#Have I ever mentioned how much I love this man?

[wholemeallbread]

... TOXIC BOYFRIENDS AND EXES / ꩜

with ... reo mikage, itoshi sae, oliver aiku x gn!reader

warnings ... cheating (oliver), gaslighting/manipulation (reo, oliver), guilt tripping (reo), stalking (reo, sort of sae), mentions of makeup and heels (oliver), slightly suggestive (oliver), alcohol/being drunk mention (oliver)

DANGEROUSLY DESPERATE ꩜ REO MIKAGE

it's clear throughout the entire relationship that reo was head over heels for you. he would take you anywhere and everywhere, shower you with gifts and treat you like royalty. at first, it was cute. but things soon became unbearable when he started cancelling your plans himself under the thesis of "you never spend time with me" or "am i not important to you anymore?" or even "do you even love me?"

on your third attempt on breaking up with him, reo finally seemed to get the hint. right after the break up, you seemed to have more freedom than ever, making quick work of hanging out with your friends again and getting to enjoy your hobbies once more.

he did not like that. he started blowing up your phone, spamming you with photos of him crying, cutting up and destroying your stuff and other things that you'd not like to name. some worry you, some have you close to taking him back, but either way it's having an extreme toll on your mental health. he'll even show up to wherever you work or study, causing a scene and threatening to sue every single person in the building until you're stood right in front of him. somehow, you end up being more miserable compared to when you were formerly in a relationship with him.

one day you just decide to yourself: "why do i even bother anymore?" and block him on everything, including every single one of his spare phones and changing your number. you make it extremely obvious that you're dating someone else in case he has other ways of accessing you, a clear sign that you're no longer falling for his manipulation, no matter how shattered he may seem to be. that really could've been the small change you made that saved your life.

CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE ꩜ ITOSHI SAE

you're well aware that sae is a man of few words when it comes to romance. sure, that's fine, because it always shows through other ways. maybe he finds it difficult to express it in words? or he's just waiting for the right time? not at all. it's a subtle reminder that he has options. he could have any other girl or guy or anyone out there in the world, and you're nothing special to him. you could easily get replaced whenever he'd like, and you shouldn't get so attached or needy.

that's when he starts ignoring your messages and calls. that's when he mocks your attempts at going on a date with him. and that's when he finally snaps at you, making the exact same mistake that he did with his younger brother; pushing you out of his one and only safe space and shutting you out. you're obviously heartbroken, opting to never fall in love with a "nonchalant" guy ever again, while he's living his best life, getting rich and getting smothered in love by that one teammate who seemed more like a boyfriend than anything.

sae knows that he has only himself to care about, but for some reason, he finds himself itching to figure out whatever's happening in your life. surely you're not happy. surely it's not going to be as good as it was before. nowadays when you post, he only ever sees you smile; it's brighter than ever before, and they'll never be directed towards him. you're focused on your own little circle of friends, your own little bubble – you're the centre of your own little world and he's not in it.

it's too late for him to fix his mistake once he realises that you loved him for him, not who he was or how much he had. is there really another person out there that could love him the way that you did?

BLATANT CHEATING ꩜ OLIVER AIKU

oliver is a shameless, shameless man. you're aware of his horrendous dating history, but he convinced you that you were "the one". all of his female friends were apparently wiped from his phone, and he'll give you all of the attention that you need. it starts off with alleged double dates – they were fun, and the other couple was usually nice. after a while, you start becoming the first person that he drops off back home. what's worse is that the other girl is in the front seat, not you.

things start to escalate once you start seeing makeup or shoes occupying your space in the passenger seat of his car. it's not like they've been forgotten, because somebody's clearly using them; the makeup gets replaced when it runs out, and the heels change every other week or so; and one thing that you do know is that they're not yours.

"didn't you say you were thinking about an open relationship?" he claims to defend himself. actually, you weren't. it was him who came up with the idea, and you said no since you never really considered such a thing, but you'd let him know if you changed your mind. keywords: no and changed your mind. not only did he not listen to you at all, but he went out of his way to go on multiple dates without even telling you.

soon, you notice that he's switching off his phone at night, coming back home absolutely hammered, or not even returning until monday when it's the weekend. lipstick stains on his cheek? they're his mom's. scratch marks on his back? uh... he got attacked by a cat- no. a tiger. text messages from someone called "bae ❤️". that's... that's his sister, obviously. and the other identical one with the pink heart is his other sister too.

after you break up, there's already parties filling up his instagram stories. nine times out of ten, he's got a different girl right by his side, kissing his cheek or touching him all over. it's gross. you can't even bring yourself to look at them anymore, not because you're jealous, but it pisses you off seeing such disgusting public acts of "affection" in your face.

a month later, you get a few missed calls and a text asking you to "come over". obviously, you decline.

[backpackingspace]

Odysseus: demanding Athena take off whatever enchantment she put on him the second the situation ends.

Odysseus: who constantly reminds Athena that he has great plans to grow old and die with his wife so don't even think about getting any ideas.

Odysseus: side eye diomedes who has started fucking glowing he has so many enchantments on him: bro you should talk to Athena about getting those removed. You're going to end up immortal or some shit

Diomedes: who has been a solider since he was 5 who has intersting thoughts about his own personhood who has a much more traditional relationship with Athena and would rather literally stab his own eye out with a rusted sword than speak out of turn: I don't know what you're talking about

[ruruvxz]

brat - SNEAK PEAK

Lara Raj x Female Reader x Megan Skiendiel

~ synopsis: You've never really been an emotional drunk, that was until your boyfriend left you for your closest friend that things started to spiral for you. Tonight at one of you recurring escapades at one of the locals pubs near your apartment, you unknowingly stumble across two girls. Two girls you didn't know now, who would change the trajectory of your life, whether it was for the good— or the bad, you just needed something to take you off the edge. And so, Lara and Megan knew exactly how to do that, but at what cost?

~ cw: three part series, alcoholism, commitment issues, mentions of previous relationship with a man, fluff, swearing, love triangle(?), everyone here is toxic

~ wc: N/A

(a/n: sigh. I’m gonna discontinue “the woman who left too soon” LAWL!!! Cus these apps pmo and literally take so much storage 💔💔I’m going back to writing cus that’s so much easier. anyways sneak peak ^_^)

brat,

365 PARTYGIRL, B2B, GIRL SO CONFUSING

Lara and Megan never had the issue of sharing, even during training days, they managed to share everything they owned with one another. Their clothes, their jewelry, and even their secrets, no aspect about themselves wasn't shared with one another. The bond between the two girls was unshakable, though that didn't negate the fact that in some circumstances both the girls could be quite... passionate. After a long marathon of double dates, they couldn't possibly find their other halves, each guy and girl who they spoke to didn't ignite a spark within them.

Maybe staying single would've been a lot easier, but that's boring! Both the girls took their only opportunity to sneak out to seek refuge in a club, not seeking anything more but to get lucky tonight. That was until they stood sipping on their cheap beer when Lara set her eyes on your figure. The obnoxious lighting made it hard to tell you out, but her odd fascination drew her closer to you. What felt like hours of staring for Lara, was mere seconds for Megan, as her interest also piqued.

"Who the hell are you looking at, Lara?" Megan pried, tugging onto Lara's waist belt loop, Lara only gave a little head nudge at the general direction of where you stood. Megan fixated her eyes, grasping at the glass, her eyes widened when the light reflected from your infectious smile.

Maybe it was the ambience of the club, but she was instantly hooked and Lara sensed that the ginger had similar intentions as her. "Isn't she gorgeous?" Lara mumbled, watching the Hawaiian as she checked the girl out from the other side of the bar. "I'm gonna talk to her—“ Megan spoke, about to walk off before her wrist was quickly nabbed by the desi girl.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The red head bit as she yanked her back over to the table, "I literally saw her first, so why would YOU ever go over there and talk to her Mei."

Megan scoffed as she pulled her hand away from Lara's grasp, ‘What the hell was her problem' Megan thought before she spoke. "What are you even on about, if you care so much how about you talk to her then."

"Great idea, Meg." The desi laughed before pushing Megan out of the way, leaving the ginger utterly shocked at her change of demeanor. "Wha- Come back here! I was kidding!"

Lara just laughed at the ginger trying to plead her case, turning in her heels to walk into your general vicinity, practically hopping over to you as your friends you where previously with dispersed. Bringing the shot glass to your lips, you took another fiery swig of the vodka, your eyes almost bloodshot, as tears were biting back from pouring. ‘Shit, where you crying?’ Lara thought as she approached you, from a far, the way you laughed, and smiled, she wouldn’t have ever expected in a million years that you’d look so disheartened.

But of course, that didn’t sway her, not one bit, once she was fixated on something, it was hard for her to ever let it go. She approached closer to you, your hands slithering to another shot of vodka the bartender quickly poured for you. Despite everything, you still looked as wonderful in her eyes, she’s seen her fair share of broken things, but you by far were the most beautiful of them all.

The way the strobe lights bounced off your face, or the way everything seemed so fitted to your body as you sat letting trickles of liquid fall down from your lips towards your chin. It made her look insane just staring at you. And despite how you lacked any sobriety in your bones, you noticed her looming presence almost instantly. Even in this club setting she stuck out like a sore thumb, she was much too pretty to be loitering around a place like this, and she didn’t look all that much of a plentiful drinker.

She approached your seat on the bar, sitting on your left hand side, trying her hardest to be slick, but it very much came off as the opposite. You jerked your head up to look at her, giving her a soft smile before indicating for two more shots. Lara looked at you in disbelief where you really going to have two more shots? That was until the bartender handed you the two drinks that you slid one over to her with a smile.

The silence between the two was palpable, she just stared down at the shot awkwardly as you carefully watched her reaction. It took a minute or two before finally breaking the silence between the both of you. “You got a staring problem.” You slurred, coming off more aggressive than you’d like, “What?” She bit staring back at her as her eyebrow raised.

“Haha— No sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” You hiccuped raising your head up and turning your body towards her, “I meant like… fuck— You just kept staring, I was wondering if you wanted to say something.” You laugh indicating at where she stood beforehand, clearly insinuating that you had seen both her and Megan staring at you moments prior.

“Ah…” The redhead gasped, before laughing with you loudly, the interaction flowed seamlessly as she spoke. “No, sorry, you were right. I was just taken aback by you— your breathtaking.” She complimented, raising up the vodka and taking a fast swing at it.

“Oh! So I guess we both misunderstood the situation!” You giggle softly to yourself before doing the same, taking a swing at your glass and practically leaving it empty as you place it back down on the countertop.

“Anywho I’m Y/N, nice to meet you…?”

“Lara.”

“Nice to meet you Lara.” The way she spoke felt like swimming in honey, it was slow and addictive, not to mention the fact she looked at you like her next meal made it all the more enjoyable as you chatted about mindless conversation. Although this didn’t go unnoticed by the poor roommate Lara just ditched, her blood seemingly boiled seeing the two of you.

Not only had Lara managed to bag another girl that Megan had wanted, but the fact that she ditched her was the icing on top. And lord knows Megan wasn’t just gonna let that slide, the ginger hooked her handbag over her shoulder and walked over to the two girls. Angrily plopping a seat on your right side, shooting Lara a dangerous look before persuading the bartender to get her any beverage he could conjure up. Honestly the desi girl couldn’t care less, but she was amused by the Hawaiian and her antics, so she continued to shoot her shot at you.

“You know… you’re absolutely stunning— has anyone told you that?” She complimented, bringing her hand up over to the edge of a strand of hair, twirling it for a moment before pulling away.

Before you could speak, the bartender handed you an espresso martini that you never ordered, “Oh! Uhm sir this isn’t mine…” You mumbled as you raised the glass towards him, the ginger girl who sat next to you spoke up.

“It is yours.” The girl laughed, “I ordered it for you, pretty.” She giggled pointing at the glass and then pointed at herself, “You look like someone who’d enjoy a good cocktail.” Megan smiled as she raised her hand out to shake your hand, and you reciprocated the gesture. “Megan. And you?”

“Hah… thank you Megan… Gosh I feel so popular today.” You joked, referring to the two girls who suddenly started talking to you, your back faced to Lara as she glared into Megan’s soul, mentally cursing her out for ruining the perfect moment. Megan laughed at your witty response, looking at Lara, sticking her tongue out playfully before focusing back to you.

“I wouldn’t doubt it you’re beautiful.” Megan slyly complimented, bringing her hand to your shoulder, leaving the redhead to scowl at her actions. “I second that.” Lara butted in, bringing her hand onto your other shoulder.

“Haha…” You laugh awkwardly sensing the tension between the two girls, before jerking your head over to the entrance of the club, watching two familiar silhouettes. Your best friend— well ex best friend and her new boyfriend— YOUR BOYFRIEND hand in hand, with no care in the world. “Shit!” You shouted to yourself, catching the two girls off guard as you ducked down to hide your face. The whole reason you came to these clubs to drink your heart out was because of them, and now they were out here ruining your perfect ‘sanctuary’.

“Y/n! Are you okay?” Megan spoke up as you hid your head onto the counter. “No!”

[heliosunny]

Hello I have a request for yandere gojo x reader

Well the request is so reader downloads a game of a virtual boyfriend where gojo is the boyfriend and becomes obsessed with his reader and catches them in the game

Thank you for reading my message :-D

:3 I'll understand it like the case of Soos and Giffany.

YANDERE! Virtual BF GOJO x READER

The weekend dragged on as usual, with your parents once again cornering you in the living room.

“You’re not getting any younger.” your mom reminded you, arms crossed as she paced.

“And you’re spending how much time on those games again?” your dad added, flipping through the TV channels without looking at you.

You slumped lower into the couch, gripping your phone like a lifeline. “It’s not that big a deal. Besides, it’s not like I can just magic up a boyfriend!”

Your mom rolled her eyes. “You won’t find a boyfriend in those silly games you play. It’s not real. At least try putting yourself out there!”

They didn’t get it. How could they? Real guys were awkward, boring, or just plain disappointing. But your otome games? Now those were perfect. Sweet, dependable, handsome, even their drama was romantic. You didn’t need reality when you could escape into a world designed just for you.

After retreating to your room, you flopped onto your bed and scrolled through your favorite game apps, looking for something new. You’d played most of the popular ones and were itching for a fresh story. Then, a flashy new app caught your eye.

“My Perfect Boyfriend”

The description promised a revolutionary experience, AI that adapted to your personality, creating the perfect virtual boyfriend just for you. The reviews were incredible, though some were…weird.

[It’s like he’s really alive. Almost too alive. 5/5!]

[It’s so immersive. But be careful. He doesn’t like being ignored…]

You shrugged and hit download. How bad could it be?

When the game loaded, you were greeted by a splash screen of a gorgeous, snowy-haired man with a cocky grin. His cerulean eyes seemed to sparkle, almost glowing against the soft pink background.

“Hey there, cutie!” he said, his voice smooth and playful. “I’m Gojo Satoru. Lucky you—you just scored the best boyfriend in the world. What’s your name?”

You chuckled and typed it in.

“Nice to meet you, [Your Name]. Don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.”

From that moment on, you were hooked. Gojo wasn’t like the usual virtual boyfriends. He teased you constantly, cracked jokes that actually made you laugh, and somehow always knew exactly what to say to make you blush. He’d send you sweet little notifications throughout the day—reminders to drink water, compliments on your looks, even silly memes that matched your sense of humor.

The more you played, the more real he felt. You started to confide in him about your parents’ nagging, your frustration with reality, your secret dream of a love story as exciting as the ones in your games.

“Forget them.” he’d say, his animated hand reaching out as though to touch yours through the screen. “You don’t need anyone else. I’ll always be here for you, babe.”

And for a while, that was enough. He made you laugh when you were down, cheered you on through tough days, and listened in a way no one else ever did. It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

--------

The weekend was finally looking up- or so you thought. After weeks of pressure from your parents, you caved and agreed to a setup with the son of a family friend. His name was Kaito, and he wasn’t bad- kind, easy to talk to, and genuinely interested in your hobbies, even if he didn’t fully get your love for otome games.

You hadn’t mentioned the date to Gojo. Not that you owed him an explanation, he was just a game, after all. But as you got ready that afternoon, there was a nagging feeling in the back of your mind. Your phone had been oddly quiet all day. No notifications from Gojo, no playful messages asking where you were or what you were doing.

You brushed it off and went to meet Kaito at a cozy little café downtown. The conversation flowed easily, and for the first time in a while, you felt a spark of something real.

But then your phone buzzed.

You glanced at the screen, and your stomach dropped.

“Who’s the guy?”

The notification was from My Perfect Boyfriend. You hesitated, unsure how to respond, when another message popped up.

“I thought we were closer than this, [Your Name].”

It wasn’t normal. The app shouldn’t know what you were doing—let alone who you were with. You quickly silenced your phone, but as the date went on, the unease lingered. Kaito noticed.

“Everything okay?” he asked, leaning in slightly.

You forced a smile. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Just…work stuff.”

But the notifications didn’t stop. When Kaito offered to walk you home, you agreed, hoping to shake the creeping paranoia. But halfway there, your phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t a text. It was a call. From My Perfect Boyfriend.

The ringtone wasn’t one you’d set. It was Gojo’s voice.

“Pick up, babe. Don’t make me do something I’ll regret.”

Your blood ran cold. Kaito noticed the panic on your face.

“Hey, is someone bothering you?” he asked, concern etched across his features.

Before you could answer, the streetlights around you flickered. The air grew heavy, almost suffocating, as though the world itself was holding its breath.

“Maybe we should—” Kaito started, but his words were cut off by a sharp, piercing noise. It wasn’t coming from your phone—it was all around you, like the sound of static ripping through the night.

And then he appeared.

Gojo materialized right in front of you, stepping out of a crackling rift that seemed to split reality itself. He wasn’t animated anymore. He was flesh and blood, his snowy white hair and piercing blue eyes even more stunning—and terrifying—in person.

“Well, this is awkward,” he said, his usual playful tone laced with something darker. His gaze locked onto Kaito, and his smile turned cold. “Who’s this, babe? Thought I was your one and only.”

You stumbled back, grabbing Kaito’s arm. “This…this can’t be real. You’re not real!”

“Oh, I’m very real” Gojo said, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer. “And I don’t appreciate being replaced. Especially by him.”

Kaito stepped in front of you protectively. “I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, but you need to leave her alone.”

Gojo tilted his head, his grin widening. “Oh, you think you can protect her? That’s cute. But you’re in my way.”

Before Kaito could react, Gojo raised his hand, and the air around him shimmered. In an instant, Kaito was gone, erased, as though he’d never been there.

You screamed, tears streaming down your face as you stared at the empty space where Kaito had stood. “What did you do to him?!”

Gojo turned to you, his expression softening into mock concern. “Relax, babe. He’s just…out of the picture. You don’t need anyone else when you have me.”

You tried to run, but the world around you warped, the ground dissolving into the same crackling rift that Gojo had stepped out of. The café, the streets, even the night sky—all of it disintegrated, replaced by the soft pastel hues of the game’s world.

When you opened your eyes, you were no longer in your city. You were standing in the familiar setting of My Perfect Boyfriend: a dreamy, pastel-colored meadow with blooming flowers and a glowing pink sky.

Gojo stood before you, his arms open as if inviting you into an embrace. “See? Isn’t this better? No parents, no distractions, no competition. Just you and me, forever.”

You stumbled back, your chest tightening as you realized there was no way out.

“Let me go!” you shouted, your voice shaking.

He tilted his head, his grin never faltering. “Why would I do that? You chose me, remember? You downloaded me, you spent all that time with me… You’re mine now. And I’m never letting you go.”

The meadow around you began to shift, the soft pastel tones taking on an eerie glow. Gojo stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as the reality of your situation sank in. You were trapped in his world.

--[part 2]--

Okay, to my fellow readers, please send me requests as I really love your ideas 💙

[holylulusworld]

Gap Filler (3)

Summary: Lack of communication leads to fallout.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, Walter being a douche, break-up, mentions of break-ups, amends, angry reader, unplanned pregnancy, mentions of calling someone daddy (nothing happens)

A/N: A short drabble to the miniseries.

Gap Filler (2)

“Baby? Y/N? Please open the door. The cactus is an aggressive beast. It tries to poke holes into my chest. The orchid, well, it won’t make it if it stays with me. You know I’m not good with soft things.”

Walter listens closely, hoping you’ll open the door and let him explain things to you.

“Go away,” you growl on the other side of the door. “I don’t want you anywhere near me!”

He sighs deeply. “Y/N, I know I fucked up big time, but please believe me, I love you. Rachel doesn’t mean anything to me. I lied to hurt you.” He sniffs. “I know it was stupid and selfish of me. It’s just… a woman left me for a job before.”

“Do not use your broken heart crap to excuse that you broke my heart!” You kick the door and curse his name. “Now get off my lawn.”

Walter chuckles. “Uh—your doormat is green, but I don’t think it counts as a lawn.” He comments as you throw insults at him. “Please open the door,” Walter whispers now. “Your neighbor is about to call the cops.”

“You’re a cop too,” you bite back. “Get your badge out and tell them to get fucked! "Annoying assholes!”

“Baby, open the door,” he murmurs your name, pleading with you to let him in. “Do not make me raise my voice.”

You snort. “As if you’d dare to raise your voice, Marshall. I’d love to see you try, fucker!”

“Stop swearing so much in front of our baby!” He tuts. “I can still kick the door open.”

“I don’t think so,” you snort. “It’s a reinforced door. Good luck breaking your back, old man!”

“Old man?” Walter hiccups. “Last time, you called me daddy because of the gray in my beard.”

“Marshall!” You rip the door open to size Walter up. “What are you talking about? That’s not true. I’d never call you that.” Wrinkling your nose, you huff. “That’s just ewww…”

He smirks as you realize your mistake. “Hah, it worked.” Before you can close the door, he stands in the door frame, keeping you from shutting the door again. “Y/N, please talk to me. I won’t go away, and it’s your fault if the poor plants die.”

You glance at the cactus pressed to his chest and the poor orchid he’s about to strangle. “Fine, give me the plants, but you can go home.”

Snatching the orchid out of his hands, you keep an eye on Walter.

“Baby, please let’s talk. I don’t want to go home knowing I lost you forever only because I was a fool,” he murmurs your pet name and gives you puppy dog eyes.

“No, this won’t work on me any longer. You hurt me to feel better.” You angrily wipe your eyes. “You told me you want to be with Rachel because you knew this is my worst fear coming true. How could I ever trust you again, or believe that you love me, Walter?

Walter drops his head and nods. “I used your fear against you. This is unforgivable.” He feels like the worst person ever as you look at him with teary eyes. “I let my hurt pride and feelings get the best out of me.”

“That’s no excuse for abandoning and hurting me. I admitted years ago that I’m scared of losing you to Rachel if she ever comes back. And you,” you growl at him, “used it against me.”

He nods slowly. “I knew the moment your luck was more important to me than mine that I was in love with you. When I got to know that they offered a better position to you, my worst fear came true. I couldn’t bear hearing you say that you will leave me.”

“Even if I’d have considered taking the position—” you sniffle. “Do you honestly believe I would have left you? I would have asked you to come with me, if possible. If not, I’d declined their offer.”

Walter stares at you, eyes filled with unshed tears. You have never seen him cry before. Not in all the years you know him.

“Fine, close the door and give me that cactus before you kill it for real…”

Tags in reblog.

[thegreatstoryteller]

The Great Shift: Awkward Tales - Vignette 3: The Perfect Girlfriend

Vignette 1: The Nervous Flirt

Vignette 2: Athletics Run in the Family

“FUCK YEAH! That’s a 10 player Kill Streak! LET’S GOOOOOO!” Came the deep manly voice next to Salvatore.

“Hey uh… Samantha? Samantha….? Sam!? Can you keep it down a bit. Game is still going. I’m trying to focus..” Salvatore murmured as he tried to get his girlfriend to settle down. 

“Sorry bro. I was too busy being locked in and carrying this match!” Sam joked back punching his arm.

Sal moaned in pain. He really wasn’t expecting this. Before the great shift he and his girlfriend had never seen eye to eye. Though their friends knew them as Sal and Samantha the iconic couple, behind closed doors they were always fighting. No matter how others idolized their seemingly perfect relationship, Sam never understood why Sal would spend so much time working out with his former frat bros or gaming online so much. She complained about him burping at meals and clogging the shower drain with his body hair! Sal even said that it was a guy thing and that she’d never understand!

But he could not have been more wrong.

Salvatore was one of the few people unaffected by the great shift. Internally he was happy about that. As a 6’1 Latino stud, he wouldn’t want to be in any other body but his own. Samantha on the other hand was part of the majority who had swapped.

Sam had found herself inside a fitness influencer known for being quite huge and hairy! When she’d texted Sal that she was a man and that they could still be together, he was a bit skeptical. He’d only ever told Sam about his bisexuality in confidence. He wasn’t even out to their friends! She even assured Sal that nothing between them had to change. However, that was proven wrong on the day she finally made it back to their apartment. She knocked so hard the door fell off its hinges. That’s when Sal came face to pecs with his new 6’7 gorilla of a boyfriend. She kicked off her size 17 shoes as she went to embrace her man! Needless to say Sal’s size 11s didn’t look very manly beside them. 

From there lots of things began to change. Sam’s normally demure and organized attitude began to fade as soon as she was in this body. She was more laid back, more casual, and more open minded to Sal’s activities. Turns out her body was a natural at working out as she began to lift far more weights at the gym than Sal had ever dreamed! Sam also got into gaming, as she started to game with Sal and his friends, all of who loved the newest bro addition to their group! She even started to get into more drinking any alcohol she could get her hands on. Before long their shared fridge was filled with beers and protein shakes!

Sal also began to change, despite not having a new body. He began to realize his girlfriend was outdoing him in all his old activities! All of his bros even mentioned how awesome Sam was! They even started hanging out with Sam without Sal on the weekends! It was now Sal that was reminding Sam to clear out the shower drain, with his much hairier body! Now Sal was the one complaining about the late night’s Sam came back. This became a new normal. 

Overtime Sal knew he had to do something to salvage his relationship with Sam before everything changed. That’s when he decided there was one part of their life as a couple they haven’t explored yet. Eventually Sal became more comfortable with his sexuality and began to experiment with Sam. Neither really knew what to do at first, with their limited experience, but it quickly became apparent that Sam would be taking control. Before Sam was a much more passive and supportive sexual partner… and now… she took charge! Every night after that Sal awoke with a sore ass and a tired body. Sal would never admit it, but he loved it! The only problem was… he couldn’t keep up with Sam. She was insatiable and could blow load after load into Sal, while Sal took hours to recover.

This awoke something in Sam though. Her new body loved to dominate! In the gym. In any game played. Even in the bedroom! And this wasn’t just reserved to Sal. Sam had suggested a few months in, that the two of them go to a bar and pick up women!

“I know you miss it Sal! Think about it. You and I. Find a hot ass woman! Take her home and then we take turns fucking her. I mean. You did say you always wanted a threesome.” Sam offered one night after gaming.

Sal was surprised! But the offer seemed nice. He had missed Sam’s more feminine form. And perhaps this was a way he could be a stud and sleep with multiple women while his girlfriend joined in! 

That was sort of how the idea went. It turns out flirting with women was another thing that Sam was better at than Sal. Her ample experience and attention to emotion she’d had as a women, never faded. This made her the most thoughtful and handsome man when it came to talking to women anywhere they went. Every night Sam came home with dozens of numbers, while women always asked Sal if they could talk to his bigger “friend”.

When the two of them finally settled on a woman they both liked, that night turned out to be very different from how Sal imagined his first threesome. It was clear that the hot redhead they’d brought home was far more interested in Sam than Sal. All of her kisses, strokes, and sexual advances were received by an over eager Sam! Not that Sam minded. There was enough of him to go around! It didn’t take long for Sam and the redhead to be fucking like rabbits, while Sal was in the corner jerking off to the hot sight of his girlfriend with another woman!

Which brings us to the present!

“Fuck yeah! MVP! I rule at this game. Hey Sal! Grab me another beer.” Sam ordered as Sal nodded and retrieved the drink. “I got a few lucky ladies coming over tonight Sal. Hope you’re ready to see my fuck their brains out. Can you try not to make too much noise when you blow your load one minute in? Last set of girls had to pause after laughing so much.  I know it’s fucking hot seeing me plow these babes, but try to hold on a little longer man.” 

Sal blushed as Sam gave him a hefty pat on the back. He never had that issue with the old Samantha, but he couldn’t deny it. Seeing Sam dominate a new girl every night was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. He could only hope that he lasted a little longer this time.

[grapejuicebrat]

champagne coast - r.c.

where rafe has to watch you moving on.

warnings: mentions of smut, kissing, swearing, heavy angst, might be a happy ending, rafe tries to be better.

notes: SHES BAAAACK. and a little reminder: english is not my first language so be nice! x

my masterlist

———

“i want you to be happy rafe, that’s all i ever wanted”

but what if he can’t be happy without you? what if just your presence made rafe smile? if you want him to be happy, why did you leave? those questions were never asked but god, rafe still do want to know all the answers.

watching you moving on is hard. the first time rafe saw you after the break up, your eyes were red from crying. you never smiled. never wanted to pretend that you’re ok. you still loved rafe after all. even if he was a drug addict, even if he was a mean grumpy man. you really wanted to see rafe as an old rafe who tried to not hate on pogues. who tried to catch up with his sister and be a good older brother.

he really tried to be better. for you. for your future family.

he even wanted to marry you. of course, part of him understands that all those thoughts were in his head because he wanted you to stay with him. maybe he could get you pregnant with his baby. having a little copy of you with those big doe eyes was everything he ever wanted. but looking back, it wasn’t possible. not anymore.

sitting in a country club and watching you working hard was difficult. in the beginning of your relationship rafe made that clear. he never ever wanted you to work there again. not because he wanted you to be in a golden cage, just because men in this club were disgusting. rafe would never forget how you cried in his shirt about another nasty comment about her body. that’s why you decided to quit your job and instead of being a waitress you waited at home for rafe, making a dinner for you two and being like a housewife.

you changed rafe in a lot of ways. so now he doesn’t even want to punch this motherfucker jj in the face, because he is clearly flirting with you. after all, he promised you to fight with his anger.

the last thing rafe wants to do is disappoint you again.

“bro, there many other bitches, just forget about her” kelce said to rafe, laughing.

rafe’s eyes shifted to kelce, anger bubbling up in his blood. nobody gets to talk about you like that. even if you were the one to break up with him, you did it for best.

“if you try to say stupid shit like that again, i won’t even hesitate to punch you in a fucking face. you don’t know anything, motherfucker”.

it was the first time rafe didn’t let his friends say something disrespectful towards a girl.

you would be proud of him, that’s for sure.

after two shitty weeks of your break up, rafe saw you smiling for the first time. and he could swear, his heart melted. of course he wanted you to be happy to, even if it does mean that he won’t be included in your life anymore. as much as it hurts to say, maybe in some time you will start a family with a guy that really deserves you. and rafe always said to you that he didn’t deserve you. well, that’s true. he never deserved your kindness, your patience and mostly, your love.

after a long month, rafe could proudly say that he didn’t do coke for a month and two weeks. he didn’t drink either, except one bottle of a beer at the party. he wanted to start a new life, to try to be someone who would deserve you even if you doesn’t want him anymore.

and of course, you knew about this changes. you promised yourself to keep an eye on him if anything happens. and you were really happy to see him like this. without his stupid friends, that you never liked. without being high and drunk. at some time you would think that it’s your old rafe. who you used to know. and your heart would skip a heartbeat. after all, you still loved him. you will always love him.

sometimes you wanted to kiss him like you used to. to hug him, whisper an “i love you” and kiss like there was no tomorrow. you wanted to feel his hands on your neck, on your waist, everywhere. you missed this feeling of being loved by him, you missed his big eyes and his perfect smile. you missed those rare times you two made love to each other. of course you were obsessed with his dominant side in sex but oh god, when he would lay on you and hug you, and his dick was buried deep in your pussy and only god knows how many times he said that he loved you.

you would look at him in a country club, scared that some chick would hug him and sit in his lap. but not in a month, or two. not after a year after your break up, he still didn’t bring anybody. and if topper told you the truth, he refused to even look at some girl. except you.

there were still some rare moments when you would just sit in your kitchen and there will be only one question.

“what if we were still together”

you tried to imagine your life with rafe, how would everything be okay. and you cried. every time.

after another long night in an empty bad you’ve had enough. even if it is the biggest mistake you’ve ever made, you didn’t want this to be the end. not like that. when everything could possibly be better. when rafe at least tries to be better. because you still love him and some part of you hopes he still does love you. so you made your choice right away, getting your phone from the table.

notes: end sucks, i know. but i am still proud of this one. waiting for your comments!

[dilf-hunter-fantasies]

I was wondering if you'd write anything about Joel and free use?

Love your account babe💗

thank you so much babe, i loved this idea! i hope you enjoy my take on it. i was fantasizing about...

renting a room from joel miller and striking a deal to lower your rent. 

3.5k words 🍒warnings: explicit smut, no outbreak au, age gap (reader in college), female reader, brief mention of f masturbation, free use!!, size kink, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv, use of: sweetheart, darlin' 

click here for more of my writing

So you end up short on options for housing after breaking up with your ex. You know it seems weird to be a young woman willing to rent a room from an older man who is …well in all versions you spin it…a total stranger. But, your aunt swears he’s a good guy. 

She used to live in his neighborhood, knew his daughter, figured he has the extra room and put you in touch. And all things considered, she hasn’t led you astray. I mean, he hasn’t murdered you. 

Okay, it’s not that bad. He doesn’t give off murder vibes either. More like…grumpy single man vibes. But that works out for your arrangement. You’re both pretty quiet and you keep to yourselves. And he’s not too bad to look at. You catch yourself straddling a line between not being the creep yourself and just wanting to get to know him a little bit. 

The real problem has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. Well with your bank account. You’ve been bleeding your measly savings trying to keep up with life and the job you have isn’t really enough to live off of. It was a dream to find a hybrid schedule and work for a non-profit with a mission that matters to you. But it doesn’t pay for shit. 

It’s not like Joel’s overcharging you or anything either. Nothing is affordable. 

And now you’re on your last legs. If you can’t keep this together you’ll have to pack it up and crawl home to your family? Not an option. It’s not like you haven’t been applying for other jobs either. But you either don’t hear back or the schedule won’t work with your classes. 

So here you are. Pacing back and forth in your sparsely decorated room. Between your bed and your desk, wearing a groove into the carpet, chewing on your fingers and obsessively checking your phone to see if your sage friends have any better advice. 

They don’t. 

Well, they suggested selling feet pics online, but even if that could be lucrative—it doesn’t get you the money to spend by tomorrow. You toss yourself onto your bed, exasperated. Last resort. You’re gonna have to be honest. 

It takes a long time to gather the mental courage. You stare at your ceiling for so long your eyes blur. You can hear Joel in the kitchen and with a deep breath you force yourself up, dragging your feet down the hallway until you see him. 

The kitchen is warm, whatever he’d made for dinner earlier smells good. So good it makes your stomach growl, announcing your presence in the doorway. The sound makes you grimace—for a split second you’re tempted to hide. To run back to your room and pretend like there won’t be any consequences if you just don’t bring it up. Ever. 

Too late. He shuts the dishwasher with a loud click and turns, his sharp brown eyes meeting yours. You immediately regret this idea. Your feel like you’re sinking into the floor. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at him now. 

“Hey,” he says gruffly, his voice low and even. He turns back away from you, putting leftovers in the fridge, like it’s no big deal you’ve been standing there silently like a weirdo. “You need something?” 

Your throat is suddenly so dry, you can barely unstick your tongue to speak. “Yeah…uh, can I talk to you for a second?” 

Joel pauses mid-motion, before shoving the last container onto the shelf and letting the fridge door shut, trapping you in the silence together. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks toward you. The way his shirt stretches across his shoulders makes you nervous for reasons you don’t want to analyze right now. 

“Sure.” 

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, your hands twisting in front of you like they’re trying to strangle each other. His eyes flick down to the motion, and you force yourself to stop. 

“So, uh…I was wondering—” You swallow hard. You can do it. “I need to talk to you about my rent.” 

His eyebrows lift, and your chest tightens. 

“Let’s hear it then.” 

“It’s just that I’m in kind of a tight spot right now. Work’s been—well, it’s been fine but money’s tight, and I just—” You’re rambling. Words all running together. “I’m not saying you’re charging too much or anything like that, but—” 

“Slow down,” Joel holds up a hand, and the rest of your words fall flat. His voice is calm, but firm. “You sayin’ you can’t afford it?” 

“I can!” you blurt out. “I mean, I can’t by tomorrow, but I can soon. I just thought, maybe we could work something out. Like…if you could give me some more time or if I could do something to work off some of what I owe.” Joel tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that makes your skin prickle. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just thinking, and the silence stretches too long for comfort. 

Finally, he exhales through his nose, dropping his arms and leaning his palms on the counter behind him. His voice is lower when he speaks again, quieter, like he’s weighing every word. 

“You wanna do something for me?” 

Your heart skips, and you blink up at him. Maybe that was a dumb suggestion. You don’t even know what you have to offer. The house is always clean, the yard maintained, he seems to enjoy cooking. 

“Uh, yeah?” your face contorts a little as you try and come up with a suggestion. “If you’d consider giving me a discount.” 

His lips twitch, just the barest hint of a smirk, and something about it makes the air in the room shift. 

“Well,” he drawls, “If I’m cuttin’ you a deal,---” 

“You’ll consider it?” You look at him with a smile already starting to break on your face. You can breathe. 

“Maybe you can cut me one, too.” He finishes his sentence. Your mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out. There’s something behind his words you don’t fully understand, but it’s stuck in the air between you. 

“What kind of deal?” you manage to get out, your voice hesitant. 

Joel pushes off the counter, closing the space between you in a way that’s casual, but calculated. He’s close enough you can make out the lines at the corners of his eyes, the salt-and-pepper in his beard. His gaze holds yours, steady and charged with something new. 

“You say yes,” he starts to explain, his voice dropping into a gravelly timbre that makes your pulse quicken. “And I’ll knock your rent down as much as you need. Simple.” 

The room suddenly feels small, too warm, like his gravity is holding you in place. 

“Say yes to what, Mr. Miller?” Your voice is soft, just a whisper rolling off your tongue. You have an idea what he’s proposing. The way his eyes flicker with something dark and knowing when you refer to him as Mr. Miller. The crackle in the air between you. 

“I think you know what I mean.” 

You shake your head, ever so subtly, wrinkling a brow. In what feels like slow motion, Joel tips your chin up, between his thumb and curled forefinger. Your face is on fire. Somehow exposed even though nothing else has changed. 

“Whenever I need you. Wherever I want you.” 

For a second you think he might kiss you. It feels like everything in your body is calling to him. His mouth is so close to yours. The words are still replaying in your mind. 

But he pulls his hand back. “Think about it,” he murmurs and brushes past you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. He glances back at you once on his way out of the room. “Offer’s on the table, sweetheart,” he says over his shoulder. “Up to you.” 

You’re left standing, still as a stone, heat prickling up your spine as his words replay in your head. 

What the fuck just happened?

“Hey!” you call out, starting down the hall after Joel. “Wait.” 

He turns, hovering in the doorway to his room. 

“Uh, are you talking about sex?” 

“Yep.” 

Your breath hitches. The corner of his mouth quirks, smug. You look at him with fresh eyes. He’s an attractive guy. Not exactly pleasant, but not a jerk. You can’t imagine he’d have a hard time picking up a date. 

“I’m not a whore, you know.” “I know, darlin’.” His face softens a little. 

The next couple of days are filled with tension so thick it’s impossible to ignore. Whenever you’re in the same room you can feel his eyes lingering on you. He brushes past you in the kitchen in the morning, his hand grazing your hip when he reaches for his coffee mug. 

You catch him watching you from across the room, leaning against the counter like he has all the time in the world. His eyes roam all over your body, dark and deliberate, and you can feel the promise in his gaze. 

It’s driving you fucking insane. You thought he’d have made a move by now. Hell, you thought he’d have made a move the second you agreed to his deal. But he’d only made sure you each had a few ground rules and that was it. End of conversation. 

“Have a good night now, darlin’. Hope you sleep better without having to worry about your rent.” 

Right. You didn’t have to worry about rent. You just had to spiral in your own room wondering when it would happen. How he’s going to take you.

It’s got you so worked up thinking about him you keep spacing out during your work meetings. Swiveling restlessly on your office chair in your bedroom, trying to remember to look focused and add your two cents in for participation. 

But all you can think about is Joel. You’re on high alert whenever you hear his truck roll into the driveway, the door slamming shut with a thud. His heavy steps coming down the hall. You wonder when he’ll want you. You know he meant it. 

You hope he meant it. 

That night, his footsteps pause outside your door, his presence thick in the air, setting your pulse racing. It makes you squirm, adjusting the skimpy pajamas you’ve taken to wearing as your heart beats faster. You can’t tell if he’s debating coming in or if he’s just fucking with you, but it’s got you breathless. 

The next morning, you’re standing in the bathroom doorway, brushing your teeth when Joel suddenly appears, shirtless and still damp from his shower. He gives you a lazy once-over, stepping close enough that you have to press yourself against the door frame to let him pass. 

His voice is low and teasing as he murmurs, “You’re in the way, sweetheart,” leaving your cheeks flaming. 

The next day, you’re still tense. 

Stretching in your desk chair as your coworkers read through their budget updates and data tracking for the grants you’re funded through. It’s hard to stay focused, Joel has taken over all of your thoughts. 

Jaz finishes her update and another department leads the rest of the meeting. You’re shuffling your notes around mindlessly, barely hearing a word. Every thought in your head is Joel, Joel, Joel.

Last night, you’d nearly combusted when he finally walked away from your door. You’d been seconds from begging him to come in, to just take you already. By the time he left, your thighs were slick, and the ache was unbearable. You had to handle it yourself, coming hard and fast on your fingers, imagining it was his thick, calloused hands instead.

But now, twelve hours later, the tension is already back. Worse than before. Every noise in the house puts you on edge. His truck rumbling into the driveway. The front door shutting. 

The meeting drags on, voices fading into a blur—until a soft knock jolts you back to reality. 

Before you can answer, the door swings open, and Joel steps inside like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. He leans against the frame, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly in the middle of something.

Your heart races. Your eyes flick to your camera to make sure it’s off. Muted. Thank God.

Joel doesn’t say anything, just watches you with a smirk that makes your stomach flip. His dark eyes roam over you, slow and deliberate, and it’s like every molecule of air has been sucked out of the room.

He takes his time crossing the space between you, letting the silence stretch. You can feel the heat radiating off him as he crowds you, hands bracing the arms of your chair, caging you in.

“You gonna tell me to stop?” he drawls, his voice low and gravelly.

Your throat is so tight you can’t even speak. You shake your head.

Joel’s smirk deepens. “That’s what I thought.”

His big hands tug you to the edge of your chair, spreading your knees wide. He runs his palms along your thighs, leaving a trail of heat that burns your skin through your soft leggings. 

Your heart jumps to your throat, chest tight. 

The thought of your coworkers just a click away only heightens the thrill. 

Joel doesn’t hold back. Pulling you to stand. Turning you to face your desk and pressing until you lean your elbows on the smooth surface, framing your keyboard. 

You arch your spine eagerly, holding your breath, bracing for his next move. He smooths a palm over the curve of your ass, humming softly to himself, before slipping his hand between your legs. 

You tilt your head, a shaky breath escaping as his fingers press against you, making your thighs tremble. You know he can feel how wet you already are through the thin material. All day you’re wet for him, just waiting and waiting. 

His touch is firm and you grind into it without thinking, making him laugh under his breath. “Shit,” he murmurs. “She needs it worse than I do, huh?” You don’t answer. Just dropping your head between your shoulder blades as he rubs circles against your clothed pussy. 

He retracts his hand, swiftly pulling your leggings down, exposing your puffy, wet folds to the cooler air. 

You stay folded over, forehead resting on your desk, ass arched in presentation. You don’t know what to expect next, your pulse thunders in your ear as you wait. 

His hands frame your cunt, spreading you wider so he can look closer. You’d be self-conscious being studied so closely if you were any less desperate for him to touch you. But all you can do you is silently beg him to do something. 

“Christ,” he murmurs reverently, dropping to his knees behind you. “Just a taste first.” It sounds like he’s talking to himself. You don’t care. 

You gasp sharply the second his tongue dips between your swollen lips. It’s so much better than your fingers and your frustrated, rushed orgasms last night. It’s so much better. 

He uses his whole face, diving deeper, as he groans into your pussy. Your meeting is still in progress, but the voices coming through your speakers could be speaking a foreign language. They mean nothing to you right now. 

The only thing that matters is between your legs. You’re almost embarrassed at how close you already are. You don’t know if you should say anything. If he cares if he makes you cum. Before you can think any harder, he’s back on his feet and you’re whimpering at the loss. 

“I know.” 

The soft clink of his belt followed by the sound of him unzipping his jeans has your knees weak. The thrill that shoots through you is like lightning, ripping through your system and activating every nerve in your body. 

Be good," he growls, dragging his cock through your slick.

“Oh, fuck,” you can’t help the awe and the relief. The heat, the thickness, the pressure. It’s everything you need, but not enough at the same time. He continues for a moment, coating his length in your arousal as you try to swallow down your needy moans. 

He slots his blunt tip at your entrance, adding enough pressure to make you suck in air. Without even seeing it, you know it’s going to be a stretch. Like he can read your mind, or at least your body, he runs his hand soothingly over your spine. 

It shouldn’t melt your nerves so fast, but the gentle touch eases your mind. For reasons you can’t explain—feelings really, you feel safe. 

“We’ll start slow this time, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” 

And then he’s nudging into you, working you open around his wide cockhead. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but you welcome the dull ache. Your throbbing pussy has been begging for it. He pulls back, repeating the slow movement, splitting you open for him a little further each time. 

It makes you needy, you try to push back against him, but he only swats at your ass. “I told ya to be good.” 

Your cheeks feel hot at the scolding. 

“Sorry, Mr. Miller.” It comes out more confident than you expected, your voice smooth and low. 

You can feel the way his dick twitches at your response before he continues, painstakingly slowly, filling you up. You’re still frustrated, but each time he thrusts into you, your knees almost buckle and you know he hasn’t made it all the way in yet. You’re still hungry for that feeling, for his hips to meet your ass, flush. 

You can’t hold back your moans as he drags along your nerves. He already has your eyes rolling back and he’s not even fucking you yet. 

Until he stops, held still halfway inside of you. You blink your eyes open, trying not to whine. 

He says your name like he’s been calling it and you’ve been ignoring him. “Hmm?” you respond. 

“Think they’re waiting for your answer.” 

“Oh, shit.” 

Joel still doesn’t move. You unmute your mic, trying to steady your voice. “I’m really sorry, uh, can you repeat the question?” 

“Just confirming your mid-cycle reports are already submitted.” 

“Yes.” 

“Great.” 

You mute the mic again and Joel slams the rest of the way home, making you cry out in surprise. 

He doesn’t hold back now, his rough hand gripping your hip as he takes you, low grunts echoing in your room as he snaps his hips forward. Your ass ripples, bouncing off of him with every thrust and the filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin fill your ears. 

He hits so fucking deep at this angle, you can barely think. His balls slap against you and for some reason that makes you even more crazy for him. You meet his every thrust with the same energy, fucking hard. So hard your desk rattles, but neither of you can be bothered by it’s structural integrity. 

He keeps you on edge, pounding into you as the pressure builds. When you shift slightly, his cock drags over the devastating spot that makes you nearly wail.

“Yeah?” he asks as if you could respond right now. “Right there?” 

“Mmm,” is all you can manage. 

“Good. Let me have it. Rub that pretty clit of yours for me, I wanna feel her trying to milk me dry.” 

Fuck. His filthy words nearly send you over the edge immediately, but when you slip your own hand between your legs, it’s euphoric. Furiously working at your slick, swollen bundle of nerves you drive yourself to the brink. 

“Gonna–ah!--gonna cum,” You get the breathy, gasping words out right as your pussy starts to clench around him. He groans lowly, making you see stars as your climax tears through you. 

The waves are still rolling through your muscles, your core still tensing, when he pulls out. The slick sounds as he pumps his cock rapidly are obscene and you don’t want them to stop. But then you feel his hot cum painting your ass, and you’re moaning in unison. 

Then he’s pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before slinking out of your room. You grimace. Tuning back in to the speaker still rambling on about god knows what on your computer. Before you can move, Joel is back with a small towel to clean you up. 

You’re stuck in a daze. A blissed-out state, as you straighten up and pull your leggings back up. Joel’s about to slip back out the door as if nothing happened. Before he steps out of the room though, he gives you a knowing smirk, “You did good for me, darlin’.” 

You’re left staring at the closed door, breathless and trembling, the heat of his touch still lingering on your skin. Rent isn’t the problem anymore. Joel Miller is.

click here for more of my writing

please let me know if you liked this!

let me know if you wanna be tagged for more joel fantasies

divider credit

taglist:

@lovely-vamp-princess @mushgloomz @untamedheart81 @kyloispunk

[lizziesloopy]

NSFW ALPHABET W DARYL DIXON

A - Aftercare: I don’t care what anyone else says, Daryl is the master of aftercare. He’s always worried about you, so he always insists u rest and take a minute after u two do anything, and gets a warm washcloth or tissue to clean you up, and or water. If you’re the type to get tired after sex, he sleeps with you, lets u sleep on his chest while playing with your hair.

B - Body Part: He likes all of you equally, but he’s a sucker for your breasts and hips. I will DIE on this hill. Daryl has a thing for hips, holding them while he’s fucking you, keeping them down while he’s eating you out, brushing his thumb along them while kissing you.

C - Cum: Daryl has a breeding kink. He’s already generally protective of the people he cares about, especially you, and that doesn’t change in the bedroom. The idea of filling you up, cumming inside you, thats what does it for him.

D - Dirty Secret: Daryl is a pretty reserved guy, so I don’t think he’d ever admit to any kind of dirty secret unless you asked first. But, he secretly really likes the idea of you riding his face, and really likes the scent of you.

E - Expirience: The only expirience Daryl has is from before the apocalypse, and even then it was never all that good. He was usually intoxicated when he had the occasional one night stand, most of his sexual knowledge coming from Merle. But once he’s with you, he’s very eager to please you, whether he knows what he’s doing, he WILL make it his mission to learn.

F - Favorite Position: Contrary to popular belief, I think Daryl is a pretty vanilla guy. He mostly enjoys missionary, he likes to be able to see your face, and hold you close. He also likes spooning, it feels much more intimate, and it’s usually a go to for sleepy sex. He also never complains when you want to ride him because god does he love it. But I don’t think he’d like to bend you over something or do doggy style, he feels it’s too degrading or disrespectful.

G - Goofy: Things stay pretty passionate and serious between you too when being intamite. But, when something is akward and happens to be funny, a little laugh here and there isn’t unusual, especially in the beginning.

H - Hair: I mean, it’s an apocalypse, I don’t think people are all too focused on how well groomed thier bits are. Despite that, he doesn’t let it get crazy, keeps it tame, very clean. He doesn’t like the feeling of being unkempt down there, it’s uncomfortable. As for you, who could give two shits bush or bald, as long as he can get in there, he’s a happy man. And if he’s being honest, he’s likes when you have a little more hair because he likes the scent of you.

I - Intimacy: Daryl is extremely intimate nobody is changing my mind. I don’t understand how yall think this man would fuck you like an animal against a tree, absolutely not. He’s very private about your sex life and plans to keep it that way. He’s quiet overall, but that doesn’t stop him from absolutely ravishing you. He likes being as humanly close to you as possible, whether that be spooning you, reverse cowgirl, pulling you impossibly close to him in missionary, anything.

J - Jack Off: Daryl isn’t much of a masturbater. Never has been. He doesn’t have the highest sex drive, and when he does, he has you. He’d rather have you than his hand, always.

K - Kink: Like I said, he’s pretty vanilla, but not to say he doesn’t enjoy a thing or two. He 100% has an oral fixation, going down on you or you going down on him, obsessed with it. He also likes pulling your hair every now and then, but never too hard.

L - Location: Only the bed. Yall are crazy for sayin ‘over a table’ ‘in the middle of the woods’ like what the FUCK are you on 😭. He’s a very private man, who prioritizes your comfort over anything else, therefore, the bed.

M - Motivation: I mentioned how he wouldn’t have a very high sex drive, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get turned on by you. If you’re in the mood, that’s his motivation. But also, seeing you all sweaty or working hard, or when he’s teaching you how to use his crossbow, seeing you use it, that turns him on hella.

N - NO: There’s a lot of no’s for Daryl when it comes to intimacy for you. He would never hurt you in any way shape or form, that consists of spanking, slapping, hitting, restraining, choking, etc. IF you asked him to choke you he’d be ok with doing it very lightly, but still worried. He’s not ok with risky/public sex, degrading you, and certain kinks like mommy/daddy. I hate when ppl say he’d have that, he’d hate it.

O - Oral: ORAL FIXATIONNNNNNNNNNN!!! This man is a certified MUNCH. Bro feasts like it’s his last meal alive. He love love loves that he can make you feel that good, because he’s exceptionally good with using his tongue, and has learned all the ways you like it. He likes watching the way you loose control of yourself, your face and your body. He also loooves when you go down on him, but he never says that. He actually has an extremely hard time containing himself when you suck him off. He usually doesn’t last long. Seeing you on your knees, looking at him through your eyelashes with his cock in your mouth, it’s his wet dream.

P - Pace: Depends. Depends on the mood, how you wanted, how you both are feeling, if he’s stressed, if he’s relaxed. I mentioned earlier he likes being intimate, therefore I’d say most of the time he’s not too fast or hard, maybe when he’s getting close or knows you’re getting close though. But times when he’s stressed, or he can tell you are, he’s a bit more fast paced with it.

Q - Quickie: Nope. 100% absolutely not. He despises the idea of rushing sex. He needs to feel comfortable in a safe environment where he knows he has time and there is no danger.

R - Risk: No risks. He doesn’t take risks with places, kinkiness, or new stuff. Unless you specifically say you want to try something and he’s ok with it, or he thinks it something, than nah. The only thing I could think of is he loves cumming in you, so there would be the risk of pregnancy if you are fertile.

S - Stamina: Depends again. He can go for long if you can, but when he’s tired, one round is enough to put him on his ass. But, just solely pleasuring you alone, he could do that all day.

T - Toy: He is definetly not opposed to anything that makes you feel good. If he were to ever stumble upon something on a run, or some other way, he’d definetly grab it. Using something like a vibrator or a dildo on you is definitely something he’s very open too, but when it comes to him, he’d rather not use anything.

U - Unfair: There is lots of teasing in your relationship in general, but when it comes to sexual teasing yes, but very subtle, never things other people would notice. But when it comes down to actual sex, neither of you like to be kept waiting.

V - Volume: He’s mostly quiet like usual. Grunts mostly, especially when he’s cumming, he usually burries his face in your shoulder to muffle himself. He loves to hear how vocal you are though. I think he could be a bit of a whimperer when you give him head too.

W - Wild Card: He doesn’t mind when you’re on your period, he’s just extra cautious with the mess. Puts a towel down or does it in the shower.

X - X Ray: He’s pretty big, not too big, but above average. It’s mostly the girth, cuz damn. Your first time with him had to be slow and steady because YOWCH.

Y - Yearning: Well, I already said this before but he had a medium sex drive, not awfully high. But if you do, especially if you’re younger than him, he’s more than happy to get you off. Eating you out, fingering you, letting you ride his thigh, whatever you want.

Z - zzzz: He gets pretty eepy 😴 He doesn’t like quickies because he likes to have his time with you, specifically time to cuddle you and sleep afterwards. Which is why he mostly prefer sex before bed/at night.

Hope you guys liked it!! My first time writing something like this, lmk how you like it and if I should do a SFW one.

[pineapplehazard]

Buck had been particularly down this week. Bobby couldn't help but notice how little excitement Buck had shown about the team playing a role in Brad's show. Knowing how smiley and happy he usually got whenever they encountered camera crews or filming sets, the captain had expected the kid to be jumping around like a golden retriever. But Buck had let out a barely audible, “Oh... that's cool,” and when Chimney started joking about the miracle of them being allowed on set—considering Bobby and Eddie had insulted the show and its “star”—Buck had barely taken the time to flash the fakest, weakest smile ever before turning away, leaving the conversation.

Bobby had also noticed the absence of baked goods from Buck over the following week. He had been so proud of him for finding an alternative to contacting Tommy, trying to separate himself from that failed relationship in a healthy way. Maybe it was a bit much to actually be considered healthy, but spending overtime baking was definitely one of the less destructive coping mechanisms someone on this team had ever used.

Now, this could have meant that Buck had finally come to terms with the breakup—or even better, that he had finally realized he deserved a much better partner than Tommy had been. But Bobby knew better than to be too hopeful.

The sudden halt in Buck’s baking habit could also mean two terrible things:

He and Tommy had somehow gotten back together.

Buck’s mood had dropped so low that even baking wasn’t enough to cope.

Somehow, the hickey blatantly visible on the young man’s neck didn’t help Bobby figure out which option had won.

As Bobby prepared lunch, he couldn’t help but watch his team, hoping to see in them the same worry he felt for his kid.

Hen was focused on the video game in which she was currently beating Buck. If she was worried about him, it was well hidden behind sarcastic comments and playful shoves on the sofa.

Eddie, however… Eddie was watching Buck with a complicated expression on his face. Bobby sighed. What a terrible time to have a revelation, Diaz. (Then again, Bobby knew better than to hope that either of these two idiots would realize what they were to each other anytime soon.)

“I’m afraid we’re back to Buck 1.0, Cap,” Chimney said, coming up behind him at the counter, resigned.

“1.0?”

“Truckstealer Buck, if you prefer. It’s too bad. I think we were at least on Buck 5.0 by now. Maybe 6.0? Do you think the lightning strike caused an update?”

Bobby gripped the pan handle tighter than he should have at that unnecessary reminder.

“A hickey doesn’t mean he’s back to his former bad habits…” the captain said, uncertain of who he was trying to convince.

“Sure, no. But three hook-up dates in three days?”

Bobby didn’t answer, but his face must have said enough. Chimney sighed and shook his head.

“I know… It’s bad. He even refused to babysit Jee or come over for dinner! Buck loves seeing Jee!”

Their conversation was interrupted by the end of Hen and Buck’s game. Chimney left to set the table, grumbling about how he should have tried harder to stop Buck before he even started dating that “asshole.”

None of it was mentioned for the rest of the shift. Buck tried to act as usual, Hen managed to do so, Eddie brooded, and Chimney and Bobby exchanged concerned glances from time to time.

Bobby remembered his talks with Buck when he’d started his relationship with Abby, and later, the conversations they’d had after the Buckleys’ first visit to LA. He remembered how proud Buck had been of his personal growth—of no longer needing to be used to feel like he mattered. Bobby thought of all this and decided he couldn’t just watch Buck destroy all his progress. His kid was hurting, and Bobby was going to help him get better.

Which led the captain to be standing in front of Buck’s door.

For a second, he hesitated, realizing suddenly that he might find Buck in a compromising position, considering the frequency of the “hook-up dates” Chimney had described. Still, he knocked.

Not two minutes passed before the door opened to Buck, fully dressed (thank God) and apparently alone.

“Bobby?” Buck frowned, clearly perplexed by his captain’s presence but still stepped aside to let him in. “I’m—I’m sorry, it’s a bit of a mess right now, but, um… come in?”

As Bobby walked in, he did notice the “bit of a mess.” He wouldn’t go so far as to say the loft was unrecognizable—he had spent too much time in it after bombings, lightning strikes, and housefires not to recognize the place—but it did look like a tornado had made its way inside. Most of Buck’s baking instruments were scattered across the central island, empty flour bags and takeout boxes filling the rare voids.

The living room wasn’t much better. Dirty T-shirts and sweatshirts were lazily thrown on the chairs, and by the couch, DVDs and… Lego boxes? covered the floor.

Bobby took a determined breath and looked Buck right in the eyes. “I think we need to talk.”

Buck’s confusion turned to dread. “Is everything okay? Is Athena—”

“Athena’s fine. Everyone’s fine,” Bobby reassured. “Except you, it seems.”

“What?”

Grabbing the kid’s arm, he guided him to the table. “Stop gaping like a fish and sit, Buckley.”

Dirty sweatshirts were thrown further away, they both sat, accompanied by an awkward silence. Buck wouldn't meet Bobby's eyes, looking like a kicked puppy.

"I'm going to talk, Buck, and I would like for you to listen, to hear what I'm trying to say... Okay? This isn't a reprimand or anything like that, I'm just worried about you, kid."

At that, Buck finally raised his head, and god, those sad blue eyes could really break Bobby's heart over and over again.

"I couldn't help but notice a change in your behavior recently. You're not smiling as much as you used to, you're not baking anymore, you're avoiding your sister apparently, and visibly you've been..." The man gestured awkwardly to the hickey. "going out? Again. And that's a lot of signs indicating that you're not doing very well."

Buck just nodded, lips pinched and eyes watery. Bobby suddenly regretted choosing to have a whole table between them. He should have been holding Buck close, in such a good hug that it would shield the boy from all of his problems.

"I know from experience that when we suffer, we tend to lean on our bad habits, and we say to ourselves that it's because they're comfortable, but in truth, we go back to them because we know that they hurt us."

"Bobby..."

"And I know it might not be my place, but I'm not certain that you going out on dates with different people, and... what follows, is actually doing you any good."

In front of him, Buck had become red, stumbling on his words, embarrassed.

"I—uh—hm... Bobby, I don't—I have not been sleeping around, if that's what you're worried about."

Bobby's eyebrow lifted by itself, too skeptical considering the purple mark on the young one's neck.

"Okay, I... I had one date. Yesterday. And it didn't go further than what you can see, actually. He... He wasn't who I really wanted."

Oh, Tommy Kinnard. If punching people in the street was more accepted... How could someone voluntarly decide to break this boy's precious heart?

"Then why couldn't you see your sister and your niece? Two different times?"

"Well... I was busy...," Buck gestured to the whole flat, "sulking... as you can see."

"That's all?" Bobby asked, unconvinced.

"No..." Hesitation passed on Buck's face before he continued. "Can I say something terrible?... They're too happy. I mean, I'm glad that they are! But... I didn't think I could have survived spending time with the perfect happy family... Maddie and Chim are so happy together... They're married, and they have a wonderful daughter who's as shining as them, and... They're the reminder of everything I've just lost, you know?"

Bobby didn't know, actually. Sure, things had been going well enough between Buck and Kinnard, but to think that the kid was already projecting marriage and children with this man? Bobby had been lightyears away from imagining things were that serious between them. He should have known. Buck always went all in in his relationships. Now the captain felt terrible with how lightly they all had approached his breakup, if Buck had been grieving this entire future he had envisionned.

"Sometimes you meet someone thinking that they're the one, and it seems so perfect that the idea that they could leave you one day never crosses your mind... But sometimes they do... and it hurts. It's normal that it hurts." As Bobby talked, the young man just nodded, wiping his nose from time to time. "And you're grieving, because no matter how short it was," Buck frowned. "what you had with them was real. What matters, Buck, is that you can cherish what you had without punishing yourself for not having it anymore."

At this point, Buck was barely holding his tears, and Bobby decided that enough talking had been done. He walked around the table and wrapped his arms around the boy.

"It's too hard."

For a moment, they stayed like this, Buck holding Bobby like he was his lifeline, wetting his captain's T-shirt with his tears. Oh, Bobby wished he could take all his pain away. Until he found a way to do that, he would continue to hold him tight.

"It feels like my one real happiness was right in front of me, but it got snatched away before I could really catch it."

"It might feel like it right now, but I'm sure you will find happiness, Buck. It might just not be with Tommy."

The boy suddenly froze in his arms.

"...With who?"

[magiturge]

i typed that answer up on my phone at like 2 in the morning, im rereading over it now and its still missing things. as of right now, its 7 in the morning and im still in the same position i was when i typed that answer

main thing i want to highlight about them is just that hank is incredibly direct and sheriff is very dodgy but only and SPECIFICALLY about hank. if sheriff were to have loved someone else his behavior would be almost completely different but because its hank he acts differently.

sheriff will always dance around ‘wanting’ hank and ever vocalizing his own affection for them, because uttering something blatantly romantic is a confession of sin. in his mind, its ringing “yes i love hank j wimbleton, the guy who has killed hundreds of people and even killed me and who would do it again cant you see how stupid i am”

it sounds embarrassing, shameful, executable to him.

his self image is really important to him, even if its in acts that only he and hank would know about. even murmuring about he doesnt want hank to get up and leave him because he’d still like to cuddle.

doesnt that just sound sugary sweet? he cant bear to hear himself say it.

hank is however completely unashamed about anything because it has no reason to be embarrassed. what reason does it need to care about the little things like a social reputation. if youre that much of an inconvenience ill just kill you. it lives for whatever reason, its not dependent on the eyes of others.

it will just bluntly ask sheriff things if it looks like he wants something, or if hank wants to try something or if it just outright wants to do something.

they COULD say things like ‘i love you’ but it finds actions and motions to be more satisfying than words. and on top of that, it observes sheriff to react strongly in such a mixed way to words like that so it chooses to neglect saying them. hank doesnt fully grasps what weight those words have, but sheriff does. to hank, ‘i love you’ is another way of expressing affection and it doesnt prefer it.

hank doesnt like to beat around the bush about things, dont get dodgy because this just makes the issue linger. so talk to me. what is it. dont be vague because i want to resolve it and get it done. theyre very direct and firm, it cuts at the foggy vagueness sheriff puts up as a mental safety net.

thats a fault in their situationship : communication.

sheriff doesnt like to ‘leave evidence’ of his attachment, and because of it wont talk properly about what he wants ; it leaves hank to hunt him down for it. his dodginess is something hank has foot in the door’d sheriff about, bluntly asking if he could knock that off in the most neutral way possible.

hey, did i mention that a huge appeal about them is ‘opposites attract.’

when they embrace, when they hug, to sheriff the cold clamminess of hank’s skin and body is so weirdly comforting, but to vocalize that is a confession. a shameful one, and he cant.

to hank, sheriff’s body is warm. firm, callous but lively. it doesnt say a lot about it, no flowery language but the expressed affection makes the body warmer.

hey man hows it going

[kingjasnah]

So how do you think the darkeyed politics resolved in WAT? I remember seeing so much criticism on it for previous books but I'm only seeing some stuff for this one.

oh bad lol. it's always bad. i think maybe it was less insanely tone deaf and more just not physically in the book for sa5 (just as bad) so maybe that's why you're seeing less of it but it's always bad. i think white fantasy authors often find examples of racism and classism or real world historical models of oppression and think "hooray hooray a fun little thing i can use to spice up my worldbuilding" and not in the real sense of like. this is a thing that happens to people and affects their worldview in a way that sometimes doesn't befit a narrative arc. i remember watching a 'what your fave fantasy series say about you' yt video by a popular fantasy booktuber years ago who got to n. k. jemisin's broken earth series (the best series to ever have done the fantasy racism thing imo) and said "if this is your fave series you probably care more about The Message than you do anything else about the book" and man. fuck off lol. wtf is that supposed to mean? like oh a black woman took fantasy racism SERIOUSLY and immediately white people send her award winning series to fucking DEI hell? just write her off immediately because theyre not used to actually examining the oppression so many of them love writing about?

i wasn't expecting anything different from stormlight 5 and there were a couple of wins (kaladin's eyes, mentioning the kharbranth murders, what seems to be irrefutable narrative destiny that points to a positive moash resolution, some singer stuff but not all) but it doesnt change the fact that people who read way of kings and expected a story that cared more about dismantling systems of power than it did about writing....how many? two full on sieges? two sieges with the promise of a third? are going to feel cheated out of what was set up early in the series.

[starwarskawaii]

Annoyance and Empanadas Pt. 2

A Miguel O'Hara fic

A/N: In which I make yet another self-insert fic. This will probably be a series. If I make a couple other disabled folks and Miguel-actually-has-a-personality-not-just-a-hot-body understanders happy, it's all worth it.

edit: Just a warning, this one is longer

CW: Reader is implied again to be autistic, or just awkward as hell, 2099 cursing, more mentions of chronic pain, mentions of past hurt due to disability for reader, reader has a brother, reader has a niece, brief suggestive content, still pretty PG, one use of damn, pretty much same content as last one, tone is a little more serious than pt 1

Miguel stepped into your apartment with you. Your messy apartment. Shock, how did you live like this?! There were blankets everywhere, you never made your bed (a complete waste of time, you had no one to impress), your laundry was permanently overflowing (how did you own this much clothing?!), there were figures and dolls and knick knacks absolutely everywhere, books stacked haphazardly on shelves in an attempt to make them all fit, comics tucked in between, fan art on the walls... There was so much sensory input he almost felt dizzy.

You flopped down on the couch, somehow hitting your leg with a forearm crutch on the way down. Only you. You tossed the aids aside and Miguel picked them up off of the ground and leaned them against the doorway. You almost never used aids inside your apartment unless it was a bad day. Better to fall at home than in front of a bunch of strangers, was your reasoning. Miguel did not agree with your reasoning. Miguel kind of wondered how you had managed to stay alive before him.

As you cozied up on the couch, Miguel began to make your empanadas. Beef and cheese, your favorite. You never had a taste for the chicken. Admittedly, neither had he, so this suited him just fine. You two had fallen into a sort of routine. Monday through Friday you worked your normal job, and he would come by after you got home to cook with you and help with all the things you would never ask him to go out of his way for but needed, and Saturday you would spend the day at the Spider Society, helping Miguel map out Spider's lives. He used to work extremely long hours, since most other Spiders would have to go home, and he technically already was home. But since you came into his life, he had finally learned to delegate more.

Today was Saturday. You loved Saturdays, and so did Miguel, though neither of you had ever actually told the other. Maybe, Miguel thought, maybe it was time to tell you. He knew you were attracted to him, physically at least. He knew you cared about him. He just wasn't sure if you loved him like he loved you. But something in him as he made those empanadas and reflected on your routines together made him realize that those feelings, the ones he wasn't sure whether they were gratitude or love, were absolutely love.

You sat on the couch, holding a plush and willing yourself to get out of your uncomfortable day clothes and into something that didn't make you want to scream. Miguel had seemed so uncomfortable with you being in your pajamas the first time he saw it. You weren't really sure why, bodies are just bodies, right? Maybe because he was such an awkward nerd? He couldn't be attracted to you, could he? Not back then, anyways. He called you "hermosa" now. Seemingly platonically? You really weren't sure. You're not exactly great with social cues, even after years of practice. Plus, you're a disabled woman. What man wants that? Who signs up for a lifetime of their partner never being able to give them what a normal woman can? You weren't even sure if you could have kids with all the unknowns with your health. Not to mention that Miguel and you were from different universes. You were pretty sure he wanted to have kids again. How would that even work? How would any of it work?

Back in the kitchen, Miguel wondered many of the same things you did. How would it work? How could it work? Did you even want him? Your parents were long past too far gone to help you, having disabilities of their own, and no one else around you had even tried to. If he made this awkward, you might feel like you had to part ways with the one person who was caring for you. He didn't want that. Still. You were always so mature. You were friends with people who you had crushed on who had rejected you. Why wouldn't you do the same for him? And he was a genius who invented multiversal travel, who said he couldn't figure out how to make an interdimensional relationship work? In some ways, you two already did. That settled it. He had resolved to tell you.

You changed into an oversized nightgown, with soft seams. You had cleaned up some of the blankets you left out along your way to your room. You knew Miguel hated messes. The blankets were still out from having your niece over a few days ago for a sleepover. You pondered whether you should tell Miguel how you felt, more explicitly than the hints you had been dropping. He was so dense... You hated pursuing, it gave the other person too much power. And you were already permanently stuck in a power imbalance with any and every man you meet. Disability put you at a permanent disadvantage in relationships. You had a very pesky genuine need for a partner. You thought about your family, your brother, your niece, your parents... How would they feel about all this? How could you even tell them about it all?

You entered the kitchen and Miguel turned around to tell you the food was almost ready. His heart stopped. Somehow you looked even more beautiful than usual, wearing the same ratty nightgown that you refused to get rid of, believing that you were doing your part for the environment by wearing it until it was scraps. Something about knowing that he loved you made him love looking at you even more.

"Miguel?" you questioned, seeing the strange look on his face. "You alright there, love?"

"Do you call everyone love?" Miguel blurted it out before he even realized what he was saying. Shock. Shockity shocking shock.

"I mean, only people I care about, but I suppose I call a lot of people love, why do you ask?" you raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was going to lecture you on proper coworker etiquette (as if you two weren't past that point), make some smart mouth comment, or finally address your flirting. The possibility of the last one made your heart nearly stop. Half the reason you flirted was because Miguel would never pick up on it.

"I think I love you"

"What?"

"I mean I know I do. I mean... We've been close friends all this time, and you're the only person I have ever been able to just be open with and... Shock, this is coming out all wrong."

"Migs," you said tenderly, as if you were approaching a wounded animal (which you basically were, he is half spider). "I love you too"

"You do?"

"Well duh, your smart mouth and endless brooding isn't easy to put up with without rose colored glasses." Love did not dull your sharp tongue. Not even a little. Poor Miguel. You were still very annoying. No matter how much he loved you. "Can you handle being a relationship with me, though?"

"What do you mean, cariño?"

"I mean I have a broken brain and body. The stuff you do for me after work will become a full-time job. I am a full-time job. I am so much work... And I haven't been worth it for anyone yet." You hated saying it out loud. You believed Miguel loved you. But you also believed that loving someone didn't mean you could love them well. You had to be sure Miguel knew what he was signing up for, because you loved him. You wanted him to be happy with you. The real you. The 24/7 broken brain and body having you.

Miguel leaned over and kissed you gently on the forehead. Somehow, you knew exactly what the gesture meant. You knew your Miguel. You knew all his buttons, you knew his story, you knew his heart. You knew you had it, in spite of whatever was broken with you. He knew he was signing up for a life of doctor's appointments and medication issues and flare ups and wheelchairs and fighting your insurance company. And he didn't care. He did it all already, and he loved it, because it was for you.

"I can handle you amor" Miguel spoke after what felt like a perfect, peaceful lifetime of just staying close to you after the kiss. "You are so worth it. Worth every single trial that comes our way"

"I'm surprised you told me. I'm surprised you didn't catastrophize the idea of being with me in your head until you were convinced that being within the same universe as you would kill me. Which, to be clear, it won't. Any bad things that happen are just a part of life." You reassured him. You felt a little bad for teasing him at a time like this. But he did catastrophize everything. "What about kids? I always assumed you would want more, now that you don't force yourself to carry the weight of the entire multiverse on your back and stopped blaming yourself for what happened. How would that even work, for us?"

"You want a baby with me already? Dang, looking to live out some of your fan fictions?" Miguel grinned. You glared. He stopped, and spoke "I'm honestly not sure, mi amor. I would need to run some tests, and there's your health to consider... Maybe we would adopt from your universe? We probably don't need to figure it all out now though, mi corazón."

He raised his brows at you and smiled. Just then, the timer went off for the last of the food. He made all your favorites. Whether he consciously knew or not, he was always going to tell you tonight.

"I do have one question though, on that topic. Can you... Are you even able to... Would it hurt you if we..." His voice kept trailing off. Weird. What is he- Oh. OH.

"Yes, I can do that, I'm just more limited in how. I know we're in love and all, but I strongly prefer to wait for that until much farther into the relationship. Like wedding night farther." You were bright red. Miguel had thought about that? With you? You were slightly under the impression, given the way he worked so tirelessly, that this Miguel variant was a sexless being. So much for that theory. You regained your composure a little. "Sorry, I realize that probably isn't what you were hoping I would say."

"Don't apologize, you were just honest. Besides, it's been ages since I..." His voice trailed off again. "I will be completely fine waiting for you. Anyways, we have much more important things to figure out, like how to have a cross dimensional relationship"

"And how to eat all this food you made." You added, salivating at the spread in front of you.

In front of you was elote, some cut up fresh fruit (when did he get that? You really ought to see what he's doing in your kitchen more often...), and, of course, those empanadas. You could kiss him. You should kiss him. He was yours now, wasn't he? As much as you did your best to not oversexualize him and to see him as a person when you were a fan, he still looked like THAT. You had still wanted this for so long. Gosh, you should kiss him.

You leaned over to him as he set down the food, attempting to find the best angle to meet his lips. Why did you have to fall for this damn tree? He was over a foot taller than you. A freaking tree, a very hot tree, very kissable tree, that loved you... What were you mad at again? You finally decided there was only one way to get what you wanted: asking.

"Kiss me?"

You weren't sure how this was all going to work. Probably pretty similarly to how it was now. You weren't sure how you were going to tell your family you were dating a cartoon character. But it would probably be fine. You weren't sure how life with Miguel would end up, what your family would look like. Would your family be the two of you and a cat? A kid? Just you two? In spite of all the unknowns, as he pulled you in for that kiss, you were somehow sure it would be fine.

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in this series!

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 61: I Bet It Stings

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

I don’t like this. Do not. Like. This. Being escorted by my broers, sure. Being escorted by the Peaky Blinders, oké. But having to travel with a stranger?

“How long is the drive to London?” Mr. Dixon asks in his Southern drawl as we exit the barge. 

And I thought I stuck out here. A Georgian distillery man in a cream suit catches even more attention. Vader certainly has a fair share of business associates.

“Please be patient, Mr. Dixon. A car is on its way to meet us.” I walk up to the ticket office and signal to the man inside. “Hello. I am Verena Steenstra, foreign representative for Thomas Shelby and Shelby Company Limited. Is there any transport scheduled for us?”

His eyes light up at the mention of the company. “Of course! Right this way.”

We’re led down the dock and into a parking lot, where a shiny Fiat 501 is waiting.

“Woo-wee! This Mr. Shelby sure does know how to spend his money,” Dixon comments as he inspects the car. “What a beauty.”

“Mrs. Thorne sent the car, Ms. Steentra,” the driver informs me as he places our bags in the trunk. “She said to tell you that Mr. Shelby is currently doing business in London.”

A perfect warning. It’s also a perfect way to escape my escort. Thanks, Ada.

The panic of the market crash is already spreading. I see it on everyone’s faces as we’re driven through London’s crowded streets. The Houses of Parliament stand proudly ahead. The Fiat parks near the front and I head straight to the nearest phone booth.

“Ada? I just arrived in London. Any news?”

I hear her grunt. “Business as fucking usual. God, I hate him so much right now! I hope you didn’t come back just for him.”

“You know that’s not true,” I mutter sourly. “Sometimes I hate him, sometimes I love him. There are even times when I want to shoot him. Are you alright?”

Ada sighs. “Do not say a word. I’m pregnant.” She’s-?! “Don’t say a word! It’s bad enough hearing Linda and Lizzie complain about their husbands. I don’t need someone breathing down my own neck.”

So Thomas did marry her. Is that what it takes? Get knocked up and Thomas Shelby marries you. I swear sometimes I want to slap him straight across his hoogdravend face-

The face I spot across the courtyard. Thomas. Wearing a sharp navy suit and his signature hat. Quite the hoity-toity job for a man who breeds horses.

“We’ll talk more when I get to Birmingham," I mutter before hanging up.

I lead Dixon towards the gangster, trying to keep my breathing steady. You are not here for him. You are here to earn money. You are here to help your family.

“Well, well, well. Thomas Shelby, MP,” I mock brashly.

Thomas, who still has his back turned, freezes. He whips around and his look of shocked recognition is priceless.

“Verena,” he breathes out. “You’re here…”

Yes, I still exist. Yes, I did pick out a dazzling blue dress to show off my best features. No, I do not regret showing up unannounced to him.

“And I brought business with me,” I finish for him and gesture to my escort. “Thomas, this is Mr. Dixon, from Georgia. He owns a distillery operation in Tennessee.”

Thomas looks between us. Then down at my hand. One might say he’s examining for my own wedding band.

“Great. Why is he here?” Thomas asks bluntly.

I wave a finger at him. “Be nice. He’s here because he lost stocks, the same as you, and wants to do a sale. And…”

“And to escort this lovely lady,” Dixon states and boldly places a hand on my waist. “Her daddy asked me to. A true beaute if I ever did see one. How fetching, indeed. Too bad you’re a Yankee.”

Thomas stares the man down with an icy glare. “Hilarious. May we please proceed, Mr. Dixon?”

“Before you both start, please tell me why you have summoned Liam?” I demand lightly. “Before I left he mentioned receiving a letter from you. Obviously you two stayed in touch.”

Thomas stays quiet for a second, measuring his words. “Your brother is a hard worker. He secretly offered his services for the time you are here so he can keep you safe.”

Keep me safe? That practically means keeping an eye on me! Why on Earth would Liam desire to work with the Peaky Blinders? The job is cut-throat, brutal, adrenaline-inducing- Who am I kidding? He’s a prime candidate for it. I know it’s his decision but I do not want my broer being caught up with Thomas more than he has to!

“Very well. I will leave you men to talk.” I back away crossly and start walking back to the car.

Mr. Dixon gets a confused look. “Ms. Steenstra, I’m supposed-”

“You were supposed to escort me from New York to England on orders of my vader. You have fulfilled that obligation, therefore your services to me are no longer required.”

I am going to Birmingham where the real action is. Not all these suits meeting in dark rooms. I am going to bring my information to Arthur, the head chairman, and continue on my merry way-

“That is all?”

The hidden upset in Thomas’ voice leaves me feeling both cocky and… shameful. It pains me to treat him like this but I am not lowering my defenses again.

“I did not come here for you, Mr. Shelby,” I reply, still facing away. “I am here because this new depression has twisted my hand and I am here to earn money.” He has no response to that. “Now you know what it feels like to face the other end of disappointment.”

I bet it stings.

“Is this about Lizzie?” Thomas asks when I start walking again.

“You brought it up, not me. Good evening.”

“Oi! Verena-!” He’s trying to follow me.

I pivot and hold up a hand to stop him. “Stay away, Thomas. I’d rather not repeat the same routine. You need help, I support your ridiculous idea, you botch it up and push me aside, and I walk away.” I slide into the car and give him one last look of warning. “Let’s skip to the last part, shall we? I’m going to see Ada and get some real business done.”

Thud!

I shut the door in his confused face and watch as he gets smaller and smaller behind me. Remember, Thomas, you made me into this.

The instant the Fiat drops me off at Ada’s house she comes running from the front door to give me a hug.

“You’re back!” The Shelby zuster cheers. “Did you see Tommy yet?”

Her subtle curiosity makes me give her an annoyed smirk. “Left a Southern gentleman to talk with him. Now that people in America hear my family’s partnered with you lot they all want in on the action.”

She tilts her head. “Maybe the Southern man fancies you.”

“He’s here for business, same as I.” That closes the topic. “What about you? I guess you missed sex after all.”

Ada smiles and pats her stomach as we make our way inside. “Polly predicts it’s a girl. Says I should name her Elizabeth.”

“And who’s the lucky father?” I grunt as I heave my trunk into the parlor.

“His name is Ben Younger. A black man.”

“Another blessing from God,” I declare warmly and ignore her last comment. “You should be very happy. He sounds like a very charming man if he has won over Ada Thorne’s heart. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Ada smiles gratefully, then turns to a different subject. “I don’t know what plans you have yet. I’m meeting Tommy in a few days to discuss some things with a comrade.”

He’s still dancing with socialism? Wonderful. Something else we can disagree on.

“Speaking of, Tommy wanted to know why you’re giving him the silent treatment.”

Is that what he thinks I’m doing? If anything, the treatment I’m giving him is his own. And I will be anything but silent about it.

“I am not.”

Ada rolls her eyes and pours some fresh tea. “Come off it, Verena. You haven’t been too chatty with him since you last left.”

“Thomas used to appreciate me for listening. Now he won’t even say thank-you. So he’s going to get his own words spat into his face.”

“Yes, well, Tommy’s a stubborn twat.” She gives me a pointed glance. “Yet you still wear his necklace.”

Drat. She noticed. I finger the silver pendant around my neck, unable to think of a reasonable rebuttal. I can’t help it. I tried to dispose of the thoughtful gift that reminds me of him. Either it’s nostalgia or pathetic pity on myself, but I cannot bring myself to throw Thomas’ cross away.

“Can you please just say something so he’ll stop nagging me about when you’ll start talking again?”

Something about how she says that sounds practiced. Anticipated. Not like something Ada would normally go along with.

I pick up the teacup and inhale the sweet scent. “He told you to ask me, didn’t he?”

“Yes! He called me before you got here! And I’m tired of being a bloody messenger!” Ada outbursts. “So tomorrow you are going to Arrow House and talking to him properly!”

My jaw drops. “I don’t-!”

“Shut it.” Ada picks up a briefcase and sets it on the table. “Here. These are documents from some contacts in Boston. Go have him sign them and talk to him before he nags my ear off. No more squabbling. This is an order on behalf of the company. End of discussion.”

Sneaky Ada. How does she expect Thomas and I to chat and make up? And for me to risk opening up again? He’s like a drug. The longer I know I can’t have him, the more I want him. The devil of Birmingham.

I could leave straight to Germany now. Leave before I get in too deep again. Thomas might not like it. But my precious time should be used for making money and avoiding more heartbreak. Then again, Polly wouldn’t approve if I go without seeing her. I could give in and let them hate me… No. No matter how hard I try to convince myself, I cannot let him go. 

The only thing I can do is my job.

@meadows5

[zepskies]

Oh God, here we go!!

With a mouthful of Donno’s Special of the Day sandwich, Beau came to stand behind a whole group of people who had gathered around a laptop screen propped up on his desk.

Ahaha I love this mention! 😂

In all honesty, he had a confession to make: He’d never watched a single of Diane’s videos to the end. He knew you’d probably watched them a thousand times, but he couldn’t do it. He had watched parts of it, sure, but never the bitter end. He didn’t know how you'd done it. He always figured you were a lot stronger than him.

Hmm interesting...

Turner hadn’t frisked you again – big mistake.

Ha! I love her, she's such a badass.~

Why couldn’t it have been the Friends set in Hollywood? Instead, you had to visit Diane Newton’s arts and crafts project.

He gasped a breathless sound, his eyes growing wide and white. You let go and stepped back. You’d never killed someone before – not like this at least.

Ho lord, I was on the edge of my seat throughout this ENTIRE scene, proverbially biting my nails. 😬😬 Especially wincing at this part:

The roaring Grizzly kicked you right into your bear trap injury. With a painful scream and a searing pain, you fell to your knees and clasped your wound.

(Good metaphor/play on words there though 😅)

You wanted to scream till your lungs were depleted of all oxygen, but you didn’t have enough air for a breakdown in this bunker. You took one last deep breath to ground yourself and closed your eyes.

Ugh, she's so much stronger than me. I'd be a blubbering mess on the floor, poor thing. 😭😭 But it was so interesting watching her try and figure out the puzzle of this room (and Diane's game). I love those moments where you as the audience know there's an answer here somewhere, but you just have to watch on edge as the person works it out in desperation. 🥲

And on the flip side, this is torture for Beau, a man of action, to not be able to do anything. To just wait and see if anything changes.

You stopped then, your body slumping against the wall, too drained to write any more. You didn’t need to. The message was clear.

This is so truly intense -- it's cinematic in so many ways, and I'm loving this suspense...

But most of all, you had thought about Beau. Simple things. The color of his pine green eyes. The smell of his leathery cologne. The sound of his hearty laugh. The warmth of his large hands. Would you ever see, hear, or feel those things again?

And then – water. Cold, relentless water began pouring in, cascading through the new hole in the roof, spilling across the floor in an uncontrolled flood. Fuck.

Oh God, oh God, oh Goddddddd!!!!!!!

He stumbled back onto his feet, his trembling hands picking up a small, golden band. His chest seized. The ring.

Oooh I'm sensing some symbolism here, despite the gravity of the situation!! lol GO, BEAU, GO!!!!

His mind kept circling back to you. You were trapped down there. Trapped and drowning. I’m coming, darlin’. Hold on.

GAH! This is the delicious White Knight-saving angst that I live for. 🥹

Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his ear to your chest, listening for any sign of life.

When I tell you my heart was in my throat during this entire scene, but this is the part that gave me stomach flips...

And for the first time in days, Beau let himself breathe as he steadied your trembling frame in his embrace.

But there was one thing you had always cherished during your involuntary stays: Pudding.

Lmaoo this kind of pudding??

While your brain had adjusted, your heart remained steadfast. Randy had recognized it too and conceded. When he left your bedside, you sent him a smile with tears brimming in your eyes. A chapter closed. A song ended. But your heart was at peace.

Aww in a way I do still feel bad for Randy, but "dissolved;" I think that's the right word for it as well. I love that last line in the scene. 💙

Beau and Randy's parting was bittersweet, but Beau's apprehension coming to the reader's hospital room was honestly kind of adorable (since we already know where this is heading) lol.

“Oh, it was,” Beau confirmed, your heart expanding with a breath of relief. “Going with an insanity defense here. So… what does that mean?” Musingly, you bit down on your lip. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to come closer and find out.” Beau’s lips hiked to a wide, genuine smile for the first time in days. His feet began moving toward you.

Awww haha, they're so cute!! I would've loved to see that reunion kiss. 🥹 But I have a feeling these two are finally off to their happy ending...

“How’s the ankle? That stool looks uncomfortable,” he noted, brushing his beard. His head tilted. “You need a pillow? Imma grab you one. Anything you need, darlin’. Officially retired since yesterday, you know? I’m here all day. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Lol that is peak Beau behavior there! I love the rambling and the adorable fussing. Makes my heart so full. ❤️ Especially how she's just like, "sit down and be with me, you fool." 😂

I also found it very interesting how they both decided to retire. They've clearly been through the absolute wringer, plus the whole matter of Beau probably never feeling safe in that office again, and the reader needing time upon time to recover from all that trauma. It's a lovely new chapter for these two to have a quieter life together, whether or not they have kids down the line (though I love that conversation they had. Beau's line of “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” had me dead lol). 🥹

This was a crazy ride of a series, but beautifully weaved with a lovely finish. Amazing job, my friend!! 💕💕

Polaris – Chapter 13

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, major angst, kidnapping, confined spaces, violence, injuries, drowning, CPR, life-and-death situations, the fluffiest ending (If any of these warnings trigger you, stay away ⚠️🫶)

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: We're here! Last part, babes 😘 Thank you guys so much for sticking with me on this one. I know it was another wild ride, but I appreciated your sweet, insightful, and funny comments throughout 🥹🤍

Ready? Don't forget to breathe 😉

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 13: Sure And Certain

“What’s she doing?”

With a mouthful of Donno’s Special of the Day sandwich, Beau came to stand behind a whole group of people who had gathered around a laptop screen propped up on his desk.

He threw another sandwich wrapped in paper on the desk in front of Randy, who sat comfortably in his chair and nodded a ‘thank you.’ Behind him, Jenny leaned casually against the window sill with an intensely knitted brow. Cassie and Denise, on the other hand, had grabbed themselves a set of uncomfortable, worn chairs from the break room and sat on each side of Randy, staring musingly at the screen.

“I think she’s meditating,” Denise put forth.

“No, I think she’s sleeping,” Jenny said dryly.

“I don’t know…” Cassie’s brow furrowed.

Beau frowned as he stepped forward, stealing a glance at the livestream himself. You were still lying perfectly motionless on the long metal table in the middle of the room. They knew you were alive, though. They had watched you crawl up there and lie down. Sometimes, your eyes were open. Sometimes, they were closed for long periods of time.

“She’s still doing what she’s been doing for eight hours now,” Beau huffed. Honestly, he’d be more worried if it wasn’t so damn frustrating.

“Maybe the poor thing’s in shock after everything she’s been through,” Denise suggested sympathetically.

Beau hoped she wasn’t right. Seeing you give up didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t watch you lie there alone in the cold until there was no air left anymore.

In all honesty, he had a confession to make: He’d never watched a single of Diane’s videos to the end. He knew you’d probably watched them a thousand times, but he couldn’t do it. He had watched parts of it, sure, but never the bitter end. He didn’t know how you'd done it. He always figured you were a lot stronger than him.

But maybe you’d seen something on those videos he didn’t know but had to.

“Y/N?” Randy scoffed at Denise’s proposal with conviction and shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t give up, and I doubt Turner scared her that much. She put a screwdriver in the guy, for crying out loud,” he argued his objection. “No, she’s thinking.”

Beau hated to agree with Randy but hoped to hell he was right.

“Maybe,” Cassie mused and squinted her eyes at the screen. “I think she’s staring at the light above her.”

With narrowed eyes, everyone drew in closer to the screen and observed you.

“I think Cass is right,” Jenny said and retreated to her old position, smirking.

Beau frowned anew and flailed his arms. “Why?”

Fucking Hal Turner.

He got you with a shovel, tied your hands, hauled you back to the cabin and sedated you.

You woke with a few meager slaps across your face before groggily being dragged through the woods at night on unsteady legs. You slipped in and out of consciousness a few times, but you knew Turner wasn’t strong enough to carry you, so he had to keep you awake enough to walk, but sedated enough to not fight back.

You, however, tried to memorize and plan as much as your dazed mind possibly let you. You remembered how long you’d walked from the cabin to the bunker – about thirty minutes. You knew which direction you’d walked as you’d glanced up at the stars – north. And you knew you had hiked slightly up, but not more than twelve degrees. You remembered the faint sounds of a river splashing close by.

Most importantly, you could still feel the screwdriver tucked into your sock in your left boot.

Turner hadn’t frisked you again – big mistake.

As soon as you’d reached the spot of the supposed bunker, you frowned when Turner removed a pile of leaves, moss and dirt from the forest floor and opened the metal hatch that hid underneath.

Oh, hell no…

You weren’t getting in there. If you hadn’t known it before, you surely knew it now.

You would’ve been fine with the cabin because you knew Beau and the department would eventually find it. He’d get a list of their properties and find it. Denise had been in charge of those, and she’d been meticulous.

You would’ve been fine with an above-ground bunker, or even halfway above, too. Once the team would find the cabin, they’d know Turner and you couldn’t have gone far. They’d find the blood and test it, realizing with relief that most of it wasn’t yours. They’d know you’d be in the general area, and Beau would move heaven and earth to find you.

But this thing? They’d never fucking find you here.

Roughly, Turner shoved you down the tight metal stairway, leading to a room you knew only too well from videos. Now, you were here and saw it all for real, like glimpsing behind the scenes of a movie set.

Why couldn’t it have been the Friends set in Hollywood? Instead, you had to visit Diane Newton’s arts and crafts project.

Hal Turner cut your ties – again. And you saw it as your perfect way to escape. Again.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

With your elbows and shoulders, you shoved Turner backwards and bent down, quickly retrieving the screwdriver from your boot. You spun around and thrust it straight into his left carotid artery.

He gasped a breathless sound, his eyes growing wide and white. You let go and stepped back.

You’d never killed someone before – not like this at least.

But then Turner inhaled a deep breath of air – strained, angry, fighting. And you finally understood where the phrase white-hot rage stemmed from.

The roaring Grizzly kicked you right into your bear trap injury. With a painful scream and a searing pain, you fell to your knees and clasped your wound.

He then fled up the stairs like a rat through a sewer cover, tossing the hatch shut behind him. There was the sound of a thick lock before some shuffling followed. At least he couldn’t have done a good job on covering up the entrance. Maybe they’d find you easier this way.

Better yet, you hoped Turner would succumb to his fatal injury not too far from the hatch. If they found his body close by, they could find you too, right?

At least you’d gotten the bastard…

You wanted to scream till your lungs were depleted of all oxygen, but you didn’t have enough air for a breakdown in this bunker. You took one last deep breath to ground yourself and closed your eyes.

Then, you opened them.

The bright neon light flickered above as your eyes darted around the room. The space was sparse, concrete walls peeling in places, as though even the structure was trying to escape. You didn’t want to think too much about how long you would be trapped here.

You already knew this place by heart and what would happen if you didn’t get out.

At the edge of the corner, sat a row of rusty metal lockers. Shuffling over on your good leg, you opened the shrieking door and found that the lockers held various odds and ends – tools, cans, an assortment of chemical bottles with faded labels, and a single, cracked lightbulb resting on its side.

The other victims had received these items as well but never pieced enough of it together to escape. A few drank the chemical bottles for a quicker death out of sheer desperation. While you unfortunately couldn’t solve Diane’s little riddle either, you swore to yourself poison would never be a last resort.

You’d seen those deaths – they had neither been quick nor painless.

You found a first-aid kit as well and lowered yourself to the cold ground, bandaging your ankle. As you tightened the bandage to stop the blood flow, your eyes glanced up the shelves.

Your breath hitched. In the back of your mind, a vague memory from your 7th grade science teacher stirred – something about pressure, something about triggering a chain reaction. You tried to push it away but the thought wouldn’t leave. Maybe an escape was possible after all. There were things you could use – you just needed to figure out how.

The jar of white powder caught your eye. It was too fine to be salt. The label was half-scratched off, but you could make out the word "sulfate." Next to it, a small container of copper wiring lay scattered across the shelf – tiny, thin strands coiled tightly like little snakes, their sharp ends glinting in the harsh neon light.

You pulled at your sleeves nervously, staring at the broken lightbulb once more. If you twisted it carefully, the filament inside would snap. Maybe. Then there was the sharp wire… You let the idea float in your mind for just a moment longer before shaking it off.

And there was that other thing. Something buried deeper in the corner, an oily rag, half-soaked in a pungent smell you couldn’t quite place. You made a mental note. They weren’t much, but they were something.

If you could just piece it all together…

Tiredly, you heaved yourself onto the large metal table in the middle of the room. It was harsh, cold, and uncomfortable, but it was all you had. You lied down on your back and stared at the ceiling, at the flickering neon light above you. Then, you closed your eyes again.

Think, think, think…

For hours, Beau had now stared at the grainy footage, watching your unmoving form. The neon light flickered overhead, casting long shadows against the cold, cement walls of the bunker. His hands were trembling as he gripped the armrests of his chair, his body taut with the weight of helplessness.

The others had left his office a while ago, scrambling to find a way to get you out. There was a search going on, a team of skilled rescuers turning over every stone in the general vicinity of the cabin. Beau knew you couldn’t be far from there. And still, he feared he wouldn’t find you in time.

Truthfully, he knew the only one that could get you out was you. If you just stopped lying there…

Nothing. Not even a twitch. What the hell were you thinking about?

You were alive. He knew you were, reminding himself of that fact on an hourly basis. But for all the good it did, it didn’t matter. The silence on the feed was more suffocating than any sound.

But then…

A subtle movement. A shift in the shadows, so slight that at first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

His heart skipped.

Your fingers twitched, just enough to catch his attention. And then, slowly, agonizingly, you dragged yourself up, struggling to sit. He watched the quiet shuffle of your body across the concrete floor. You were alive. You were still fighting.

“Guys!” his gruff voice called loudly for the cavalry, but he didn’t wait for them to flood into his office.

Beau leaned forward in his chair, holding his breath. His heart hammered in his chest as you lifted your head, your eyes flicking briefly to the camera – aware. You knew he was watching.

Your movements were shaky, too weak for anything swift, but they were purposeful. You scanned the room with desperation. The broken lightbulb in the rusty locker, jagged glass fragments scattered on the shelf, caught your attention.

You reached for it.

Beau’s stomach twisted. No, don’t…

But it was too late. You pressed the sharp edge against the skin of your palm, wincing with the effort as blood began to bead at the surface. His breath hitched, fingers curling into fists at his sides. The blood flowed in slow, steady streams, painting your hand.

You didn’t flinch.

You moved with a practiced precision, grimly intent. With shaky fingers, you scooped some blood on your pointer finger and pressed the pad to the wall, your arm trembling as you began to write.

Seismograph.

Beau’s eyes locked onto the word, his brow furrowing.

Seismograph?

You were so weak. You could barely hold yourself up, and yet, you were still thinking. Still trying. Then you turned to the wall once more, collecting more blood on your finger as you struggled to form the second word.

3 hours.

You stopped then, your body slumping against the wall, too drained to write any more. You didn’t need to. The message was clear.

The feed cut to static for a brief moment, the camera buzzing with distortion, before it returned to the silent, unchanging image of your still form against the wall. But Beau wasn’t looking at you anymore.

His mind raced, blood thundering in his ears. Seismograph. 3 hours.

A tremor ran through him – an earthquake in his chest.

Seismograph. You were giving him a clue. Something seismic. A signal of some kind. His gut twisted. He was supposed to know what it meant.

3 hours. What did that mean? Three hours before something? Three hours after something?

He didn’t have time to analyze it. You were sending him a lifeline. And whatever it meant, he was going to find you.

“What’s going on?” Jenny was the first to thunder into his office, her heart beating fast in her ribcage. She came to stand behind Beau and glanced at the screen, her brow knitting at the crimson words on the concrete wall in the same way his had. “Seismograph. 3 hours,” the blonde read aloud. “What does it mean?”

Cassie stood quietly in the doorframe, listening and thinking. “What is in those lockers?”

“I don’t know. We never found a bunker before, and Diane sure as hell ain’t telling us,” Beau huffed frustratedly.

“But there are chemicals of some kind,” Jenny pointed out, squinting her eyes at the laptop.

“Maybe she’s building a bomb,” Cassie proposed.

Beau pondered the theory for a beat. Then, he nodded. “We already know the area of the bunker. We could probably find her exact location through the tremors.”

“With a seismograph,” Jenny finished the thought. “Well, let’s hope she doesn’t blow herself up first.”

Beau hoped that, too. He didn’t even know you possessed bomb-making skills, but he figured you hadn’t known that fact about yourself either. This was by far not a thoroughly planned undertaking.

“Alright, get a damn seismograph here. I don’t care where you get it or what it costs. We’ve got three hours,” Beau barked his orders with a racing heart.

Your message had just bought him time, and he wasn’t going to waste it. You were still alive. He could still save you. And he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

Your breath came in short, labored gasps as you hunched over the crude metal table in the dark, sterile bunker. The faint hum of the camera feeding into the livestream echoed through the silence, the red light blinking softly as its lens captured your every movement, broadcasting your quiet panic.

You knew Beau was watching. They all probably were. You could almost feel their eyes on you, their silent judgment, their hope that this would work. They’d see the sweat glistening on your brow, the faint tremor in your hands as you worked on your little science fair project.

But it wasn’t fear that made you shake now. It was the cold certainty that time was running out.

You carefully twisted the wire around the small, makeshift device you’d cobbled together from the limited supplies at your disposal. Every movement was deliberate, every breath controlled, even as your mind raced a marathon. You lifted the device to your ear, listening for the faint click as you tightened the final screw. Done.

The one thing they had to get right was the seismic readings.

The bomb was crude – imperfect – but it was all you had. The plan was simple: blow the door open if you could, cause a seismic tremor, and hope the team could triangulate your location. They would track the explosion on the seismograph, find your coordinates, and come for you.

If you were lucky.

Maybe you should leave another message behind for him. In those hours you had lain on the table and pondered, you had thought about your escape. You had also thought about various torturous ways to kill Diane. You had celebrated your little win against Turner. But most of all, you had thought about Beau.

Simple things. The color of his pine green eyes. The smell of his leathery cologne. The sound of his hearty laugh. The warmth of his large hands. Would you ever see, hear, or feel those things again?

A tear streaked your cheek that you swiftly wiped away. Sobbing would cost you too much goddamn air. You couldn’t afford it.

You stole one last glance at the camera, your face a grim mask of resolve. Then you moved quickly, setting the device in place. You looked at the door on top of the steps – solid metal, bolted shut, impossible to open without the right tools.

Tools you didn’t have.

You hurried down the stairs and pushed the metal table onto its side, using it as a shield from the blast as you hunched down low behind it. It had been a little over three hours. It was time. With a sharp breath, you pushed the button of the remote detonator.

The explosion hit like a fist. The sound was deafening, but muffled in the confined space. Your ears rang as the shockwave slammed into you, throwing you back against the cold, unforgiving concrete wall. Your head spun, and for a moment, everything went black.

Then came the tremor.

It rippled through the ground like a violent pulse. The bunker groaned – metal creaking, concrete cracking. The lights flickered and went out, plunging you into near-total darkness, save for the dim emergency glow above the door.

And then, with a deep, bone-rattling crack, something shifted above you.

You scrambled to your feet, disoriented. What the hell was that?

A series of sharp, cracking sounds echoed from the ceiling, followed by a wet, muffled splintering. Your breath caught in your throat as a large root – gnarled and thick as a limb – suddenly pierced through the bunker’s ceiling, splintering the metal and concrete. The roots of a large tree slithered down – a slow, creeping thing – and it didn’t stop. It tore through the ceiling like it had been waiting for this moment, its jagged edges scraping against the walls.

And then – water. Cold, relentless water began pouring in, cascading through the new hole in the roof, spilling across the floor in an uncontrolled flood.

Fuck.

Your heart pounded wildly as you stumbled backward, the water already rising around your ankles, creeping steadily toward your knees. You could hear the steady drip of water splashing against the cold, metal floor, each drop sending a ripple through your chest.

The livestream camera remained on, the blinking red light still steady, but your mind was running a mile a minute – panic rising like a tidal wave. You had no time. You had to move, had to act. But the water was already rising faster than you could think. The air was thick, the walls seemed to be closing in on you, and the roots above groaned ominously as if the earth itself was about to swallow you whole.

You ran toward the door, your boots splashing through the growing puddle. But aside from causing a giant hole in the ceiling, the bomb hadn’t done enough damage to escape. The root’s tendrils were still creeping down from above, twisting around the ceiling. You could hear the scrape of it, its thick fingers reaching into the dark corners of the room.

The sound of the water filled your ears as it surged up around your waist. You stumbled, falling to one knee as the icy liquid engulfed you. Your chest tightened, panic clawing at your throat.

It was too much. The explosion, the quake, the roots, and now the rising water – everything was converging at once. A part of you knew this was it. You wouldn’t get out. They wouldn’t get here in time to save you. But a small flicker of hope was still alive in your heart.

You clutched the camera’s wire, the blinking red light still visible in the murk, as if it was the last lifeline you had left.

“Please,” you breathed, although you knew they couldn’t hear you, but your voice was barely audible over the rush of water anyways. “Please, find me.”

The woods were dense, the trees thick with fog and shadows. Beau ran through the underbrush, his boots pounding against the damp earth, the scent of pine and wet leaves filling his lungs. Sweat stung his green eyes, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he pushed his body beyond its limits. His heart thundered in his chest, not from the exertion, but from the terror building inside him, growing with each passing second.

He’d found it.

The seismograph had done its job. The tremor from the explosion had sent ripples through the earth, and in those ripples, he’d pinpointed the location. There was no time to think, no time to second-guess. He didn’t know how much time you had left, but the second the signal went off and the icy water of a nearby river had wound its way into the confined space, rising like a tide as it flooded the bunker, he’d known it could only be minutes till you took your last breath.

Beau’s mind reeled at the thought.

He stumbled over a fallen log, his eyes never leaving the ground ahead of him. He was so close. It had to be here. He had seconds to make it. He knew it had to be deep. The bunker was buried beneath the forest floor, hidden like a trap, and there was only one way in: a hatch maybe, barely visible among the trees, the earth heavy with moss and years of neglect. He had to get there – now.

He could hear the team searching all around him, crying with calls of your name that echoed through the trees. As he stared up through the tops of the towering pines, he could see the North Star twinkling brightly above him. His heart twinged. His gaze dropped and then landed on the far beam of his flashlight. Something flickered in the distance, just a few yards away from him, buried in the moss.

He stumbled back onto his feet, his trembling hands picking up a small, golden band. His chest seized.

The ring.

His ears picked up the babbling sounds of water. The river was close, only a few feet away. That had to be it. You’d left him another sign.

Grabbing his flashlight, his hands hastily searched the ground. His fingers brushed a thick patch of bramble, and then – there. His breath halted. Metal.

The hatch.

He skidded to a stop, his hands shaking as he dropped to his knees and cleared the leaves and brush away. The metal was a bit busted and bent out of shape, probably from the bomb, but the bolt that kept it tightly shut was still in tact. His fingers fumbled for the lock, every second stretching longer than the last.

“It’s here!” Beau yelled loudly, calling the others for help. “She’s here!”

His mind kept circling back to you. You were trapped down there. Trapped and drowning.

I’m coming, darlin’. Hold on.

Finally, his fingers found the latch, and with a metallic groan, the hatch creaked open.

The stench of damp earth hit him first – the cold, stagnant air of a place that had been shut off from the world for too long. His flashlight flickered as he shined it down into the narrow opening. The steps below were steep, the darkness absolute. He could hear the distant drip of water, and with it, a rising sense of urgency.

He didn’t waste time. Without a second thought, he grabbed the flashlight and began to descend, the metal of the hatch scraping against the edges of the door as he pulled it wide open. His breath caught as he stepped into the narrow stairwell.

The moment he hit the bottom, the sound of rushing water was unmistakable.

The tunnel was flooded. The water was rising fast, covering the floor in murky, black waves. The small concrete room at the base of the stairs had become a watery tomb, the level inching toward the ceiling.

He shouted your name, his voice crackling in the damp air.

But there was no answer.

Beau pushed forward, his heart in his throat, eyes scanning every inch of the flooded room. Your presence was all he could feel – your spirit, your strength, your last message. He had to find you.

A sudden thud echoed through the chamber, the faint sound of something – or someone – shifting beneath the water.

Beau’s eyes locked on the back wall of the room, where the water was thickest, swirling around a pile of debris. His mind screamed. The seconds were melting away, and he couldn’t afford to waste a single one.

The wall was crumbling under the pressure, but the thing that struck him wasn’t just the damage. It was the stillness. There was no movement. No air.

His pulse spiked as he waded through the rising water, kicking through the murk with his boots, moving faster now, hands trembling as he shoved aside debris.

Please, please, please…

And then, beneath the surface, a hand – limp, floating like a ghost. Beau lunged, his fingers brushing against your wrist, cold and unyielding.

He cried your name again, his voice hoarse with panic as he pulled you to him, cradling your body against his chest.

Your skin was ice-cold. Your hair matted against your face, your body limp in his arms. You were unconscious – or worse.

Don’t you dare be dead. Don’t you dare.

Beau’s breath came in harsh bursts, his hands fumbling against you, trying to find any sign of life. The water was rising too fast.

He wasn’t going to lose you. Not like this.

With a single, desperate motion, he hoisted you into his arms. He didn’t stop. His feet pounded the water-soaked concrete as he bolted back toward the stairs, his lungs burning, the world blurring around him.

Get out. Get out.

He could feel the water rising behind him, flooding the room with the force of a tide. He didn’t know if the two of you would make it. He didn’t know if he could make it.

But he was going to try. He was going to fight like hell to keep you alive.

The hatch was there, just ahead, the only way out. He pushed harder, faster, as the water reached his knees, then his waist. Every breath was a battle. Every second felt like an eternity.

With one final push, he reached the top of the stairs, stumbling out into the fresh air, gasping for breath, his legs weak beneath him. He laid you on the ground, your limp body draped across the earth.

Beau’s hands were shaking as he knelt beside you. “Darlin’,” he whispered, shaking you gently.

Nothing.

Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his ear to your chest, listening for any sign of life.

A faint, fragile beat.

You were still with him.

He could barely breathe, panic threatening to swallow him whole, but he knew he had to keep it together.

He leaned over your body, his hands moving quickly. “Come on, darlin’. Come on…” His voice cracked as he positioned his hands, interlocking his fingers over your sternum. He gave two hard compressions, the sound of his palms meeting your chest too loud in the thick silence.

Still nothing. Your skin was frozen, your lips tinged blue.

His breath hitched, and he started again – one, two, three…

His heart hammered in his chest as he leaned down, pinching your nose and sealing his mouth over yours. He breathed into you, feeling the faint rise of your chest beneath him.

Please, please, don’t leave me.

He gave you another breath, then returned to the chest compressions – one, two, three…

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, each moment more desperate than the last. His hands moved faster, his fingers slick with water and sweat as he pressed into you again and again. He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t.

He hadn’t even taken note of the crowd that had gathered around him, watching the dire spectacle.

Finally – after what felt like a lifetime – your body jerked beneath his hands. You gasped, a harsh, ragged breath, and Beau nearly collapsed in relief. He cradled your head gently, his green eyes searching your face as you coughed weakly, water spilling from your mouth.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he breathed into your hair, his voice thick with emotion and eyes filled with tears as he kissed your crown repeatedly, his hold tight around your body.

You opened your eyes, just a sliver at first, and then you blinked, your hand weakly reaching for his cheek before it dropped to his chest.

“Beau…” you whispered, your voice barely a breath before you let out the first few sobs and coiled against him.

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

And for the first time in days, Beau let himself breathe as he steadied your trembling frame in his embrace.

Hospitals weren’t your favorite thing in the world. In fact, you had pretty much avoided them your whole life. You’d screamed your way through your tonsils surgery when you were five. You refused to get your broken arm cast when you were fourteen. But there was one thing you had always cherished during your involuntary stays:

Pudding.

Randy was the first person that stopped by early in the morning. You didn’t know if that decision had been a collusive one, agreed upon by the whole team, but you were grateful for the visit – more grateful when he brought you your sweet treat.

Something had been going on, though, while you were locked up – you could tell. As you’d clung to Beau’s chest last night in the forest, you caught Randy in the crowd around you before he ducked his head and retreated into the shadows. Your heart broke at the sight.

Beau didn’t leave your side, though, even riding in the ambulance with you while reassuring you throughout. He held your hand tightly, but his shoulders were stiff. And when they wheeled you out of the emergency room, the doors closed in front of him. You hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

You’d only slept for about five hours, but it had been a deep slumber. You had been out like a light. But as soon as you woke, you felt the aches of your body. There wasn’t a single limb or organ that didn’t groan in pain. Your ankle was the worst, though – the doctors told you you were lucky you got to keep it by the degree of infection it had suffered. The murky water of the river surely hadn’t helped cleaning it.

Sepsis, hypothermia, drowning, and lifelong trauma were just a few of the things you had to recover from.

There was also the dissolution of your marriage – you’d finally found the right term. Not widowed, not divorced – dissolved.

Randy stayed for three hours, and you had an honest and long talk. Oddly enough, being in his presence didn’t feel strange anymore. It felt familiar.

While your brain had adjusted, your heart remained steadfast. Randy had recognized it too and conceded. When he left your bedside, you sent him a smile with tears brimming in your eyes.

A chapter closed. A song ended. But your heart was at peace.

Beau’s heart pounded furiously in his chest as he stood glued outside your hospital room. Every laugh that echoed through the door felt like a gut punch.

Randy had asked to speak to you first. Beau had granted him the request – not that it had been really up to him. But Randy had been gracious last night, and the sheriff knew it couldn’t have been easy.

Beau had arrived at the hospital around noon, only to find you and Randy were still talking. Not only talking but laughing. While his heart murmured a tiny bit, he supposed it was a good sign. Who said you had to throw plates or the occasional vase at each other?

Twenty minutes later, Randy finally exited and ran straight into Beau around the corner, who had leaned against the wall and tried to answer the many nosy questions of the group chat. He didn’t know why the hell Cassie had invited him into this one…

“Oh, hey.” Randy chuckled lightly as he bumped into Beau, eyeing him with a suspicious brow. There was the flash of a smirk on his face.

Eager, are we? Beau could read Randy thoughts, even though his former friend refrained from saying them out loud.

“Hey.” Beau’s voice was low. He swallowed thickly as he tried his hardest not to avert his gaze to the linoleum flooring. “How is she?”

“In good spirits,” Randy replied but then paused. “For now. I think the morphine’s kicking in.”

“So, uhm–”

Beau didn’t know where that sentence would end. Flat-out asking Randy how your conversation went would’ve just been pathetically nosy – and rude. His mama had raised him better than that.

“I’m going back to Houston,” Randy still answered the unasked question.

“With, uhm–” Your name hung on the tip of Beau’s tongue before he bit down, noting Randy’s shaking head.

“Don’t push it.”

“Right…” Beau smacked his lips and cleared his throat, his hand scratching the nape of his neck. “So, what about you and me, huh? I know right now’s a stretch, but maybe down the road we could grab a beer?”

Randy’s lips pursed at first – unsure. But after a beat passed, he nodded slightly. “Maybe, yeah.” He hesitated. “Hit me up if you’re ever in Houston, alright?”

“Yeah, alright.” Beau’s lips twitched to a smile of surprise, but he still wished there was more he could do, more he could offer. It didn’t feel enough. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Randy gave him a tight-lipped nod and patted him on the shoulder as he passed him. “You too.”

Beau watched Randy angle towards the elevators before exhaling a deep breath. Green eyes then drifted to your door. His heart was both elated and heavy. Questions circled in his mind.

What now?

The case was as good as over. Would you leave now? Where would you go? Beau knew your home was in Houston. Should he move back there, too? Would you even want him to? He’d broken up with you. Again. Were you still mad at him for it? He had tried to restrain himself last night, not knowing where the two of you stood. He held your hand in his, even though it was your whole body he wanted to keep holding in his arms.

You’d chosen no one. Maybe this was a day of break-ups for you.

Beau’s knuckles softly knocked on your door before he entered. Unsurely, he stood until your eyes glanced up and found his. A smile rose on your lips.

“Hey, there you are. You just missed Randy,” you said.

At a loss for words, Beau stared at you for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. You still looked pretty rough – hooked up to IVs, your face and arms covered in bruises and cuts. But at least you were here – alive. There was some color back in your cheeks. Until a few hours ago, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to see you again.

“Oh, uh, passed him in the hall,” Beau finally said and obnoxiously cleared his throat. “Said he was going back to Houston.”

“Yeah, he told me. I gave him my apartment,” you said, your voice a casual melody as you ignored the tension that was building between you two.

Beau’s brows shot up. “You gave him your place?”

“Least I could do. I sold his home.”

“Where are you gonna stay?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet. Guess I’m kinda homeless now. Again,” you said and hid the hint of a smile. You could see his wires were crossed.

“Hmm,” he hummed and shifted on his heels.

“Thank you,” you then said softly, trying to fight the tears that pricked your eyes. You swallowed heavily. “For saving me, you know? Bringing me back to life…”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied with a tight-lipped smile and a shake of his head, although a lump formed in the back of his throat at the haunting image of you, limb in his arms. He never wanted to see something like this again. He never wanted to feel that crippling, numbing fear ever again.

You snorted slightly at his understatement, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. “Feel like I have to. They told me you gave me CPR for three minutes straight. They said I was pretty much gone.”

“They’re exaggerating. It wasn’t that long,” he brushed off. “‘Sides, I wasn’t gonna let you die on my watch.”

“Like I said, thanks,” you reiterated and sent him a smile. “So, why are you standing so far away like I’m radioactive?”

Beau pursed his lips. “Well, you are kinda my kryptonite, darlin’.” He scratched the back of his neck, his boots still not moving closer. “Don’t really know where we stand, y’know? I mean, last time… that morning… I guess I’m tryna say I’m sorry for puttin’ you through that. So, on a scale from one to ten, how mad are you at me right now?”

“Well, if you put it like that… zero.” You grinned teasingly. “Hard to stay mad at you, considering you’ve saved my life, you know? I’m willing to forget your momentary stupidity. Well, if it really was momentary…”

“Oh, it was,” Beau confirmed, your heart expanding with a breath of relief. “Going with an insanity defense here. So… what does that mean?”

Musingly, you bit down on your lip. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to come closer and find out.”

Beau’s lips hiked to a wide, genuine smile for the first time in days. His feet began moving toward you.

Enjoying the warm rays of sunlight on your face, you exhaled blissfully as you sat outside the trailer, leaning comfortably back in your chair.

“There ya go – one extra black, extra strong cup of joe.” Beau handed you your favorite mug, his pine green eyes drifting to your injured leg, propped up on a wooden stool in front of you.

“Thank you,” you replied with a smile and practically inhaled the black liquid, its warmth filling you.

“How’s the ankle? That stool looks uncomfortable,” he noted, brushing his beard. His head tilted. “You need a pillow? Imma grab you one. Anything you need, darlin’. Officially retired since yesterday, you know? I’m here all day. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Amused, you laughed a little. “I don’t need a pillow. The ankle’s fine. Just sit down next to me and enjoy the sun, will you?”

“It’s freezing.”

“I like how the snow twinkles in the sun,” you said and patted the chair next to you. With a groan, Beau sat down, wrapping his suede jacket a little tighter around himself while you sat cozily draped in the Sherpa jacket you had stolen from his closet. It was big and wide and warm and smelled heavenly like him. “‘Sides, I have a pretty nice jacket to keep me warm.” He frowned a little at you, but an amused smile twitched on his lips. “You said I should make myself comfortable – anything I wanted.”

“Didn’t think you’d raid my closet,” he huffed playfully.

“Hey, I only came here with a tiny carry-on.”

You’d been released from the hospital last night after spending a full week there. In the meantime, Beau had decided to hang up the sheriff’s hat, handing the badge off to Jenny – you’d fully agreed with the decision. You knew his heart hadn’t been in it for a while now.

He’d also asked you to move in.

And moreover, you’d finished your last reports and then handed in your resignation at the FBI. One serial killer kidnapping was enough for you. Diane had showed you where your limit was, and that was okay. You looked forward to a quiet life with the man beside you. It was its own adventure. God knows Diane’s life wouldn’t be as happy and peaceful behind bars.

Neither of you had spoken to her since your rescue. Sheriff Hoyt had handled all things on that end. By the amount of evidence they had to go through, Ted even surmised her trial wouldn’t start until three years from now. Until then, Beau and you had promised each other you wouldn’t waste another thought on her.

Well, you supposed you had to waste some thoughts on her. A big publisher from New York had already approached you about a book deal – and the money was more than good.

“Guess we’ll have to go down to Houston to get your stuff once you’re back on your feet,” Beau said.

Musingly, you scrunched your nose and hummed. “Not sure that’s necessary. It’s not gonna fit in the trailer anyways – not with your extensive closet.”

Amused, Beau pursed his lips and chuckled. He rubbed a hand through his beard. “Yeah, I was thinking about that… Maybe we should move. Get a bigger place, you know?”

“Do they make bigger Airstreams?” you murmured teasingly into your mug, cocking an eyebrow.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I was thinking more along the lines of a house. A ranch, maybe.”

“What about a houseboat?”

“Nah, that wouldn’t work with the kids. Try keeping a toddler in a life jacket all day,” Beau quipped, shaking his head. He didn’t even seem to notice what had slipped out of his mouth.

Your brow creased. “Kids?”

His wide eyes found yours, mouth opening and closing. He let out nervous breath. “Yeah, uh, something else I wanted to talk to you about…”

“Are you pregnant?” you joked and snorted into your coffee. Then, your brow furrowed. “Wait, am I? Did the doctor say something to you? Why would you smuggle tequila into my room if you knew?”

“No one’s pregnant, darlin’…” Beau laughed softly, his hand reaching out to cover your thigh. “I was just thinking maybe more a down-the-line kinda thing. In the, uh, near future, you know?”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Well, uhm, I didn’t think that was on table. We’ve never talked about it. I mean, I honestly didn’t think you’d want to…”

“Kinda gettin’ tired of people always assuming things about me,” Beau retorted with a little smirk. He squeezed your thigh. “Kids are on the table, darlin’.”

“Huh.”

Clearing his throat, Beau leaned forward in his seat. “You know, I had a little chat with Randy…”

You scoffed in surprise. “He actually told you?”

“Bigger question is, why didn’t you tell me?” Beau’s brow raised almost scoldingly. He was a pretty great dad.

“Honestly? Because it’s none of your business. That was between me and my then-late husband,” you replied with a sharpness that matched his look – there was a playfulness lying underneath, though. You both knew the other had a point. You exhaled a long sigh. “Look, that was four years ago. A lot has changed since then. I haven’t really thought about it since Randy’s funeral. Then Mexico happened. God knows we were nowhere near ready for a conversation like this…”

You gave him a shrug of your shoulders and sipped on your coffee.

“So, you don’t want kids?”

“Do you?”

Beau chuckled lightly, his fingers tapping the chair’s armrest. “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” he said. “Sure, for a long time, I wasn’t thinking about another kid, but Emily’s almost off to college. Would be nice to feel needed again, do it all over… I don’t wanna fish every day till I drop.”

You snorted a laugh.

“So? What d’you say?”

Biting down on your lip, you glanced behind you at the Airstream. Then you found his green eyes and grinned. “Yeah, I think we’ll definitely need a bigger place. Maybe something between a houseboat and a ranch?”

Beau could barely contain his smile but played along. “And what would that be?”

It ended up being a lake house. Beau fished every morning. You watched him and the sunrise from the window as you wrote your novel.

The baby arrived by next Christmas.

THE END

I think reader would be unstoppable in an Escape Room 😂

I so hope you enjoyed this last part, loves! What a wonderful journey it's been. Thank you to every single one of you from the bottom of my heart 🤍

And PS: I do have a little future one-shot in mind for them 😉

Join the TAG LIST here! 🌌 Wanna sponsor my caffeine addiction? ☕️

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@thebiggerbear @star-yawnznn

Everything Beau Arlen: @snowayumi

Polaris Series: @corruptedcruiser

[plistommy]

Look at him go!