, grateful for the cover of darkness. The familiar scent of saltwater and adventure lingers in the air. The cabin is eerily quiet, echoing with the absence of Percy—the solitary presence that usually defines it. 

My steps echo softly against the wooden floor as I venture further in. The moonlight filters through the windows, causing elongated shadows that dance across the cabin’s interior. Percy’s empty bed confirms his absence, leaving the cabin strangely deserted. 

Curiosity propels me deeper into the cabin, my gaze landing on the backdoor open, leading to the pontoons. The moon’s silvery trail illuminates the pathway to the water’s edge, inviting and ethereal. The realisation settles in—Percy, the sole child of Poseidon, often seeks solace by the lake, where the water sings the tales of his father’s realm. 

The sight before me steal a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. Percy sits there, silhouetted against the shimmering reflection of the moon on the water, a portrait of quiet strength and contemplation. His unruly hair catches glimmers of moonlight, creating an otherworldly halo around him. 

As I draw nearer, the tranquility that envelopes him seems almost tangible. The lake mirrors the night sky, stars dancing on its surface, and Percy, the living embodiment of that serene beauty, captures my attention entirely. 

He turns at the faint rustle of my approach, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his pretty lips. His sea-green eyes, illuminated by the moon’s gentle glow, hold a depth that echoes the mysteries of the ocean. It’s mesmerising, the way he seems both a part of the night and a beacon within it. 

Percy’s messy black hair catches the moonlight in a way that makes it seem like constellations have woven themselves into the strands, each unruly wave a testament to the untamed spirit he embodies. His lightly tanned skin, kissed by the sun’s rays and caressed by the gentle breeze, holds a warmth that feels inviting even in the cool night air. 

As I settle next to him, a comfortable ease settles between us. Percy shifts slightly, adjusting his position, and I follow suit, instinctively resting my head on his shoulder. It feels oddly natural, as if this silent language of unspoken understanding has been written int he stars all along. The coolness of the night dissipates against the warmth of his presence. His shoulder, solid and reassuring beneath my head, carries the weigh of both the wards burdens and its beauty. 

His sea-green eyes, s deep and enigmatic, gaze out into the horizon, the mysteries of the universe reflecting in their depths. The seven expression on his face speaks volumes, as if he’s a silent guardian, watching over the secrets of the night.  The gentle breeze whispers secrets to the night, and I feels Percy’s arm, strong and comforting, wrap around my waist, pulling me a fraction closer to him. It’s a gesture of silent understanding, an unspoken invitation to share the weight of ur silent night-time musings. 

“Why can’t you sleep, Mouse?” Percy’s voice, soft and inquisitive, breaks the tranquil silence with my stupid nickname he made for me. His concern is palpable, yet I hesitate to divulge the true reason behind my sexlessness, my heart pounding against the confession I’m afraid to voice. 

I shift slightly, trying to evade the truth, the words catching in my throat as I struggle to articulate the turmoil within, “Just… thoughts, I guess. You know how it is.” 

But it’s a hollow response, a mere veil covering the truth that simmers beneath the surface. The mere thought of Percy and Annabeth together as a couple, a union so celebrated and cherished among demigods, twists a knot in my stomach, a painful reminder of my unspoken feelings for him. 

The fear of vulnerability and the ache of unrequited affection hold me captive in a silence that feels suffocating. I can’t bring myself to admit the ache his closeness evokes, the ache that surges every time I see them together, facing the world as a pair that everyone wants to see. The perfect couple. 

A grumble of protest escapes my lips, as I know he sees through my lie as he stays silent, a frustrated sound that I can’t seem to contain. I turn my face, burying it in the comforting crook of his neck, hoping to hide the turmoil that threatens to spill over. His chest rumbles with a soft laughter, a sound that’s both comforting and teasing, pulling me out of my momentary retreat. 

Before I realise it, his finger hooks gently under my chin, lifting my face to meet to gaze. The concern etched into his expression melts away any remaining resistance, coaxing me to open up even as my heart clenches with the vulnerability of it all. 

“Hey,” He murmurs softly, his sea-green eyes searching mine, an unspoken invitation tp share whatever weighs on my mind. 

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat refusing to dissipate. The urge to confess tugs at my heartstrings, a silent plea to unburden the ache that gnaws at me. But the words romain elusive, trapped behind a barrier of fear and insecurity. 

My heart hammers against my chest as his thumb traces a gentle path across my cheek, leaving a trail of warmth that seeps into the cracks of my guarded emotions. I meet his gaze, sea-green eyes holding mine in a silent conversation that speaks volumes. 

I feel myself drawn to him, my eyes inadvertently tracing the curve of his lips. The soft moonlight casts an ethereal glow on his features, highlighting the contours of his face in a way that feels almost surreal. 

As my gaze lingers on his lips, a surge of emotions���longing, fear, and a yearning for something more—swirl within me. Self-control wavers as my heart takes over, propelled by an undeniable urge to bridge the gap between us. 

Without warning, without calculation, I lean forward, closing the space between us. My lips meet his in a moment that feels both suspended in time and yet over too soon. It’s a soft, tentative touch, a leap of faith and vulnerability woven into the tender connection.

 For a heartbeat, the world stills around us, the air crackling with the unspoken truth of our shared emotions. The warmth of his lips against mine like a revelation, a stolen moment that lingers as a testament to the unspoken desires I’ve kept hidden. But, just as quickly as it happens, the weight of the moment hits me, the reality crashing down like a tidal wave. I pull away, breathless and wide-eyed, my heart thundering in my chest, uncertainty clouding my thoughts. 

“Perce… Fuck, I’m sorry, I-“ 

Before I can finish my stammered apology, the words tumbling out in a jumble of regret and confusion, Percy’s gentle touch silences my anxious ramblings. He leans in, cutting off my faltering speech with a soft yet determined press of his lips against mine. It’s a kiss that carries a subtle urgency, a reassurance woven into the tender connection that leaves me breathless and wide-eyed. 

His lips, warm and inviting, mould against mine in a way that feels both familiar and utterly new. There’s a tenderness to his touch, a silent promise of understanding and acceptance that sends a shiver down my spine. His kiss tastes like the promise of untold stories, of shared secrets whispered in the stillness of the night. 

My heart leaps in my chest, responding to his gentle yet confident touch. I reciprocate, tentatively at first, before letting myself be swept away by the overwhelming rush of emotions. My hands, initially hovering uncertainly in the space between us, find their place, one resting against his chest and the other timidly finds its way to his cheek, relishing the warmth and softness of his skin. 

His hands, strong yet tender, find their place at the small of my back, pulling me closer in an embrace that feels both reassuring and exhilarating. The closeness of our bodies, the shared warmth between us, creates a cocoon of intimacy that blurs the boundaries of friendship and something more. 

The moment lingers, suspended in a haze of shared emotions, before Percy breaks the kiss, his breath mingling with mine as he gently pulls me onto his lap. My knees rest on either side of his hips, a sudden rush of adrenaline mingling with the warmth of our closeness. Then, he guides me down, our bodies molding together in a dance of longing and unspoken desires. His hands, firm yet gentle, cup my face, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks as he leans in for another kiss.

This time, there's a hunger in his touch, a raw passion that ignites between us. Our lips meet again in a union fuelled by the unspoken confessions of our hearts. It's a kiss that speaks volumes, a dance of lips and tongues that express the emotions we've kept buried for so long. His fervour is matched by mine as I respond eagerly, the longing I've harboured finally finding an outlet in this shared intimacy. The taste of his kiss is electrifying, a rush of emotions that consumes every inch of my being.

My hands find their place on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, drawing him closer in a silent plea for more. Our bodies meld together, the heat of our closeness building an unspoken intensity that blurs the lines between friendship and an uncharted territory of passion.

In the soft moonlight, our embrace becomes a symphony of desire and longing, each movement a testament to the unspoken connection we've discovered. And as we lose ourselves in this intoxicating moment, the boundaries of what we were and what we might become blur in the heat of our shared passion.

“Come on sweetheart,” Percy finally pulls away, “You can sleep here tonight.” 

Riordanverse Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[littlexdeaths]

eddie munson x chubby reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: established relationship, eddie is a horny simp for his girl always, alluding to smut, heavy petting

a/n: thank you to @strangerstilinski and @mugloversonly for looking this over and helping me with it. ily 💕

he’s lost it.

truly and utterly lost it. all because of a little dress.

a pretty little floral sundress that hugs the curve of your waist perfectly, that hits just above your knees so the soft pillowy skin of your thighs are on full display.

it’s the first time you’ve ever worn anything remotely like this, and eddie is convinced he’s died and gone to heaven. a heaven where he hopes to have his face buried between your legs.

it takes everything in him to not push you back inside your house and bend you over the sofa in your living room. you shift uncomfortably under his wandering eyes, unsure of what his newfound silence represents as he urgently tugs you towards his van.

eddie, of course, helps you up into the vehicle like the gentleman that he is. but seeing a flash of your lace panties has your boyfriend thinking anything but gentlemany thoughts.

but when he’s got you in the van, it’s almost worse.

once you’re seated the dress rides up your thighs, exposing even more skin to him. eddie has the steering wheel in a white knuckle grip as you excitedly chatter about your plans for the day at the lake, not even noticing the inner struggle he’s having.

however the closer he gets to lover’s lake and your friends, the more his composure begins to slip. his jeans are uncomfortably tight, and it’s truly a miracle you haven’t noticed the bulge in them. but with the blaring sounds of black sabbath echoing in your ears it was easy to miss.

“eddie, you remembered to bring the ice right?”

your soft voice finally cuts through his arousal filled haze, turning down the radio as his eyes dart back over to you.

or more so the hem of your dress that was bunched up in your lap.

“w-what, baby?” he stutters.

“did you pick up the ice?” you repeat, taking care to enunciate each word. your glossy lips further distracting him.

with a small huff you’re leaning back in your seat to glance in the back of his van, the red and white igloo cooler tucked securely behind your seat. but seeing the thin strap of your sundress begin to slip down your shoulder, your skin flushed with thin layer of sweat from the summer heat— is what finally breaks him.

the van screeches to a halt on the side of the dirt road, causing your body to jerk forward and the seatbelt to dig harshly into your tummy. eddie carelessly flings off his own as the cloud of dust begins to settle around you.

“eddie, what the—”

you’re cut off by his lips, his hands already splayed across the tops of your exposed thighs. his rings bite into your skin, pulling a soft gasp from you as he helps to maneuver you onto his lap.

“eds, baby,” you whine as his lips begin to trail down the side of your neck. “we’re gonna be late.”

his teeth nip at your warm flesh, coaxing the hem of your dress higher and higher up until his palms dig into the plush flesh of your ass.

“just say i forgot the ice…” he mumbles, the sound of his belt clinking open sends a rush of heat through you.

his actions are frantic as he slips your panties to the side, a strangled groan leaving his mouth at the wetness he finds.

“just gotta have you now, princess.”

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Three-Info:you and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Heartbreak, ANGST AF, Dirty Talk, PIV, Praise Kink, Slight Degradation, Semi-Public Sex.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"Hello? Anyone home?"

Emily's voice echoed through the air of your dorm room, her eyes widening in disbelief as she took in your drenched appearance. There you stood, next to your bed, trapped in the labyrinth of your thoughts, most likely looking like you had genuinely lost your ever-loving mind.

At last, you jerked your head up, locking eyes with her. "Apologies, Em...I'm just utterly drained. Honestly didn't even hear you come in."

"Why are you absolutely soaked?" Emily's tone switched to an almost amused drawl, one you could tell she was attempting to suppress. Her eyes narrowed as she assessed your waterlogged state. "Weren't you with Mattheo?"

Your cheeks flushed under her scrutiny, and you shifted uncomfortably before responding. "Yeah," you admitted, your tone slightly sheepish. "It's a bit of a story, really...Malfoy essentially dared me to jump in the lake, and, well, I couldn't resist the challenge."

Amusement twinkled in Emily's eyes as she settled onto her bed, her curiosity piqued. "Well, that's one way to make a splash," she quipped, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "So, spill the details. Is there some progress being made with those arsehats?"

You cleared your throat, a nervous smile playing on your lips. "I'm trying," you confessed, your voice laced with uncertainty. "It's a work in progress, but I think we're getting there, slowly but surely."

Emily nodded knowingly, her lips curving into a smirk. "Well, if anyone can handle a bunch of mischievous daredevils, it's you," she remarked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Just be careful, yeah?"

"Of course," you replied, managing a meek smile despite the uneasy knot tightening in your chest. "Where were you tonight?”

Almost instantly, Emily's demeanor shifted, her gaze darting away, fixated on her fingers as she nervously twirled her chapstick. "I, uh...I was with Tom," she stammered, her voice trailing off uncertainly.

A sudden wave of realization crashed over you, leaving you feeling as if you were adrift in a stormy sea. Emily was with Tom?

You blinked, struggling to find the right words. "You-"

"I think I like him," she confessed, the words emerging strained, as if pulled through clenched teeth, her eyes avoiding yours. "I...I think I really like him..."

Her confession hung in the air, heavy with tension, sending shockwaves through your entire being. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat reverberating in the silence that followed. You stood there, motionless, breathless, your mind trying to grasp the reality of her revelation. What on earth was fucking happening?

Sensing your stunned reaction, Emily hurriedly left her bed, closing the distance between you two. Her eyes met yours, filled with regret and apology.

"I'm so incredibly sorry," she began, her words tumbling out in a jumbled mess. "I mean, on the night of the party, we connected, and we kissed, and I haven't been able to shake those feelings since...I know you and Tom have been seeing eachother for a while, and I've felt terrible about this whole situation...I'm the worst friend, and I can't believe I let it get to this point...I just...I understand if you hate me or never want to talk to me again-"

"Emily," you interjected, your voice breaking through the heavy silence, your shock slowly giving way to a strange sense of understanding. Despite the chaos in your own life, you couldn't muster any anger. In fact, her revelation felt like a bizarre twist of fate, a surreal kind of perfect. "Me and Tom...we were never anything...I've never had any genuine feelings for Tom, not like that anyway..." you confessed, your words hanging in the air. "It's okay, Em...it's seriously more than okay."

Her eyes, brimming with guilt, met yours. "No… it isn't," she murmured, her fingers absently pushing a strand of hair off her forehead. "I just...I feel like the world's worst friend...I've been keeping secrets and hiding things from you...and that's not like us...I genuinely bloody hate myself for this…”

Her words hit you like a sledgehammer, the weight of your own secrets crashing down on you. How could you judge her when you were harbouring your own tangled emotions for Mattheo? Guilt clawed at your insides, a bitter reminder of your own deception, making it impossible to feel anything but empathy for Emily's confession.

Gently, your touch on her arm was a soft plea for understanding. "Em, please be kind to yourself," you implored, your voice carrying the weight of your own inner turmoil. "I'm far from perfect, and I completely understand...you don't ever have to be scared to tell me anything, I'll always be on your side..."

The desire to confide in her about Mattheo tugged at your heartstrings, but a tempest of conflicting thoughts raged within you. You longed to unburden yourself, to share the intricacies of your emotions--yet, doubts clouded your mind.

You questioned the wisdom of revealing a truth that seemed destined for heartbreak; one that was destined to go no where, especially after Mattheo's own cautionary words. The fear of shattering the fragile semblance of normalcy you'd managed to maintain held you back, leaving you caught between the honesty you craved and the security of your well-guarded secret.

"You're the greatest friend...I don't deserve you," Emily released a long sigh, meeting your eyes softly. "Are you sure you're not upset? I swear I'll never fucking talk to him again if-"

"No! No, Emily...I'm not upset," you said, through chuckles. You were upset, but it had nothing to do with her. "I want you to be happy, Em...Dumbledore once told me that if someone makes you feel, let them..."

"Gods, that man could make a bloody brick wall tear up," she breathed, finally cracking a smile, as though you'd lifted a weight off her shoulders. "I have to say though...I just don't know how you didn't fall for him...I mean, his fucking eyes alone had me melting..."

You released a breath, unable to swallow your smirk. Yeah, his eyes were beautiful, but only because they served as a reminder of Mattheo's--whose deep brown pools were nothing other than completely fucking captivating.

"I know," you said, your voice distant, lost in your thoughts as you stared into the distance. "Tom is wonderful," you continued, your words almost a whisper, the syllables heavy with unspoken sentiments. "It's just that, my heart...it wasn't in it."

Emily's brows furrowed with realization, her eyes darting across your face as though she could read the unsaid words swirling within your irises. "Where is your heart, then?"

Emily's question hung in the air, patiently awaiting your response, but your thoughts were elsewhere, entirely consumed by Mattheo. His captivating eyes, that tousled brown hair, and his infuriatingly complicated demeanor dominated your mind. Despite his dangerous reputation, he had always been your sanctuary--from the way he protected you to the depths of pleasure he led you to, he ignited desires you were hesitant to acknowledge.

Since the day you met him, you had been drawn in, entangled in a web of emotions you couldn't escape. The fear of succumbing to your desires warred with the undeniable pull he had on your heart, leaving you submerged in a sea of uncertainty, unsure if there was a way out of the depths you had willingly plunged into.

Meeting Emily's eyes, you could only confess, "I don't know," your voice tinged with desperation, as if seeking an answer that seemed just out of reach. "I...I have no fucking idea anymore..."

Her face dropped, shock etching lines across her features as she took a few delicate steps back, studying your face intensely. The intensity of her scrutiny made you nervous, your heart pounding so loudly you could almost hear it. You knew she had just realized precisely what the fuck was going on with you lately. You knew she'd finally fucking cracked your code.

You looked away, unable to maintain eye contact, and in a hushed tone, she said, "oh, Gods no...you...he's-he's such an asshole..."

"Yes, he is..." tension gripped your entire being, your body vibrating with nausea as you struggled to find the words. You couldn't bring yourself to meet Emily's eyes, your gaze fixed on the floor as you whispered, "but there's still good in him..."

Emily's eyes widened in disbelief, her shock palpable as she struggled to comprehend your words. "You're going to destroy yourself trying to fix him," she said, her voice edged with desperation. A heavy pause filled the room before she continued, her voice quivering, "He's done terrible things, remember when he sent that poor third year into the infirmary-"

"We've all done terrible things, haven't we?" you shot back, finally looking up at her. The intensity in your gaze matched the fierce determination in your voice. "We're all just sinners judging sinners for sinning differently, but no one ever bloody stops to ask why..."

Your steps were slow, but deliberate, each one echoing with the resonance of your unwavering determination as you closed some of the distance between you and Emily. The intensity in your eyes burned brightly, reflecting the depth of your emotions.

You were acutely aware of how utterly insane you must sound, how irrational and illogical your words might appear to her. Yet, in the depths of your heart, you longed for her understanding, for her to grasp the complexities that lay beneath the surface. You yearned for her to realize that there was a profound depth to your emotions, a truth far more intricate than what met the eye.

"Yeah, maybe he's bad...maybe he's completely fucking terrible," you said, your voice carrying a potent mix of fervor and defiance. "But when he smiles…when I look into his stupid, big eyes...all I see is the good in him..."

A profound silence hung in the air, pregnant with the weight of your words. You gauged Emily's reaction, observing the flicker of disbelief and uncertainty that played across her features.

"I made a promise...to Dumbledore...to myself...to Mattheo," you continued, your voice unwavering, each syllable resonating with unshakable resolve. "A promise that I'd fucking stand by him...that I'd show him patience and compassion...who would I be if I gave up on that?"

"Yeah, but..." Emily's eyes widened, her throat tightening as she struggled to find words to counter your conviction. "He's...he's a monster..."

"He's broken," you retorted, your tone unyielding, the depth of your empathy for Mattheo underscoring your words. "I don't care what happens to me, Em...I am a woman of my word..."

Emily swallowed. "Your heart is far too pure...your heart is going to ruin your future..."

"So be it." You said, flatly, steeling your shoulders as you released a long breath. "I am coming for all the ghosts that have ever haunted him...I am coming for all the demons that twisted his dreams and turned him into the fucking nightmare that he is, and I am going to be theirs, instead."

Without waiting for Emily's response, you brushed past her, your heart racing with anxiety over the fact that you had essentially revealed the truth about your relationship with Mattheo. The weight of your confession hung heavy on your shoulders, but you needed to clear your head. Silently, you made your way out of the dormitory, the echo of your footsteps reverberating in the empty corridor.

The familiar path to the prefects' washroom felt like a lifeline, leading you to the one person who could provide the reassurance you craved. Just as you made your way into the hall, the door creaked open, and a familiar brunette exited, her sly grin sending a shiver down your spine as her eyes met yours. Recognition struck you like a lightning bolt--it was the girl from the library, the one who had been intimately close to Mattheo all those weeks ago. As she disappeared from your view, your stomach plummeted, anxiety tightening into a nauseating knot.

With your heart heavy and anxiety clawing at your throat, you mustered the strength to push open the door. Inside, you found Mattheo, leaning wearily against the sink. His eyes, usually filled with intensity, were dulled by fatigue. His head was bowed, and his shoulders slumped, burdened by the weight of unseen struggles. He remained fully dressed, his appearance reflecting the weariness that mirrored your own inner turmoil.

"What was that?" you questioned, your voice trembling, and your chin quivering with vulnerability, your eyes pleading for an explanation that might soothe the turmoil within. "I thought we were okay?"

The sight of that girl leaving the washroom shattered the reassurance you had desperately sought. Doubts consumed you, racing through your mind like a storm. Had your recent fight driven that big of a wedge between you and Mattheo? Was he seeking solace in someone else's company because he was done with you? The questions multiplied, suffocating you with uncertainty. Your voice emerged as a cracked whisper, breaking the tense silence that hung between you both as Mattheo slowly met your eyes.

"Are we ever bloody okay, Raven?" His voice, laced with a tinge of exhaustion, fell flat, his eyes dark and cold as they bored into you. The endless depths of his gaze seemed impenetrable, hiding any flicker of emotion that might have offered solace. "I'm not even sure what you're going on about, truthfully,"

"The girl," your voice wavered, your vulnerability laid bare, "the same one from the library all that time ago...I just saw her leaving."

Mattheo grumbled irritably, the tension in the room palpable as he pushed off from the sink with a heavy sigh, his movements betraying his exasperation. He spun around, the muscles in his jaw clenched, his eyes stormy with frustration as he leaned back against the counter. His arms crossed over his chest defensively, his entire posture radiating a mix of annoyance and defiance.

"That girl is nothing to me, Raven," he declared, his voice low and gravelly, the words carrying a hint of irritation as he tried to emphasize his point. "Nothing at all."

You desperately wanted to believe him, to cling to his words like a lifeline, but doubt gnawed at your insides, poisoning your thoughts. After everything that had transpired between you, after your last fight, and the way he was acting now, you couldn't simply brush it aside.

"Nothing, huh?" Your voice grew firmer, laced with a mixture of hurt and skepticism. "So it's just a coincidence that you two were alone in here...and that she was grinning ear to ear when she left..."

Mattheo blinked, his surprise evident as he processed your words. This jealousy was uncharacteristic of you, a stark deviation from your usual composed self. His features contorted with a mixture of confusion and frustration, his eyes narrowing and jaw clenching in response to your accusation.

"Do you think I fucked her, Raven?" His words hung in the charged atmosphere, heavy with hurt and disbelief. Each syllable cut through the air, a searing venom that struck your heart like a dagger. "Do you actually fucking think that low of me?"

The raw pain in his eyes mirrored your own, a painful reflection of the trust that had been shattered between you, the wounds now gaping wide open, begging for resolution.

"You don't trust me..." Mattheo's expressions hardened further, his eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and hurt. The room seemed to shrink around you as he pushed off from the sink, his movements deliberate and forceful, closing the distance between you before you could react. "You don't fucking trust me, do you?"

You tensed, every muscle in your body coiling like a tightly wound spring, bracing for the emotional storm that was about to engulf you. Mattheo stopped abruptly, his instincts sensing your reaction, his intense gaze locking onto yours. Your breathing became shallow, your chest constricted, and time seemed to stretch into eternity as you stood there, suspended in the moment.

"I want to..." your voice wavered, a fragile whisper barely audible in the heavy silence, carrying the weight of your longing and doubt. "But...I just...can't, when there you are...directly in front of me, still so fucking far away..."

You took a moment to study his features, the turmoil in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, and the vulnerability that flickered beneath his anger. His chest rose and fell with every ragged breath, as though his heart was laid bare before you.

"A man with a shield for a heart, and a sword for a tongue," you continued, your voice a fragile thread weaving through the charged air. "How do I confide in that?"

Mattheo's eyes softened, just slightly, the storm within them giving way to a glimmer of sincerity. In that moment, he shed every ounce of hesitation, closing the space between you with an urgency that spoke volumes. His hands found your face, cupping it gently, forcing your eyes to meet his. The intensity in his touch, the tenderness in his gaze, told a story of its own.

"Raven...do you think I fucking care about anything other than you?" His voice, once sharp with frustration, now held a raw, earnest sincerity that cut through the lingering doubts and insecurities. "You're the only one I need...you're the only one that keeps me high..."

Your heart thundered in your chest, the sound echoing in your ears like a war drum, each beat reverberating with the intensity of his touch. His palms, warm against your cool skin, sent waves of heat through every inch of your body, cocooning you in a haze of desire and vulnerability. You blinked, your eyes unable to tear away from the depth of his stare.

"But?" you dared to whisper, your voice barely audible amidst the charged silence, the lump in your throat growing with each passing second. "I know you aren't finished, I see it in your expression..."

He stiffened, his hands slowly falling from your face, the loss of his touch leaving a void. His gaze, dark and intense, traced a path from your eyes down to your lips, the unspoken longing palpable between your bodies. The pain that hung in the air was almost tangible, the emotions that coursed through both of you reaching a fever pitch.

"When you close your eyes...when you think of this...of us, what do you see?" He whispered, his voice a mere breath, the words hanging in the air like a delicate thread. "Do you see a future, Raven?"

The question slammed into your lungs like a sledgehammer, stealing the very air from your chest.  You had never truly considered what was going to happen at the end of the school year, but it was evident that he had, his eyes haunted by the uncertainty of the future.

You sucked in a lungful of breath, trapping it there, the oxygen feeling suffocating against the weight of his question. "I...I don't know..."

"Exactly," he murmured, his voice as soft as a breeze, but carrying the weight of an entire universe. "Something's telling me we're running out of time here, Raven...I always said I'd never deserve you, and I meant that..." he paused, averting his eyes only for a moment as he threaded an unsteady hand through his hair. "If we keep this going...something's bound to give...I can't let you throw away your future for me..."

You stalled, pain rushing through you. This whirlwind of emotions felt like a chaotic storm, each moment with him a battle between your hearts, oscillating from fiery arguments to heartbreaking distance. The constant push and pull had left you emotionally battered, but this time, the pain cut deeper than ever before.

"No...Mattheo...I..." your voice stammered, trembling with the intensity of your emotions. "I would much rather be nowhere with you, than somewhere without you..."

He stiffened, his entire being seeming to freeze in response to your words. "No, Raven, come on...don't fucking say that," he hissed, his voice laced with desperation. "You will not throw away your future for me...for whatever this is...you have to know that is fucking insane..."

"Mattheo, why?" you whispered, your voice breaking as you took a step closer, your heart aching with the weight of his decision. "Why are you doing this...I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for everything I said...I didn't-"

"It's not about that," he cut you off, his tone soft yet resolute. "It's not about any of that. We both know this only ends in blood...why prolong it...I’d never be able to live with myself if I ruined everything you’ve worked so hard for…”

Your chest ached, a visceral pain that radiated through every fiber of your being, your eyes darting all over his face as though seeking solace in the contours of his skin, as if something tangible could save you from this nightmare. He was right. Of course, he was absolutely fucking right. There was nothing you could say to deny his words, the harsh reality of your situation hanging heavy between you.

"I know you're right Mattheo," gently, you brought a trembling hand up to his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you cupped the side of his head, your own head tilting slightly as you glimpsed his lips, whispering with a vulnerability that laid bare your soul. "But even if it's meant to fall apart...I still fucking want you..."

"I know," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, his lips hovering just millimeters from yours. "I fucking know..."

"I'm scared as bloody hell, Mattheo..." you continued, your fingers digging slightly into his skin, his hands seeking refuge on your hips as he pulled you closer against him. "I'm fucking terrified to want you, yet here I am anyway..."

"I'm scared too, Raven..." he confessed, his voice barely audible, pulling you impossibly closer, your bodies melding into one another. "Godric fucking forbid I ever admit it..."

His lips brushed against yours, soft and tender, a delicate touch that held the weight of a thousand unspoken words. In that moment, you knew, without a shadow of doubt, that you two were one and the fucking same. He was more yourself than you ever were. Whatever your souls were made of, his and yours were intertwined in an indescribable connection.

"Give me this before you go..." you whispered, your free hand gripping his shirt for dear life, your voice laced with desperation and longing. "Please..."

Mattheo pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," without a moment's hesitation, you nodded, your eyes locked onto his, your conviction unwavering. "I'm sure."

In an instant, he pulled you back into him, his lips crashing onto yours in a searing kiss, the intensity mirroring the state of your crumbling relationship. His hands, strong and sure, quickly slithered up your sides, finding the buttons on your shirt.

Simultaneously, your trembling fingers mirrored his movements, undoing his shirt with a fervor that matched his own. The kiss deepened, your mouths melding together in a desperate attempt to drown out the world, seeking solace in each other's touch as you shed the barriers between you. The passion between your bodies consumed every ounce of your being, a wild, untamed force that pushed back against the chaos threatening to tear you apart.

As soon as the two of you were freed of your uniforms, Mattheo pulled back, his gaze intense, his eyes smouldering against your skin as he urged you to your knees in front of him. Without a word, you obeyed, staring up at him with a widened gaze, tracing the features of his face and chest that you admittedly loved so fucking much. Mattheo's eyes were doing the same, flickering over your curves, the swell of your breasts, the flare of your hips, until finally, they came to rest between your legs.

“You’re fucking beautiful…” he brought a hand up to your chin, tilting your head back to bring your eyes to his, the pad of his rough thumb tracing over your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly before releasing it. “Don’t you think I’d chose some other bitch over you ever fucking again.”

Breath evaporated as he dropped down to his knees in front of you without warning, directing you to lay back, your head resting on a stack of clean towels.

The cool tile of the floor made your back arch and your body shudder as Mattheo loomed over you, his fingers tracing delicate patterns over your thighs as he hovered mere inches above your skin. Each touch was soft, almost reverent, as though he was worshipping every inch of your body. As he leant down to kiss you, his lips were tender yet demanding, his tongue sweeping over yours in a fierce, fiery embrace. You groaned into his mouth, your hands finding his hair and gripping tightly, until he broke the kiss and began to move lower.

His eyes travelled down your neck, reaching your chest where your breasts rose and fell with each exasperated, eager breath. His mouth descended upon one of them, suckling and teasing with skillful precision, making your head dizzy with burning need. It was as though he was worshipping at a sacred alter, paying homage to the very essence of your womanhood, his nails digging into your skin, chaining you to him with more restraint than any bloody shackles ever could.

His tongue traced spirals around your nipple, sending little shocks of electricity straight through to your core, and you mewled, back arching into him and grip tightening in his hair, silently begging for more. As expected, Mattheo delivered, lavishing attention on each peak in turn, flicking his tongue, sucking, and teasing until you were practically crying for release.

"Matty...please…" you whispered as his lips moved lower, tracing a path of heat toward your sex. "There's no time...someone could come in..."

"Eager girl..." Mattheo hummed, smirking against your skin. "Told you you'd love the way I fuck you."

Unable to suppress it, you smirked at his normal arrogance as he pulled back slowly, your eyes following his every move as he freed himself; letting loose that delicious, familiar groan from deep in his throat as he pumped his shaft a few times, his gaze darting over your body, desperate and writhing beneath him--each meticulous movement he made causing an insatiable tingle within your core.

"Mhm," you murmured, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as your hands grazed over his strong biceps, feeling the muscle tense and contract beneath your touch. "That's what I love...the way you fuck me..."

Mattheo blinked, meeting your eyes, a wicked smile creeping across his lips as he processed what you'd just said. The underlying message in your words went unspoken despite their intentions hanging heavy in the air, and without a word, he slid his free hand down between your legs, shifting your panties to the side before he gently teased and swirled over your clit, making you moan out his name without even realizing it. 

"My filthy little girl..." the anticipation was almost unbearable, you were fucking dripping for him and he'd hardly even touched you. "Always so fucking eager for me…”

Inching forward, he aligned himself with your core, leaning down over you, a strong arm taking purchase beside your head, caging you beneath him. As he pushed inside you, the stretch was unlike anything you'd ever fucking felt--the lack of foreplay resulting in a sensation unlike anything else, a perfect blend of agony and ecstasy, as if he was stretching you open and shaping you just for him.

You whimpered softly, doing your best to muffle your noises as Mattheo pushed deeper and deeper, pausing for a moment once he'd fully seated himself inside your heat, giving you a second to adjust to his thick, throbbing length--his eyes never once left yours, his gaze drilling into you as he assessed your reactions, only breaking the eye contact to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

"So fucking tight...fuck-you feel so fucking good..." Mattheo growled lowly, his voice thick with lust--your walls clenching and relaxing around him simultaneously. "Such a good girl, Raven...feel yourself adjust for me, baby."

His voice had a hypnotic effect on you, calming your racing heart and making you focus solely on the feelings coursing through your body. The pain was gone, a mere figment of your imagination as you revelled in the closeness of your bodies, his hot skin on yours, breathing eachother in, your mind reeling with the thoughts of this being the last time--something you'd both said many times before.

But for some reason, this time felt different. This time felt real.

"Fuck me, Matty..." you whispered, nails digging into his back as if trying to anchor yourself to this moment, to him. "Fuck me like you're going to lose me."

"Fuck...am I, Raven?" Mattheo groaned in response, meeting your eyes with an intensity that took your breath away, slowly beginning to increase his pace to your desires. "Am I going to fucking lose you?"

Mattheo's thrusts became harder and more aggressive as his movements grew more frenzied, his mind getting lost in the haze of lust swirling between you. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours filled the room, matching the sound of his heavy breathing, a whirlwind of emotions coursing through the air.

"N-no, Matty..." you choked, feeling the pleasure building within you like a storm waiting to break. It was almost too much, and you found tears on the verge of exploding from your fucking eyes. "You couldn't...even if you tried..."

"Fuck...I know..." he hissed, the words forced through gritted teeth as he met your eyes, your nails certainly splitting the skin on his back, shredding it raw. "I always know exactly how you feel when I'm deep inside you like this...those eyes don't fucking lie..."

You gasped, the words unable to form as Mattheo pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, hitting that deep place inside your body that made you cry out in toe-curling pleasure. His face was twisted into an intense frown, growling in concentration as he fucked you harder, faster, hitting places you didn't know possible.

"You love this cock, don't you?" Mattheo growled, knowing full well the answer. "You're so fucking wet for me."

"Oh...yes, I do-" you squealed, burying your reddened face back into the crook of his shoulder, pleasure ricocheting through every ounce of your body as his fingers slid down your stomach, quickly teasing over your clit. "Fuck-Matty...oh..."

"You want to cum for me, pretty girl?" he growled, nibbling at your earlobe as he shifted his position, drilling deeper into you. "Let me feel you..."

"I-I want..." the words wouldn't form. Nothing would articulate inside your brain. Yes, you wanted release, but that's not what you were trying to say here. You wanted him, you wanted this, you wanted all of it, never to end. But as he swirled your clit with rough, aggressive strokes, your brain was mush, succumbing to nothing but his touch. "I-I want you...in...I-"

"I'm in you, Raven..." a grunt when he slammed into you--his voice tight, strained, almost pained, lips pressed against your temple. "I'm so fucking deep in you..."

Another shift, and he was striking your cervix with every thrust--and the pain was enough to pop the balloon in your chest. Tears streamed down your cheeks, the pending heartache and insecurity finally breaking through the dam of emotions you had kept bottled up for months. The weight of it all was too much, overwhelming you in a tidal wave of despair. Mattheo's movements remained unyielding, his pace unfaltering, but he was swift to kiss away your tears, his own breath hitched in anticipation of the climax that was about to consume both of you.

"Oh-fuck...Matty..." only a few more thrusts, and you were there, teetering right on the edge of coming undone. “Oh…”

He growled. “Cum for me angel…fuck-“

"Yes-yes, fuck..." you keened, dragged through your climax without question, euphoria tearing through you as your walls pulsed and milked his cock.

He groaned, gripping you tighter as he poured himself into you, hips bucking until the only sensation left was sweaty, heaving, post-orgasmic rapture. And despite that, you held each other, unwilling to move, unwilling to let the other person leave the safety of the embrace.

It was a long moment--long after your breathing had returned to normal, long after you'd both dripped sweat onto each other's skin--before he moved, rolling off of you, gaze roaming your figure. You wiped your damp cheeks with the back of your hand, not daring to make eye contact with him as the two of you slowly began to redress, an awkward silence filling the air.

After both of you had regained modesty, Mattheo’s eyes locked onto yours, his unspoken emotions echoing in the intensity of his gaze. Without uttering a single word, he pulled you into him, his arms enveloping your body, holding you with a grip that felt as if he never wanted to let go, suffocating your lungs in the best way possible. As his hand moved to cup the back of your head, his fingers intertwining into your hair, you felt his throat bobbing against your temple as he swallowed, his vulnerability laid bare in the gentle caress of his touch.

“That girl,” his voice was a low murmur, as though he feared shattering the fragile moment, “she asked me to the masquerade this weekend…I said no.”

You chewed your cheek, your fingers clinging onto his shirt with force, your voice trembling as you responded, “You should go...it might be good to redirect the attention off of us…your friends seem suspicious.”

“Oh, they are…” he chuckled, his hand absentmindedly petting your hair, his touch comforting and reassuring. “But I told Nott to ask you, and only Nott, so if any of the others approach you about it, let me know.”

Your cheeks burned at the revelation, his laughter vibrating through your body, your heart skipping a beat in response. “You told Nott to ask me to the masquerade? Why?”

“He’s the only one I trust not to be a fucking pig,” he replied, his tone flat and honest. “Pretty sure Zabini or Malfoy would try to get you under them before the night even started.”

You huffed, a smirk playing on your lips as you pressed against his chest. Taking a moment to revel in his scent, his cologne, his body heat.

“Is this really it for us, Mattheo?” you murmured, your voice laced with a hint of desperation. “I mean…am I just supposed to be your friend, now? Your mentor? Your tutor?”

“Maybe we just take a break, hm?” he suggested, his voice dropping, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. “Maybe just until the suspicion dies off…until we both have had some time to cool down.”

“I…okay,” you said, your eyelids fluttering as he released you, the weight of the situation sinking in. “I can work with that.”

The acceptance in your voice was laden with bittersweet resignation, a temporary reprieve in the face of an uncertain future.

————————

Chapter 24->

[ottpopfic]

I like to think about Camp Half Blood and how its probably full of old hidden kid structures

It's an ancient sacred valley, that has trained and housed children for thousands of years, many of those kids coming from artisan backgrounds and gods. Kids build things, kids make forts and rope swings and tree houses. Kids need hidy holes and pretend play boxes and secrets.

I like to think about walking in the CHB woods, off the trail in a place you think dryads have only ever been to. And then you come to this tree with wooden planks nailed to it. You look up into this old oak and above you is a few more boards, just enough to make good seating hidden in the branches. There are initials carved in the bark, no one you recognize, and doodles on the boards. You don't know who built it or when, was it put up last year or fifty years ago, but someone dragged 2x4s miles and miles through the trees and made a place just for them. Your reminded that this place has always been here, that so many half-bloods have come and gone, but all throughout the valley there are still echoes of them

‘I was here’ says the little jerry-rigged bridge over the creek, ‘I mattered’ says the rope swing into the lake, ‘Even if I'm forgotten’ says the crumbling fort in the woods, ‘I left something behind’ says the initials in the tree

[we-are-maladaptive]

summer afternoon!

....

The sun is high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the lake in front of your house. Sitting comfortably in your relaxing chair, you watch your four children splash and play in the cool, clear water. The warm summer breeze rustles the leaves of the trees, adding to the ambiance of the afternoon.

"Katsuma, don't go too far!" you call out to your 10-year-old son, who is testing the limits of his swim area. The boy is quite the brat but respectful of you. He moves toward the shallow area, however, not without an eye roll reaching to the back of his head.

Fumiko, your 9-year-old daughter, is quietly collecting smooth stones along the water's edge. "Look! I found a perfect skipping stone!" she says, her eyes shining with excitement.

"That's great, Fumiko," you reply, smiling at your daughter.

Meanwhile, the twin boys, Isamu and Akio, are up to their usual antics. "We caught a fish!" Isamu shouts, holding up a small, wriggling creature. Isamu then decides the best way to use the poor fish is to slap it directly onto poor Akio's face… leaving him all slimy.

"Let it go, Isamu!" you instruct, "…and STOP hitting your brother, or I will take you back inside with your father."

"Aw, Mom," Isamu whines. "I just wanted to show you."

Luckily, Akio is not too fazed, resorting to sticking out his tongue at his brother and washing his face with the lake water.

The boy reluctantly releases the fish back into the water, immediately grabbing his brother and diving back in to search for more adventures. Their laughter and shouts echo across the lake, a testament to their boundless energy and mischief.

Suddenly, Katsuma and Fumiko join forces, trying to construct a small raft out of driftwood and leaves. "Do you think this will float?" Katsuma asks, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

"Only one way to find out," Fumiko replies with a grin.

The twins, not to be outdone, begin building a sandcastle on the shore, their competitive spirits driving them to create the tallest, most elaborate structure possible.

After a while, you call out, "How about some smoothies? Your father should almost be done with them."

"Yeah!" All four children rush out of the lake, water trailing behind them as they run toward the house. Trailing behind them, you chuckle softly, enjoying the simple yet joyful chaos of a summer day.

That joy dies down slightly as you view their muddy feet running straight onto your precious marble floors.

Sigh.

Katsuki raises an eyebrow at the stampede of drenched children running into his kitchen. He then furrows both of his brows at the dark foot marks staining his floors.

"WHAT did I tell you 'bout running in this house with dirty feet?" He glares at his eldest, "We have pavement for a damn reason, so why the hell are you still runnin' in the grass for, hm?"

"Oh! Well… uhm…"

"That's what I thought. Since this is the third time, you're helping your ma' clean it up."

"BUT DA-"

"Nope. Now eat y'r damn smoothie before I eat it for you."

As the children eagerly grab their favorite flavors, Fumiko turns to you and her father. "Thanks, Ma n' Pa. This is the best summer ever."

You smile, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the summer sun. "I'm glad you're all having fun. Now go back and enjoy the lake."

The children need no further encouragement and quickly return to their games. You walk slowly back outside, savoring the moment. Katsuki joins you this time, but instead joins his children in the water and has found contentment in throwing his daughter high into the sky before she falls back into the water with a splash. The rest immediately want to join as well. The sounds of their laughter and the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore fill your heart with peace.

This is what summer is all about: lazy days, playful children, and the simple pleasures of life.

[blueskrugs]

'tis the damn season | Matthew Tkachuk

today's the unofficial official start to summer, so here's a 4th of July Matty fic I couldn't bear to hold on to for another month. once upon a time, kim @troubatrain wrote another matthew fic by the same title, but i'm fairly confident this is entirely different. as usual, @wyattjohnston was my enabler in writing this.

length: 3.0k words

It’s late when you finally peel yourself off the Adirondack chair you claimed hours ago next to the bonfire, empty seltzer can dangling from your fingertips. The bonfire has died off, barely more than some embers and the occasional spark. Even the fireworks that have been echoing around the lake for days have petered out. It’s just you, Matthew and Taryn left outside, all your other friends having wandered off to find somewhere to sleep—except you think Taryn might have also fallen asleep, wrapped up in one of Matthew’s old Calgary sweatshirts and a beach towel. 

Matthew watches you with heavy eyes, watches as you stretch sleepily and the big T-shirt you’d thrown on over your swimsuit rides up over your hips. 

“Don’t drive home,” Matthew says, so low you barely hear him. 

“What?” you ask. You’re not heading back to the city until after the long weekend is over, and your parents’ lake house is just a couple of miles away. 

“Don’t leave, there’s a lot of drunk idiots out still,” he says again, standing too. You and your friends were some of those drunk idiots earlier in the day, but you don’t point that out. 

“Dude, I’m fine,” you tell Matthew. You turn to look for your flip-flops. “It’s not far, and I stopped drinking a while ago.”

Matthew grabs you by the hip. The night has cooled off, but Matthew’s hand feels hot on your skin. “I’m not worried about you being stupid, I’m worried about something happening to you,” Matthew says. “Don’t go.”

You didn’t pack enough clothes to spend the night—you’d always been planning on heading back to your parents’ at the end of the night. The house was crowded with friends of Matthew and Taryn. 

“There’s nowhere left for me to sleep,” is what you end up saying.

Matthew tightens his grip. You step closer. “Sleep in my bed.”

You’d done it before, but not since before Matthew had moved to Michigan to play for the USNTDP. Not since before your crush on Matthew had shifted from something childish to something more like pining. You stare up at him, his blue eyes serious, clear even in the moonlight. 

One of the logs on the dying bonfire pops and shifts, sending out a spray of sparks. You both startle, moment broken. Matthew takes a half-step back from you. You hadn’t realized how far you’d both leaned in. Taryn stirs somewhere behind you.

“Fine,” you say quietly. “I’ll stay.” 

Matthew grins at you. You shake your head at him as you finally turn to walk inside.

You think you hear Taryn murmur, “Get a room,” as you pass her. 

The lake house is a mess. You survey it with dismay for a moment: there’s people passed out on several different couches, empty cans and bottles scattered across most surfaces, and remnants of dinner still sitting out in the kitchen. You drop your own empty can into the recycling near the door and wander quietly through the first floor, picking up what you can. You haven’t been at it very long when Matthew steps inside as well, gently shutting the door behind him. He clicks his tongue at you when he spots you in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.

“I thought you were going to bed,” he whispers.

“I got distracted,” you whisper back. 

Matthew trails his fingertips across your side as he steps past you to open the fridge. You shiver, and not because the AC is turned down low. Matthew pulls two bottles of Gatorade out, offers one to you. 

You take it, suddenly surprised at how thirsty you are. 

Matthew watches in amusement for a moment as you chug a third of the bottle, before he says, “C’mon, it’s past your bedtime.”

“It’s not that late—” you try to protest, before you catch a glimpse of the time on the microwave clock. Almost 2 AM. “Oops,” you say instead. 

Matthew flicks off the kitchen light and heads upstairs.

You make a pit stop in Taryn’s room on your way down the hall to Matthew’s room. The door creaks as you open it, and you wince, squinting at the bed, where three of Taryn’s field hockey teammates are sleeping. No one moves. You steal a pair of shorts to sleep in and sneak back out. 

Matthew is waiting for you, again, perched on the edge of his bed. The shower in his ensuite is running, steam filtering through the ajar door. “Shower’s ready for you, if you want,” he says.

There’s a bottle of your face wash and a toothbrush with your initials Sharpied onto the handle underneath his sink, the same way they have been since you were 14. You take a fast shower and try not to think too much about it. 

You run into Matthew when you walk out of the bathroom. Literally. You're bumped backwards, into the doorjamb. Matthew doesn’t step away. You’re still wearing one of his T-shirts. 

“I was just—I need—” Matthew stutters. 

“Matty—” you breathe, before Matthew’s lips crash into yours. He tastes like beer and sunscreen, and you wrap your hands around the back of his neck so you can pull him closer. 

Matthew breaks the kiss first, but he doesn’t go far, pressing his forehead to yours. It could have been seconds, or it could have been hours. 

“I was just going to brush my teeth,” Matthew whispers. 

You make a face instead of kissing Matthew again. His face is still so close to yours. 

“Good, you need it,” you whisper back. Matthew rolls his eyes at you, presses a kiss to your forehead before ducking into the bathroom. 

You’re sprawled out in the center of Matthew’s bed when he re-emerges, watching the ceiling fan turn lazily above you. You feel drunk, like the room’s spinning, too, but you think that might just be proximity to Matthew. You should have just found a couch or a corner of floor to sleep on. 

“No way,” Matthew says, standing at the foot of the bed. “Scoot over.” 

You think about pushing it, just to see if Matthew would push back, but you scoot over. Matthew flops onto the bed next to you in the space you just left, then rolls on top of you, anyway, braced with his hands next to your head. 

You take a second to just look at him. You’ve been sneaking glances all day, over the rim of a seltzer can, from underneath your sunglasses, across the boat. It had felt illicit then, but now Matthew is right in front of you, blue eyes meeting yours. His curls are getting long, messy from being in and out of the lake water all day. He’s always tan now—living in Florida all winter does that—but he’s sunburned across his nose and across the tops of shoulders. You lift one hand and skim a finger down his nose, across his jaw.

“I miss you,” you blurt. It’s not what you had meant to say, but now that you’ve said it, you’re not sure what else there is to say.

Matthew laughs softly. “I’m right here, babe,” he says.

He’s here now, but it won’t be long until summer’s over, and he’ll be gone again. Back to the real world. You don’t know the last time you and Matthew were able to spend time together like this, don’t know if you’ll ever get this time again. It’s always been one thing after another—injuries, or vacations, or work. You don't talk the way you used to, either. Matthew's schedule clashes with yours so often that neither of you have time for hours-long phone calls anymore.

Matthew drops to an elbow and brushes your hair out of your face. You try not to sigh. His hand is on your knee next, by his ribs with your feet flat on the bed. You don’t stop him as his hand starts to slide up your thigh, closer to the hem of his T-shirt, riding up your hips again. 

Matthew drags a line of kisses down your neck. You can’t stop your sigh this time. Matthew comes up for air, tucks another strand of hair behind your ear. It’s humid outside and in Matthew’s bed; you can’t breathe, gasp for air. His hand is back on your hip, burning hot on your skin. 

He asks, “Yeah?” 

You can feel his breath on your cheek. He’s panting, too, and it’s nice to know that he’s as wrapped up in this as you are, at least for this moment. That he might want you almost as bad as you want him. That he’s wanted you as long as you’ve wanted him.  

You don’t trust yourself to get any words out, just nod. 

“Think you can stay quiet?” Matthew says, before sealing his lips on yours again. 

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You wake up late the next morning, the ghost of Matthew’s fingers still on your skin. He’s in bed, too, tangled in the sheets, head turned away from you. Distantly, you hear the sounds of the rest of the house stirring, your friends laughing, coffee brewing. You don’t make any move to get up.

You’re still laying there later—15 minutes, 30 minutes, you’re not sure—when Matthew starts to stir. He rolls over quickly, almost panicked, but he relaxes and smiles when he sees you still lying next to him. 

“Hi,” he says dumbly. He fumbles for his phone, but it’s not beside him. “What time is it?” His words and eyes are still heavy with sleep.

You don't know either; you must have left your phone downstairs last night;. You shrug and stretch. Matthew watches you closely, the way your body moves beneath the sheets. You feel your cheeks flush. 

“Dunno,” you say. Closer to noon than early morning, if you had to guess by the way the light is slanting through the partially closed blinds. “Late,” you add. 

Matthew grins at you and props himself up on one elbow. You have to resist the urge to reach up and tug on his curls, even messier now from your hands and sleep. 

“Then I don’t think anyone will miss us if we stay in bed a little longer,” he says, leaning over to kiss you.

You indulge him and his morning breath for a few moments. Wrapped up in your own little bubble, twisted together in Matthew’s sheets, you can pretend just a little longer—that this is real, that it won’t disappear the second you step through that doorway and back into a world where other people and other obligations exist. But then your stomach rumbles and shatters your illusion.

You push Matthew away by the shoulders—gently, though part of you wants to be harsh with him, hurt him the way you know he’s going to break your heart. Matthew goes easily, but you see the flash of furrowed brow before he smooths his expression back into something easygoing. 

“Not that I’m not enjoying this,” you say, “but I need something to eat.” 

Matthew raises his eyebrows at you. “I’ve got an idea of what I want to eat,” he leers. 

You knee him in the chest in retaliation.

“Oof,” Matthew complains, but he’s laughing. 

He rolls off of you, rubbing his chest and pouting at you. You just roll your eyes and slide out of bed. You hunt the floor for the shorts you’d been wearing when you went to bed, trying to ignore the way you can feel Matthew staring at your ass. Your shorts ended up across the room, by the bathroom door. When you turn around again, Matthew is pulling on a shirt. There’s a hickey on his collarbone that you hazily remember leaving there. He sees you looking as his bare skin disappears and smirks at you before throwing another clean shirt of his at your face. 

You grab the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, but say, “Turn around.”

Matthew gapes at you. “It’s nothing I didn’t see last night,” he tells you. 

It feels different in the daylight, though. You stare Matthew down until he heaves a sigh and turns his back. 

You poke Matthew in the ribs when you’ve finished changing. It didn’t go unnoticed by you that Matthew gave you a shirt with his number stamped on the left shoulder to wear. Matthew reaches to take your hand as you start down the stairs, but you pull away and run ahead of him.

This isn’t like that. 

“Oh, you’re both alive,” Taryn calls when she sees you. “We were thinking about sending someone up to check on you.” 

You and Matthew exchange a look. You don’t miss Taryn smirking from her spot on the couch. 

“Where is everybody?” Matthew says, instead of saying anything to give Taryn any more ammunition. The house has quieted down. There’s still a few of Taryn’s teammates lounging around, but it looks like more of Matthew’s friends have cleared out.

“Weather’s shitty, people started leaving after breakfast,” she says. 

Outside the windows that overlook the lake, there’s fog clinging to the water. It looks chilly out, and you shiver. You tell yourself it’s because of the cold, and not because Matthew is standing so close to you that you can feel his body heat. He nudges your elbow, and he’s holding a cup of coffee out to you, already the perfect color for you to drink it. You shoot him a grateful smile as you take it; your fingers brush, and you try not to jerk your hand away. 

“Nobody even said good-bye,” Matthew gripes.

You laugh, but it’s Taryn who says: “Maybe because you’re a shit host.”

Matthew gasps in outrage and throws a discarded can koozie at her. It falls weakly to the floor halfway to the couch, and all of you burst out laughing. You and Matthew move easily around each other in the kitchen, piecing together leftovers and assembling your breakfasts. It sends a pang through your chest, the familiarity of it, even as the years and distance build a canyon between your relationship. You don’t know when Matthew went from being your best friend, to the boy you dreamed of marrying one day, to the guy you knew so well yet barely knew at all. 

You feel like you can’t breathe.

“That’s disgusting,” you say, watching Matthew take a bite out of a cold bratwurst straight from the fridge.

Matthew shrugs. “What?” he says with his mouth full. “It’s a sausage, people eat sausage for breakfast all the time!” 

“But not—oh, fuck you, never mind,” you say. 

You escape the kitchen, slipping through the back door to the porch. The bonfire from last night has long since burned out entirely, but you drop into one of the chairs beside it anyway, where you eat your breakfast undisturbed. When your plate is cleared, you wander down to the dock.

The late morning sun has finally started to burn away the fog, but the air is still cool. You sit down on the edge of the dock and let your feet dangle in the water. It’s quiet, especially for the day after the holiday; the weather has scared people indoors. You shiver again. You only have a few minutes of peace before you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know that they belong to Matthew.

He drops down onto the dock behind you, drapes his legs off the edge on either side of yours. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, and you let yourself lean back into his chest. Neither of you speak.

You’d been here once before, sitting on this dock with Matthew. You were younger then. Matthew had just been drafted, and you were heading off to college. You’d both been on the verge of something big, and you thought maybe it had been your chance to do big things, together. You wonder if Matthew is thinking of that night, too, of the silence in the darkness of midnight, when you’d both slipped away.

Matthew presses his lips to your shoulder, where the collar of your shirt—his shirt—has slid down and exposes your bare skin. 

“Would you wait for me?” you asked, 18 years old and so, so scared of losing everything you had ever known. Desperately trying to hold onto Matthew.

“Would you?” he asked back. “Would you still be ready for me in another few years?” You both knew you couldn’t even imagine following Matthew to Calgary until you had graduated, unwilling to sacrifice your own future for a possible one with Matthew.

You had waited. You had been waiting for Matthew for even longer than you were willing to admit. Even when you were in other relationships, you felt like you were just waiting for something else. For someone else. You wondered now what your life would look like if you had said yes to Matthew on the dark dock all those summers ago, if you’d waited for each other. You couldn’t wait any longer. 

“You could stay for a few more days,” Matthew says. 

“You know I can’t,” you say. You reach back so you can run your hand through his hair. One last time. “Think we could do this again sometime?” Matthew asks. “You know we can’t,” you say. Matthew sighs. You can feel the tension in his body. He’s ready for a fight, but you don’t know if you have the energy for it. You lean more of your weight against him, and he holds you up, strong and steady.

Matthew takes a moment before he responds. “We could,” he argues. “We could do this forever.” Your heart hurts. You know he doesn't mean it.

“Matthew,” you say, quietly. “Matthew, please.” “Why not?” he asks. “We’re good together, aren’t we?”

You are, and you wish you didn’t know just how good it could be between you. In your head, you see all the things you could have, all the things you should have done. It’s so, so tempting. 

“I think we both know why we didn’t try ‘us’ when we were 18, Matty,” you tell him. The petty arguments, the way you were both so stubborn that hanging out ended in slamming doors just as often as it didn't. You always came back, but you don't know if you can do it much longer.

You move to leave, and Matthew slides back to allow it. You let him offer you a hand as you stand up. Matthew squeezes your hand once, quickly, just before you let go. You leave him sitting on the dock. You don’t look back as you make your way back up to the house. 

Some things are best left in the past.

[faguscarolinensis]

Cherleria obtusiloba / Alpine Sandwort on the Echo Lake Trail on Mount Blue Sky in Evergreen, CO

[rabbitcruiser]

Five hundred Mormons left Iowa City for the Mormon Trail on June 9, 1856.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Croatoan | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ? ;) )

Warnings: implied suicidal ideation, canon violence, canon gore, medical stuff lol

Word Count: 6176

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Sam had another vision; one involving Dean killing some dude strapped to a chair. Apparently, the dude had been begging, saying, “It’s not in me!” 

‘What’s not in him, though? A demon? THE demon?’ you thought as he relayed his story.

“Well, I’m sure he had good reason,” you told Sam when he was finished.

“Well, I sure hope so—”

“What does that mean?” Dean grunted.

Sam didn’t reply.

“I mean, I'm not gonna waste an innocent man,” he scoffed.

Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother.

“He wouldn’t, Sam,” you stated, your tone warning.

“I never said he would!”

“Sure seemed implied,” you commented.

“Look, we don't know what it is,” sighed Sam. “But whatever it is, that guy in the chair's a part of it. So let's find him, and see what's what.”

“Fine,” Dean said.

“Fine,” said Sam.

The rest of the drive to Crater Lake, Oregon, was done in silence. 

***

You pulled into the small town of Rivergrove along the main strip of small businesses and homely apartment complexes. Most of the shops almost looked like wooden cabins, and you approached a man sitting under one of the wooden overhangs cleaning a rifle. 

“Morning,” Dean called.

“Good morning. Can I help you?” He turned to you.

“Yeah.” Dean pulled out his badge. “Uh, Billy Gibbons, Frank Beard, Kymberly Herrin. U.S. Marshals.”

The man furrowed his brows. “What’s this about?”

“We're looking for someone,” he answered.

“A young man, early twenties,” added Sam. “He'd have a— a thin scar right below his hairline.”

The man seemed surprised. “What’d he do?”

“Well, nothing. We're actually looking for someone else, but we think this young man could help us,” Sam replied. 

“Yeah, he's not in any kind of trouble or anything; well, not yet,” Dean chuckled. He looked down at the intricate tattoo on the man’s forearm. “I think maybe you know who he is… Master Sergeant.” He smiled. “My dad was in the Corps, he was a Corporal.”

“What company?” the man asked.

“Echo-2-1,” Dean replied, smiling proudly. 

Sam got back to business. “So, can you help us?”

The man hesitated before talking again. “Duane Tanner's got a scar like that. But I know him. Good kid, keeps his nose clean.”

Dean nodded. “Oh, I'm sure he does. Um. You know where he lives?”

“With his family, up Aspen Way.”

“Thank you.”

You bumped into a telephone pole as you and the brothers headed back to the car. You looked down at it, and something caught your eye. There was a single word etched into the pole: “CROATOAN.” You brushed your fingers over the etching. “Guys, look.”

“Croatoan?” Dean read.

“Yeah.”

Dean looked at you blankly.

Sam gave him a look. “Roanoke? Lost colony? Ring a bell? Dean, did you pay any attention in history class?”

“Yeah! Shots heard 'round the world, How bills become laws…” Dean trailed off.

“That's not school, that's Schoolhouse Rock,” Sam scoffed.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Anywho,” you cut back in. “Roanoke was one of the first English colonies— late 1500s-ish?”

“Oh yeah, yeah, I do remember that,” Dean said excitedly. “The only thing they left behind was a single word carved in a tree. Croatoan.”

“Yeah. There were theories,” you continued. “Native American raid, disease, famine, but nobody really knows what happened. They were all just… gone. Wiped out overnight.”

Dean cocked his head to the side. “You don't think that's what's going on here, I mean—”

Sam cut him off with a sigh. “Whatever I saw in my head, it sure wasn't good. But what do you think could do that?”

“Well, I mean, like I said, all of your weirdo visions are always tied to the Yellow-Eyed Demon somehow, so…” Dean trailed off.

“We should get help. Bobby, uh, Ellen maybe?” Sam suggested.

“Good idea,” you said. You pulled out your phone to call Bobby, only to discover you had no signal. “Great. No signal.”

The two brothers took their phones out as well. 

“Huh, me neither,” said Sam. 

“Nada,” Dean stated.

“Payphone, maybe?” you tried, leading the boys over to one. Unfortunately for you, all you heard was a beeping to signify no signal. “Line's dead.” You hung up the phone.

“I'll tell you one thing. If I was gonna massacre a town, that'd be my first step,” Dean noted, pointing at the payphone. 

***

You pulled up in front of a homely, slightly tacky cabin. Sam rapped his knuckles against the door, and almost immediately, a teenage boy opened it.

“Yeah?” he grinned.

Dean flashed his badge. “We're looking for Duane Tanner; he lives here, right?”

“Yeah, he's my brother,” the boy nodded.

“Can we talk to him?”

He sucked in air through his teeth. “Oh, he's not here right now.”

“Do you know where he is?” Dean pressed.

“Yeah, he went on a fishing trip up by Roslyn Lake.”

“Your parents home?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, they're inside,” the boy nodded.

“Jake?” a voice called. ‘Oh, that’s his name.’ “Who is it?”

Dean spoke as the owner of the voice appeared. “Hi, U.S. Marshals, sir, we're looking for your son Duane.”

Mr. Tanner seemed confused. “Wh— Why? He's not in trouble, is he?”

“No, no, no, no. We just need to ask him a couple of routine questions, that's all.” Dean flashed a winning smile.

“When's he due back from his trip?” questioned Sam.

“I'm not sure.”

“Well, maybe your wife knows.”

The man’s eerie smile was far too cheerful for the current conversation. “No, I don't know, she's not here right now.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Your son said she was.”

Jake seemed caught. “Did I?”

This whole thing was weirding you the hell out.

“She's getting groceries,” Mr. Tanner smiled. “So, when Duane gets back, there's a number where he can get a hold of you?”

“Oh, no,” Dean said. “We'll just check in with you later.”

The three of you turned back down the steps, and you waited to talk until you heard the door close. “That was kind of creepy, right? Little too… Stepford?”

“Big time,” Dean replied.

You headed around the back of the house, ducking down to avoid being seen by the Tanners. You caught sight of a poor woman with mussed up blonde hair tied to a chair sweating and crying. You cocked your gun as Dean kicked in the door, and you quickly shot Mr. Tanner in the chest when he tried to charge you with a knife. You turned to Sam and Dean who were over by the window.

“He got away,” Dean grunted, referencing Jake who had leapt out of the window.

“Great,” you sighed. You turned your attention back to the woman in the chair and noticed a profusely bleeding wound. “Dean, start the car. Sam, get her to the backseat. I’m gonna patch her up as best I can til we can get to a doctor.”

The boys nodded and rushed to do your bidding. You rushed to the trunk of the Impala and pulled out your makeshift first aid kit— a collection of wraps, bandages, antiseptics, antibiotics, sutures, sewing needles, thread, and painkillers you gathered from random pharmacies and kept in a small, vintage tin box with roses etched into the lid and occasionally refilled. You hurriedly got in the backseat with the woman, and you kept her conscious by asking her questions about herself. You learned her name was Beverly, and that her two sons, Duane and Jake, went fishing and hunting together all the time. Her first sign that something was wrong was that Jake didn’t go with his brother on the trip. After her hiccups mourning the death of her husband— for which you profusely apologized to her— and hissing in pain as you kept pressure on her wound, you finally arrived at a small clinic on the main stretch of road. 

You held the pressure on her shoulder as you led her into the clinic, yelling, “Doctor! We need a doctor!”

A young woman in a pleasant floral jacket and cute pink headband came rushing out, concerned. “Mrs. Tanner, what happened?” she asked the woman on your shoulder.

“She’s been attacked,” you explained, hurrying past her.

“Dr. Lee!” the young woman called.

The doctor instructed you to head down the hallway into an examination room. You gently placed her down on the bed, and Beverly moaned as you shifted position around her to continue holding her shoulder. The doctor came into the room moments later followed by Sam and Dean, who stood at the doorway. You filled the doctor in on the medical history you’d gathered from Mrs. Tanner on the way to the clinic, and the doctor immediately set to work stitching the wound. You tossed the tattered and bloodstained jacket Mrs. Tanner had been wearing into the garbage and washed your hands up to your elbows. 

Beverly began to explain what happened to the doctor, who seemed shocked. “Wait, you said Jake helped him? Your son Jake?” the doctor asked.

Beverly nodded. “They beat me. Tied me up.”

“I don't believe it,” the young nurse breathed out. 

“Beverly… do you have any idea why they would act this way? Any history of chemical dependency?” Dr. Lee questioned.

“No, of course not. I don't know why. One minute they were my husband and my son. And the next, they had the devil in them.” Beverly shook as she spoke.

You walked out into the hallway with Sam and Dean.

“Those guys were whacked out of their gourds,” Dean commented.

“Ya think?” you snorted. “And what I don’t understand is, if they already beat and subdued her, why put that giant gash on her shoulder? That wound was fresh; like it happened this morning. Everything else seemed a few days old, at least.”

“Yeah, this whole thing is weird, man,” Sam added. “What do you guys think? Multiple demons, mass possession?”

“If it is a possession there could be more. I mean, God knows how many, it could be like a friggin' Shriner convention,” Dean grumbled. “Of course, that's one way to wipe out a town, you take it from the inside.”

“I don't know, man. We didn't see any of the demon smoke with Mr. Tanner, or any of the other usual signs,” Sam reminded his brother.

“Well, whatever. Something turned him into a monster. And you know if you woulda taken out the other one, there'd be one less to worry about,” the older brother chided.

Sam huffed, “I'm sorry, alright? I hesitated, Dean, it was a kid!”

“Boys, relax!” you scolded, standing between them.

Dean looked over your head at Sam. “No, it was an ‘it’. Not the best time for a bleeding heart, Sam.”

“Dean,” you murmured harshly. 

Dr. Lee stalked out of the lab, heels clicking loudly on the floor to let the brothers know it was time to stop arguing. 

“How is she?” you asked her.

“Terrible! What the hell happened out there?” she questioned.

“We don't know,” Dean shook his head.

“Yeah? Well, you just killed my next door neighbor.” Dr. Lee crossed her arms over her chest.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you told her. “All of us would’ve been dead if I hadn’t.”

“Maybe so, but we need the county Sheriff. I need the coroner —”

Sam cut her off. “Phones are down.”

“I know, I tried. Tell me you have a police radio in the car?” Dr. Lee pleaded.

“Yeah, we do. But it crapped out just like everything else,” Sam said.

The blonde ran a hand through her hair and began to pace. “I don't understand what is happening.”

“How far is it to the next town?” you asked her.

“It's about forty miles down to Sidewinder.”

“Alright, I'm gonna go down there, see if I can find some help. You’re coming with me.” He looked down at you before clapping Sam on the shoulder. “My partner 'll stick around, keep you guys safe.”

“Safe from what?” Dr. Lee questioned pointedly.

“We'll get back to you on that,” Dean responded. He then led you away from Sam and Dr. Lee and out to the Impala.

“What’d you do with Mr. Tanner?” you asked him.

“He’s in the lab somewhere. Man’s heavier than he looks,” he joked as he began to drive off.

“Dean, I killed him,” you mourned. “He was just a guy. Now, his two sons don’t have a father. He was a person.”

“(Y/N), since when are you all morally gray?” Dean questioned gently. His usual bite behind his sarcasm was missing. “I get it, but he wasn’t ‘just a guy’ anymore.”

“I know that,” you said. “That’s what I’m starting to get worried about. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice. Vamps used to be people. Hell, one of my first vamp kills was my parents. I don’t know what’s happening to me, man. I don’t hesitate— hell no— but… I don’t know.”

“Hey, I get it.” He reached across the seat and grabbed your hand. “I’m a straight shooter, too. I’m in the same place you are.”

You scooched across the bench seat and kept your hand entwined with Deans, playing with his fingers. You leaned your head on his shoulder, and he pulled your hand up to his lips and kissed it, eyes never leaving the road. 

“Things keep getting weirder, dude. Since when do we second-guess?” You tried to muster a laugh, but your heart wasn’t in it.

“I know. This whole thing is spinnin’ out of our control. I hate it,” he admitted. 

“Yeah, me, too,” you murmured. “I wish we could’ve met under normal circumstances.”

He chuckled. “Hm. Me, too.”

The rest of the drive was spent hand in hand and silent. You continued to play with Dean’s fingers and kept your head on his shoulder. Only when you saw two cars blocking the road and men standing with their large guns drawn did you pull your head up. Dean’s grip on your hand tightened— whether to reassure you or himself, you weren’t sure— as he rolled to a stop. You noticed one of the men in front of you was the teenager from the Tanner house, Jake. He stopped the car, frowning. Something banged on the roof of the car, making both you and Dean jump. His hand never left yours, and he shifted his body toward the man leaning down into the window almost protectively in front of you. “Oh-ho-ho. Hey,” Dean awkwardly laughed.

“Sorry. Road's closed,” the man at the driver’s side window grinned.

“Yeah, I can see that. What's up?” Dean questioned.

“Quarantine,” was his simple reply.

“Quarantine? Why?” you asked. Dean stiffened and tried to hide you more with his body when you spoke.

“Don't know,” the man tsked. “Something going around out there.”

“Uh-huh. Who told you that?” Dean asked, sass lying just below the surface of his tone.

The man’s face was blank when he responded. “County Sheriff.”

“Is he here?”

“No. He called. Say, why don't you get out of the car and we'll talk a little?”

Dean laughed nervously. “Well, you are a handsome devil, but I don't swing that way, sorry.”

“I'd sure appreciate it if you got out of the car, just for a quick minute.” The man’s stoicism was beginning to drop, and the anger bubbling just below the surface was becoming visible.

“Yeah, I'll bet you would.” Dean released your hand to quickly throw the car in reverse. The man grabbed his collar and held on for dear life as you tried your best to pry his fingers off. Thankfully, Dean swung the car around, finally cutting the man loose, and sped away. The sound of guns firing at the car filled your ears, but none of the bullets seemed to be hitting their desired target.

“You okay?” Dean asked you, throwing you a worried look.

“Yeah,” you heaved. “You?”

“Peachy,” he grunted.

Suddenly, the ex-military man you first met in town stepped in the path of the Impala, brandishing a rifle.

Dean slammed on his brakes, and you put your hands on the dashboard to steady yourself.

“Hands where I can see 'em!” the man yelled.

“Son of a—” Dean grumbled, holding his hands up. You did the same.

“Get out of the car! Out of the car!” he commanded.

You slowly slid across the seat to the passenger’s side door as Dean started climbing out. You took the opportunity of your hands being hidden behind the door to quickly whip out your handgun.

“Drop the gun!” you ordered.

“Put it down, now!” the man yelled back at you. “Are y’all part of 'em?!” 

“No!” Dean answered. “Are you?”

“No!”

“You could be lying!” Dean protested.

“So could you!”

“Alright! Alright,” you broke in. “We could do this all day, alright? Let's just, uh, let's take it easy before we kill each other.”

The sergeant relaxed slightly. “What's going on with everybody?”

“I don't know,” you admitted.

“My neighbor— Mr. Rogers, he—”

Dean interrupted the man. “You've got a neighbor named Mr. Rogers?”

“Not anymore,” the man responded gruffly. “He came at me with a hatchet. I put him down. He's not the only one, I mean, it's happening to everyone.”

“We’re heading over to the Doc's place, there's still some people left,” Dean explained.

“No, no way. I'm getting the hell out,” the older man stated.

“There's no way out, they got the bridge covered, now come on,” the older Winchester said.

“I don't believe you,” the man replied.

“Fine, stay here, be my guest.” It was then you noticed Dean was pointing a handgun at the man, too, who hesitated before walking over to the backseat of the Impala. He swapped his rifle for a handgun as he stooped down into the backseat, and you kept your gun trained on him over the back of your seat. The older man kept his gun aimed at you, but his eyes would frantically flick to Dean every now and again.

Dean looked between you and the man and put his gun away to be able to drive back to the clinic. “Well, this ought to be a relaxing drive.”

You pinned the sergeant to his spot in the backseat with a hard glare and your gun on him. He returned your glare and pointed gun the whole way to the clinic. Despite your aching arms, you refused to falter. “What’s your name?” you asked him, still on your guard.

“Mark.”

“Mark. Nice to meet you, Mark,” you smiled despite your situation.

Dean slowed to a stop in front of the clinic, and you and Mark mutually agreed to relax your guns. 

“Sammy? Open up!” Dean banged on the door to the clinic. 

Sam appeared at the glass a few moments later and allowed you inside. You kept your gun cocked and in your hand but pointed at the floor. 

“Did you guys, uh, get to a phone?” Sam questioned, looking between the three guns you were all brandishing.

“Road block.” Dean turned to Mark. “I'm gonna have a word. Doc's inside.”

Mark looked between the three of you, hesitating, before heading inside.

“What's going on out there, guys?” Sam asked.

“Man, I don't know, I feel like Chuck Heston in the Omega Man. I mean, Sarge is the only sane person I could find. What are we dealing with, do you know?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah. Doc thinks it's a virus.”

Dean snorted. “Okay, great. What do you think?”

“I think she's right.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Really,” Sam answered. “And I think the infected are trying to infect others with blood-to-blood contact. Oh, but it gets better. The, uh, the virus? Leaves traces of sulfur in the blood.”

“Cool. Demonic virus,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah, more like demonic germ warfare,” Sam added.  “At least it explains why I've been having visions.”

“It's like a Biblical plague,” noted Dean.

“Yeah. You don't know how right you are, Dean. I've been poring through Dad's journal, found something about the Roanoke colony,” Sam began. “Dad always had a theory about Croatoan. He thought it was a demon's name. Sometimes known as Deva or sometimes Resheph. A demon of plague and pestilence.”

Dean laughed humorlessly. “Well, that— that's terrific. Why here, why now?”

“I have no idea. But Dean, who knows how far this thing can spread? We gotta get out of here, we gotta warn people—”

Before any of you could speak, Mark called from the back of the clinic, “They've got one! In here!”

Dean entered the room behind Sam. “What do you mean?” he asked Mark.

“The wife. She's infected,” Sam explained.

“We've gotta take care of this. We can't just leave her in there. My neighbors, they were strong. The longer we wait, the stronger she'll get,” Mark urged.

You hesitated, but only for a moment, before brushing past Sam and Dean into the lab with your gun drawn. 

“Whoa!” the sweet nurse from earlier exclaimed. “You're gonna kill Beverly Tanner?”

“Doctor, could there be any treatment? Some kind of cure for this?” Sam pleaded.

“Can you cure it?” You turned toward Dr. Lee.

“For God's sake, I don't even know what ‘it’ is!” she cried.

“I told you, it's just a matter of time before she breaks through,” Mark told you.

“Just leave her in there, you can't shoot her like an animal!” the young nurse said.

You slowly walked over to the door of the utility room Beverly was being held in. You, Dean, and Mark held your guns steady on the door. Sam carefully opened it to reveal Beverly huddled on the floor in a corner, crying into her knees. She jumped as you approached. “Mark, what are you doing? Mark, it's, it's them!” She pointed at you, Dean, and Sam, who stood over your shoulder. “They locked me in here, they— they tried to kill me! They're infected, not me! Please, Mark! You've known me all your life! Please!”

“You sure she's one of 'em?” Dean asked, looking at his brother. 

Sam nodded. Mark pulled back, looking distraught, and you took the opportunity to step forward. 

In an attempt to hear as few of her cries for mercy as possible, you quickly fired one shot square between her eyes. Guilt immediately clawed at your throat, and you thought you could throw up. You stowed your gun and crouched beside her crumpled form. You moved her into a less disturbing configuration, laying her on her back with her arms crossed over her chest. You closed her paralyzed, open eyes and brushed through her hair with your fingers. With the back of your hand, you wiped your own eyes and stood, leaving the room and shutting the door behind you. 

Choked up, you pushed past a concerned Sam and Dean and headed out to the car. You grabbed your duffel bag to have some reason for going outside from the trunk when you heard a sound from down the street: a car approaching. Your breath caught, and you ducked behind the wall of the clinic’s entrance; back pressed to it. You peeked out briefly to see Jake was the one driving the car with the man who had tried to kill you and Dean earlier. Soundlessly, you slipped back inside the building and turned the lights at the entrance off. 

You locked both the door to the entrance and the door to the waiting room behind you, hurriedly pulling down the shades and turning off as many unnecessary lights as possible. You turned the light off in the waiting room and stormed into the lab where everyone was huddled together. You pulled down the shades behind Dr. Lee wordlessly.

“(Y/N/N)?” Sam asked gently. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re here. Everybody, get yourself a weapon from my bag if you know how to use one. Don’t grab one, get injured, and then get infected, got it?” you ordered.

Sam nodded and grabbed your bag from you. He threw you your bowie knife and pulled a hunting knife from the duffel for himself. 

The young nurse, who you learned was named Pam, dropped a vial of blood, and she screamed. “Oh god! Is there any on me? Am I okay?”

Dr. Lee tried to calm her down. “You're clean, you're okay.”

“Why are we staying here? Please, let's just go!” Pam cried.

“No, we can't because those things are everywhere,” Dean stated firmly.

Pam began to sink to the floor. “Oh god!—”

“Hey, shh, shh,” Dr. Lee told her.

Sam turned to you and Dean who stood together by the lab’s entrance. “She's right about one thing,” he said just loud enough for the two of you to hear. “We can't stay here. We've gotta get out of here, get to the Roadhouse? Somewhere. Let people know what's coming.”

“Yeah, good point,” Dean nodded. “Night of the Living Dead didn't exactly end pretty.”

“Well, I'm not sure we've got a choice,” Mark cut in. “Lots of folks up here are good with rifles— even with all your hardware we're- we're easy targets. So unless you've got some explosives…” he trailed off.

You looked up at the shelf of medical supplies and turned to Sam. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“Yeah, actually.” He grabbed a bottle of potassium chloride and waved it at you.

“I’m lost, what’s happening here?” Dean questioned. “Speak, nerds.”

You deadpanned at him. “Potassium chlorate bombs. I’ve gotta figure out a way to ionize the chloride and get some oxygen in it; otherwise, this’ll never—”

Your explanation was cut off by a loud banging on the door.

“Hey! Let me in, let me in! Please!” the voice called as you approached the door.

“It's Duane Tanner!” Mark announced. He opened the door to let him in, and you grabbed your gun in your jacket immediately.

“Thank god,” Duane breathed out, walking into the clinic. 

Mark locked the door behind him. “Duane, you okay?”

Dean quietly asked Sam, “That's the guy that I, uh—” he clicked his tongue.

Sam nodded, seeming shaken.

“Who else is in here?” Duane went to step into the lab, but Dean grabbed his arm.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there, chief,” he said. “Hey Doc! Give Duane a good once-over, would you?”

Dr. Lee led your group into the lab. “Pam?”

Pam seemed to understand what that meant and moved to gather medical supplies.

“Who are you?” Duane asked Dean.

“Never mind who I am. Doc.”

Dr. Lee nodded nervously. “Yeah, okay.”

“Duane. Where you been?” Mark asked softly.

“On a fishing trip up by Roslyn. I came back this afternoon. I— I saw Roger McGill being dragged out of his house by people we know! They started cutting him with knives! I ran, I've been hiding in the woods ever since. Has anybody seen my mom and dad?”

Your heart squeezed in your chest and bile rose in your throat.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Dean whispered to you. 

You could barely hear him over your heart pounding against your ribcage. You then noticed a deep gash in Duane’s left leg. “He’s bleeding.”

“Where'd you get that?” Dean interrogated.

“I was running, I must have tripped.” Duane’s cool tone was making it difficult to read whether he was infected or genuinely had no idea what was going on.

“Tie him up, there's rope in there,” the older brother ordered. You complied and dug the rope out of the supply closet.

“Wait—” Duane said, attempting to stand.

“Sit down!” Dean commanded, pointing his gun at Duane.

“I'm sorry, Duane, he's right,” Mark agreed. “We've gotta be careful.”

“Careful? About what?”

“Did they bleed on you?” Dean questioned, not answering the young man’s question.

“No, what the hell? No!” Duane frantically answered.

“Doc? Any way to know for sure, any test?” Sam questioned. You could tell he was trying to deescalate the situation before his vision came true. 

Dr. Lee sighed. “I've studied Beverly's bloodwork backwards and forwards.”

“My mom!” Duane cried.

Dr. Lee continued. “It took three hours for the virus to incubate. The sulfur didn't appear in the blood until then, so… no, there'd be no way of knowing. Not until after Duane turns.”

Sam looked over to his brother. “Dean, I gotta talk to you. Now.”

Dean looked over to you, and you nodded, standing up from where you’d tied Duane to the chair he was sitting in. You drew your gun and trained it on him while the brothers stepped out into the hall.

Dean reappeared a minute or so later.

“Where’s Sam?” you asked him.

He didn’t answer you. He simply cocked his gun and looked past you at Duane. Pam and Dr. Lee startled to their feet, chests heaving as they looked between Dean and Duane.

“No, you're not gonna—” Duane heaved. “No, no, I swear it's not in me!”

“Oh God. We're all gonna die,” Pam cried.

“Maybe he's telling the truth,” Mark tried.

“No, he's not him, not anymore.”

“Stop it! Ask her, ask the doctor! It's not in me!” Duane pleaded.

Dr. Lee shook her head and hesitantly looked at Dean. “I… I can’t tell.”

Duane began to sob. “Please, don't. Don't, please. I swear, it's not in me, it's not in me, I swear, I— I swear it's not in me. No, don't.”

Dean seemed to get choked up, too. “I got no choice.” 

You stared at him, eyes almost pleading him not to pull the trigger. However, you would also respect his choice if he did; you knew the risks. Dean trembled, hesitating, and finally lowered the gun. “Dammit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. 

He left the room, and you followed. Dean let Sam out of the room he’d apparently locked his younger brother in wordlessly and kept stalking down the hall. Sam simply looked after him for a moment before turning back to the lab, but you followed Dean further.

He turned into a dark exam room at the end of the hall. You did so as well, making sure the curtains were drawn as tightly as possible before you flicked on the desk lamp. Dean sat in a chair while you sat in another, facing him. Neither of you said a word for a moment. 

“What made you stop?” you asked him.

He hesitated before answering. “Sam,” he replied simply. “And you.”

Your breath caught at his admission. “Me?” you asked, just loud enough for him to hear. 

He nodded, unable to meet your gaze. 

“Why?” you asked softly.

“Couldn’t let you watch me do that,” he muttered. “And… I want you to see me how I see you.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean— You just— You remind me that there’s good out there. In all this crap. You make me wanna be better,” he admitted, gaze still pointed to the floor. 

You reached over and tilted his chin to face you with your index finger, forcing him to look at you. “Dean—”

He cut you off by surging forward to crush his lips to yours. You sighed into the kiss, winding your hands around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. He cupped your chin with one hand and grabbed your waist with the other. You kissed once, then again, then one final time before simply resting your foreheads against each other’s. You nudged his nose with yours, eyes still closed, and he stroked circles on your hip with his thumb. 

The two of you were broken apart by the sound of a scream and two shots being fired off. You barely shared a look before sprinting toward the sound with your guns drawn.

“It’s Sam,” Mark told you. “He’s infected.”

Your jaw went slack at the sight of Sam on the floor with an open wound on his chest and Pam lying dead on the floor beside him.

“Oh, god,” you breathed out, turning to see Dean completely shocked and terrified.

*** Your group had Sam tied to a chair with a bandage over his wound. Dean was angry, and Sam seemed defeated. Your heart broke for both brothers and for the fact that you were gonna lose an amazing friend soon. 

“Nobody is shooting my brother,” Dean stated firmly.

Duane argued, “He isn't gonna be your brother much longer. You said it yourself.”

“Nobody is shooting anyone!” you shouted. 

“He was gonna shoot me!” Duane gestured toward Dean.

“You don't shut your pie-hole, I still might!” Dean grunted.

Sam’s sad voice caught everyone’s attention. “Dean, they're right. I'm infected; just give me the gun and I'll do it myself.”

“Fuck that,” Dean scoffed.

“Dean, I'm not gonna become one of those things,” Sam pleaded.

“Sam, we've still got some time—”

Mark cut Dean off. “Time for what? Look, I understand he's your brother, and I'm sorry, I am. But we gotta take care of this.” He pulled out his gun.

“I'm gonna say this one time— you make a move on him, you'll be dead before you hit the ground. You understand me? Do I make myself clear?!” Dean growled.

Mark’s face was set in hard lines. “Then what are we supposed to do?!”

Dean tossed Mark his kets. “Get the hell out of here, that's what. Take my car. You've got the explosives, there's an arsenal in there. You two go with him. You've got enough firepower to handle anything now. (Y/N), you go with them.”

“Dean, no!” you said. “I’m not leaving you!”

“Sweetheart, you have to—”

“No!”

“Guys, no. No. Go with them. This is your only chance!” Sam cried.

Dean turned to his younger brother. “You're not gonna get rid of me that easy.”

Mark chimed back in. “No, he's right. Come with us.”

Dean just stared at him.

“Okay, it's your funeral.” He led Duane and Dr. Lee out the door.

“Thank you, for everything,” Dr. Lee told you as she left.

“Don’t mention it,” you said halfheartedly.

She shut the door behind you, and Sam began to cry.

You were repeatedly surprised by Dean’s sense of play and slight immaturity at the grimmest of moments. “Wish we had a deck of cards, or a foosball table or something.”

“Don’t do this,” Sam pleaded. “Just get the hell out of here.”

“He’s right, (Y/N), you should leave,” Dean tired.

You crossed your arms and spoke with authority despite your soft tone. “Dean, we’ve discussed this already. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Give me my gun and leave,” Sam begged.

“For the last time, Sam. No,” Dean stated.

Sam slammed his fists against his chair. “This is the dumbest thing you've ever done.”

“Oh, I don't know about that. Remember that waitress in Tampa?” Dean shuddered.

“Dean, I'm sick. It's over for me. It doesn't have to be for you two,” Sam sobbed. “You can keep going.”

“Who says I want to?” Dean admitted.

“What?” you and Sam breathed out.

Dean pulled his handgun out of his waistband and put it on the file cabinet behind him. “I'm tired, Sam. I'm tired of this job, this life… this weight on my shoulders, man. I'm tired of it.”

Sam scoffed. “So, what, so you're just going to give up? You're just gonna lay down and die? Look, Dean, I know this stuff with Dad has—” 

“You're wrong. It's not about Dad. I mean, part of it is, sure, but…” he trailed off.

“What is it about?” Sam questioned.

A knock at the door broke the tense silence settled over the room. “You'd better come see this,” Dr. Lee called through the door.

You quickly untied Sam and brought him out to where Dr. Lee, Dean, Mark, and Duane were already gathered. 

“There's no one. Not anywhere. They've all just… vanished,” Dr. Lee explained.

“Croatoan,” you realized, looking over at the telephone pole opposite you.

***

Miraculously, the virus didn’t incubate in Sam’s blood. Strangely, when Dr. Lee looked back at the Tanner samples, the sulfur was gone, too. Confused and slightly uneasy, you and the brothers packed up the Impala. 

“Hey, the Sarge and I are getting the hell out of here, heading south. You should come,” Duane suggested to Dr. Lee.

“I'd better get over to Sidewinder, get the authorities up here. If they'll believe me. Take care,” she told them.

Mark waved to the three of you as well as Dr. Lee. 

“What about him?” Dean pointed to his brother.

“He's going to be fine. No signs of infection,” she grinned.

You turned to Sam.

“Hey, don't look at me. I got no clue,” he said.

“I swear, I'm gonna lose sleep over this one. I mean, why here, why now? And where the hell did everybody go? It's like they just fuckin’ melted,” Dean griped.

“Why was I immune?” Sam wondered aloud.

“Yeah. You know what? That's a good question. You know, I'm already starting to feel like this is the one that got away.” Dean walked around to the driver’s side of the car and pulled away from the town. His words hung ominously over the car for the remainder of your drive.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Daddy’s Best Friend, Mr. Miller Part 6: Hot Tubs and Calloused Fingers✨

Dbf! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’ve had this one in the works for a while, and it’s finally here! Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for beta reading 🩷

Chapter Summary: Your family decides to take you on a trip to Big Bear, California, and your dad brings Joel along. Can Joel keep his hands off you, or will you lose all control in the hot tub?

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 5.8k

Tags: Flirting, sneaking around, Dom! Joel, soft Joel, unprotected piv, fingering, dirty talking, teasing, hot tub fun, daddy kink, edging, no use y/n, no outbreak au

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

To make up for your parents not taking you on your yearly Galveston trip, they decide to surprise you with a weekend trip to Big Bear, California. One of your favorite little areas in the mountains to get away from the rush of Austin. It was all a nice surprise, but they forgot to mention one thing. That one teeny tiny thing was your dad inviting Joel Miller, your father’s best friend, your secret boyfriend who you’ve been seeing for a few months as of late August. What could possibly go wrong? 

   After a night out on the town, your father had the best idea to unwind before bed. That idea was to get in the hot tub and of course he mentioned it to Joel first, then the invitation got passed on to you. You didn’t know what compelled you to say yes, but you couldn’t pass up the rare opportunity to give Joel a little tease with your new royal blue bikini. You’d have him groveling over you in a heartbeat. 

   You wrap the white fluffy robe around you as you slide the clear glass door to the side, stepping out into the brisk chill of winter as you see your breath blow out like clear fog through the cold air. Your eyes glide across the glassy lake as white snow coats the towering mountains and pine trees in the near distance. It’s absolutely stunning out on the back porch of the two story lodge. Your favorite view other than Joel, who’s your most favorite view of all. 

   “Nice night ain’t it?” Joel echoes through the wind, his voice sinking into your chest as you smile and nod over at him.

   “Mhm. Beautiful,” you reply, turning in the direction of Joel’s voice. 

   “Gorgeous,” he says quietly, his eyes paralyzing you in place as he stares directly into your eyes, his little way of telling you he thinks you’re absolutely beautiful. 

   A small smile forms over your lips as you look up through your eyelashes and take him in fully. He’s sitting in the bubbling hot tub with a clear glass of whiskey on the rocks as he swirls the amber colored drink around in slow circles. He tilts his head back and takes a generous gulp as he drinks it down and sets it back down on the side of the hot tub. 

   You see his tanned, broad chest rise and fall above the water as he pushes his slicked back tousled curls away from his face, his flexed muscles making you bite your lower lip in response as you see the glossy sheen of whiskey coat his lips. You’d kill to be the alcohol on his big lips right now, would love nothing more than to lick his lips clean with your tongue as you lap up the taste of him. 

   “You’ve never been to the west coast, have you?” you ask as you take a few steps over to him, letting your fuzzy slippers trail along the snowy wooden deck as you sink your hands deep in the pockets of the warm robe. 

   “Nah, first time for me,” he replies as you take two more steps over in his direction.

   “So, how are you liking it?” you ask as you swish the bottom of your robe around, needing a distraction from his inviting eyes that you want to drown in, bathe in like a warm bubble bath. 

   “I’m lovin’ it. Mostly because I got to experience it with you, my little coastal girl. Always showin’ me new places, ain’t ya? My perfect girl,” he hums out as his honey eyes seem to reach in and wrap around your heart, tugging all your heart strings along as you take in the sweet Southern man that you’re head over heels for. 

   You shake your head and cross your arms over your chest, giving him your best puppy eyes as you speak into the calm wind. “And I’m never gonna stop showing you new places. If it was up to me, I’d drag you around the whole continent with me. I’d take you everywhere, Joel.”

   “Oh, baby. Just take my hand, I’ll follow you anywhere you wanna go. Ain’t ever met anyone like you before. You’ve got me locked down tight, darlin’.”

   You giggle and kick your slipper in the snow, your face probably flushed from blushing at his sweet, charming words. He always knows exactly what to say to make you blush. 

   “Baby, it’s cold out there. Why don’t you come in the hot tub? Maybe we can have a few minutes alone before your pops comes out.” He takes another sip of his whiskey, nursing it down as his cup sits half full. He probably tastes just like that brand of Jack Daniel’s he’s always drinking, and it makes your head dizzy just thinking about it. 

   “You don’t have to ask me twice,” you giggle as you walk over to the jetted hot tub, slowly unraveling the fuzzy robe as you gently slide it off your body and let it fall to the ground in a heap. 

   “Oops,” you smirk as you turn around and stick your ass out for Joel to ogle at as you pick up the fuzzy robe, making sure to take your time as you snap back up, feeling the material of the navy blue silky bottoms slide up more, exposing more skin as you hear a low “Fuck” coming from the direction of the hot tub. Jackpot. 

   You stand back up and whip around as you toss your hair over your shoulder and flash him your best innocent smile. Except you’re not innocent, not in the least bit. So you drag the edges of the bottoms up higher on your hips and do one more slow twirl for him so he can take in all your curvy features he loves. 

   When you face him again, you see him rake his large fingers through his thick scruff as he looks completely wrecked. His eyes widen as his mouth parts open as he nearly pants your name through his teeth, his eyes sliding down every single inch of skin as he takes you in nice and slow. That man is done for. 

   “Goddamn, darlin’. You look so fuckin’ good in that little bikini you got on. And one of my favorite colors? Are ya tryin’ to ruin me?” he asks helplessly as his fingers claw at the side of the hot tub, his breathing ragged as he watches you trail a finger underneath the thin strap of the top piece, the material barely covering anything as you picked one of the skimpiest swimsuits you could find online. You picked it just for him, just so you could tease him with it. 

   “Always,” you whisper, winking his way as you blow him a flirtatious kiss. 

   He chuckles as he shakes his head and moves to the opposite side of the hot tub, the side closest to you.

   “You’re such a tease, ya know that?”

   “Mhm,” you hum out innocently. 

   “You’re treading on mighty thin ice, darlin’.” He lifts a brow as he knits his thick eyebrows together, giving you that “You’re in trouble” look that you know will have you bent over his lap. 

   “Yeah? You wanna see me walk across the ice?” you smirk, your index finger lowering one of the bikini straps as you slide it down your arm playfully. 

   “Since you wanna be such a fuckin’ tease in that little bikini, why don’t you come get in the water? Let me show you just what happens to girls who wanna be a tease,” he smirks, his eyes growing dark as one eyebrow cocks up and his thick fingers curl over the edge, just a foot from where you stand. 

   You take a few steps forward, your toes padding across the wooden deck as you step in front of him, placing your hand down on the edge of the hot tub as your skin connects with his pinky finger. Warm, damp skin collides with yours. 

   “And what is it you’re gonna show me, hmm? Gonna teach me a lesson?” you smirk, your eyes growing wide as his calloused fingers curl around your wrist and pull you forward to where his lips are lined up with the shell of your ear. You gulp as his hot breath blows in your ear, feeling the warmth flow down to your stomach as it twists in tight knots. 

   “Oh, I’m gonna teach ya a lesson alright. I’m gonna bend ya over this hot tub and fuck you nice and slow until you’re beggin’ me for more,” he growls as he licks a thick stripe up your neck, his warm tongue making you dizzy as your bottoms fill with slick. 

   “Yeah?” you ask breathlessly, your voice clouding with need. 

   “Oh yeah. Gonna have my cock buried deep in that pretty pussy, baby. Gonna be so covered in your slick as I slide it in and out of ya.” He traces his index finger over your navy blue waistband as he teasingly dips a finger across the soft skin just below your waistline as you choke on a muted moan. 

   “What else are you gonna do to me, daddy?” You slur the name out as you bite your lower lip as he continues the teasing of his finger against your sensitive skin. 

   “Daddy’s gonna take these thick fingers and work them nice and slow over that gorgeous clit,” he smirks as he slides a finger inside your bikini bottoms, catching the edge of your puffy clit with his calloused thumb as you moan out his name. “Gonna make you come so many times, darlin’. Gonna fingerfuck you so hard that you-”

   Joel snaps his hand back and shoots across the hot tub as you hear the sliding door open, hearing your dad cross the deck as your heart races a million miles in your chest as you cling to the edge of the hot tub and try to calm your increasing heart rate. 

   That was close. Too close. 

   “Now the party can begin,” your dad chuckles as he twists open a beer bottle and takes a large gulp from the flute of the beer. You roll your eyes and climb in the hot tub, making sure to sit on the opposite side of Joel as your foot catches with his. 

   You look up hurriedly and see the wrecked look on his face, watching his pupils try to fight him as they flutter back and forth. Pulsing between calm and completely turned on. This was going to be a long night.

   You gently slide in the hot water and rest your back against one of the jetted walls, sighing deeply as you try to calm yourself down.

   “Move over, bud. Let me squeeze in right here,” your dad grunts as he climbs over the side of the hot tub and slides in, making the water splash over your breasts as the bubbles simmer over the top of the water. 

   Joel slides over to the middle of the hot tub, his knee grazing against yours as you flinch as the heat of his skin. You’re still turned on, you need to calm the hell down. Now is not the time. 

   “Claire doing okay?” Joel asks as he grabs his glass and takes a sip of the alcohol, the whiskey scent burning your nostrils as you smell traces of Joel in the whiskey. It’s intoxicating, making you want to grab the glass and trace the rim with your tongue. You know it tastes exactly like him. 

   “She just took a sleeping pill and went to bed, she’s out like a light,” he says as he takes another gulp of Corona Light, the condensation dripping down the bottle as he holds it in his heavy hand. 

   “Mom always gets bad migraines in the mountains, think she’s allergic to the outdoors,” you laugh as you look out at the midnight sky, the thick fog covering the clear coat of water across the dreamy lake. It’s so beautiful out here. 

   “Think you might be right,” your dad chuckles deeply as he chugs down another large gulp, “you were always the outdoorsy one in the family. Always dragging us to the beach or the lake or the mountains. Never one to stay inside for too long. Ain’t that right, Joel?”

   Joel looks over at you, his honey eyes sliding down your face as a small smile curls at the edges of his dark mustache. “Think you’re right, George. She’s a little adventurer.” You smile up at him, averting your eyes after a few seconds so your dad doesn’t notice how lovesick you really are over him.

   You feel his fingers brush up your calf, slowly inching up up up until he’s sliding his fingers back and forth over the back of your thigh, making your heart hammer in your chest as you feel the tingling sensations it brings to your center. Hot sensations and flooding warmth begin in your core. You’re burning for him. 

   “If only you knew her like I did, Joel. You don’t even know the half of it,” he laughs as he chugs the rest of his empty beer, popping off the tab on another as he starts to drown in that one, too. 

   You suppress a giggle as you look up at Joel from the corner of your eye, the two of you sharing a secret conversation as Joel winks at you with the glisten of his brown eyes. Your dad was the one that didn’t know the half of it. Joel knew you better than anyone else did, he knew you like the back of his own hand. He always paid attention to every little detail about you. He was the one who knew you, not your dad. 

   “So, how ‘bout them Cowboys this weekend? Can’t believe number nine got benched from the game,” your dad tsks as he brings the flute of the bottle back to his chapped lips. 

   “I mean, he didn’t listen to the coach. Can’t really blame him for benchin’ him,” Joel replies as his fingers trail higher, teasing the inside of your thighs as he grazes his nail beds smoothly over your sensitive skin. Suddenly, the hot tub is too hot, the water feeling like it’s boiling your skin alive as Joel’s touch lights your body on fire. 

   As your dad and Joel continue to talk about sports, Joel gets braver as he trails his calloused fingers higher, teasing the waistband of your bikini bottoms again as your eyes go as wide as an owl’s. You try to push his hand away, but he grabs your wrist with a strong grip and pins it behind him as he smirks at you from the corner of his burning eyes. 

   “Ya know, if they’d just listen and learn to take it then maybe they wouldn’t get benched,” Joel hisses with a rough edge to his voice, the words carved just for you as he pushes the material to the side and starts to work his thick fingers up and down your folds slowly, catching the heel of his palm on your clit as you latch on for dear life to his wrist. 

   You lean your head back on the sturdy edge of the hot tub as you bite your tongue and dig your fingers into his wrist as he works and works at your clit, feeling his thumb sink down firmly as he leaves tight circles that penetrate down to your core. 

   You close your eyes, letting the blowing bubbles of the jetted hot tub cover you as Joel’s hand is completely hidden from your dad’s view. No way for him to know his best friend is playing a dangerous game with his daughter, one that’ll only end in cries of pleasure. 

   Joel’s snide remarks are biting at your flesh, but it feels so fucking good that you just want him pulverize your insides with his experienced fingers. You want him to take what’s his, want him to bend you over and punish you for teasing him with your swimsuit, want him to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to stand straight for hours after, want him to take and take and take until he’s all you can feel inside you. 

   You hear your dad and Joel’s laughter carrying through the chill of the crisp air, but you’re in a far away place as you let your mind turn to mush. 

   You stare up into the bright, starry night sky and focus in on one particularly bright star as you squeeze your thighs around Joel’s fingers as they circle meticulously around your throbbing bundle of nerves. You start to close your eyes, start to unwind until you hear your dad clearing his alcohol filled throat on the opposite side of the hot tub. 

   “And why are you so quiet over there? Don’t have anything to pitch about the game?” your dad asks as he clicks his uneven nails on the edge of the beer bottle as he looks you dead in the eyes, just like he can see what’s really going on under the water. 

   You lift your head and gulp before speaking. “I didn’t really… I…” Your voice cracks as Joel slips a finger inside you, curling it at just the right angle as it reaches that soft spongy spot that always makes you drenched in slick. 

   Your eyes go wide as your nails dig into the skin of his forearm, squeezing so tight as you fight to stay composed. “I didn’t really… oh - watch the game, dad,” you babble out as you clench up around his thick finger while his thumb continues to circle your tingling clit. 

   “That’s too bad, kid. Gotta straighten this one out, Joel,” your dad tsks as he takes another swig of beer. 

   Joel smirks over at you with one eyebrow raised and his pupils expand into black pits. “Oh, I intend to.” The sentence makes your eyes blow wide. 

   You dig your nails into your thigh, so close to spilling yourself all over his calloused fingers until he’s pulling them away from you and leaving you with an ache that’s begging to be soothed. You reach for his wrist, but he pulls away and winks your way. He mouths “Later” to you, and you groan at the loss of his thick fingers. You were right on the edge, but he knew that. It was clearly payback for teasing him so much earlier.

   You rest the back of your neck against the side of the hot tub, trying your best not to get all worked up again. You might as well finish the job yourself, but not when your dad is right across from you. 

   Your dad downs the last drop of his beer and sighs, pulling himself up to a standing position. “Well, I think I’m gonna call it a night. Think I had a little too much to drink. Gonna go shower and fall into bed,” he says with a big yawn, stumbling out of the hot tub and throwing a lime green towel across his body. 

   “Night, George,” Joel calls as he tips his head to him. 

   “You two don’t stay up too late, got a big day tomorrow,” your dad laughs as he slides the glass door wide open. 

   “Dad, I’m not a child,” you groan, rolling your eyes at his response. 

   Your dad laughs and leaves you with a “Have fun but not too much fun” statement before he slides the door closed and leaves the two of you alone. 

   “Oh, we will,” Joel smirks your way as he takes another sip of his amber whiskey. 

   You roll your eyes at him and push him in the shoulder. “Thanks for almost making me come, real smooth,” you tease as you flick some water into his face. 

   “Jus’ gettin’ you worked up, baby. Wanted you nice and wet for me,” he says with his jaw ticked up, dark eyes smoldering in your direction. 

   You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Well, you had your chance, cowboy, and you didn’t finish. Maybe next time.” You move to the edge and stick your tongue out at him, adjusting your swimsuit bottoms to fully show off your ass as you turn to get out of the tub.

   Before you can step out, Joel grabs the back of your neck and spins you back around, dragging you down to where you’re pinned against his broad chest, sitting in his lap with your legs straddling his. “Where do you think you’re goin’, baby? I’m not done with you yet,” he smirks. 

   “Oh, you’re not?” You ask breathlessly, your heart hammering against your chest as you feel his cock hardening beneath his swim trunks. 

   “Nah. Jus’ gettin’ started, sweetheart.”

   He adjusts you to where you’re straddling one of his muscular thighs, your pussy still throbbing from the way he was working you up so good a couple minutes ago.  

   You almost ask what he’s doing until he nods down at you. “Well, go on now. Finish it,” he smirks. “Ride it out, cowgirl. Go on. On my thigh,” he chuckles as he undoes your swimsuit bottoms and discards them on the edge of the hot tub.

   You freeze, your mouth agape as you stare wide-eyed at him. “You want me to…”

   “Mhm. Go on, baby. Ride me. Wanna hear your pretty little moans when you come on my thigh, and that’s what you’re gonna do. Ain’t that right, baby girl?” He coos, eyes alight with fire while he sits back with his arms draped over the sides of the tub, waiting for you to put on a show.

   “Alright, brown eyes. Better saddle up, then. Might take you for the ride of your life,” you wink. “Oh and…” You open your mouth to say something else, but Joel yanks your hips down until your pussy is flush with his thigh, and then your hips start to grind down on him, making your clit drag against his large muscles.

   “Oh, fuck,” you moan, snagging your puffy clit again and again on his thigh as your hips start to move on their own.

   “There ya go, darlin’. Look so fuckin’ pretty ridin’ my thigh,” he growls, doing everything in his power to let you be in control. He wants to curl two fingers up inside you, rub your pretty little clit till you scream his name, make you see stars as you moan into the shell of his ear, till you can’t think straight, till you can only speak his name. He’s so possessive over you, wants to always be the one to make you come, but this time he’ll watch. This time he’ll just talk you through it.

   You groan as you ride him, your hands clinging around his wide shoulders as you scratch your nails into his tanned skin, bubbles blowing against the top of the water as you work up and down his large leg, moan nonsense under your breath as you start to lose control of the blissful high of your quickly building orgasm.

   Your brows pinch together into a tight line, your mouth drops open as you moan his name over and over and over while your pussy throbs against the coarse hairs on his leg. Your head tilts back as you close your eyes and start to leg go as the building pressure almost explodes.

   He watches you with dark, glossy eyes, a devilish smirk sitting on the edge of his mouth, slowly licking his bottom lip as he stares with smoldering eyes at his most favorite girl. He wants to devour your pretty pussy whole, but for now he’ll just enjoy you getting off on his thigh.

   “There ya go. Attagirl. Look at you go, baby girl. Absolutely gorgeous,” he breathes, his lips just waiting to taste your sticky cum, his most favorite dessert. 

   You snap your head up, open your eyes and then moan again as your bundle of nerves catches the edge of his thigh. “Joel, I’m gonna. Fuck - gonna come,” you groan, feeling the white hot feeling start to slide down the middle of your spine.

   “Go on then, beautiful. Come for me. Wanna see it,” he smiles, fingers curling over the edge until one hand sits waiting under water, ready to catch some of your cum.

   One more long drag of your clit on his thigh and you’re coming hard, falling against his chest and moaning into the shell of his ear as he holds you up and swipes two fingers against your throbbing pussy.

   He talks you through it, telling you just how good of a girl you are until you’ve come down from your high. Then you watch him take those same two fingers and pop them inside his own mouth, groaning against the taste of you inside his throat. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet, baby. Always do,” he moans.

   Your forehead drops on the sweat of his chest, palms pressed firmly against his rippling muscles as you catch your breath, letting the warm water soothe your aching legs.

   He cups your chin and smirks down at you as a gleam in his eye twinkles with mischief. He isn’t done with you. No. He’s never done with you. “Already tired, sweetheart?” he tsks, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You know I ain’t done with you yet, baby. Not even close,” he says with clenched teeth.

   He quickly spins you around, grabbing your hips and pinning you up against the side of the hot tub. You have to grab onto the edge to keep from tipping forward, but then you feel a quick slap to your ass and then hear his swim trunks being pulled down.

   “Joel,” you warn, barely above a whisper, afraid your dad will come back out and find his best friend thrusted deep inside you. Your palms start to sweat, both from being hot from the water, the tension that longs in your spine, and the direct bolt of electricity that runs through your body knowing exactly what he’s about to do to you.

   He tugs your hair back until his plush lips are seared against the shell of your ear, his hot breath breathing down your neck. “Your daddy ain’t comin’ back out tonight, sweetheart. So don’t you worry your pretty little head, baby. Jus’ sit there, legs spread,” he demands as he places his knee between your legs and spreads them till his hand is running over your throbbing clit that makes a groan fall from your lips. 

   “You’re gonna take it, darlin’. Ain’t ya?” He pulls your hair again as his lips clamp down on your neck, making you rut your ass into his palm that sits in the water until you stifle a please from your lips. 

   “Joel,” you whine, letting him toy with your hardening nipples as one hand slips beneath your bikini top, practically begging him to take you. 

   “Yeah? You gonna ask nicely, baby? Gonna say please?” He teases, dragging your hips back so you feel how hard he is against your back.

   “Pretty please,” you beg as you feel him stroke his tip against your wet folds.

   “Since you asked so nicely, guess you deserve it,” he chuckles, lifting your ass partly out of the water so he has the perfect lineup and view. 

   “Look at you,” he purrs, admiring the perfect shape of your ass and your glistening pussy. “So fuckin’ pretty, goddamn,” he groans as he slips two fingers inside your pretty hole.

   “Ohhh,” you groan, feeling the stretch of his fingers curl up and down as the slick coats his thick fingers. 

   “Yeah? Want me to stuff you full with my cock, baby?” he asks with clenched teeth as you hear how absolutely wet and messy your pussy is.

   “Yes - yes,” you pant, reaching a hand back to run through his wet curls. 

   “Hold on tight then, darlin’. Gonna take you for a ride,” he chuckles as he pulls his fingers from your core, leaving you a panting mess till he pulls your hips flush to his and slowly thrusts in, stretching you to the max as he starts to ease in nice and slow.

   You wrap your hands around the edge of the hot tub, hear the water splash each time he fucks deep inside you, eliciting moans from your lips each time his tip kisses your cervix, feeling your walls clench down around him as he works you faster and harder.

   He pulls you flush against his broad chest, continuing to fuck up fast and hard into your tight pussy as he stifles moan after moan from your lips. You feel the heat start to take hold of you, feel your walls clench tighter as he takes you to the edge, feeling his balls slap hard against your ass as he takes everything from you.

   “Such a good fuckin’ girl, yeah. Takin’ this cock so good, squeezin’ me so tight, fuck,” he growls as he places his hand around your throat and turns your lips to his.

   “Joel, gonna… fuck,” you squeak as he thrusts deeper inside you, feeling how thick his cock works you over, right as you start feeling yourself falling over the edge of an orgasm.

   “Go ahead. Soak my cock, go on,” he instructs as he starts to slowly circle your clit, tipping you over the edge as you open your mouth and start to spill your slick all over his fat cock.

   He captures your mouth with his, swallowing your moans with his own as he licks feverishly into your mouth. You taste the whiskey that drips against your tongue, smell his usual intoxicating pine scent of his skin, feel his large hands settle onto the edge of your hips.

   When you come down from your orgasm, he breaks his lips from yours and settles your chest against the edge of the hot tub, his large hands holding you in place as he thrusts deep inside you, speeding up his actions, his hips snapping against yours as he takes you on the ride of your life.

   You hear the slapping of skin on skin, hear his stifled grunts, feel how absolutely wrecked he is as he thrusts in and out of you with repetitive motions. And it feels so good, you love when he fucks you nice and deep, love hearing him completely fall apart when he’s inside your core. You love everything about it, about him.

   He leans over and rests his soft scruff against your jawline, and you feel as he starts to break inside you. His eyebrows pinch together, his fingers scorch your skin, and he gives you one more deep thrust until he’s moaning your name and spilling his seed all inside you. 

   He takes his time pulling out, and then he collapses into the water and pulls you down on his hips after he tucks his softening cock back into his swim trunks. He kisses your forehead softly and pulls you into his strong chest, his calloused fingers running down your arms as he soothes you from your intense workout in the hot tub.

   You sit there just breathing the same air, watching the shiny stars paint the night sky bright, falling deeper into his touch as he leaves more gentle kisses against your skin.

   “Did so good for me, baby. Always do so good,” he coos into the shell of your ear, leaving you breathless as usual from his soft words.

   “You always make me feel so good, Joel. I’ll never get tired of this, never get tired of you,” you whisper against the scruff of his jawline.

   “Mmm. Never get tired of you either, my gorgeous girl,” he whispers as he leaves another kiss against your cheek.

   You close your eyes for just a second, enjoying this alone time with Joel, pretending it’s just you and him on vacation. You could get used to this, used to him taking you away on mini vacations. And you want that, want him, forever.

   It’s quiet for another minute, only the brush of his rough hands lapping against the top of the water with each stroke to your skin. “You decide on an apartment yet, sweetheart?”

   “No, not yet,” you sigh, slowly turning in his arms until you can see his large chocolate eyes looking down at you. 

   “You really liked that last one we looked at, didn’t you? The one with the balcony overlookin’ the pool.”

   “Mmm, yeah. That one was nice, but…”

   “But what?”

   You huff and mumble out, “But, it’s not your bed.”

   He chuckles and pulls you closer into his broad chest. “Baby, my bed is as much yours as it is mine. You’re welcome over anytime you like. Door’s always open.”

   You smile up at him and nod. “Yeah, guess you’re right.” 

   What do you expect? That you can just move into Joel’s apartment unannounced, that you can skip over apartment shopping and all the applications you’ve already put in? Not likely, not when your dad doesn’t know the two of you have been sneaking around behind his back. He’d have Joel’s neck in a second.

   “Speakin’ of beds. You think your dad’s asleep yet?”

   “With as many beers as he had tonight, he’s out like a light and probably snoring as loud as a bear,” you giggle out.

   “In that case, why don’t you sleep in my bed tonight? Could take a long, hot shower, help ya wash your hair, give you one of my flannels to wear, snuggle up with my favorite girl under the warm blankets while I shower you with kisses.” He scoops you up and starts kissing you all over your face, making you giggle while you move around in his lap.

   “Joel, that tickles,” you laugh, but he doesn’t even begin to stop there. “Joelllll,” you whine as he leaves one long, soft kiss on your lips.

   “Gotcha,” he chuckles, giving you one last kiss until he pulls you up out of the hot tub with him. 

   “Alright now, let’s get you inside before you freeze in that little bikini.” He helps you back into your bikini bottoms and wraps a warm towel around your body, leading you into the house with one arm wrapped tightly around your hip.

   You stop him at the glass, giving him a long kiss as his plush lips mold to yours. He picks you up and cradles you against his chest, making you squeak as he slides the door open and takes you to his room. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get you in the shower.”

   It doesn’t take long to get all washed off and dried off as you slip into his dark green flannel shirt and crawl into his bed, letting him mold you to his chest as he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck. “Sweet dreams, baby. I love you,” he whispers as he shuts the lights off, letting the crackle of the fireplace fill the room as you slip off to sleep.

   “Night, Joel. Love you,” you purr as you fall asleep in his warm arms.

[fairy-verse]

Ill-tempered and bitingly cold is what winter is often seen as, with blinding snowfalls and wicked winds that cut into your skin, yet there is also an eerie silence that accompanies the thick blanket of snow that covers the island itself. If you stand still near the winter fairies mountains, then you will hear nothing, for the mountains themselves shield the winter fairies from prying eyes, but shall you somehow find your way to go all the way west on the Firstborn Meadow, then an eerie song will echo in the distance. The sounds are sometimes deep, and sometimes loud and sharp; and always so jarring and cold. The waters on the lakes are freezing solid, and it is the only way the Firstborn fairy of winter can let his own voice trail and form into uncanny songs far too strange for any Big Folk to understand.

Error holds nothing secret during his winter. It is the time of year when you’ll see and know him as ancient and ethereal, and the sounds of his songs will not falter… until the winds of spring are near.

You’ve succeeded in portraying the otherworldly nature of this darling fairy of winter, @aoi-kanna. Error is definitely the strangest looking of the Firstborn fairies, and though they all are so incredibly different and mystical to even other fairies around them, Error certainly has always possessed that special unique appearance; beautiful and terrifying, just like his beloved winter. Wonderful work!

Error by loverofpiggies

Fairyverse Error design by Lunnar-Chan

[cera-writes]

Can you write a gambit fic please. Like I need it to be the most heartbreaking angst you can think of that leads to the most tender of sex scenes please? Like kiss hugs tears tender sex???? Please 😊😗 thank you ❤️❤️❤️❤️

"Come back to me."

pairing: Reader x Remy LeBeau "Gambit" tags: nsfw, angst, tender sex, kissing, sweet aftercare Prompt: Reader feels dejected and heartbroken after Gambit gets sent on mission that could very well end up killing him. Reader begs him not to go, but Remy knows he has to. Reader runs off to get some space but Remy ends up going after them, leading up to some serious confessions and sweet make up sex.

Thank you @littlekidsteve for requesting this! This one's for you!

"Wait! Mon ami, please!" Remy was reaching for you but you had ran passed him, dashing out into the pouring wet rain.

"How could you think this wouldn't hurt me?" You cried, letting the rain mix with the tears streaming down your face. You took one last look at the man that you loved endlessly, unrelentlessly even, before wiping furiously at the tears pouring down your cheeks. This had hurt you. It made your chest ache with sorrow and anger. You were pissed with him.

You felt as if your world had come crashing down. The rain couldn't have been more morose, mixing with your own tears, drowning you in sadness. A flash of lightning sparked in the distance, causing a deep roar of thunder, colliding with the heavy footsteps you left trailing far behind you.

You didn't care where your feet took you, only that you needed space and you needed to get far, far away. Xavier's Institute was becoming farther and farther from view the more you ran. You felt like your throat was constricting. It was as if you couldn't breathe. The very air in your lungs felt heavier with each breath and sob that escaped your lips as you left Remy standing alone in the courtyard of the mansion.

Of course you knew he'd have to be put in situations like this, but you were just a human with no special powers. He wasn't. But dammit if you didn't love him any less. That's what made this so unbelievably more painful. You never cared about the whispers or stares on the streets from ignorant people who disapproved of humans getting involved with mutants. Remy was your person. But this felt like an act of betrayal on his part.

You could make out the scenery before you just a bit through hazy eyes. The lake lay just before you in the clearing, rain droplets pattering down violently on the water's surface. Any other day, you and Remy would've come out here to get some alone time with each other but today wasn't just any other day.

You dropped to your knees on one of the huge rocks overlooking the lake. You proceeded to let out every emotion you'd bottled up into your hands and knees as you swayed back and forth, sheets of water encasing your clothes and soaking you to the bone. You were a mess of a human being right now, feeling as if the world was crashing down on you and in a way it was.

You let out an ear piercing scream over the lake, echoing through the onslaught of pouring precipitation. In the midst of your breakdown, you almost didn't hear the sound of footsteps violently rushing towards you against the wet ground in your direction.

You didn't have time to react before a pair of warm arms had engulfed you, pulling you into that familiar scent you'd come to know and love. You knew it as the scent of comfort that could only be Remy's.

"Dammit chere! Don't run off like that ever again!" Remy pleaded half angily, pressing so tightly against you that you could hear the erratic beating of his heart.

"I ran like hell to get to you," he uttered tearfully. "I-I can't leave things like this with you, mi amor."

You pushed him away, scornfully gazing into his eyes. "But you are! You're leaving first thing in the morning for some stupid mission that I may never see you return from again!"

He looked away, bitterly cursing himself for making you feel like this.

"You know Gambit ain't got no choice, chere. Have a little more faith in me, s'il te plaît..." he begged, desperately trying to get you to see reason.

"Remy, you don't know what it's like! I can't go with you on these fucking missions! I can't protect you. I'm powerless! I'm useless and I can't do a damn thing about it!"

Your eyes were red and swollen from crying so much. This wasn't just any mission. This wasn't some 'stop a burglar from stealing a purse' or 'rescuing some lady's cat from a tree' kind of mission they were going on.

No.

Gambit and the rest of the X-men were being sent to take down an army of sentinels from barging into the city and killing every mutant in sight. This had been planned for weeks ever since Cyclops caught wind of it happening. You knew what those giant robots were capable of and it terrified you.

"But what if you don't come back? what if the only way I have of finding out that you died would be on the news, Remy?! I just can't live with that! I can't!" you shook, sobbing as your face fell downcast, burying your hands in your face again. You hated crying in front of him, although this was probably the first time he'd ever witnessed you having a panic attack like this.

"Gambit won't go down without a fight, darlin'. They could cut me, bruise me, or even skin me alive but they'll never take you from me. You'll always have a spot right here mon ami." He gently took your hand in his and placed it over his own pounding heart.

"You are what keeps this ol' heart o' mine beatin'. I promise for as long as I breathe chere, I'll live for you, breathe for you. You can bet on that," he caressed your cheek with his other hand, moving some of your hair that had matted to your face. His words were honest, truthful. There was not a single hint of a doubt to his sincerity in those words.

You placed a hand over his, more tears blending in with the rain that kept steadily falling against your skin.

"You are beautiful, mon ange..." his lips found yours, kissing you with such carefulness and tenderness that you didn't know just how badly you craved with such ferocity in that moment.

You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. The rain had caused the rock to be slippery, sending Remy down on top of you but it never broke the kiss between you both.

You whimpered into the kiss, not wanting to him part from you because if he did it felt as if you'd lose him forever and right now you just couldn't handle that revelation. No, not yet.

His hands caressed the damp skin under your wet white tee shirt. He pressed his fingertips hard against your flesh, surely leaving indentations but you didn't mind. He needed to feel you and make you feel alright and safe in that moment with him.

His lips trailed to your jaw, then the soft skin of your neck, before trailing sweet kisses against your heated skin. His stubble tickled your skin pleasantly as you bit gently down on your bottom lip, letting your eyes close and revelling in this moment with him. Oh gods, how were you going to send him off tomorrow?

Your arms were still bound tightly around his neck, hands kneading into his long wet hair and tugging gently, eliciting a small moan of pleasure from Remy. You knew he loved the feeling of your hands on him.

He stopped kissing you only for a moment to look you directly into your eyes. He needed you to hear these words.

"Let me have you right here, chere. I don't care that it's rainin' cats and dogs on us. I want to feel you and I know you want the same."

He didn't have to say another word before you pulled him into you again, bringing your lips to his in affirmation. You were both panting by the time you pulled away. He sat you both up for a moment, allowing himself to pull that sorry excuse of a shirt over your head in such neediness. You nipples had already been peeking through your soaked shirt, showing through the thin white cotton.

This did something to him in a feral way, but he knew he needed to hold back for your sake or he'd never be able to leave.

He hadn't been wearing a shirt when he'd found you. You were both clad in only your shorts now and Remy had the urge to pull yours off immediately.

He started leaving hot kisses up your thighs as lips dragged up your wet skin, taking his time with you. You moaned, needing him like never before.

"Mind if I take these off?" Remy looked up with a half lidded gaze.

You shook your head, urging him on. You lay bare beneath him, letting him massage your breasts, softly and tenderly as he kissed you like his life depended on it. You hadn't even noticed that he'd discarded the rest of his clothes while he was letting your tongues caress each other, just allowing the two of you to feel each other.

The rain was coming down much heavier now. Somehow, that only made the two of you cling closer to another.

"May I?" he asked permission huskily in your ear.

"Please," you shuddered.

He entered you slowly, easily. You let a soft moan escape your mouth before he muffled it with another precious kiss.

"Even hell couldn't keep me from coming back to you, mon ami. You're my everythin'." He whispered sweetly between thrusts. This wasn't hardcore sex where he'd usually have you screaming his name for the entire school to hear. He wanted this to last. He needed it to last for both your sakes.

"I need you to know somethin' chere."

He moaned, feeling your walls clenching around him as you enclosed your legs around his waist. You found yourself drowning in him now. Instead of drowning in your sorrows, you were drowning in his love for you. That real, sincere love that only movies were made of. You'd be damned if anything ever took this man away from you.

"I love you," you both said in unison. He laughed in disbelief before grinning into another sweet graze of your lips against his.

You could swear you saw his eyes brimming with tears as he made love to you. His thrusts picked up pace just a bit as your mouths were still lovingly attached. He was getting close and he could tell you were too just with how your body was reacting to his.

His eyebrows furrowed, panting as he felt intense pleasure closing in on him. You always felt amazing but for some reason you felt especially good around him right now. It was probably the onslaught of emotions that came pouring out of both of you moments before, but it made the situation ever so much sweeter.

"Come back to me Remy," you pleaded, eyes locked on his as he opened his eyes to lock with yours. You searched his eyes and he gave you nothing but the utmost sincerity back in them. Those beautiful unusual eyes of his were all it took to have you coming undone.

He was getting close by the way his hand gripped your waist, thrusting one last time as own sexual relief flooded through him.

Your legs squeezed even tighter around him, feeling him release intensely inside of you with a low groan.

The rain had started to let up until finally ceasing altogether as the two of you sat side by side by the lake.

"Care for a swim cherie?"

Remy held out a hand, leading you into the lake, the full moon just rising above the horizon encasing the hot evening in glittering stars. Not bothering to get dressed, you figured a skinny dip couldn't hurt seeing as the both of you wanted as much time together as possible.

"No amount of stars in the sky could measure up to your beauty," he held you from behind as moonlight cast a glow over the both of you.

You couldn't help but smile back at him before wrapping your arms over his as you kissed him passionately.

"I meant what I said. I love you Remy LeBeau."

"And I you, mon ami. I promise I'll come back to you. That's a promise and Gambit always makes good on his promises."