#Looking back at the prompts I’m realizing there’s plenty where I don’t know what to do XD

[kathybluecaller]

Aioros Week Day 3: Amethyst

when in doubt make him sit like a renaissance painting and crop it (aka I didn’t know how to pose the boy)

[takamimami]

I am a fucking idiot my brain clocked out while I was reading the prompts

All Angst;

2, 8, 11.

All with both Law and Kid (seperate)

Hello, my dear. Thank you for the request! I have been needing to crank out some good old heart-wrenching angst, so this request was much appreciated!

That being said, I am a sucker for both Kidd and Law, so this will be a two-parter - sorry to keep you waiting :3 but I promise there will be plenty of angst and smut in the next part, so hopefully it is worth the wait <3

Kidd/Law x F!Reader - SFW - "Please don't talk about yourself like that." - STORY UNDER THE CUT CW: ANGST; kidd is prideful and stubborn, law is moody and sensitive, crew mate!reader ---word count ~1k each

A simple comment about him controlling his temper was all it took to have you and your captain at each other’s throats. You couldn’t understand how he could be so brazen and hot-headed when danger stared him in the face, and he didn’t give you a chance to explain where your concerns stemmed from before he dismissed them completely, his stubbornness rearing its ugly head as he cut you off in the middle of your sentence.

“I don’t care to hear anymore, Y/N. I am the captain of this crew, and I will handle things my way. The pirate I am has gotten our crew to where we are so far - so if you have a problem with the way I handle things…”

🌷

“...Either keep it to yourself or get lost!”

You barely heard the words leave his mouth as he stared down at you, chest puffed out and breathing heavily as he yelled. Your eyes burned, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how hard his words hit you. Instead, you looked over to Killer - who normally played peacemaker between the two of you during your squabbles - to find him rubbing his temples as Kidd turned and stormed away from you, leaving you standing in the middle of the deck. Unbeknownst to you, Quincy was also lurking near the stairs to the helm, witnessing the fall out of what started out as a heart-to-heart with your captain.

You let the first sob shake your shoulders as the door to Kidd’s workshop slams shut, and Quincy and Killer are immediately on you, both of them reaching a reassuring hand to your shoulders. You brush away from their touch, storming to the bow of the ship to get away from everyone, feeling your chest tightening as you struggle to draw in breaths.

To your surprise Quincy follows you, lingering a few feet from where you grip the railing, trying your best to level your breathing as tears continue to sting your eyes. She doesn’t say anything, not wanting to leave you alone, but also not wanting to impose on your space as you try to settle your mind.

“He didn’t mean it,” she says softly, shifting closer to you as you turn and lean against the railing, keeping your eyes on the ground as she approaches.

“Yes he did,” you murmur, feeling the familiar self-doubt creep into your mind as you think over the argument that just occurred. “He’s always told me I’m too emotional for this lifestyle, so maybe I don’t belong here after all.”

Quincy flinches at your words, reaching her arms out and pulling you into a hug by your shoulders. “Don’t talk about yourself like that, Y/N,” she chastises, pulling away to look you in your eyes as she continues. “Kidd is just… emotionally constipated. Like, all the time. He views emotions as a sign of weakness, and he doesn’t realize that if everyone on this crew acted as irrationally as he did, we wouldn’t have made it this far.”

You hold back the new tears forming in your eyes as you look at Quincy, talking in her words as she offers you a gentle smile. 

“C’mon,” she nudges, “I know where Killer keeps his comfort snacks.”

She giggles as your lip curls into a smile, following her to the kitchen and immediately feeling a lump in your throat as you open the door to Kidd and Killer arguing in the kitchen.

Kidd’s eyes flick over to you, not even flinching at your disheveled appearance before he returns his gaze to Killer, who looks exasperated as he nudges his head in your direction. 

“Apologize.”

Killer’s authoritative voice makes you flinch as you keep your eyes on Kidd, his throat bobbing as he holds Killer’s glare. 

“Last time I checked, I am the captain of this crew,” he says between gritted teeth. He turns his gaze to you, eyes fiery with rage as he grows more defensive by the second. “And I don’t recall one of my responsibilities as captain to be coddling my crew when they don’t get their way.”

You feel your jaw tense at his words, and before you can swallow down the retort you take a step forward and press your hands to the counter. 

“Stop acting like a self-righteous prick, Kidd,” you snap, feeling the rage bubbling up from your gut as you lash out at him. “I only said what I did earlier because… I love you.”

The last words leave your mouth quieter than the previous ones, your voice cracking from the vulnerability behind them. This was only the second time you’d dare utter the words to Kidd, the first time you had been the day he lost his arm - when you weren’t sure he would make it. The two of you hadn’t spoken about it directly, but you knew Kidd was mindful of the way you felt for him, at least you thought that was the case until today.

You can feel Killer and Quincy tense as Kidd’s stance sharpens, his lip curling as if he were going to snarl at the words leaving your mouth.

“I didn’t ask you to love me.”

Your breath hitches as you hear the words hanging in the air, the weight of them bearing down on your shoulders as the tears burning your eyes begin to fall. 

Kidd looks away, almost wincing at your reaction as he speaks again.

“I am the way that I am, Y/N. You of all people should know this,” he grunts, moving from his spot across the kitchen and heading towards the door. “I don’t need any of you trying to change me or tell me what I should be doing.”

With that Kidd kicks open the door to the kitchen and stomps away, back out onto the deck. 

You try your best to hold in the sobs as you saunter over to the door, desperate to go curl up in your bed and try to sort through your thoughts. 

“Y/N,” Killer calls to you quietly, causing you to pause at the door as you try to muster the strength to answer him. 

Your lip quivers, the hole in your chest growing as you hear Kidd’s words echoing through your mind, and instead of saying anything you just look back at Killer. The pain in your eyes must have said enough because his shoulders slump as he watches you leave the kitchen.

Your vision blurs as you disappear below deck and into the women’s quarters, grateful that no one was around to hear you as your sobs rock you into a fitful sleep.

🐯

“...Maybe it's time to re-evaluate your position on this crew.”

You could feel your nails digging into your palms as you squeezed your hands into fists at your sides, feeling that familiar burn in your eyes as you watched Law resume wrapping the wound on his arm. 

He winces as he struggles to lift his shoulder, and you instinctively lunge towards him to assist him with wrapping the wound, your jaw tight as you work in silence. You fought the urge to tie the bandage too tight in retaliation as Law watched you work, his eyes softening ever so slightly as he took in how your delicate hands traced over his skin.

The door to his office swings open behind you as you finish tying off the gauze, and Bepo strolls in and drops a stack of paperwork onto Law’s desk before turning it over to the two of you. 

“Captain,” he says wearily, nodding awkwardly as he feels the tension in the air between the two of you. “Shachi and I are done sorting through the documents you brought back, and these are the ones that looked the most promising.”

Law turns his attention from you to Bepo, and you take the opportunity to shift away from him, shuffling towards the door in an attempt to dismiss yourself. 

“Y/N,” Law’s stern voice cuts through the air, Bepo flinching a bit as he casts a sympathetic gaze your way. “We’re not done, here.”

You squeeze your hands again, feeling your palms sting as you stop halfway through the doorway. You breathe in deeply before looking over your shoulder at him, his brows furrowing as he catches your heated glare.

Bepo salutes awkwardly as he shuffles towards the door, distress evident on his face as he disappears back down the hall, leaving you alone with Law once again.

You turn around and lean against the wall, eyeing Law from across the room as he hobbles over to his desk, skimming over the papers that Bepo left as he contemplates the next thing to say.

“I don’t appreciate being questioned, Y/N,” Law murmurs, eyes lifting to meet yours as he sits down behind his desk. “At the end of the day, the crew will do as I say, and I will take whatever necessary measures are needed in order to ensure we are successful.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as you refocus on him. “So we are supposed to just stand idly by while you make reckless decisions, regardless of how risky they are? You expect your crew to just sit back and be yes-men?”

He grimaces at the tone in your voice, his eyes dropping back down to the papers on his desk. “I want my crew to trust me, and not question their captain’s decisions.”

“Well, I can’t do that, Law. Not when I care about you this much.” You feel your breath catch in your throat and your pulse rise at the realization of your admission. 

Law’s hand tightens on the edge of the table, and his eyes shoot back up to meet your heated gaze. “If you can’t trust me, Y/N, then why are you part of this crew?”

You suck in a shallow breath at Law’s question, wondering if he was asking it to you or to himself. 

“If you don’t want me here, just say that,” you say through clenched teeth, dropping your chin to your chest as you feel your eyes begin to burn.

Law grimaces, still holding firm as he keeps his gaze on you, “Your words, not mine.”

Not an admission, but his answer leaves little room for comfort as you slowly release the breath you had been holding. You can feel your pulse in your temples as you do your best to fight off the tears, turning away from Law and storming out of the room as you feel the first one slip through your lids.

You waited half a beat for him to call out to you, to come rushing after you to offer you the reassurance you were seeking - that he wanted you on his crew. But Law remained in his office chair as your trembling legs carried you down the halls of the polar tang, stopping as you round the corner to release the pressure building in your chest. A sob rakes through your body, your throat immediately going raw as the tears spill faster and faster. You bring a hand to your mouth to keep the sound from reaching your crewmates down the hall, ducking into the small corridor that leads to the small women’s quarters. 

You quickly enter the room and shut the door behind you, leaning your head against it as your sobs intensify, the sound vibrating off the walls of the empty room. You turn and lean against the door, sinking down to the floor and holding your knees to your chest as you try to get a grip on the emotions swirling through your chest. You hear footsteps approaching from down the hall and try to muffle the sounds of your cries, but Bepo’s soft knock at the door for some reason brings a whole new wave of emotions washing over you. 

“Y/N,” he calls gently through the door. You drop your head down onto your arms and continue sobbing, letting the pathetic sounds tell Bepo everything he needs to know as he lingers on the other end of the door.

“I’m fine, Bepo,” you croak, knowing you don’t sound anywhere near as convincing as you wanted to. “I’ll be gone soon, so you and the others won't have to worry about me. I’m sure you’ll find someone better suited for this kind of thing anyway.

Bepo leans into the door, wishing he could somehow offer you an embrace through it.

“Please don’t say that, Y/N. We need you.” 

Silence is all you can offer him as your eyes begin to burn again, fresh tears cascading down your face.

He stands there for a while before giving up, realizing you need this time to be alone as he places a supportive paw on the door opposite you before walking away. His footsteps disappear down the halls, leaving you alone with your thoughts - the sound of Law’s voice haunting your dreams as you slump onto the cold floor.

Part Two

100 Follower Event Masterlist ✨come say hai :3✨

[thirtysomethingloser92]

If you are still takin one shot prompts can you write something with Remy x female reader where they are always arguing but everyone knows they’re in love with each other except the two of them? With smut?

(Idk if u do kinks and feel free to ignore this bit if u don’t but if u do can you write in heavy praise kink?)

Love ur writing ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Warning: Contains Smut. I dunno how to feel about this one honestly, it was written in a haze of sleep deprivation and absence of coffee; but I still hope you enjoy!

The X-Mansion was unusually quiet that afternoon, a rare occurrence that most of the team appreciated. With no missions on the horizon and the younger students out on a field trip, the mansion basked in an almost eerie calm. That is, until Remy Lebeau strolled into the kitchen, whistling a tune with his typical swagger, and found you rummaging through the fridge.

“Mon dieu, chérie, y’ coulda left me somethin’ to eat,” Remy drawled, leaning casually against the counter.

You didn’t even glance back at him, too focused on your hunt for leftovers. “If you weren’t always late, you’d have something left,” you shot back, finally pulling out a container of pasta. “Besides, you’re lucky I didn’t eat this too.”

He smirked, staring at you with those infuriatingly charming red-on-black eyes. “Lucky, huh? I’d call it somethin’ else, but I ain’t here to argue semantics.”

You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh really? Because that’s all you seem to be good at.”

“Non, non, I’m good at plenty o’ things, chérie. You just never give me a chance t’ show you.” He winked, and you felt a familiar heat crawl up your neck—annoyance, definitely annoyance.

“You know what, Remy? You could charm the devil himself, but it won’t work on me,” you retorted, grabbing a fork and digging into the pasta defiantly.

“Is that a challenge, chérie?” Remy leaned in closer, his voice dropping to that low, teasing tone that always made your heart skip a beat, not that you’d ever admit it.

“You wish,” you muttered around a mouthful of food.

Before he could reply, Storm walked into the kitchen, her eyes flicking between the two of you with an amused smile. “Am I interrupting something?” she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer. You and Remy had been at each other’s throats for years. From the moment you first joined the team, there was something about him that rubbed you the wrong way. Maybe it was his cocky attitude, the way he sauntered into every room like he owned the place, or the way he always had some snarky comment ready no matter what you said. It didn’t help that he was infuriatingly charming, either—always ready with a flirtatious quip, especially when you were at your most exasperated.

But as the years went by, something shifted. What started as irritation evolved into something more complex, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It was as if every argument, every sarcastic exchange, was building something between you—a tension that neither of you could deny, no matter how much you tried to ignore it.

You’d find yourself lying awake at night, replaying your latest spat with him in your head, only to realize that you weren’t just angry—you were excited. You started to notice the way his eyes sparkled when he got under your skin, or how his voice softened ever so slightly when the banter got too heated. It was maddening, really, how much he affected you, and how you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him, even when you wanted nothing more than to forget he existed.

The worst part was, you knew he felt it too. You could see it in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, or in the way he’d linger just a little too long in a room after everyone else had left, as if waiting for you to say something—anything—that might break the tension. And yet, you both kept dancing around it, neither one willing to be the first to admit that the fiery arguments weren’t just arguments anymore.

That morning in the kitchen was just the latest in a long string of these encounters. Five years of sniping at each other, of pretending that the growing heat between you was just frustration, not something deeper, something almost… intoxicating.

“Just tryin’ t’ get somethin’ t’ eat, Stormy,” Remy said with that familiar grin, leaning casually against the counter. You could feel the weight of his gaze even as you busied yourself with your breakfast, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up whenever he was near.

Storm raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying his innocent act. “And are you succeeding?”

“Not yet, but y’know, she likes t’ make it difficult,” he replied, his grin widening as he glanced at you.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes even as your pulse quickened. “If by ‘difficult’ you mean not letting you steal my food, then sure.”

Storm chuckled, shaking her head. “You two are impossible.”

“We’re not the problem here,” you insisted, but even as you said it, you noticed the knowing look Storm gave Remy. He just shrugged, clearly enjoying this little game far too much.

“Whatever you say,” Storm replied, her tone light but her eyes twinkling with something you couldn’t quite place. “Just... try not to burn the kitchen down, alright?” With that, she left the room, leaving you alone with Remy again.

“She’s got a point, y’know,” Remy said after a moment, his voice taking on that maddeningly smooth tone that always seemed to get under your skin. “We do seem t’ have a bit of a... fiery relationship.”

You glared at him, refusing to let him see just how much his words affected you. “Keep dreaming, Lebeau.”

“I don’t need t’ dream, chérie. I got all I need right here,” he replied, his voice softening in a way that made your stomach do flips.

And there it was again—those words that left you momentarily speechless, thrown off balance by the sudden shift in his tone. For a moment, you didn’t have a snappy comeback, which was rare. Instead, you just stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious or just messing with you.

Before you could decide, Jubilee burst into the kitchen, her usual energy crackling around her like static electricity. “Hey, have you guys seen—oh, never mind, found them!” she said, her eyes darting between you and Remy. “You two arguing again?”

“Not argu—“ you started, but Remy cut you off.

“Just a lil’ friendly banter,” he said with a wink in your direction.

Jubilee sighed dramatically, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “You two need to just kiss already and get it over with.”

You almost choked on your pasta, your eyes widening in shock. “What?!” you spluttered, while Remy just laughed, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

“See, even Jubilee agrees,” he teased, leaning in closer to you, his breath warm against your ear. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine, and you had to fight to keep your voice steady.

You pushed him away, your heart pounding in your chest. “In your dreams, Lebeau.”

“Maybe so, but y’know, dreams do come true sometimes,” he murmured, that infuriating grin still firmly in place. You wished you could wipe it off his face—preferably with your fist, but you knew that would probably just make him laugh harder.

Jubilee just rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by your continued denial. “Whatever, keep denying it. But everyone knows you’re totally into each other.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat. Because the truth was, part of you already knew she was right. You’d been fighting it for years, but deep down, you couldn’t deny it any longer: you were falling for Remy LeBeau, and that scared you more than any mission or enemy ever could.

But if you were falling, you sure as hell weren’t going to let him know that. Not yet, anyway.

“Everyone’s wrong,” you snapped, but the words felt hollow even to you.

Remy just chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “We’ll see ‘bout that, chérie.”

As Jubilee left the kitchen, you found yourself alone with him again, and for once, the silence was more uncomfortable than the arguing. You could feel his gaze on you, and it made your skin tingle in a way that was more than just irritation. “No we won’t,” You said simply, turning on your heel and walking out.

The next morning, you were in the Danger Room, running through a solo training session. You needed to clear your head, to burn off the frustration that had been gnawing at you ever since that conversation with Remy. But as you moved through the simulation, dodging holographic enemies and firing off energy blasts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched.

“Y’know, chérie, y’coulda asked me t’ join,” a familiar voice drawled from the observation deck.

You gritted your teeth, not even pausing as you executed a perfect roundhouse kick to one of the holograms. “I don’t need your help, Remy,” you replied, your voice clipped.

“Didn’t say y’ did. Just thought y’ might enjoy some company,” he said, his tone light and teasing.

“Well, I don’t,” you snapped, launching another energy blast that obliterated a row of targets. “And I’d appreciate it if you stopped watching me.”

“Can’t help it, chérie. Y’ too fascinatin’ t’ ignore.”

“Oh, give me a break,” you muttered under your breath, but your focus slipped for just a second, and one of the holograms managed to get a hit in, knocking you off balance.

Before you could recover, Remy was beside you, his staff spinning in a blur as he took out the remaining enemies. “Y’ gotta keep your guard up, ma chère. Otherwise, y’ might get hurt.”

You pushed yourself to your feet, glaring at him. “I had it under control.”

“I’m sure y’ did,” he said, that damn smirk still on his face. “But it doesn’t hurt t’ have a lil’ backup.”

“I don’t need backup,” you snapped, brushing past him. “And I don’t need you butting in every time you think I’m struggling.”

“Who said anythin’ ‘bout strugglin’?” Remy asked, following you as you stormed out of the Danger Room. “Just tryin’ t’ help.”

“Well, you’re not helping,” you shot back, rounding on him. “You’re just... you’re just being annoying!”

Remy raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your outburst. “Annoyin’, huh? That’s a new one.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to ignore the way his eyes sparkled with amusement. “Yes, annoying. You’re always there, always making these stupid comments, always... just always in my space!”

His grin widened. “Y’ don’t like me in your space, chérie?”

“No!” you snapped, but even as you said it, you knew it wasn’t entirely true. The truth was, Remy being close to you made you feel things you didn’t want to feel, things that made your heart race and your thoughts scatter. And that scared you.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Remy said, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to that low, smooth tone that always made your pulse quicken. “’Cause I like bein’ in your space.”

You took a step back, trying to create some distance between you. “Well, I don’t. So back off, Lebeau.”

He didn’t move, just watched you with that infuriatingly calm expression. “Y’ sure ‘bout that, chérie? ‘Cause from where I’m standin’, it looks like y’ don’t mind it so much.”

Your jaw clenched, and you could feel your temper rising again. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug. “But y’ like a challenge, don’t y’?”

You glared at him, frustration bubbling over. “This isn’t a game, Remy. You can’t just... just flirt your way out of everything!”

“Who said I was flirtin’?” he asked, his tone suddenly serious.

You blinked, thrown off by the change in his demeanor. “What?”

“Maybe I’m just tryin’ t’ get t’ know y’ better, chérie. Maybe I’m tired o’ all the fightin’.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. “You’re the one who always starts it!”

“Non, I just finish it,” he corrected, his voice softening. “But maybe it’s time we stop all this fightin’ and start talkin’.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Talking? About what?”

“About us,” he said simply.

The word hung in the air between you, heavy with implications. Us. You and Remy. It was something you’d never let yourself think about seriously, but now that it was out there, you couldn’t ignore it.

“Remy, I...” You trailed off, unsure of what to say, how to even begin to address the tangled mess of emotions this man stirred up in you.

But before you could figure it out, Remy took a step closer, closing the distance between you. “Y’ don’t have t’ say anythin’, chérie,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Just... think ‘bout it.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was so tender, so unlike the usual banter between you, that it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’ll be waitin’,” he added, his breath warm against your skin, before he finally stepped back, giving you the space you so desperately needed.

As he turned and walked away, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t know what to do.

Because as much as you wanted to dismiss Remy’s words, as much as you wanted to pretend that nothing had changed, you couldn’t. Not anymore. Not after he’d so easily slipped past the walls you’d built around your heart.

And that scared you more than anything else.

The next few days were a blur of awkward encounters and tense silences. You avoided Remy as much as possible, but it seemed like the universe had other plans. No matter where you went, he was there—at breakfast, during training, in the hallways. And every time you saw him, you felt that same confusing mix of anger and something else, something that made your heart race and your palms sweat.

It was driving you insane.

Finally, after a particularly grueling Danger Room session, you couldn’t take it anymore. You stormed into the rec room, where Remy was lounging on the couch, casually shuffling a deck of cards. He looked up as you entered, his expression immediately shifting to one of concern.

“Y’ look like y’ got somethin’ on your mind, chérie,” he said, setting the cards aside.

“You think?” you snapped, pacing back and forth in front of him. “You’ve been driving me crazy, Remy!”

He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“How so?” you repeated incredulously, stopping to glare at him. “You’re always there, always saying these things, always... just always around! It’s like I can’t get away from you!”

Remy’s expression softened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe that’s ‘cause I don’t want y’ t’ get away from me.”

You froze, his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “What?”

“Y’ heard me,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m tired o’ playin’ games. Tired o’ pretendin’ like there ain’t somethin’ real between us.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Remy, this is... I don’t even know what this is. We fight all the time. How could that be anything real?”

“’Cause fightin’ is better than nothin’,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’d rather argue with y’ every day than not have y’ in my life at all.”

The sincerity in his voice took your breath away. You’d always thought the arguments were just part of who you and Remy were, but now you were seeing them in a new light. Maybe the fighting wasn’t about hating each other. Maybe it was about caring too much.

But that realization only made things more complicated.

“Remy, I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can just... turn off the way I’ve always felt about you.”

“I ain’t askin’ y’ t’ turn anythin’ off,” he said gently. “Just askin’ y’ t’ let yourself feel whatever it is y’ been fightin’.” You shook your head, not daring to look away from him as he stepped closer to you, a small smirk crossing his face, “I don’t know how to,” You said simply. A laugh escaped his lips. “Yeah y’ do. Y’ know damn well how t’.” His eyes flickered to your lips, a silent ask of permission, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you, standing on the edge of something neither of you fully understood. His presence was electric, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him as he closed the distance between you. The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible, and you found yourself caught between the urge to push him away and the undeniable pull that drew you closer.

There was a vulnerability in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before, a crack in the confident facade he usually wore so well. It was as if he was laying himself bare, offering you a glimpse into the parts of him that he kept hidden from everyone else. For once, there was no playful banter, no flirtatious remarks—just the raw, unfiltered truth of what he felt.

“Y’ don’ have t’ figure it all out right now,” Remy continued, his voice low and soothing. “We can take it slow, see where this goes. But I don’ wanna pretend like there’s nothin’ here when I know damn well there is. And I think y’ know it too.” You wanted to look away, to turn and run from the intensity of his gaze, but something kept you rooted in place. The way he was looking at you made it hard to breathe, like he could see right through the walls you’d spent so long building. It wasn’t just the fights or the tension between you; it was the fear of what lay beyond them—the fear of letting yourself feel too much, too deeply. Remy was chaos and comfort all wrapped into one, and admitting what he meant to you felt like stepping off the edge of a cliff.

You clenched your fists at your sides, the familiar rush of panic creeping in. “Remy, I don’t think you get it,” you said, your voice breaking. “If I admit it—if I admit what I feel—it means I’m giving up control. It means letting go of this idea that I can keep everything in a neat little box and pretend like it’s all fine.”

Your heart pounded as you continued, each word feeling like a risk. “And I’m not used to that. I’m not used to letting someone in, not like this. I’m scared that if I do, it’ll all go wrong. That one day you’ll just—”

“Walk away?” Remy finished softly, his eyes still locked on yours. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere, chérie. I ain’t askin’ y’ t’ give up control. I’m just askin’ y’ t’ be honest with me. Honest with yourself.”

The sincerity in his voice was almost too much to bear. Every instinct told you to protect yourself, to guard your heart like you always had. But the way he was looking at you, the way his touch lingered on your skin—it made you want to believe that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to do this alone.

“I’ve spent so long convincing myself that caring was a weakness,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “That showing you how much I care would give you power over me. And I can’t help but think... if I let myself feel this, it’s just going to hurt.”

Remy’s expression softened, and he took a step closer, closing the gap between you. “I ain’t here t’ hurt y’,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “I’m here ‘cause I care about y’, and I want y’ t’ see that. I want y’ t’ know that all those arguments, all that pushin’ and pullin’—it ain’t ‘cause we hate each other.”

You searched his face, looking for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was unwavering determination. He believed in this—in whatever this was between you—and for the first time, you allowed yourself to consider that maybe, just maybe, it could be real.

Swallowing hard, you finally let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Okay,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “Okay.”

The uncertainty still lingered, but as you stood there, holding onto him, you felt the first stirrings of hope. Maybe fighting wasn’t the opposite of love—maybe it was just another way of holding on when you didn’t know how to let go. And as Remy’s lips finally met yours in a soft, tentative kiss, you realized that some battles were worth fighting after all. As Remy’s lips brushed against yours, it was gentle at first, almost tentative, like he was giving you one last chance to pull away. But when you didn’t, when you leaned into him and let yourself sink into the kiss, something inside you snapped. All the tension, all the arguments, all the things you’d kept bottled up came rushing to the surface, and before you knew it, you were kissing him back with a desperation that surprised you both.

Your fingers found their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, as if you were afraid he might vanish if you let go. Remy responded in kind, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you against him with an intensity that made your heart race. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, and you could feel the heat between you building with every passing second. His tongue teased against yours, and you let out a small, involuntary moan that made him grip you even tighter.

“Chérie,” he murmured against your lips, his voice ragged with need. “Y’ sure about this?”

You nodded, barely able to find the words. “I need this. I need you.”

His eyes darkened, and he kissed you again, harder this time, like he was trying to pour everything he felt into that one moment. You let yourself be swept away, losing yourself in the feel of him—his hands on your hips, his mouth trailing heated kisses down your neck, the way he whispered your name like it was the only thing that mattered.

Without breaking the kiss, Remy guided you backward, his hands never leaving your body. You stumbled slightly, your back hitting the wall with a soft thud, and Remy followed, pressing against you with a possessiveness that made your head spin. His mouth moved lower, grazing the sensitive skin of your throat, and you tilted your head back, giving him more access as your breathing became more erratic.

He slid one leg between yours, pressing against you in a way that sent a jolt of pleasure through your entire body. You arched into him, your hands roaming his back, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt. It wasn’t enough—you needed more, needed to feel his skin against yours, and your fingers fumbled with the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion.

Remy’s lips quirked into a brief, mischievous smile before he did the same for you, tugging your shirt up and over, his eyes darkening as they took in the sight of you. He paused, just for a second, his gaze meeting yours in a silent question, and when you nodded, he wasted no time. His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve, every line, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his fingertips.

You shivered under his touch, your own hands exploring the expanse of his chest, the hard planes of his stomach, and the feel of his skin against yours sent a thrill through you that was impossible to ignore. You tugged him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him, and he obliged, pressing against you so that there was no space left between your bodies.

Remy’s mouth found yours again, the kiss hungrier now, and he shifted his hips, grinding against you in a way that made you gasp. He swallowed the sound, his tongue delving deeper as his hands slid down to your hips, lifting you slightly so that your legs wrapped around his waist. The movement was smooth, almost effortless, and he held you there, pinned against the wall, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

“Tell me what y’ want,” he breathed, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You bit your lip, your fingers threading through his hair as you tried to catch your breath. “I want you,” you whispered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “All of you.”

He grinned, a devilish glint in his eyes, and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone, making you tremble. “Then y’ got me, chérie,” he said, his voice a husky promise against your skin. “Every last bit.”

“Been wantin’ this for a long time,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you reached up, brushing a hand along his jaw. “Me too,” you admitted, the weight of the confession hanging between you. “More than you know.”

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile before he kissed you again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no holding back. The rest of the world faded away as you lost yourself in him, in the heat and the urgency and the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. Remy’s gaze was heavy, full of promises and unspoken desires as he moved away slightly, his breath warm against your skin. The air between you crackled with anticipation, each second stretching out like an eternity. His fingers traced a line along your side, his touch featherlight, sending a shiver of anticipation racing down your spine. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the tension building as he let his hand drift lower, skimming over the curve of your waist and dipping just beneath the waistband of your pants.

Every touch felt like a question, a silent plea for permission, and you answered by arching into him, your hands roaming over his shoulders and down the length of his back, feeling the play of muscle beneath his skin. He dipped his head, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that left you breathless, and you lost yourself in the taste of him, the way his tongue tangled with yours in a rhythm that felt both familiar and new.

You let your fingers trace the line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your fingertips as you tugged him closer. He responded with a low growl, a sound that sent a rush of heat straight to your core, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp as his mouth moved to your neck, nipping and kissing along the sensitive skin. His hands moved with purpose now, sliding under your clothes and pushing them aside as if they were nothing more than an obstacle keeping him from you.

“Y’ such a good girl,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with a mix of lust and something deeper that made your heart race. His hands were everywhere, exploring, mapping every inch of you like he was committing you to memory, and you reveled in the way his touch set your skin on fire.

You arched beneath him, a moan escaping your lips as he found a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear. He smiled against your skin, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you, and you couldn’t help but smile back, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. The world outside faded away, and all that mattered was the press of his body against yours, the way he made you feel like you were the only two people in existence.

His hands moved lower, deftly unfastening your jeans and sliding them down your legs with a practiced ease that made your breath hitch. You helped him, kicking them off as he watched, his gaze hungry and appreciative. He made quick work of his own clothes, his movements hurried but careful, as if he couldn’t wait another second to have you but still wanted to savor every moment.

When he finally settled between your thighs, the feel of him grounding you, you let out a shaky breath. Remy paused, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that took you by surprise. “We don’t have to rush, y’know,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “We got all night.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip. “I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your racing heart. “But I want to. I want you.”

The words seemed to light something inside him, and he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all heat and need. Remy pressed closer, his body aligned with yours as he deepened the kiss. The world around you faded into the background as the heat between you intensified. His hand trailed up your thigh, fingers dancing along your skin, and a shiver of anticipation coursed through you. Remy’s low groan resonated between you, a sound that sent a rush of heat through your veins, pooling low in your belly. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and smoldering, the flicker of desire mixed with that familiar, playful mischief that always kept you on your toes. It was a look that promised so much more than words ever could, and your heart raced at the thought of what was to come.

“Someone’s eager,” he murmured, his voice like velvet, dripping with that smooth Cajun drawl that always made your knees weak. There was a teasing edge to his tone, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched your reaction.

You couldn’t help but smirk back, feeling bold under his intense gaze. “I guess I can’t resist that Cajun charm after all,” you quipped, your breath hitching as his hand continued its slow, deliberate journey up your thigh, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

His chuckle was deep, resonating from his chest in a way that made your pulse quicken. The sound was warm and intimate, like he was letting you in on a secret only the two of you shared. “Good thing I’ve got plenty to spare,” he replied, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver straight to your core.

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, claiming you in a kiss that was hungrier, more insistent. It was as if he couldn’t get enough, the taste of you driving him wild as his hand slid higher, exploring with a mix of confidence and reverence that made your body arch toward him. He pulled you closer, his tongue sweeping against yours, and you let out a soft whimper that only seemed to spur him on.

His touch was electric, a perfect mix of rough and gentle that had you gasping against his mouth. When his hand finally reached its destination, you could feel the heat of his palm pressing against your most sensitive spot, and you shuddered at the contact, a breathy curse escaping his lips against your mouth. The sound of it—the raw need in his voice—sent a thrill through you, and you knew just how much he wanted you, how close he was to losing control.

“Mon dieu,” Remy breathed, his accent thickening as his fingers traced delicate patterns, teasing and testing your resolve. His forehead rested against yours, his breath hot and uneven as he watched your expression shift with each calculated touch. “Y’ feel so good, chérie. Been dreamin’ ‘bout this.”

You bit your lip, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself against the wave of sensation crashing over you. “Keep talking like that,” you managed, your voice trembling with barely restrained desire, “and I might just lose my mind.”

Remy grinned, his thumb circling with maddening precision, coaxing a low moan from your throat. “Well, ain’t that the point?” he said, his breath ghosting over your lips as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. His hand worked skillfully, each movement deliberate, like he was savoring the way your body responded to him. The tension built steadily, your breaths mingling as you both lost yourselves in the rhythm, the dance of push and pull that you’d been perfecting for what felt like forever.

The anticipation was maddening, the way he hovered on the edge, drawing out every little gasp and shiver, every whispered plea that slipped past your lips. He was relentless, his touch both gentle and commanding, as if he knew exactly how to unravel you piece by piece. And just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, that the tension might break you, Remy leaned in, his voice a rough whisper against your ear.

“Tell me what y’ want, chérie,” he murmured, his tone dripping with desire and a hint of challenge. His thumb pressed down just a little harder, and you felt the world tilt, your breath catching in your throat. “I wanna hear y’ say it.”

You met his gaze, your own eyes blazing with want as you finally gave in, letting the last of your restraint slip away. “I want you, Remy,” you confessed, your voice raw and unguarded. “I want everything.”

His response was immediate, a soft groan escaping him as he captured your mouth in a searing kiss, the full weight of his need crashing into you like a tidal wave. And in that moment, with his hands and mouth working in perfect harmony, you knew you were lost to him, lost to the undeniable pull that had drawn you together time and time again. You weren’t fighting anymore; you were falling—fast and hard—and this time, you didn’t want to stop.

With a surge of boldness, you let one hand drift down his chest, tracing the lines of his toned abdomen before reaching lower. You felt him tense at your touch, and he broke the kiss with a moan.

You melted into his touch as his fingers explored every inch of your heat, teasing and tantalizing until you were dripping with need. The world around you ceased to exist as pleasure consumed your senses.

Needing more than just his touch on the outside of your panties separating him from where he longed to be; Remy’s fingers slipped past the fabric effortlessly; sending shivers coursing through your body. He growled at the feel of how wet and ready you were for him. His thumb found its way to your clit circling it slowly driving waves after waves of ecstasy. In between moans, you managed to slide down Remy’s briefs freeing an erection throbbing so hard it wanted nothing more than bury itself within your warmth without any other obstacles.

His fingers kept their steady rhythm inside of you bringing you closer to the edge with every passing second, each deliberate thrust like a promise of what was yet to come.

With a gasp that turned into a low moan, you tightened around his fingers as your orgasm crashed over you, leaving you trembling and breathless. He watched every blissful moment, his eyes full of admiration and lust; before he withdrew his hand and placed it behind one of your thighs lifting it slightly in a silent request, “Good girl,” He whispered, his forehead resting on your own. You gladly obliged, wrapping your leg around his waist and pulling him impossibly closer.

Remy positioned himself at your entrance, his tip teasingly grazing your folds. He locked eyes with you, seeking permission, and you nodded, desperate for him to fill the ache inside of you. With agonizing slowness, he pushed forward, inch by glorious inch, until he was buried deep within your heat. A symphony of sighs and groans spilled from both of your lips as he stretched you deliciously.

“Fuck,” Remy muttered through gritted teeth. “Y’ feel s’ good.”

You echoed his sentiment with a breathy moan as he began to move. Each thrust was a perfect blend of passion and restraint, hitting all the right spots and driving you higher with every stroke. The world around you faded away until it was just the two of you, lost in the rhythm of each other’s bodies.

His hips rocked against yours in a deliciously torturous tempo that had your head spinning. He held onto your hip tightly guiding himself deeper. Without warning, you moved one of your hands, moving its way up and down his chest until it reached its final goal. Softly grasping one nipple between thumb and index finger before applying more pressure, tugging it as you felt another low growl rumble through his chest.

“Merde,” he hissed, a mix of pleasure and frustration lacing his voice.

Feeling the effect you had on him only spurred you on, and your hand trailed lower, gripping his ass tightly and pulling him impossibly closer. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the air along with your combined moans, driving the passion between you to new heights.

Beads of sweat rolled down your bodies as the temperature rose with every stroke. Your senses were overwhelmed by the feel of him inside you, the sound of your mingled breaths, and the delicious friction that threatened to send you both hurtling over the edge.

Then, with a primal groan that could have set fire to a room, Remy came undone; his whole body trembling as he spilled himself inside of you. His grip on you tightened almost painfully as he rode out his release; whispering incoherent words in French that made heat pool between your thighs. His orgasm triggered yours too, waves after waves crashing through your body leaving in their wake nothing but pure bliss.

You clung to each other as reality slowly seeped back in, your breaths ragged and hearts pounding. Remy pressed soft kisses along your shoulder, struggling slightly to maintain balance but never separating from within. He eventually pulled out, cupping your face gently and capturing your lips in a tender kiss full of unspoken promises.

Remy gently placed you down, a soft exhale escaping your lips. Your body still hummed with the aftershocks of what had just transpired, a mix of lingering heat and a deep, unexpected tenderness that left you feeling both exhilarated and vulnerable. You watched as Remy reached for the clothes you passed to him, a simple gesture that felt strangely intimate—more so than anything else that had just happened between you.

There was a flutter in your chest, a complicated tangle of emotions that you couldn't quite sort through: the satisfaction of closeness, the warmth of his touch, but also the creeping uncertainty that always seemed to follow moments like this. You wanted to savor the way his fingers brushed against yours when he took the clothes, the unspoken connection that made your pulse quicken despite the calming aftermath. But beneath that was the faint whisper of doubt, the question of what this all meant, and where it would leave the both of you when the morning came.

You studied Remy as he pulled on his shirt, his movements unhurried and almost thoughtful, as if he was taking his time not just with the task but with the moment itself. He glanced up at you, catching your eye with that familiar, roguish smile that always seemed to know more than it let on. It was a smile that made your heart skip a beat, because it was impossible not to be drawn in by it—by him. You couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same way, if his mind was as clouded with thoughts of 'what ifs' and 'where do we go from heres.'

The air between you was charged with unspoken words, the room thick with the weight of shared breaths and the faint scent of him lingering on your skin. There was a comfort in it, an aching sweetness in the quiet that stretched between you, but also a nagging fear of missteps and misunderstandings that seemed to lurk just outside the glow of the moment. You found yourself caught in the delicate balance between wanting to keep things light, easy, as they'd always been, and the sudden, overwhelming urge to reach out and make this real, to solidify the intangible connection that pulsed between you.

As Remy pulled on his pants, you couldn't help but notice the way his gaze softened when it landed on you, a subtle shift that made your breath hitch. It was as if he could see straight through the walls you’d built, right into the heart of your hesitation and hope. It unnerved you how easily he seemed to read you, how effortlessly he could make you feel seen without even trying. And maybe that was the scariest part of all—how much you wanted to be seen, to be known, even when it felt risky, even when it meant opening up to the possibility of more.

You pulled your own clothes closer, the fabric cool against your still-warm skin, and took a moment to steady your breathing. The urge to say something—anything—bubbled up inside you, but the words seemed to tangle on your tongue. What do you say when everything feels like it's teetering on the edge of changing forever? When you're caught between the safety of what you know and the terrifying promise of what could be?

Remy caught the hesitation in your eyes and paused, his expression softening as he leaned closer, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Y’ good, chérie?" he asked quietly, his voice laced with a gentleness that made your chest tighten. It wasn’t the playful banter you were used to; it was sincere, almost vulnerable, like he was reaching out to you in a way that went beyond words.

You nodded, but the truth was, you weren’t sure. Your feelings for him were a messy, beautiful tangle of affection and desire, friendship and something more profound that you were still too scared to name. It was overwhelming, this rush of emotions that left you feeling like you were standing on the edge of something vast and unknown. But as you looked into Remy’s eyes, that familiar spark of mischief mixed with something deeper, you realized that maybe—just maybe—you were ready to take the leap.

"Well, someone looks pretty pleased with himself," you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

Remy chuckled, turning to face you with that infuriatingly charming smile. "Can’t help it, chérie. I aim t' please, and from th’ look on y’ face, I’d say I hit th’ mark."

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a grin. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head, Lebeau."

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Who, me? Naw, chérie, m’ ego’s jus’ fine right where it is." His hand drifted lazily to trace patterns on your arm, his touch light and absent-minded. "’Sides, y’ didn’t seem t’ mind a bit of that charm earlier."

“Don’t push it,” you warned playfully, though the smile on your face betrayed you.

“Too late,” he quipped, his grin widening. “Y’ already all tangled up in it.”

You shook your head, laughter bubbling up as you pulled your jumper on, "I can’t believe I put up with you," you sighed dramatically.

Remy’s laughter rumbled through him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “’Cause y’ love m’ charm, chérie. An’ y’ love me, too, even when y’ won’t admit it.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, trying to keep your tone light despite the flutter in your chest. "You know, you’re lucky you’re good at this, otherwise you’d be out of here so fast."

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Lucky f’ both of us, then."

You swatted at him, but your laughter spilled over, mingling with his. It was moments like these—caught between playfulness and something deeper—that made everything else feel worth it.

[zepskies]

I couldn't find if you're taking requests or not at the moment— so I'm sorry if you aren't!!! But I've been YEARNING for how Dean would react if you just blurted out, "Do you love me?" One day (after dating for a year or so)... ty! 💕

Hey, hun! What a lovely little prompt. (My requests are currently closed, but you made the cut-off lol.)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 650 Tags/Warnings: Fluff. That is all.

Imagine: You ask Dean for the truth.

It was a rough hunt. Shapeshifters were not your favorite, and chasing one through a city sewer left you with plenty of bumps and bruises and shallow cuts (along with a couple that weren’t so shallow).

Back at the bunker, Dean tended to them now with calloused hands that were still somehow gentle. You sat across from him in his room—the room you shared with him, sitting on the edge of the bed you’d also shared with him for almost a year.

You watched him work methodically, with his brows knit together and eyes narrowed in concentration. His mouth was set in a plush line. You wanted to kiss the serious out of him.

But you also had to wonder.

For how gentle he was with you, how tender he could be with his affections, how seriously he seemed to take the role of your protector, your confidante, and so much more…

“Dean,” you said. Your voice was quiet, but he heard you loud and clear in the near silent room.

His gaze flicked up to yours. He was in the middle of stitching the smallest cut on your side. The deeper ones were over with, but you were still helping him by keeping your shirt lifted up.

“Hm?” he responded.

You bit your lip. You couldn’t help it. Your words came from the deepest place inside yourself.

“Do you love me?” you blurted.

In all this time, he’d never said it.

Dean seemed to realize that when he blinked wider eyes at you. His hands that either rested against your side or held the needle and thread stilled.

Then he cleared his throat, his head tilting slightly. His mouth and jaw worked, and his brows furrowed.

“Uh…” he said eloquently.

You bit your lip again as your heart started to sink. You looked away.

“It’s okay…sorry, you don’t have to…” you tried to say.

You didn’t see it, but Dean’s eyes softened. If his hands weren’t full, he’d be carding a hand through his hair.

Briefly he closed his eyes, letting out a subtle breath.

“Sweetheart,” he said. When you still didn’t want to look at him, he prodded you again, tapping your side where he held you. “Hey.”

Your eyes traveled back up to his. He cleared his throat again.

But he leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah. ‘Course, I do,” he said. His voice was deep and rumbling. It washed over you, made you brighten.

“Then…do you mind saying it right?” you asked. A more mischievous smile greeted him.

Despite his mild discomfort, he had to smile back, with an amused shake of his head. He gestured to his half-done stitch.

“Can this wait? I’m a little busy here,” he said.

You shook your head. Your free hand touched his cheek, letting your thumb caress across prickly stubble.

“No, it really can’t,” you said, with “apologetic” eyes.

Dean blew out another breath. He rubbed your thigh over your jeans and squeezed in affection. His eyes met yours.

“I uh... I love you,” he said.

Part of him wavered inside with nervous energy. Not because he was afraid of what you might not say, but because those words were a risk for him. In more ways than one.

You took his hand from your thigh, moving past his blood-stained fingertips to press a kiss into his palm.

“Good. Because I do too,” you replied.

Dean’s lips edged into a smirk, even with the warmth in his eyes.

“Now who’s not sayin’ it right?”

You laughed a little and nodded. You leaned in towards him, but you stopped just shy of his smiling lips.

“I love you, Dean.”

AN: 🥹 Let me know if you liked this one! Short and sweet. ❤️

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[gayeddieagenda]

for your consideration… 🍻📽️😳 + 55: tracing the lines on the other’s hand

another scene prompt game! this one is for real long sorryyyyy. also it features the actual smallest amount of blood u can imagine, but it IS there. and it IS plot critical.

--

“You’re right,” Buck called. “They’re all Pokemon.”

“I’m really fine,” Eddie said.

Buck came back into the living room, box of band-aids and Eddie’s first aid kit—not the everyday one, the big one, from way in the back of the cabinet under the sink—in hand. Eddie didn’t even know how he’d known where to find that one. “No,” Buck said. “You’re getting Pokemon.”

Eddie pulled a face.

It really, really was not a big deal. It was a Friday night with no Christopher around—Denny and some mutual friends were doing a video game night and sleepover at the Wilson’s—so Buck had shown up at Eddie’s at seven with takeout from the banh mi place, the good one that he had to drive nearly to Chim and Maddie’s to get. Eddie swung the grocery store after dropping off Chris and picked them up plenty of beer—a pack of Buck’s usual brand and then a weird one, whatever seasonal flavor Eddie could find that he knew Buck would love trying just as much as he would hate actually having to drink it.

They ate at the dining room table, decanting the takeout onto real plates. After cleanup, they settled into the living room couch like they meant to stay there a while. Eddie made a show out of squabbling with Buck over the movie choice, before making just as much of a show out of giving in.

It was a Friday night. It was a well-worn routine, as comfortable as the old t-shirts Eddie had had almost as long as he’d had Christopher. Tonight was the same as every other night they’d had for the past six, seven years. It was pretty much Eddie’s definition of perfect.

Until—

Something happened with the bottle opener. Eddie still wasn’t sure what, only that he’d been trying to open the beer and watch the screen and talk to Buck all at once, and then suddenly something slipped and now he had a shallow scrape running the length of three knuckles on the back of his left hand, weakly leaking blood.

“Hand,” Buck said now. Eddie rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, holding out his hand to Buck.

Buck settled himself back on the couch next to Eddie. He took Eddie’s hand and set it gingerly in his lap. 

Gently, he pressed a cloth against Eddie’s knuckles. Three little spots of blood soaked slowly into it, each smaller than the last.

“See,” Eddie said. “It’s nothing.”

Buck ignored him. When he was satisfied the bleeding had stopped—in Eddie’s opinion, it had barely started—he got the Neosporin spray out of the first aid kit. After the Neosporin was on, it was Pokemon time. Eddie got a Pikachu, a Magikarp, and a round blue guy he didn’t recognize, carefully Tetris’d together to cover the scrapes around the ridges of Eddie’s knuckles.

“Will I make it?” Eddie said drily.

“Consider yourself lucky there was a firefighter in the house,” Buck said.

He was still holding Eddie’s hand.

Neither of them had bothered to pause the movie when Eddie started bleeding. On the screen, a car spun out of control dramatically, then exploded.

Buck turned Eddie’s hand in his, flipping it so his palm was facing the ceiling. His eyes were on the TV. Eddie almost could’ve convinced himself he didn’t realize he was doing it, fidgeting with Eddie’s hand the way he sometimes did with pens or a walkie-talkie at work, if it weren’t for how carefully he was touching Eddie.

Buck’s thumb found the soft center of Eddie’s palm. He ran his thumb up Eddie’s hand, following the curved line that outlined the meat of Eddie’s thumb. His touch was feather-light.

Eddie couldn’t help it. He shivered, and Buck looked up.

“Sorry,” Eddie said.

Buck’s nose crinkled. “I can stop,” he said, not moving.

“I, uh.” Another explosion on the screen, lighting the side of Buck’s face up in orange. “I don’t mind.”

The corners of Buck’s mouth lifted, a smile so small it could barely be called a smile.

He looked down at his lap, where he was still holding Eddie’s hand in both of his own. Eddie followed his gaze.

It was just Eddie’s hand. The lines across his palm showed up clear and mostly unbroken, which his abuela used to tell him meant something. Eddie couldn’t remember what. He had calluses on his palms, some from work, some from the gym. On his index finger, he had a thin scar, a relic of a kitchen chopping mishap when he was twenty.

Buck began moving his thumbs in small circles across Eddie’s palm. He started light, barely brushing Eddie’s skin, so gently that it was almost uncomfortable.

Eddie breathed in slowly through his nose and tried not to move.

When Buck dug his right thumb in a little deeper, right at the joints where Eddie’s fingers connected his palm, where his hands got stiff after a particularly long day, Eddie made a quiet, involuntary noise.

Buck looked up.

This, they didn’t do. They were physical with each other, always had been, in ways that Eddie never thought bore commenting on. They were on top of each other on the job, more often than they weren’t, squeezed in knee-to-knee in the truck and reaching over each other with practiced ease in the field. At home, they were even worse. Fridays had room for a lot of things—for knocking into each other in the kitchen when they cleaned up after dinner and tussling for the best seat on the couch. Elbows bumping together on the couch, hands brushing when Eddie handed Buck another beer. Sometimes, Buck fell asleep on Eddie halfway through the second movie, his head a heavy weight on Eddie’s shoulder. Sometimes, they fought over the remote, wrestling each other on the couch until one of them dragged the other all the way down to the living room rug.

Touching Buck—being touched by Buck—was nothing new to Eddie. This, though…

Eddie could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Eddie had an old feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach—the yawning sense that they were standing on the brink of something.

Somewhere in the back of Eddie’s head, he’d been waiting for something like this. For a moment, when all the things they’d been holding back between the two of them came bubbling up to the surface. He’d never said it outright, not even in his own head, but sometimes, Buck looked at him and Eddie just knew that something was coming. A breaking point. When Buck would look at him and Eddie would look back and they would both know—okay, now. here we go.

This, though—he wasn't sure this felt like it.

This was...this was nothing. This was a Friday night. This was pumpkin beer and Eddie's bandaged knuckles and the stupid action movie still playing on the TV. This was so totally, spectacularly unremarkable.

He’d thought, when it was time, that he would know. It would be something they couldn’t ignore. They both knew what it felt like to experience the world at scale. Earthquakes, tsunamis, fire and lightning. This wasn’t that.

If something as small as Buck holding Eddie’s hand was enough to break open this thing between them, it would’ve happened a long, long time ago.

Wouldn’t it?

Eddie looked down. Buck was still holding Eddie’s hand in his lap, his thumb making little aimless circles in the center of his palm.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked.

Buck stilled. “I don’t know.”

Eddie tried again. “What, uh. What are we doing?”

Buck shook his head, wordlessly.

Eddie tilted his head back up to look at him. His eyes were huge in the half-light, the glow of the TV and the light from the hall he’d left on when he went looking for the first aid kit. They stared at each other for a long, drawn-out moment.

Then Buck giggled. The tension broke. And suddenly, Eddie wasn’t uncertain anymore.

He closed his hand around Buck’s. Eddie looked at him.

“Okay,” Eddie said quietly. “I’m just gonna…”

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving Buck all the time in the world to figure out where he was going with this. Buck didn’t move, didn’t pull away, didn’t blink. When Eddie kissed Buck, it was barely a kiss, putting his mouth on Buck’s as lightly as Buck had first touched Eddie’s hand.

Buck made a quiet noise into Eddie’s mouth and then they were kissing for real, Buck pressing into him almost hard enough to knock their teeth together.

It was a good feeling, kissing Buck, the kind of raw good feeling that Eddie couldn’t remember feeling in a long, long time. Maybe he’d never felt something quite like this. Eddie could get lost in this, he was pretty sure, in the closeness, in the feeling of Buck’s mouth opening under his, in the quiet noise Buck made when Eddie put his hand in the short hairs at the back of his neck.

When they finally separated, Buck’s face was flushed a bright red. Eddie had a feeling he looked about the same.

Eddie swallowed. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. “Was that okay?”

“No, it was awful,” Buck said. “What the hell do you mean, was it okay?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “We haven’t done that before, jackass,” he said. “I mean, should we talk about this?”

“Oh,” Buck said. “Sure.” He picked at the hem of his shorts with his free hand, the one that wasn’t still holding Eddie’s hand between them. His eyes flicked down to Eddie’s mouth and back up again. “We can talk, if that’s what you want to do.”

Eddie let out a sigh, faux-exasperated. “Shut up,” he said, and hauled Buck back into a kiss, both of them smiling into it.

They kissed and kissed and kissed. They didn’t stop when the movie credits started rolling or when the TV switched itself off automatically, the room darkening around them. They didn’t stop until Buck had kissed the scars on Eddie’s shoulder and the one on his wrist and the goddamn Pokemon band-aids across his knuckles and a lot of other places besides.

It was a Friday night. They’d had a lot of good Friday nights over the years. Eddie had a feeling this one was going to be pretty hard to beat.

[stellarspecter]

STWG Daily Prompt 12/1/24: Skirt

pairing: steve/chrissy/robin | wc: 1.9k | rating: m (for some talk of e-rated stuff) | divider by @strangergraphics

read on ao3

“You’d make a pretty cheerleader,” Chrissy says offhandedly into the mirror as she does her makeup.

Robin snorts from where she’s laying next to Steve on her bed. “You couldn’t pay me to get in that uniform.”

Chrissy pauses in the middle of applying mascara to roll her eyes. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

A jolt goes through Steve, and he sits up a little straighter. “Me?”

Chrissy smiles and they make eye contact in the mirror. “Yes, you.”

“But I’m…” He trails off, not sure how to express the utter incredulity he’s feeling. “Have you seen my chest hair?”

Robin laughs. “Yeah, that thing is a jungle.”

Chrissy just shrugs and turns in her chair to face them. “I think it’d look cute. But if you’re worried about it, just the skirt would work too.”

“Just the skirt?” Steve echoes, but his words are drowned out by Robin.

“Have you seen how short that skirt is on you? It wouldn’t even cover his balls! He wouldn’t even have to bend over to flash us!”

Chrissy dismisses her words with a wave of her hand. “It’s not that short, it’d be fine.” She pauses and lets a mischievous smirk out. “And maybe I want to see that.”

Robin rolls her eyes and sighs at her girlfriend. “I guess if there were a guy who could pull it off, it would be Steve,” she begrudgingly admits.

“What? You’re in on this now too?” Steve’s heart starts beating faster in his chest for some reason, now that both of his partners have agreed that he would look good in a skirt. He tries to laugh, but it comes out strange and stilted. “I don’t — I mean, why would you even want to see that? I wouldn’t — I’m not supposed to wear it.”

Robin just shrugs. “Even I can’t argue with that ass, Stevie,” she says, and Steve lets out a shocked laugh. 

“It wouldn’t even fit me,” he protests, even though it seems to be falling on deaf ears. 

“It’s pretty stretchy,” Chrissy says. “And if you leave it unzipped, it’d probably work.” She stands up and crosses to stand in front of him, a hand cupping his cheek. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she says softly, blue eyes boring into him, “But I’d really love it if you did.”

“I…” Steve swallows. Why is his mouth so dry? His palms are sweaty too, his stomach flipping like it does right before a big game. “I want to.”

He didn’t know he was going to say that.

Chrissy breaks out into a big smile. “Perfect!” She reaches behind him, her chest pressing against his for a moment, and returns into his vision with her cheerleading skirt in her hand. 

“Right now?” Steve asks. For some reason, he had thought they meant, like. Tomorrow. Later. Not right this very second.

Chrissy shrugs. “We don’t have anywhere to be for a little bit. Why not?”

There’s plenty of reasons why not. Why is he doing this at all?

But Steve finds himself taking the skirt and standing up to shuck his jeans without any further ado.

Robin looks away, even though she’s seen it before, and Chrissy looks away too, even though she wants to see it. They’re giving him the privacy to try it on by himself for the first time, he realizes, and doesn’t know why it makes his eyes tear up.

He was right that it’s too small for him. It gets stuck around his hips, and he gets worried for a second that he’s going to pop a seam. But Chrissy was right about the elastic, and it only takes a moment of wiggling before it’s settling around his waist. 

It’s tight. Restrictive, even with the zipper completely open against his back. But the open air around his legs feels freeing, and he swishes the skirt just to see how it feels.

“You can look,” he tells the girls, and bites his tongue before he can say anything else. He doesn’t want to influence their opinion, wants them to tell him he looks good because it’s true, not because he needs them to. 

Does he need them to?

“Stevie,” Chrissy breathes, and before he knows it, she’s standing in front of him, smoothing her hands over his hips. He’s never seen this look on her face before — like she’s mesmerized, enchanted by his hairy, mole-dotted thighs peeking out from under the striped hem. 

“Chrissy,” he replies cautiously.

She runs her fingers along the pleats, pinching the fabric between her fingers and following it all the way down to where it ends. Then she stands back, the warmth of her hands leaving him, and surveys him head to toe. “You’re beautiful.”

The compliment sends red to his cheeks, and he fidgets with the unfamiliar fabric. “Not as pretty as you.”

Chrissy shakes her head and takes his hand, leads him over to the mirror she had been sitting at before. It’s not full-length, but standing up like this, he can see from their chests to their knees.

The skirt hits at mid-thigh, a little higher than it does on Chrissy, and Steve never realized how pale his thighs are, for all that he’s tanned everywhere else. Robin’s probably right that he’d flash her if he bent over right now, and if he were wearing boxers, the ends would probably be visible. 

“Look at yourself,” Chrissy murmurs. “You’re gorgeous.”

Steve flushes again, catching Robin’s watchful eyes behind him in the mirror. “I think you’re biased.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not right.” She stands behind him, rests her hands at his waist, peeks her head around his shoulder since she’s not tall enough to fully see over. Her slender fingers make a pretty picture as they hit his waistband, her nail polish a perfectly matching shade of green. “I like it. I like you.”

Steve has to swallow down the lump in his throat that inexplicably rises up. “I like you too.”

She smiles. “I know, baby.” Her fingers wander down, stroking along his hips, his waist, his thighs. 

“You really can pull it off,” Robin speaks up from the bed. Steve looks up at her in the mirror. “I mean, it’d probably be better if it was actually your size, but it still looks good.”

Coming from Robin, that means a lot. She’s not as biased as Chrissy. “Thanks, Rob.”

“Do a twirl,” she says, lazily spinning her finger. “That’s the best part of skirts.”

“Ooh, yes!” Chrissy exclaims, clapping her hands together excitedly. She steps away to give Steve space. “Do a twirl!”

Steve lets out a put-upon sighs and does a twirl. The skirt flares out around him, just like he’s seen other girls do, and he can’t deny it — it is fun. He stops and smiles, twisting his hips back and forth so he can keep it going and not get dizzy. “It’s fun.”

“Right?!” Chrissy says, grabbing his hands and leading him in a silly little dance, twisting their hips so they can flare their skirts out in unison. Steve lets out a giggle, and her face just lights up. “Isn’t it fun?” They fall into each other’s arms, sharing exhilarated laughter. “I love sharing this with you.” She leans up and kisses him, a quick peck, and pulls away. 

Steve pulls her back in for a longer kiss, hands steady on the small of her back. It goes on and on and on, neither one of them wanting to pull away until they’re literally gasping for breath.

“You know another great thing about skirts?” Chrissy asks, red in the face and panting.

Steve shakes his head.

With a mischievous grin, her hands snake up and grab his ass. He jumps in surprise. “Easy access,” Chrissy says. She gives him a couple squeezes and lets go. 

Steve is a little worried about how badly he’s tenting the front of her skirt. “I — Uh —”

“I never usually see this much of your legs,” Chrissy continues like he didn’t say anything at all. “It’s hot.” Her hands roam, touching and squeezing and massaging. She leans in close to whisper in his ear. “Would look better with some bruises, don’t you think?”

Steve inhales sharply and nods like a bobblehead. “Y-yeah, yeah, please.”

She just grins and sinks to her knees. The sight of her head tucked under his skirt mixed with the stinging pain from her bites has him weak in the knees, and he has to hold on to the vanity behind him to stabilize himself. 

His view is clear now to the bed, to Robin, and though she’s not really interested in him and his dick, she’s definitely interested in the way Chrissy’s taking charge. She doesn’t do this that often, not that confident in the bedroom, so it’s a real treat to have her ruining him like this. Robin’s eyes trace her silhouette moving under the skirt, the grip of her hands on his legs. 

Steve can’t help the little moans and groans he lets out, the way he’s panting. He tries to keep quiet, at the very least for Robin’ sake, but then Chrissy rakes her nails down the back of his thighs and that’s out the window, a high-pitched whine leaving his throat. 

She pulls back, mouth kiss-bitten and red, to say, “You sound pretty too.” She presses a few toothless kisses around the bites she’s already left before she drops the real bomb. “Like a girl.”

Steve gasps and thinks he might actually ruin this skirt if he wears it for too much longer. Something about that just makes something in his brain light up. “I — Chrissy, oh my god.”

“Yeah?” She goes back to giving him hickeys, licking and sucking all over. 

“I’m gonna — Chrissy, I’m cum all over this skirt if you don’t stop,” he blurts out, and regrettably, she stops.

“I am gonna need that for a few more games,” she says sadly, playing with the hem. She looks up at him from her knees. “Maybe you can ruin it once I graduate?”

Steve breathes out hard, trying to keep himself under control. “Yeah. I — yeah. That sounds good. You want that?”

“Stevie,” Chrissy breathes. “I’d want you wearing this skirt every day if you could.”

He takes a shaky breath. “I don’t think that’d work out if I keep getting it dirty,” he jokes weakly.

“We’ll get you other ones, then,” Chrissy says. “Better ones that actually fit.”

His eyes prick with tears. “You’d go skirt shopping for me?”

She stands up to kiss him. “I’d do anything for you.” 

She turns him around so they’re once again facing the mirror. His thighs are now covered in mouth-shaped bruises, dark purple and red. They make a delicious contrast from the bright white and green of the cheerleading skirt, and Steve can’t wait for them to heal so he can get more. 

“Isn’t that better?” Chrissy asks, admiring the marks she put there.

Steve is helpless to do anything but nod. He thinks he can finally see what she does: the beauty of his strong, muscular thighs exposed by the fluttery, preppy, girly fabric, the way it shapes his body, the way it moves with him. 

He lets himself like it.

“So,” Robin says, shaking her partners out of their horny stupor, “Shopping trip?”

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Hello. Could you please write a clarissa dovey x reader story,where reader is a never that always acts tough and cocky,but with dovey reader is like melting and lost in words?

Hi there anon! Absolutely, we can always use more Clarissa xReader content!! Found a song for this Fic too 😚 Hope you enjoy 😘

My Project ~Clarissa Dovey xFem Never!Student!Reader

Mommy…Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!!, age gap (all legal), implied previous smut, smut, kissing, eating out, implied future smut, mommy kink, praise kink, possession kink, flustering, implied degrading kink…, etc…

Enjoy (;

Your reputation was well known throughout the entire school. You’d been caught in many Ever and Never students beds plentiful times. You’d broken many hearts by now.

There even was a rumor that you had a goal of fucking in every common area in the school with a different student in each one… Hell, you were by far more of a player than any Ever or Never guy could ever be.

And what could you say? You were simply a truly wicked Never… And everything was going splendidly. Until a certain angelic dean with flowing gowns stepped up to the plate and decided to take you on for herself…

~~~

It was still dark outside, and if you wanted to get back to your dorm without being caught, you had to leave this Ever girls room now… You collected your clothing, which had been thrown around everywhere in the heat of passion last night. You quickly redressed yourself and creaked the door open to sneak out. You snuck through the corridors, being as quiet as you could.

But as you rounded the last corner of the Ever castle, the one and only dean of good, Professor Dovey, was standing between you and the door to the outside. Hell, you almost crashed into her…

“Miss L/N…” the Professor Dovey sighed in disappointment, shaking her head slightly.

You gulped. Usually Professor Lesso caught and dealt with you. Not Professor Dovey…

“I don’t know what we’re going to do with you if you keep violating the schools rules like this…” she continued.

Goosebumps riddled your skin.

“Sorry Professor Dovey…” you muttered.

You’d never apologized for anything in your life before, what were you doing??

At your words, the deans face lightened and smile spread across her face.

“Well I’m glad to hear that…!” She exclaimed, “and please call me Clarissa when we’re alone, dear…”

Blush flushed your cheeks at her words.

“I… ok…” you chocked out.

You’d never been so off your game before… Especially with another woman…

“Why don’t I handle your punishment this time…?” Clarissa continued, “Afterall, it was one of my students that I would have caught you with tonight…” she teased.

Your breathing picked up and your heart rate spiked at the idea of being alone with this woman…

“I… sure…” you stuttered.

With that, Clarissa nodded and beckoned you to follow her. You went through the school and all the way up to her office. She closed the door behind you and you heard the click of the lock which only sent you spiraling even more…

“Take a seat, dear.”

You did as you were told as if it was second nature. Clarissa leaned against her desk. It now that you realized that the brunette goddess was in nothing but her nightgown. And you couldn’t keep your eyes from wandering…

“Why do you do what you do?” Clarissa asked, pulling you out from your reeling fantasies.

“Umm…What…?” You chocked out.

“Why do you sleep with all those students and break so many of their hearts…?” Clarissa asked again.

She was genuinely asking you…

“Um… I…” you muttered, looking away from her eyes in shame, “I don’t know…”

Clarissa leaned in closer to where you were sitting, “I have a theory…” she purred, her tone shfiting entirely.

Your breath hitched.

“You… You do…?”

“Yes.” She matter of factly stated, “Do I make you nervous, dear?”

“I… what…?” You chocked out.

“Do I make you nervous…?” Clarissa purred, leaning forward, placing her hand on either side of your chair and effectively trapping you in place.

Your mouth dropped and your brain short circuited at her close presence. Your eyes went from hers down to her delicious pink lips and back to her shimmering eyes. She leaned in even further, where her lips were mere inches away from your own.

“You’ll tell me if your uncomfortable…” Clarissa told you, gazing directly in your eyes and lightly licking her lips.

“Yes…” you whispered.

“Good girl…” she purred, closing the gap and connecting her lips to yours.

You moaned in response to her praise and action. Clarissa very directly yet gently led the kiss, it was no question that she was in charge. You were squirming underneath her hold.

At one point, she lifted you to your feet by your shirt collar and led you to straddle her lap on her desk chair, while continuing to make out with you the entire time. You were like fucking puddy in this woman’s lap. You were already grinding down on her lap, making Clarissa chuckle into the kiss.

“Good girls take what they’re given…” she husked in your ear.

Her words sent shivers down your spine. But it also sent a spike of courage into your veins.

This time you properly ground down on Clarissa’s lap, moaning into her ear in the process, “What if I don’t wanna be a good girl…?”

At your words, Clarissa met your gaze as her hand snaked to your clothed heat, where she skillfully teased your clit, while purring in your ear, “Oh Sweetheart…You’ll want to be a good girl or Mommy won’t let you cum…”

You groaned into Clarissa’s teasing your needy cunt. Then suddenly her fingers were back up and cupping you chin for you to look at her. Your body sparked with a new found electricity as you gawked at the audacity of this woman.

Who the hell was she..??

“I… yes mommy…” you finally whimpered, wanting nothing more than to do whatever the hell the woman in front of you asked.

Clarissa smiled lightly in response to your obedience.

“Why don’t we start by you putting that sweet tongue of yours to good use…” she purred, guiding you down to kneel on the floor in front of her.

“Yes mommy…” you breathlessly whimpered.

Clarissa hummed in satisfaction with your answer. Her hands guided yours in scrunching her nightgown up for your access. Your breath fled you when you saw that she wasn’t wearing an underwear. You looked up at the dean of good in disbelief and awe. You were met with a pair of lustful with a hint of mischievousness eyes.

“You’re not the only one who breaks a rule…” Clarissa teased, she then leaned even closer, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “Mommy’s more naughty than you think…” she husked.

You gulped and went red at her words. Clarissa then sat back in the chair, scooching her ass to the edge of the chair and spread her legs for you. Her delicate yet directive hand guided you closer to her throbbing pussy. You more than happily took to your new job, lapping away at the curly haired brunette’s folds.

“Oh God… That’s it, sweet girl…!” Clarissa moaned out, threading her fingers through your hair and pushing your face deeper into her cunt.

Your tongue worked the brunette all the way up to her climax and then back down. Once Clarissa had regained her composure a bit, and you had finished lapping up her juices, she brought your face back up to hers. Her lips connected to yours once more, allowing Clarissa to taste herself on her tongue. You both moaned into the kiss. Clarissa was the one to pull away, looking at you lovingly.

“Your my project now, you understand?” She purred.

You gulped and nodded breathlessly.

“Yes mommy…” you whispered.

“No one touches you anymore. You don’t touch anyone else. No one but mommy…” she husked in your ear, making you shudder.

“Your mine, sweet girl…” Clarissa wickedly purred.

~~~

[pedropascallme]

How Are You True

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader

Summary: “'You scared me, Din.' You fell back into a slumped over position on the counter, feeling slightly defeated and, what’s more, a little dumb for trying to talk about feelings with Din."

Warnings: None!

Soundtrack: How Are You True by Cage The Elephant

AN: Part eight of Stupid For You!! I’m starting school again and am in the process of figuring out the next steps for this series!! In the meantime, it’ll be on hiatus for a little while (don’t worry, I know how I’m going to finish it, it’ll be back and better than ever) and I’ll be working on one shots and requests for all the characters I write for <3

You woke up on the floor of the cockpit with a raging headache and a disoriented look around you. It took you a moment to remember the events of the night before, and for a split second you were nearly convinced that the dream you had was real, that you had really gone the whole nine yards with Din, but then you remembered the feeling of frustration at waking up—and the bed in your dream, which had been all too chic to be something you had access to.

You sat in a daze for a while longer; Din was already gone, and you felt a twang of pathetic sort of upset at the fact that he had left you there on the floor all night. Why would he have moved you, though. It isn’t as though he’d be well versed in creature comforts.

Shuffling out of the cockpit, you found Din at the counter, head in his hands as he was no doubt fighting the same hangover—and possibly the same embarrassment—that you were. Though at least he had a built-in shield from any light; you were stuck squinting and sluggish. You dragged yourself steadily through the ship to make yourself caf, hoping that it would dull the pounding in your head. You took small sips, afraid of shocking your system, and sat quietly next to Din. Despite resting your head on him all night, there was something oddly intimate about sitting at the counter with him, and you didn’t want to add to the tension by saying something he might take as foolish.

“Is there any left?” He mumbled, in reference to your now lukewarm cup of caf. You nodded, moving yourself out of his way when he perked up and inched his way towards the rest of the pot you had brewed. You instinctively closed your eyes when you heard him fill a cup, hearing the hiss of the helmet and the sounds of him swallowing. Either he trusted you enough at this point to take it off in your presence, or he was too hungover to care. He set the cup aside and sat down next to you.

“You can look, mesh’la.” He spoke when he realized your eyes were still shut. You felt a small shiver run down your spine at his use of the pet name; beautiful. He had told you last night, it meant “beautiful.” You opened your eyes to more silence, ruminating over what to say—if there was anything to say.

“Are you ok?” Is what you landed on.

“I’d rather not dwell on it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You straightened yourself out slightly, not necessarily the picture of dominance, but it would have to do. He huffed, not at you, but at the conversation. “You scared me, Din.” You fell back into a slumped over position on the counter, feeling slightly defeated and, what’s more, a little dumb for trying to talk about feelings with Din. It had worked last night, but that didn’t mean either of you could handle more.

“I am ok,” Din’s voice was sympathetic, even through the modulator, “and I’m…glad you’re here. With me.” You blinked at him, hoping for more, but expecting that this is where the conversation would end. You reached a hand out and touched your fingers to his. He let you, intertwining his gloved pinky with your own. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You don’t have to be sorry…” You watched your hand in his, “in a way it’s kind of nice knowing that you have nightmares.” You took his silence as a prompt to continue. “It’s—I’m sure plenty of other people have had bad dreams about you. And you’re not exactly the…faint-hearted type…it’s nice to know that the armor doesn’t shield you from emotional distress…” You cringed at the last part of your sentence, hoping he didn’t get the wrong idea and think that you were pleased that he was reliving traumas. You heard a small sound of amusement from under his helmet.

“When you put it that way, yeah.” He squeezed your hand. “Does it make you feel better?”

“What?”

“That I have feelings?” He tilted his head down at you. You opened your mouth to respond, but you weren’t really sure of what he was asking or what answer he was looking for. You considered the fact that he could be asking about attraction, about the tension that had surrounded the two of you for the past few weeks, and how he was all but flat out saying that he was capable of having feelings for you—that he did have feelings for you. Maybe he was just asking whether you were content to have someone to empathize with in the vacuum of space. Either way, you nodded, squeezing his hand back. “I’m glad I’m here, too. With you.”

“You said you had a bad dream last night.” He helped you fall back into the banter you had become accustomed to over the days of hyperspace.

“I never said it was bad. You called me beautiful last night.” You countered, face becoming warm at his mention of the dream you’d had and the inkling that he was onto you.

“I’ve been calling you beautiful. You’ve been calling me beautiful, too.”

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t mean it?” His voice had an edge to it now. Not upset, not domineering, just exceedingly curious.

“I meant it.” You spoke up immediately, soft-spoken but intense. You looked back it where the two of you were still connected, neither having moved and hands still delicately wrapped around each other. “I was going to say I didn’t know that’s what it meant.”

“What did you think it meant?”

“I don’t…I don’t really know,” you contemplated, genuinely uncertain now whether you had thought the word even had any meaning prior to being told of its translation.

“Do you still like it now that you know?” Din prodded.

“Y—yeah. I do.” You were tempted to laugh now. The situation bordered on hilarious to you; Din had gone from mild mannered and incredibly intimidating boss to begging you to tell him if it was ok that he had called you pretty, like he was worried you would report him to HR. “I like it.” You swore you could hear him breathe a sigh of relief. “I like you, mesh’la.” And it wasn’t much, but it was something. As soon as it came out of your mouth you felt like stuffing it back inside of you, like saying it was something you weren’t supposed to do. Every interaction that toed the line of romance had been mostly physical at this point, so to say something so blunt and very clear in meaning felt wrong somehow, despite how easily it had slipped out.

Din slid his hand out from under yours, and you dropped your head in shame at ruining what could’ve been a nice moment. But he took your face in his palm as he had the night previously and guided your gaze back to him.

“Good.” That was all he said, keeping his hand on you. “What did you dream about, mesh’la?”

You smiled, leaning into his palm. “I’m not that easy.”

“I know.” He leaned forward, and you were unsure, momentarily, if you should pucker up or not. The crown of his helmet met your forehead in what felt like a gentle headbutt. You closed your eyes and lingered against him.

“We’re landing tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“I won’t be long.”

“I…” You wanted to repeat yourself, but truth be told, you had no idea if his absence would last one day or ten.

“I know.” He finished for you, furthering your belief that he had some Mandalorian ability to read your mind. Maybe it was the helmet.

He broke himself away from you, straightening himself up and walking back up to the cockpit. No explanation, no closure to the moment you had just had with him. It was so typically Din, and that’s what made it perfect.

Well there's one thing that you should know Yes you should You need love, you need love, you need love You need love

Tag list &lt;3

@queerponcho @abbygraceasd @sanscas @amberpanda99 @djarins-cyare @krissy-fallen @onlybassoon01 @leithatnight​

If you would like to be part of the taglist for this series, let me know!!

[because-of-a-friend]

Band-Aid

MASTERLIST

Hi guys, I’m back! Sorry I was gone for so long, I got so busy this past year, I thought I might have to retire this blog for good. But I’m going to try and make time for it, let’s hope it works out this time!

Disclaimer: It has been a LONG time since I’ve written ~anything~ so I am plenty rusty lol.

Thanks for the request anon! This is such a cute prompt! Hope I delivered! After this I’ll have four drafts left and then I can answer the requests in my inbox!

Warnings: Mentions injuries/illnesses, blood, let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 1k

Remember that gifs aren’t mine! If you like them, pls click through to show their OPs some love!

You have to laugh as Seungcheol loudly announces to Jeonghan that his head is hurting

You two have been going through this cycle since you were first hired a few months ago

At the beginning, Coups had an excuse to talk to you all the time

Since you were new to the team, he took point on explaining important info to you

What allergies the boys had

Previous injuries you needed to be aware of

Where they generally kept their first-aid supplies

But once you had it all down, there was no reason for him to talk to you on a daily basis

But by this point, Cheol had realized that he very much liked speaking to you

He felt that you two had connected well and wanted to get to know you more

But since you were on the med team, you were often quite busy seeing as there were thirteen members that were in constant need of check-ups, aid with different levels of injuries, and general everyday care to combat the strain they put on their bodies

You hardly ever had time to just speak to him

The only time you really could 

Was when you were treating him

So Seungcheol had started to come up with any excuse under the sun to come and talk to you

First he was constantly complaining that he must have sprained his wrist, or twisted his ankle or pulled a muscle

Then he was constantly getting stomache aches

After that he was getting rashes or little scratches

Now he was in a phase of faking headaches to come and talk to you about it

You knew all of his injuries were fake from the very beginning

He stopped cradling his first “sprained wrist” to tell Seungkwan off for being too loud

He ate full meals that the other boys ordered even when he had his “stomach aches”

You had started carrying around makeup wipes to clean off his supposed “scratches and rashes”

Someone complaining of a headache was a little harder to disprove though

But you were sure you’d catch him somehow

You had begun to enjoy playing this little game with him

As well as the time you got to spend with him because of it

“Well you don’t have a fever,” you tucked your thermometer back into your medical bag

Seungcheol sat in front of you with a pout on his face

“Are there any other symptoms?” you ask

Seungcheol dutifully shakes his head

“Well do you want a pain reliever? Or maybe I should tell them to send you home and rest?” you feel his forehead once more for good measure

“Oh...” he hesitates, “I don’t think it’s serious enough for either of those...”

You smile to yourself

It was quite cute to watch him fumble with trying to feign sickness without  exposing himself

“Well should we schedule an appointment with a neurologist to make sure this isn’t a problem?” you push him further

“No, you take care of me well enough” Seungcheol beams

“Well we have to find a solution eventually,” you sigh. “How’s your water intake? Or did you add anything new to your diet? Increase your screentime?”

“No, they just started out of nowhere,” Seungcheol shrugs innocently

“Well I suppose I can let you go for today but, if it happens again, I’m sending you to the doctor”

“[Y/N]!” one of the managers calls for you. “We need your help prepping supplies for the next concert.”

You give Cheol a bit of a smug look, knowing you’ve backed him into a corner with his latest fake sickness and then

You rush off to help

Seungcheol sighs as he watches you leave

He just lost another excuse to spend time with you

Later that evening Joshua watches with pure amusement as Seungcheol paces back and forth in the dorm 

“Should I say I think I have a sinus infection? Or maybe I could claim of frequent muscle spasms... I feel like constipation has to be my last move.”

“I feel like constipation is a never move,” Joshua interrupted. “Just tell [Y/N] that you like them.”

“I can’t do that, what if they don’t even like me?” Seungcheol complains

“Well then you have an answer and you can stop wasting both of your time,” Josh shrugs

“Wasting time,” Seungcheol repeats. “What if they really don’t like me and I’ve just been annoying [Y/N] this whole time?” 

He hates the feeling settling in the pit of his stomach

He begins to remember all the times you would shut him down as quick as possible 

Or when you would rush off to help someone else as soon as you were done exposing a fake injury of his

How you would sigh and roll your eyes before walking away

Apparently he failed to notice the playful look on your face as you did so

“What? I don’t think [Y/N] would put up with it if you were truly wasting their time,” Joshua protests

“No, I really should stop. It’s [Y/N]’s job and I should leave them alone to do it. Let’s just start getting ready for the concert tomorrow”

Seungcheol’s mood is noticably down for rehearsals the next day

The other boys are off because of it and they’re trying all they can to cheer him up

You notice as well and begin to wonder if Seungcheol is genuinely sick for once 

And then you feel really worried because he usually would use any excuse to come speak to you but he’s not even trying to mention what’s obviously bothering him

“Are you feeling alright?” you corner him, once again pressing a hand to his forehead

“I am, just worried about this performance,” Cheol reaches up to grab your hand, his thumb pressing into your palm as he pulls it away from his head

Then he just walks off

You feel really uneasy about the concert

Everyone else does too

Seungcheol may not be exhibiting any symptoms of sickness but it’s obvious he’s distracted and not ready to perform

Anxieties rise throughout the day but quickly stave off as the concert begins

As usual, Seventeen pulls through and the concert goes well

Even with Cheol somewhat distracted 

But the good feelings end as quickly as they begin

When Cheol falls during a song 

At first it looks like just a simple stumble

But as your watching the big screen, you see the horrified expression form on Seungkwan’s face as he looks down at his leader

You rush to the side of the stage as the other members help him off

They set him down on a chair in front of you and run back off to do crowd control

You quickly see why Seungkwan had seemed so disturbed

When Cheol had tripped, he had fallen against one of the stage props and scraped up his shin

The wound didn’t seem deep but it was large and producing plenty of blood

Coups feels terrible

Not even 24 hours after he decided to leave you alone

And here is a situation where you have to be with him

He can’t even think of his injury

He can only think of how he’s going to apologize and get out of your hair

He’s tested ten different apologies in his head before he actually looks at you

Your hands are gentle as you clean the blood and sanitize the wound

Cheol notices how you hesitate everytime you rub the disinfectant over his leg, seeing if it’ll cause him pain or not 

There is a time where it does sting and he sucks in his breath

You look up at him and Cheol’s heart clenches

You look so worried

Your eyebrows are furrowed and there’s sweat on your forehead 

“Does it hurt a lot? I promise I’m almost done” you say 

Your voice is so genuine and kind

Cheol has to stop himself from grinning at how sweet and caring you’re being

“I’m ok, do what you need to do”

You wrap the bandages carefully once the wound is clean, even going back over where you feel you didn’t do a good enough job

“Does that feel ok?” you stand and put a hand on his shoulder, indicating with your other hand that he should move his leg and test the wrappings

He nods, “Thank you”

Then he gets up and heads towards the stage

“Woah,” you stop him with a hand on his chest, “where are you going?”

 He grabs your hand the same way, a thumb pressed to your palm, but he doesn’t move it away from him this time

“Back out,” he gives you the smile he uses when he wants something

“You can’t go back out there,” you insist, hoping he can’t feel how warm you’re getting while he holds your hand

“It would be best for the fans to see that I’m ok,” Cheol says more seriously this time

You think it over

“...You’ll have to sit in a chair for the rest of the performance,” you insist

“I’ll accept that with my own condition,” Cheol is beaming at you again

“And what would that be?” you laugh

“I take you to dinner after”

Before you can respond, he pulls you towards him, kisses your cheek, and runs off onto the stage with a chair

And your hand flies to your own forehead to check your tempertature

[moira-mains-go-to-hell]

hello !! it’s lovely seeing a new writer in the OW community,, lots of new life!!

i would love to formally request a Cassidy x GN!Reader, with the prompt: “Put that down, let me hold your hands damn it!”

i was thinking the reader could be a medic of some sorts, who gets lost in their work often, and Cassidy is trying to confess to them.

i cannot wait to see what you come up with, and all of the other stories that you’ll write!! much love <3

I love this damn ask so much more than you realize Cassidy is my baby boy.

Warnings: none

Take a Breather

He was your partner. He carried out the missions, you kept him alive. Sure there where plenty of others you worked with, but you two just meshed in the field.

However at base, you were hardly ever within a thirty yard radius of each other. Cassidy had training to do and meetings to be in, and you had work to do in the medical wing, you being in charge of expense reports and the incident report keeper. Sure a cup of coffee could be shared between you two on a Saturday afternoon, but that came once every blue moon.

On the other hand, Cole couldn’t shake his dislike of the situation. He liked your presence, your witty comments, and your genuine care with him, never as gruff and blunt with him like everyone else. You were softer with him, and he liked to match the tone. He would never be this polite with anyone but Ana Amari herself, and he hasn’t seen her in ages.

Somehow though, today he had made his way to your office, two cups of coffee in hand and a few words on his chest he needed to get off.

“Knock knock,” he backed through the door of your office, “I’d use my hands but I figured you’d want this in a mug and not on the floor.”

“Cole!” You whipped around from the book case you where rummaging through, causing the cowboy to laugh, “hey there.”

“You can relax hun, ain’t nothing wrong.”

You met him at the door and grabbed a mug from him, setting it on the corner of your desk while you went back to your bookshelf, “thank you, really, I know you don’t have much time in your day to swing by.”

“You’d be surprised, my day has been slower than molasses.”

“Really? I wish I could say the same Cowboy,” you picked out a binder and began flipping through the contents.

“You know, I was thinking, maybe we could…” he trailed off, noticing your attention was divided. He cleared his throat a little and waited for you to look back up.

“I’m sorry where are you saying something?”

“Oh it’s nothing, I was just thinking maybe we could go for a walk? Or a breath of fresh air?” He nodded towards the door, “it’s a beautiful day.”

“I’d love to, but I just have a lot of reports to go through in the next few weeks and-“

“Why don’t you put that down and hold my hands damn it.” You stopped in your tracks, turning around to face the cowboy.

He tried to feign confidence, a blush tinting his cheeks redder than a fire truck. He stood awkwardly and tried to remain firm, but you could see his struggle.

“Oh?” Your amusement would win the battle with your virtue, wanting to see where this would go.

He took off his glove, shoving it in his back pocket, and he wiped his hand on his pants, ‘Is he nervous?’ The smile you held grew as he went on, making his little stand.

“Yes, and I think you overwork yourself, so let’s go now, and I’ll help you pick up later?” He extended his hand to you, a pleading look behind his eyes.

“Why not,” you shrug, “I haven’t taken my break yet today anyway,, it would be good to stretch my legs and take a breather” you place your hand in his, interlocking your fingers together as he leads you down the hallway.

He takes you around the corner and out the door, the medical wing courtyard. ‘He was right, it is beautiful,’ you let him lead you over to a bench where you both sat, him taking your other hand into his as well.

“I would first like to say, I am sorry for my outburst,” his hands where larger than yours, holding yours as if they where fragile, “but secondly, I would like to just have some time to talk to you one on one, ya’know? I knew you wouldn’t go for just anything, but I didn’t quite think through my execution.”

You nodded, giving his fingers a light squeeze, “I’m sorry I got caught up in my work. There has just been a lot to do with the rest of the med team out and being on my own. I am, however, glad you pulled me away.”

You could see him relax a bit, a small sigh of relief pushing past his lips, “Good, because I’d hate to tell you I like you with you mad at me.”

“Well that would be hard ye-“ you stopped yourself, widening your eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

“I like you, a lot. It’s not just working with you, even though it’s a leading factor to this,” his thumbs rubbed the back of your hands, “I just think you are a wonderful person, and I, uh, would like to test the waters of that feeling.”

His eyes where shielded by his hat, you had never seen him this nervous, much less not even look you in the eyes.

“Cole, look at me,” you took his hat off and swept his hair out of his eyes, “I like you too, and I’d love to help you test those waters.”

His eyes where a bit watery and his smile was wide, ‘was he this afraid of me telling him no? Why would he ever think like that?’

The hug he locked you in was bone crushing, which you reciprocated as best you could, “thank you,” he spoke into your shoulder, “I want to do my best with this.”

“Well you’ve gotten this far Cowboy, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

[dreamingofep]

Sinned Awakening pt. 5

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis/Vampire Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: No

Prompt: Getting promoted to be Elvis full time housekeeper, you realize the man holds secrets beyond belief and your undeniable attraction makes you fear the unknown. Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, tension, angst, SMUT, cheating, fingering, oral, the usual dirty stuff

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6.1K

A/N: Hello everyone!

Welcome to part 5! There’s plenty of spicy stuff and angst between these two and I’m living for it. I hope you enjoy all this and see how it’s building more into him having a tight grip over reader 🤭Please let me know what you think in the comments or send me a message!

Thank you again!

Sorry for any spelling mistakes and overall goofs.🖤

You sit there on the floor trembling, unsure of what Elvis has in mind for you next but as always, you’re more than eager to find out. He picks up the Polaroid and camera and sets it down on the side table, looking back at you with amusement.

“You can get up if you want. Don’t always need to stay on your knees for me,” he says smugly, laughing to himself as he walks out of the room.

You let out a little huff, seeing how he wants to play with you. You pull your hair back and look down at your chest. His thick seed coats your chest and you can’t believe how utterly hot that was. You’ve never willingly let another man do that to you but you didn’t even think twice about it when it came to Elvis.

You pull at the sheet from his bed, wrapping it around your body, and head to the living room where you assume he went. Tiptoeing to the front bathroom, you roll up some toilet paper and wipe your chest off. Tossing the dirty paper into the trash can, a glimpse of a greenish glass glint catches your eye when the lights hit it. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you’ve taken out the trash multiple times since you started working up here. You haven’t seen any broken bottles in the suite since…

Since your first day on the job here.

Was this from the same bottle you broke your first day here over a week ago? Was he hiding the shards of glass somewhere? Why was he doing that in the first place?!

There were so many questions running through your head and another item on the list of things that made Elvis Presley a mystery. But something about it made you nervous and your head started to pound. You couldn’t put your finger on it but there was something you could not ignore about him. You take some deep breaths as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your appearance did not showcase the best side of you as your hair looks astray and your lips are swollen and puffy. Rubbing your temples gently as you begin to feel a slight headache coming, you try to gather yourself and go back out there to see where Elvis went to.

Scanning the living room for him, it’s cold and the curtains are drawn, making the otherwise dark room seem vacant. You pull the sheet over your shoulders and hold your arms to your chest, trying to warm yourself up.

The click of a lighter turns your attention as you see the glow of the flame and his blue eyes illuminate behind the light. He puffs a cloud of smoke from his cigar and reaches to put on the lamp beside him. Elvis is sitting there still completely naked with a fat cigar between his lips. Your eyes can’t help but stare at his beautiful body, slumped down on the sofa slightly and his long legs stretched out before him. His cock isn’t fully hard but rests heavily down the side of his leg. His balls looked large and heavy too, waiting to be worshipped by you.

Your breathing hitches for a moment as that dirty thought entered your head and you quickly look back up at his eyes. He has a slight smirk on his face as he looks at you amused.

“Mmm, being modest I see,” he points over the sheet wrapped around your body.

“It’s cold in here that’s all,” You say sheepishly.

“Sit down,” He gestures to the green chair in front of the sofa. You do as you are told and sit, glancing at the clock, and see that half past four already.

“You have somewhere to be darling?” He asks.

“No, I was just wondering what time it was.” You clear your throat and not let the awkward silence get to you.

“What happened with that champagne bottle? I saw shards of it in the trash can,” you explain. His eyes stare blankly at you as he doesn’t say anything right away.

“Someone must have broken it,” he says shortly. You shake your head at him as it doesn’t add up.

“I took out all the trash an hour ago that’s literally impossible for me to miss it. And you said you haven’t had any parties lately so-,” You continue and he cuts you off.

“Well you must have missed it,” He growls, “just drop it. Now.”

Your heart sinks at his tone and have to look away at his intimidating gaze.

“Sometimes you gotta learn to not ask so many questions, honey, you might not like the answer,” he says darkly.

“Mhmm,” you say faintly.

You hear him puff his cigar and the smell of it mingles with the delicious scent of the suite.

He doesn’t say anything as he takes you in sitting across the way.

“I wanted to ask you again about something I brought up yesterday,” he says sharply.

“Oh so you expect me to answer any of your questions but you answer none of mine?” Your snap back.

He takes the cigar out of his mouth and smiles that crooked smile at you.

“Your superfluous questions don’t matter. Don’t you dare question me you understand?” He growls. Your head lowers as you hear his scathing words come out of his mouth, too fearful he could silence you with just one look of those dark eyes.

“What the fuck did you want to know?” You say through your teeth.

He stands up quickly, pointing his finger at you.

“You better change your tone right now before I make you,” he seethes through his teeth.

You suck in a breath, staring at his eyes that look like they’re getting darker by the second.

Locking your gaze on him, you crack a smile at him, “My deepest apologies. What was it you wanted to know?” You ask through sarcasm.

“What do you want out of Daniel? What are waiting for?” He asks.

“What am I waiting for? I don’t understand your question,” You furrow your brow and wait to see what he’s getting at.

“Why are you with him? When are you leaving him,” he growls.

You’re taken aback by his brazen bluntness and stand up to face him.

“You’re unbelievable you know that. You rude fucking bastard. You have no right to question my choices!”

“I can do whatever I want! I just need to figure you out,” he goes around the table and his hand is around your neck. You gasp at his sudden forcefulness and grab his wrist tightly.

“Why are you so obsessed with figuring me out hmm? You just hate that I can make whatever choices I want and you’re stuck here,” His face turned into a scowl and his lip curled, showing his white teeth at you. He takes his hand off of you and lowers it to his side and flexes his fingers.

“Yes, I am so jealous of the terrible mistakes you make and being with a fiancé who doesn’t love you anymore,” he scowls. You look at him disgusted, so reviled that he has the nerve to say such things to your face.

“How dare you,” you say seething, getting closer to him and trying to make yourself look stronger.

“How dare me? I’m trying to help you see clearly and get out of your fiancé’s cheating, borderline abusive grasp,” he bellows.

You look at him in shock as your chest rises and falls from fear and confusion.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You mutter. “You know nothing about my relationship. I have never told you anything about him so for you to jump to conclusions like this is unbelievable,” you say, poking at his hard chest.

“I know enough. Word gets around quickly in this town and what everyone does here,” he says darkly

You want to scream and bang on his chest, the pure rage you had boiling inside you drives you to the brink. The cheating thing didn’t get to you as bad as you thought. Maybe because it's because you assumed that Daniel was messing around for a while now. Especially since he hasn’t asked you to make love to him in ages. He never brought up any sexual advances to you. You were to ghosts in the night barely acknowledging your existence. Maybe you accepted your relationship’s outcome on the inside already but weren’t able to say it out loud.

“And what? Is word going to get around quickly that I’m no better than him? Fucking around with the most notorious womanizer on this planet?” You seethed in his face.

He cracks another smile and grabs your shoulders, “Oh baby don’t you worry, none of my men would say a word that’s for sure. What we do here is just ours,” he coos, caressing your face in his hand and exhaling, slowly inching his body closer to yours where it’s almost touching. You break out of his grasp and push him away.

“Jesus, no, you can’t keep doing this to me. Your mood swings are the worst thing about you. You need help to get off of whatever you’re taking because this is ridiculous.” You yell at him. You had seen enough of what drugs and alcohol can do to someone and this was no different. You couldn’t stand to be around him any longer if he was going to be like this the entire time. He takes a step forward and his chest starts to heave.

“Hmm, you think I’m on something? I’ve never gotten that one before,” he laughs amused.

“Well, why else would you act like all you want to do is fuck me to no end and the next, acting like you hate my soul to no end?!” You raise your voice, feeling the tears brim in your eyes.

His face grows soft, “I don’t hate you, I hate how difficult you are, yes, but I don’t hate you. I’m quite envious of your soul, in fact.” He says stoically.

You take another step back needing more space between you two, feeling the mood of the room shift yet again. He moves slowly toward you, acting like two magnets who cannot get away from each other

“I’m sorry about my temper. It tends to flare up when I’m… passionate about something.”

“Jesus. I bet that works on all the girls,” You scoff at him and you roll your eyes.

Silence falls in between you two and you go around him and sit back down on the sofa with your knees pulled to your chest.

“I am sorry,” he says sullenly, “I’ll be in my room. If you want to leave, go whenever you want,” he says hushed and defeated as he walks away and shuts his door softly.

The whiplash of today's events has your head spinning. You don’t understand the need you have to still want to be around him. The hurtful things he said burned your heart but there was truth behind it. There was no knowing how long Daniel had been engaging in other relationships with other women but it all seemed very probable.

“Word gets around quickly in this town and what everyone does here.”

That part bugged you. Made your skin crawl yet again. Did he have spies set up for him to gain any knowledge about what was happening in the world since he never left the penthouse? But of all the people, why did he know Daniel? That part freaked you out. You both had no status. No name to carry where you were easily recognized. Up until a week and a half ago, he had no acknowledgment of who you were so why does he suddenly care about your life?

These were questions you still wanted answered when he was in a better mood where he wasn’t going to bite your head off.

Your head continued to pound and you winced as you rubbed your temples. This whole situation was beginning to stress you out. Maybe you should just resign. Get moved somewhere else and take the pay cut. Daniel doesn’t even know that you took this position in the first place, he’d never know you quit it either.

You shut your eyes to calm yourself down, take deep breaths in from your nose, and lay down on the soft decorative pillow. That entrancing scent you loved so much weighted over you like a warm blanket. It felt so nice to just lay there and soak it all in like you always wanted to do since the day you stepped foot in this suite. You’ll just lay here for a bit, making your headache go away and go home.

*

His soft gorgeous lips cover your body in kisses and his hands gently caress every curve of your body. He makes soft content little moans as his mouth continues to touch your warm trembling body. His calloused fingers brush the inside of your thigh, sending a tingle up to your core and making you spread your thighs apart more, letting him access your most sensitive areas. He doesn’t go there, not letting you get that satisfaction right away. He tickles his fingers up and down your legs and up your pelvis, giving kisses on your belly and smiling when he feels your chest rise and fall quicker because of his actions. Your fingers curl around the soft silk sheets, moaning softly as your body aches for him. He’s a master at teasing and giving you everything you want all at the same time. His touches burn on your skin like fire yet please you like nothing else on this earth.

Moans escape lightly from your lips, wanting so much more than what he’s giving. You feel his mouth kiss your mound, sighing when his lips touch you so intimately. You want that mouth of his to go lower, and lower, and lap up the wet surprise that’s waiting for him. You feel two of his fingers spread your folds, the cold air hitting you and feeling so exposed. He plunges one long finger inside and you moan. His lips go back to kissing and get dangerously close to where you want him to be. Your hips swivel up, trying to direct where you want him. He gruffly chuckles, amused by your tactics but still not giving you what you want. He pulls his finger out and watches you make a whiny moan.

Your breathing gets more uneven and shallow as you feel his warm breath so close to your weeping core. Your eyes don’t open but you feel this electric wave rush over you.

His tongue. God, that talented and God-given tongue, eating you out.

It laps quickly between your folds and his warm tongue feels so good on you. He stops, moaning deeply, then goes for more. His tongue finds your clit and licks circles there. You feel your arousal drip out of you, your body craves him so bad you want to let him devour you.

Oh God…

Your eyes pop wide open and try to find your bearings. The silk sheets are intertwined in your fist and your breathing hitches. The chill of the room makes you shiver as you lay there naked on the bed still trying to grasp your bearings. Sitting up on your elbows, you see Elvis on the edge of the bed, looking down at you like a vengeful god.

You scan the room quickly and realize you’re back in his bed. How you got there, you haven’t got the faintest idea but all you know is that you drifted off to sleep for god knows how long, you’re naked in front of Elvis again, and writhing in his sheets yet again after the most vivid dream.

But it wasn’t, it had to have been real.

You open your mouth but nothing can come out as you look at his eyes, making you succumb to him and lose all control.

“You were having a bad dream darlin’?” He asks innocently, a smirk forming on the corner of his lips.

“N-no not really. It wasn’t a dream at all, was it?” You trail off. You look down at your spread-apart legs and feel the wetness seep out of your core and onto the sheets. You groan, slightly embarrassed that this is happening as he stares at you hungrily.

He reaches out and touches your thigh, making you jump. “Tell me what happened baby,” He coos, rubbing his thumb in slow circles. His long fingers play with the soft flesh on the inside of your thighs, inches to your core.

“I-I don’t know… You were there just, touching me and,” you pause to look at his eager face and see the slick on his chin, glistening in the low light. You take a sharp breath in and reach for his face.

You can barely differentiate what’s real and dream with Elvis at this point and it made your heart skip.

He smiles at you as his thumb glides over his wet chin, wiping your arousal off and placing it in his mouth.

“Mhmm, tell me what happened. Show me,” he growls.

He takes his hand off of you and spreads your legs wider. Your heart raced as you understood what he was asking from you.

He wanted you to show him. Show how he was playing with you in your ‘dream’. You had never done this kind of thing in front of a man and nerves followed through your veins. Your eyes look at him with need, wanting him to take care of you instead knowing your fingers weren’t going to satisfy you.

“Show me,” he grumbles, staring at your weeping pussy.

You take a deep breath through your nose and guide your hand down your belly, over your mound, and on top of your folds that are spilling with wetness.

“I-, you, you were playing with me, spreading me open and teasing me with your two fingers,” you say breathlessly as you take your own fingers and spread your folds apart, showing him your dripping cunt. He chokes back a groan, watching you intently as you begin to play with yourself. Watching his face turn into pleasure was the hottest thing you had ever witnessed and somehow only made you more aroused.

Your middle and ring finger rubs at your sensitive bud, slow and steady, just like how he was. It felt so dirty doing this in front of him but the way he watched you made you want to keep doing it until he told you to stop. To feed him this kind of satisfaction was addicting.

“And then you carefully put a finger inside me,” you mewl. Your fingers have gathered enough of your slick that you know it’ll go inside you easily. You press your middle finger to your entrance and look up at him for guidance.

His head nods once and he scoots closer to you, putting one of his hands on your thigh, keeping your legs open enough for him to get a nice view of you.

You push your slender digit inside yourself, hearing the squelching that emits from your entrance, and moan, liking the way it feels. You pull it out of you slowly and look at the slick that covers your finger now. Sliding it back in, you moan again, feeling the satisfaction of pleasuring yourself but is nowhere near as good as when Elvis does it to you.

Elvis’ groan fills the room, “Yes mama, just like that. Fuck yourself nice and slow,” he sighs and reaches for your hand, guiding a second finger inside of you. You throw your head back and moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel the pleasure from this reel inside of you. Your walls hug your fingers tightly as you move them slowly like he ordered.

Your head pops back up to watch your finger move in and out of you but movement in the corner of your eye captures your attention and glance over to see what it is.

Elvis’ hand was wrapped around his now hard cock and jerked it slowly, in the same tempo your fingers were moving. He looked down at you almost envious of your fingers, so deprived of you already even though he had plenty of you earlier this afternoon. He looked like he was dripping with sex, his cock hard and his tip starting to become red as he pulled back the foreskin with each stroke. You moan heavily, so focused on what he was doing and how he was looking you didn’t want to move anymore.

“Then what honey?” He encouraged.

“You were eating me. Y-you we’re pleasuring me so much that I thought it was a dream because it all felt too good to be true,” you look at him pleading, wanting him to take care of you now. “Elvis, please help me. Please eat me,” you beg.

He licks his lips seductively and crawls in between your legs, never leaving your eye contact. “You’re right baby, it wasn’t all a dream. I carried you to bed as you made the soft little whimpers as you slept. Moaning for me. Just gave you something you needed,” He pauses as he gets a closer look at your weeping core. He groans deeply before looking back at you, “Goddamn, it shouldn’t be eaten baby, it needs to be worshipped and then devoured,” he says hungrily.

Devour me.

His mouth quickly laps at your folds, dipping his tongue through them and moaning when he tastes you.

You cry out loudly for him, never feeling so much satisfaction all at once. Is this how it should always be? Should intimacy be this pleasurable and intense? If so, you have years of making up to do.

His tongue dips into your entrance then back up through your folds. You feel those perfect lips suckle at your clit, making you see stars in your vision already. You don’t have to say a word about where you want him next because he’s already giving you the attention you want. When you want more attention on your clit, he was giving it. When you wanted his tongue to fuck your tight weeping hole, he was there fucking you to no end.

You writhed on top of the sheets, gasping for air as he suckled on your clit, edging you closer to ecstasy.

“Oh my, oh god yes,” you cry out loudly. You feel him hum in contentment, sending vibrations to your clit making you that much more easy to orgasm. He delivers on his promise and devours you, making you grind into his face and cry for him to make you cum.

He holds your hips down and stops, looking up at you with a boyish innocence in his eye.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. You pull at his hair to make him look at you.

“What? I don’t understand…”

“For making you upset. I shouldn’t have said those things. I’m trying to make it up to you,” he whimpers. You’ve never heard him like this and it genuinely shocks you.

This is the way he makes up for fights? Goddamn, he really shows how sorry he is.

He continues to lick and tease your hole, driving the coil in your belly to tighten exponentially. You gasp and groan at him, “It’s okay.”

He hums again at you, moaning as he places a finger inside you. He curls it in a come hither fashion and that’s all it takes for you.

Your walls squeeze around his long finger and you both groan. Stars flash before your eyes and you cry out his name, “Oh fuck Elvis, yes right there please,” you continue to beg, pulling at his black hair with force. His eyes flash up at you and you see those fierce dark blue eyes look into yours and make you cum harder.

You feel like you’re floating, not at all on this earth when you’re with him. Holding onto him tightly is the only way you know this is all real. He is surreal and the fact you’ve never felt like this with any other man and it entices you. There’s no telling where this may lead but god, you want to be as selfish as you can be and hold onto him for as long as you can.

You want to be the only one that gets his attention.

The only one that gets his glances.

The only one to get his lips.

His tongue.

His cock.

All of it. You only want it to be yours.

He sits up and looks over you lying there.

“Did I make you happy darlin’? Was that a good dream to have?” He asks mischievously.

You can’t help but chuckle, “you should be in my dreams more often,” you giggle. “But yes you- I don’t know how you can make me feel like this. Better than the last,” you sigh with contentment.

He leans over you and goes to kiss you. The taste of yourself in his lips has your eyes rolling back in your head. The tangy sweetness lingers as he kisses you more intensely.

“Maybe you were made for me. My one true match.” He hums softly, peppering kisses on your cheek.

You don’t have anything to say to that. It’s not a thing. Soulmates and everything. Fate? No, no way. This was a right place at the right time kind of event and not some predetermined thing. Maybe Elvis thinks like that and that’s what makes sense to him. Not to you though.

He lays down next to you and traces his fingers over your jaw, down to your collarbone, over the mound of your breast, and gently circles your nipple, making it hard. You feel the heat of his erection lay heavy against your thigh. You groan at the feeling of him, how the overwhelming urge to touch him takes over your thoughts.

Your hand lowers to touch him, feeling the heat of it radiate in your palm.

“Can I help you with this,” you ask innocently. He sighs, “No honey it’s okay. I just want to focus on you,” he says low.

“Please, come here,” you continue rubbing him softly. He adjusts his body and takes a sharp breath.

The only thought in your head was you need to make him feel as good as he made you feel. You need to please him with your mouth. Stuffing you in a new way that was so dirty and naughty.

You pull him to the edge of the bed, “show me how you like your cock sucked,” you tease whispering in the crook of his neck and pressing a wet kiss there. He groans at your seductive words and bites his lip, nodding his head and looking over you ravenously. Your knees press into the soft carpet and look up to him for instruction. His cock is at eye level to you as he sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, showcasing everything you want right in front of you.

Being this close to him made you see how long he really was. Everything about him had your core dripping with need and apprehension as you’ve never had this much in your mouth.

“Touch me,” he commands, grabbing your small hand and wrapping it around his shaft, slowly jerking him. You rub with your thumb the leaking precum that’s spilling from his head. He groans as he watches your hand make him throb with need. The scent of him makes your mouth water and you don’t have as much restraint as he does when it comes to teasing but you want to hear what he wants in this moment. You inch your mouth closer to his length, making it so he can feel your breath on him.

“What next honey?” You ask innocently.

“Use your mouth baby, lick just my head,” he moans.

You part your lips and lick his leaking head. The salty taste of his precum makes you want to please him to no end and put more of him in your mouth. But you try to keep him waiting, get him to beg you for more.

Your hand works his shaft as your tongue licks slow circles on his tip. Elvis’ moans sound heavenly, his face looking like it's getting drowned in satisfaction. You try and take it slow and take inch by inch, looking up at him for guidance. He sighs heavily and looks into your big pleading eyes. He pulls up your other arm and takes your hand, guiding it to his balls. The warmth of them fills your hand and he makes you massage them, like rolling heavy dice in your palm.

“Need ya to touch all of me, baby. Just like that,” he groans as you work them more and suck at his head. You’ve never enjoyed giving head but the sounds you’re able to get from Elvis are going to be your drug of choice from now on. Your teasing is incessant, licking and sucking only his head with more intensity. But that’s all you were instructed to do. Listening and following directions just like he wants. His hips buck up for you to take more of him in your mouth. You hum softly, seeing his little game, and don’t let him win.

His hand reaches for a fist full of your hair and pulls you in.

“Goddamn it honey you’re killing me with all this teasing,” he grunts.

You take him out of your mouth and smile coyly, “I’m just doing what you asked honey. Don’t you like it when I listen to you?” You tease.

He squeezes his eyes closed in frustration and opens them again with a ravenous hunger in them.

“Yes. I do like it when you’re nice and obedient. So now, I need you to take more of my cock. Do as you’re told mama,” he says gruffly.

Your core squeezes at his words, so attracted to his dominance and want to submit fully to him. You put him back in your mouth, taking in more slowly and licking the underside of his shaft. He groans and his hand is back in your hair, controlling your tempo. You can’t get enough of him and love how he feels in your mouth. None of this felt wrong or dirty, you were worshipping him as he did to you.

Drool starts to dribble out of your mouth with the more of his cock you put into it. You start to put more pressure on his balls and he groans loudly. You want to make him lose all control and come undone as he did to you. You move your tongue more, licking and sucking as much of his length as he lets you and fondle his large testes. The more he does this, the more his hips try to match the rhythm you’ve created.

Taking him out of your mouth, you look up at him deviously and lick up the seam of his sac to the tip of his shaft. He hisses, not expecting such an act. You lick more at his balls, the scent of him filling your nose and a new primal instinct coming forth. Your tongue laps at his sac and starts to suck on one of his testes, jerking him faster in your hand. He growls fiercely and pulls your head back, fire consuming his gaze.

“Fucking hell woman, you can’t listen can you?” He grumbles frustrated.

“What honey? You gonna cum already?” You tease. Elvis cusses under his breath and quickly stands up, furious.

“You insolent brat. Talking to me like this?! I’m going to have to teach you to listen with my cock stuffed down that throat,” he growls. He grabs your face and places his tip on your lips.

“Open.” He instructs. You do as you’re told, opening for him to fit inside your mouth. His soft gentle tactic are out the window and he’s now fucking your throat. Swiveling his hips as only he can, making him groan heavily. You gag around his length, not ready for such forcefulness. His hand pulls your head away from his length and makes you look up at him.

“Take what I give you baby. Take this cock like a good girl,” he says darkly. A soft whimper escapes you and nod your head.

He’s back inside you, fucking your throat, making the most vulgar sounds emit from you. You try not to gag around him but he’s so much longer than you are used to. The moans he makes fill the room and your fingers claw at the back of his thighs. It was so alluring the way he was taking you. It was so salacious but that didn’t stop you from liking it. You should not listen to him more often.

“Mmm, fuck. Doing so good baby, feeling so good.”

You try to suck as much as he would let you, letting out muffled moans as he filled you yet again. He swiftly pulled out of you to let you breathe, then plunged back into your mouth. Your hand slowly inches for his balls, cupping them softly and massaging them lightly in your hand. He pushes his hips forward as he feels you doing this, hitting the back of your throat. Putting more pressure on his balls, you feel him tense in your mouth and cuss your name.

A few more thrusts into you feel his cock twitch once, twice, then fill your mouth with his seed. Tears fill your eyes as he fucks your mouth and groans loudly, letting himself go.

He hisses at the sensation as he is overstimulated at this point. You gently suck his tip one last time and release it with a pop of your mouth. He grabs your face with his large hand and looks down at you.

“You better swallow that like a good girl,” he commands breathlessly.

You swallow his warm, thick seed, and a grin forms across his face.

“Oh honey, did so good. Did we learn to listen?” He asks slyly.

“Y-yes. I’ll be good for you.” You whimper.

He pulls you up off the floor and makes you sit on his lap. Your arousal has gathered once again and when you sit down, he feels it on his thigh and he smiles at you mischievously.

“Naughty girl. Always so wet for me Hmm?” He asks smugly.

You hide in the crook of his neck and whimper. “Yeah, you’ve kind of ruined me. Having me go home like a mess.”

“Well good. That means you’ll come back to me, right?” He asks confidently.

There’s no fight left in you. He knows he’s won. He’s the master at his own game. You’re drunk on the way he makes you feel and don’t want to leave.

“Yes,” you whisper.

He lifts your chin up to him and he kisses you. You melt into him, sighing when he intensifies and grabs at your thigh, and pulls your body as close as he can get it. Your fingers tangle in his hair, softly moaning when you feel his tongue enter your mouth.

Elvis looks at you dreamily, smiling as he tucks your hair behind your ear. His eyes dart to your neck once again and the ever growing bruise.

“I want you to work for me,” he declares.

“Uhh, I already do honey.” You say confused.

“No baby, I want you to only work for me, not the International. I’ll pay you fairly and everything. You wouldn’t have to worry about money again,’ he instructs.

“Then, I could have you any time I want, not just at 3 pm,” he chuckles. “Come in any time you like and ill take care of you,” he coos. “What do you say, honey?”

You nod your head at him in agreement, “I tihink that might work. I’m never going to want to leave now.”

•

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Tagging 🖤: @powerofelvis @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @elvispresleyxoxo @loving-elvis

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @rosepresley @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog @myradiaz @lookingforrainbows @elvispresleygf @tacozebra051 @thatbanditqueen

@18Ikpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873 @austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis @everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy @elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony @generoustreemystic @kendralavon7 @lettersfromvenus @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121 @jacqueline19997 @returntopresley @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog @louisejoy86

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Hi Sunny! Can I request Bilbo/Thorin 🤝 for your Valentines prompt, please? Such a lovely idea!! Thank you!

Sorry for the lateness! I managed to get busy the last couple of days. Thank you so much for the ask. Have a little more than 500 words. 😆

Thorin watched Bilbo wander through the gardens talking intently with Ori. He couldn’t hear the conversation in question, but he could guess from Bilbo’s smiles and Ori’s enthusiasm that it was something related to hobbits and their culture. Ori had been dying to know more about their fourteenth companion since the start of their journey, and now that they reached sanctuary in Beorn’s cabin, he could finally ask all he wanted to know. 

One of the overly large bees decided to investigate their new company much to Ori’s panic. Bilbo’s laughter was bright and musical when the young dwarf threw himself to the ground to avoid the bee that landed on Bilbo’s curls. A smile tugged at Thorin’s face effortlessly in the face of the scene. In the face of Bilbo’s genuine joy. He took a deep breath grappling with the realization that he came to after their escape from the goblins. After Bilbo defended himself and his presence in their company. Thorin was in love with him.

“Are you just going to stand here and stare like a creep, or are you going over there?”

Thorin flinched lightly even if he tried to deny it. He crossed his arms, making himself much more comfortable against the wooden beam in the porch’s shade.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Thorin defended.

“Right.” Dwalin snorted. “Look, I’ve saved your life plenty of times and I’ve never been hugged like that afterwards.”

“Aw, do you need a hug, Dwalin?” Thorin teased.

The other dwarf rolled his eyes as he shoved at Thorin. “Why would I want a hug from your moody ass? I’m just saying it’s plain as day what you feel for the hobbit. So go do something about it.”

“We are on a dangerous quest.” Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s not the best time.”

“Maybe that’s why it's the perfect time. Especially if you’re going to keep throwing yourself at your enemies with no backup whatsoever.”

Thorin was never going to hear the end of that. He honestly couldn’t tell if Dwalin was more worried about Thorin’s safety or more pissed that Thorin didn’t think to help him up. 

“Just do us all the favor and talk…to the hobbit.” Dwalin demanded, pausing as he shoved Thorin out into the open sunshine. 

Thorin looked over his shoulder to glare at his friend, before looking to see if Bilbo had noticed. He was met with the hobbit’s warm gaze and wide grin.

“Hello, Thorin!”

Thorin straightened himself out after his ungraceful display moving towards Bilbo and Ori.

“Hello, do you mind if I join you two?”

“Of course not!” Bilbo exclaimed.

“Yeah, we don’t mind at…OW!”

Thorin stared unimpressed as Ori rubbed the back of his head from where the rock hit before looking back at Dwalin and making his excuses to leave. Bilbo seemed rather worried, but Thorin assured him that Ori was not in any trouble with Dwalin. That the dwarf was just being ridiculous. Bilbo didn’t seem convinced, but at least was willing to go along with it. They weaved through the blooms, in silence at first, but it was not in Bilbo’s nature to remain so for long. He told Thorin of the flowers that they also had in the Shire and their meanings in their culture as well as any practical uses they may have. 

Thorin felt as if his head was spinning from the onslaught of information, but he did nothing to interrupt the hobbit who was clearly in his element. So Thorin would follow it up to ask about a different flower or about Bilbo’s garden back at Bag End, which he could barely remember in the glimpses he caught of it. If anything, it made him happy to see Bilbo so animated and confident, a far cry from how he had been so far on their journey. Feeling particularly enamored after a humorous retelling from the hobbit, he reached over to grab Bilbo’s hand.

Bilbo paused for a moment before carrying on with his tales, giving Thorin’s hand a squeeze in return. Thorin felt as if his heart was soaring back in the sky with the eagles. His mind whirled with the possibilities, and perhaps Dwalin was right. Perhaps he didn’t need to wait until the end of this quest to find what he was looking for. Not that he would ever tell the other dwarf.

Leaving the gardens, he and Bilbo ambled through the rest of Beorn’s property. Hand in hand, and quite contently too. 

Send me Hugs & Kisses!

[miss-madness67]

Super Daddy (Sam)

Prompt: Your kid shouldn't be telling everyone at school you and Sam are hunters.

Having a kid as a hunter is not easy, but since the beginning, you had decided along with Sam that you wanted a normal life for her. No monsters and no moving around. Nevertheless, neither you nor he desired to step away from the hunting life. It was your duty, after all. So you made a compromise. Your daughter would know about what you really do, but you will keep her at arm’s length from that life. She would not hunt, and she would not get involved in that business. That's why she stays at the bunker. Most of the time, you and Sam are with her, trying to be the most normal family possible. If Sam or you were to be needed in a hunt, her uncle Dean would take care of her. Sometimes even Castiel helped too. So far, your semi-normal life has been working.

Your daughter is in preschool, you know it’s tough on her because she doesn't come from a normal family. Today, at Father's Day, you received a call from the principal claiming that your kid yelled at another child. Apparently, the cause had been that in her Father's Day presentation, she had said that Sam is a hunter. Of course, because she is the daughter of Sam Winchester, and she is super smart, she had to tell everyone about hunting facts, like how her parents and uncles once tracked a vampires' nest. It is safe to say that no one believed her and made fun of her. That's how the fight happened.

“Baby,” you say, “I know you’re super proud of your daddy for getting rid of the monsters.” Your daughter slouches in her seat, sensing the lecture. “But you’re not supposed to tell anyone what mommy and daddy work on.”

She nods, you’ve talked this with her plenty of times before. “I understand, mommy. I just wanted the other kids to see that my daddy is cool.”

You look back at Sam with a hit of a smile on your lips. He’s staring at your daughter, slightly surprised. Then, an idea seems to pop inside his mind. “Honey, you know what’s even better than hunting.” Your kid shakes her head. “Not telling anyone about it.” She doesn’t seem to like that idea. “It’s like a secret group, don’t you see?”

When you realize she’s not completely convinced, you decide to step in. “You like all those superheroes, yes?” She nods. “Well, just like they can’t reveal their secret identities, we can’t reveal what we do. It’s better for everybody, alright, sugar?”

She likes the analogy because she looks convinced. “Yes, mommy. I’m sorry I yelled at that girl.”

“It’s ok baby, why don’t you search for uncle Dean and tell him we’re here?”

She doesn’t wait around and runs towards the garage, where Dean is most likely at. Sam snakes an arm around your waist and brings you closer. You lean into his touch and sigh. Yes, you love your little abnormal family.

[baronessblixen]

Prompt? Mulder and Scully pick out baby furniture and later talk about baby names? Or one or the other, I'm happy either way! 🙈

Look who's answering a five-year-old prompt! I think this was supposed to be about the new baby, but I wrote about William instead.

Fluff, set after "Alone": With Mulder being unemployed, and Scully on maternity leave, they spend their time thinking about furniture, baby names, and all the ways their lives will change. (wc: 1,378)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 14: Preparation is Everything

Fox Mulder is a new man.

His naked body is still adorned with pale scars, but they’re healing, slowly fading away. Soon, they will be gone, and with them the only proof of what he went through. How many people can claim to have come back from the death? Mulder doesn’t even want to know.

The other day, Scully left a pamphlet for group therapy on his coffee table. His first instinct was to throw it into the trash, but then he reconsidered. Scully isn’t pushing him. No one is. They’re all just glad he’s back among the living. Well, most of them. He bets that Kersh can’t wait for him to die for real. That feeling, he realizes, is mutual.

When he stood in front of Kersh's desk, his former boss barely able to contain his glee, he was ready to fight. To defend himself and go on another rampage. That feeling lasted all of five seconds. Not worth it, a voice inside him whispered. He thought of Scully, and the baby, and knew that they were the only thing that mattered to him now. They didn’t need him jumping off oil rigs. He’s caused Scully seven years of grief and he was done. Enough was enough. Someone else could take over the X-Files. He may not trust Doggett yet, but Scully does. And when Scully trusts someone, he knows they’re good people.

So, he’s Fox Mulder now. Just Fox Mulder. Unemployed bum, spending time at his partner’s apartment whenever she lets him, and trying to figure out what to do next.

“What are you doing?” Mulder asks as he steps into the living room where Scully sits on the couch, engrossed in a colorful catalog.

“Looking at baby furniture,” she replies with a sigh.

“I thought- I thought you already had everything.”

“I thought I’d have more time,” she admits sheepishly, biting her lip. Seeing his Scully unprepared for anything just makes him love her more. But he knows better than to tease her.

“Well, you’re in luck,” Mulder says, sitting down next to her. “We both have plenty of time. With me being fired, and you on maternity leave, we have all the time in the world. Let’s go shopping.”

“Mulder, we have the catalog.” She points at a crib with a smiling baby inside of it. Mulder thinks it looks a bit like an alien. “We can order everything we need.”

“Or,” he says, drawing the word out. “We can go into a store and pick things out.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I don’t want the kid to sleep in a thing that looks like this.” He points at the ugliest crib he’s ever seen. “$1000? Does it come with the whole apartment? Come on, Scully. It’s going to be a nice trip to Babies'R'Us.”

*

“Does no one work anymore?” Mulder mumbles as he and Scully step into the crowded baby store. There are squeaky bright colors everywhere and Mulder doesn’t know where to start. He keeps close to Scully’s side, but she, too, seems overwhelmed by the sheer size of this place.

“Wish you were hunting monsters instead?” he asks Scully and she gives him a small smile.

“At least we have experience with that.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Mulder assures her. “Look, that’s the baby section. Let’s start there.”

In the end, it’s not as difficult as either of them thought it would be. It doesn’t take them long to find the essentials. They both fall in love with the same crib and Mulder gets so excited that he kisses her quickly and noisily in front of another family, not caring at all.

“Mulder.” Her cheeks are coloring and she’s looking around nervously. Old habits die hard.

“I doubt we’ll run into Skinner or Kersh here, Scully. Or anyone we know. Either way, we’re not working together anymore, are we?” The realization hits him that he’s telling the truth. As of right now, they’re no longer work partners. There’s nothing holding them together. He’s not even FBI anymore.

“Are you all right?” Scully touches his chest.

“I’m- I just realized that we’re no longer partners.”

“Are you leaving me?” There’s no worry in her voice, but rather amusement.

“You know what I mean.”

“Mulder, we don’t need to be working together in the basement to be partners. You know that, right? We are partners in this.” She takes his hand and puts it on her stomach. “Unless you-”

“Oh, I want. I’m all in, Scully. I hope you know that?” She nods, and he sees a few tears pool in the corner of her eyes. He almost ruined another moment with his insecurities.

“Do you think we have everything we need for now?”

“You’re tired,” Mulder states and she doesn’t deny it.

“And hungry,” she says with an apologetic smile.

“We’ll get you and Junior something to eat. Let’s get out of here.”

*

Their baby is a pizza lover. They may not know much about their child yet, but they do know that. Mulder watches Scully happily lick her fingers clean after eating a slice of greasy pepperoni pizza and thinks he might even be a little turned out by her enjoyment of it.

“Happy now?” he asks her, unable to hide his own happiness.

“Very much so. I just- I need to get comfortable.” She’s half sitting, half lying on the couch, and watching him with curious eyes. She’s been doing that a lot lately. Who can blame her? After all, she had to bury him. Had to try and make peace with him being gone and having to do all of this on her own. He doesn’t want to think about missing all of this. He’s missed so much already. The moment she found out. The morning sickness. Her growing belly. He missed all of it. He can only try to make up for all of it now. But they will never get that time back.

“Mulder, stop,” she says gently, a hand on his thigh. “I can feel you thinking.”

“Can you?” he asks with a sad smile.

“I wish I could turn back the time and-”

“None of this is your fault, Scully.”

“It’s not your fault either.”

“Debatable.”

“Not debatable,” she says firmly. “You’re here now and it’s everything- Mulder, it’s everything.”

“You know you’ll see a lot of me now, right? With me being out of a job. I need to- I will find something. We can’t let Junior think I’m some kind of slob.”

“You’re going to be an amazing father,” Scully whispers as if she were sharing a secret.

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right.” She winks at him and they both laugh softly. A truce.

“Have you thought about names for Junior?” Mulder asks as Scully snuggles into his side. He puts his arm around her and, a bit more hesitantly, lets his hand wander to her stomach. What a miracle they’ve created together.

“I have a few ideas. What about you?”

“It’s your decision.”

“Mulder.”

“No, I think you should decide. I’ll veto if it’s something like… Nimrod.”

“Too bad. That was my favorite.” She grins up at him. “I was thinking about all the people we lost. Samantha and Melissa. We could pick something similar to that, to honor them. Or give them a name with no memories attached. Give them a fresh start.”

“They deserve a fresh start.” Mulder kisses her temple.

“All of us do,” Scully says, putting her hand on top of Mulder’s on her stomach. “We’ll know what to call him when we see him.”

“Him?” Mulder asks.

“Or her.”

“You know,” Mulder says, closing his eyes, and letting his imagination take over. “I think our child is going to change the world. Save it even, maybe. They’re going to do great things.” He can see it. Can see their child grow up from baby to child, to teenager and adult. He can’t wait to be there and watch every single step they take. Holding their hand if they need him to.

“I think you’re right, Mulder,” Scully says.

“You hear that, baby?” Mulder presses his ear to her stomach, murmuring the words against the fabric of her shirt. “Your mom just said I’m right.”

[garbinge]

I lied

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader From these August Prompts:  “You said you'd go with me.” "I lied."

A/N: Me??? A Juice fic??? Idk where this came from, this poor man went through so much in canon that I decided, why don't I put him through some more in fic world???

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of bruises/cuts.

SOA Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics

Your bags were packed with the necessities and your gut was filled with nerve and hope. You began driving to the clubhouse. It was late at night, no one would be there except a couple hang arounds and him. As you pulled into the lot, you saw him leaning against his bike, backpack on and waiting for you. You couldn’t help the smile on your face, things had been so tough lately, you could see it on his face everyday but now that you knew things were about to be new, there was a fresh start on the horizon, you couldn’t help but feel the excitement masked as butterflies as you pulled in. 

“Hey!” You couldn’t contain the elation in your tone. 

Juice looked up, hadn’t even noticed you drove in, the shock was on his face as he snapped out of whatever he was thinking. 

“Hey.” His voice was the complete opposite of yours, low, succumbed. It made every ounce of anticipation in you dissipate within seconds. 

“What’s wrong?” You immediately sped up so you were in front of him, dropping your bag at your feet to lift your hands up to his face. It took more effort than you expected lifting his head up, the weakness wasn’t just displayed on Juice’s face but in his demeanor. Your heart was starting to catch on to things, it was beating rapidly as you took in his attitude, his face. It was littered in bruises and cuts, and despite the purpled and red marks on his face, his soul was the most broken. 

“I’m fine. Just waiting for you.” Juice said after a deep breath and pushing back all his thoughts and managing to put a half-assed smile on.

“I missed you.” You said smiling back and taking his cue and moving to leave a kiss on his lips. “So much.” You pulled away to whisper the next two words against his mouth but Juice was quick to fill the space. His hands moved up to cup your face, there was desperation in it, but not in a wanting you way but in a way that he wanted this to make everything better. He kissed you with purpose but you could tell it was the wrong purpose. 

As you took a breath you rested your head against his and took the opportunity to speak to him. 

“We’ve got plenty of time for this later, c’mon we should hit the road.” Quickly you grabbed his hand and bent down to grab your bag and pull him to your SUV. “You can load your bike in the trunk, there's room. I don’t know if you wanna stop by your place and pick up anything more but I left all my stuff, figured my landlord will repurpose it after I default on the rent.” You chuckled. 

As you began to walk you noticed Juice wasn’t moving, he was back to looking at the ground and as you took one more step your conjoined hands fell. 

“Juice, c’mon.” You said once which earned you a glance from him and when you repeated it, a part of you knew what was about to happen so you raised your voice in a way that was practically begging him. Begging him not to do this. To just come with you. 

“We’re not going.” Juice’s voice was barely audible and the silence between both of you became the loudest thing in the air. 

“What?” You questioned after you realized you weren’t going to be able to wrap your mind around it. 

“We’re not going.” He had managed to sit up straight now and tell you with full volume now. 

You stared at him before speaking up. “You said you’d go with me.” Your voice also at a whisper. “I lied.”

Those words cut you deeper than anything else he could have said. The space between both of you felt like two magnets repelling against each other. There was a choice you had to make at that moment and it only took seconds for you to decide. Maybe you’d regret it, or maybe he would. But either way your choice was made. 

“No, you’re not going. I’m going. You’re an idiot to stay here, Juice. You’re choosing that,” you pointed to his face, “over starting new?” There was so much more to what you meant. Juice was choosing a life of violence, of deterioration, of constant heartbreak over a life of love, of growth, of happiness. There was no convincing him, if the actions you showed him were no match for the actions the club showed him, your words would mean nothing. 

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” Just like that he was back to the boy who had begged you to go with him, begged you to stay with him through this shit. None of it mattered. None of it ever mattered. 

“This is it, Juice. Either you come with me, or we’re done.”  You stepped back, that magnet repulsion still in high effect. 

That was it. It had been 3 years since that night, since you saw Juice. You didn’t exactly leave Charming, but you did make it a point to avoid any sign, trace, or mention of the club. It helped that you lived on the outskirts and decided to do all your errands in Morada. It proved to be successful, until today. 

As you walked around the convenient store, eyes on the shelves you bumped into someone, the apologies came pouring out from your mouth as you gathered the things that fell on the ground. 

“No, sorry, that was my fault, I wasn’t paying attention.” There was slight humor in the tone of the voice you knew so well that your heart stopped while you looked up at him, all the misstrewn groceries in your arms now as you stood up. Both of you staring at each other as the realization hit. 

He looked different. His hair was grown out, he had a mustache, a beard. Out of instinct, your eyes moved down to see he wasn’t wearing the kutte. I didn’t necessarily mean he was out of the club, but it did make your mind wander. 

“Hey.” His voice softened and he looked down at the groceries in your hand realizing what you had was mixed in with his items. “Uh, sorry.” He smiled in a way that melted you and pointed to something in your hand. “That’s mine.” 

You looked down to see his favorite snack nuzzled in between your groceries. “Oh.” You laughed back and adjusted your grip so you could hand him the bag. “Still love the honey barbeque twists.” You joked as your hands touched and you both pulled away instantly. 

“How are you?” Both of you spoke at the same time and laughed awkwardly. Juice pointed to you wanting you to speak first.

“I’m good. Y’know. Livin’ the dream.” You laughed awkwardly again. “You?” 

“Yea I’m good, just traveling back home.” He nodded. 

“No kutte.” You couldn’t help yourself as you brought up the lack of apparel. 

Juice was confused and looked down. “Oh, yea the trip was lowkey, just me and–” 

“Me.” Jax’s voice was smug as ever and it made you turn your attention to see him smiling and going to pull you into a hug. “Long time no see.” 

“Yea, been a minute.” You felt very uncomfortable but were going to see this through. 

“I’ll let you two catch up, I’ll be out by the bikes.” Jax smirked at Juice and winked at you before squeezing your shoulder as a goodbye. 

“Glad to see you two worked your shit out.” You said to Juice as Jax left the store. 

“Oh, yea, it's gotten better.” Juice tensed up and you could clock that shit from a mile away still.  

“Well, I gotta go, but it was nice seeing you.” Was it a lie? Was it the truth? You weren’t sure, but it was the polite thing to say. Juice agreed and stepped to the side to let you start walking down the aisle near check out. As you reached the end of the aisle about to turn down the next he spoke up causing you to turn to look at him. 

“I thought you left town? That night, you said you were gonna leave, I thought you left.” 

You could tell he was trying to wrap his head around this, seeing you. You knew he likely spent late nights awake thinking about it, about you, he might have looked different but he was the same Juice that you left in the Sons lot all those years ago. Which is why you didn’t want to leave anymore hope there, for either of you. You could see the hope in his eyes, that you were back, that maybe you could see eachother again, that you came back for him. All of that let you decide to break both of your hearts all over again by repeating the two words that determined both of your fates 3 years ago and keep walking away. 

“I lied.” 

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

Final chapter of Caught! I was gonna make this a little more fluffier but I kinda struggled with the conversation between them. However, don't worry, as I said I made this into a series on ao3 so I'll be posting oneshots whenever I have ideas/get a prompt

@callivich

@zutaralesbian

///

Colin was no prince fucking charming.

Didn’t care about romantic shit, never had and didn’t think he ever would. He fucked plenty of girls, uninterested in committing to anything more. Didn’t need ‘em. Wasn’t like he didn’t have pron magazines at his disposal if he was horny enough.

But that makeout with Fiona Gallagher was the start of something new in his life. The bar was new, just on the edge of the South Side so it would attract more of those North Side yuppies to the business. He went there with a purpose; plenty of naive, unsuspecting people who would either leave their valuables within reach, or the ones that were desperate to get some of the heavier, good stuff but didn’t want to risk their reputation by buying from a location where someone they know might see them.

With his pockets loaded in preparation for the dealing he’d inevitably do, Colin set out to make some earnings. Around fifteen minutes, he lost count of how many beers he chugged. His head was foggy, his initial reason for coming there forgotten because there’d been a hot as fuck girl near the counter. She looked familiar but than again, he’d fucked almost all the girls that lived around the Southside so he didn’t question it.

When they’d had to part, breathless and pink-cheeked, Colin caught a proper look of the girl’s face, and was startled to realize who’d been making out with. She was just as caught off guard as he was, which should have been the end of things right then and there. Milkovich’s didn’t fuck with Gallagher’s.

But somehow, he’d found himself being pulled into the bathroom where he proceeded to have the best fuck of his entire life.

And that encounter led him to now; standing in front of the bathroom mirror, fixing his fucking hair and making himself look all presentable and shit.

“Where the fuck are you goin’ so early?” Iggy muttered groggily, shoving past him to take a piss.

“None of your fucking business,” Colin threw the comb down on the counter, stalking out of there. Mickey had gone back to sleep, or tried to. Really fucking sucks for him that the bathroom was connected to his room.

“Jesus, hurry the fuck up and get out!” His brother snapped.

Colin just flipped him off on the way out, nearly running right into his sister, who looked murderous.

“Why the hell were you screaming?” She hit him on the shoulder. “I was trying to sleep!”

“Blame Mickey,” Colin shrugged.

“I’ll fucking blame you both.”

“Don’t be so pissy, Mands,” he swept past her, snatching a hoodie off the back of the couch.

“Where are you going?”

“Oh my God,” Colin said agitatedly, “do I owe this house a fucking explanation when I wanna go somewhere?”

“Since when do you go somewhere this early?” Mandy shot back.

“I have a fucking life incase you didn’t know,” he snarked.

“News to me,” Mandy turned on her heel, heading towards the fridge. He rolled his eyes, sliding the hoodie onto him.

“Ay, you meetin’ up with somebody?” Iggy came out, rubbing his eyes. He grinned slyly. “You meetin’ up with a chick?”

“Fuck off.”

“That’d mean a chick was actually interested in him,” Mandy deadpanned on her way back to her own bedroom.

Colin glared at his sister’s back, not noticing Iggy wiggling his eyebrows.

“So it is a chick. What’s ‘er name?”

No fucking way was Colin having this conversation with him. “Go back to sleep, Ig.”

He sauntered over to North Wallace just in time to see Fiona locking the door of her house.

“Ay,” he called. “Good choice on the jeans, Gallagher.”

She quirked a brow as she opened the gate up. “You care about what jeans I’m wearing?”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “They make your ass look great-” Fiona broke out into soft laughter.

“Knew there had to be a catch.”

They walked alongside each other, hands shoved in the pockets of their hoodies to keep them protected from the freezing cold. A couple minutes of silence passed by before Fiona broke it.

“Mickey doing okay?”

“He’s fine,” Colin said, truthfully appreciating her concern. “He thought he was gettin’ kicked out.”

“Shit,” she breathed. “You set him straight?”

“Can you really be set straight if you’re sucking dick?”

Fiona rolled her eyes.

“Just fuckin’ with you,” Colin snickered. When that died down, he said, “He’s good now. Had to knock some sense into his head. He thought I was gonna tell Terry.”

She gave him a look that clearly said see what I mean?

“As if I’d tell that bastard anything,” Colin scoffed. “Don’t know why Mick would think that.”

He stopped walking when Fiona raised a brow at him. “You can’t see it?”

“See what?” The fuck was she talking about?

“You and Iggy have always done what Terry’s told you. Mickey’s not blind,” she told him, her expression serious. “You can’t blame him for thinkin’ that way.”

“I’m not like Terry,” Colin said, offended she’d even make that comparison.

“You called him a fag,” she pointed out.

“Well, yeah,” Colin shrugged. “It was a hell of a lot nicer than anything Terry woulda said.”

She wasn’t amused. “You need to cut that shit out, Colin. I’m serious. Mickey doesn’t need to hear that from you and I’m sure as hell not gonna have Ian hear it. He hears it enough living here.”

If she was just any other girl he’d fucked, he would’ve bailed on her right now. Nobody was gonna tell him what to fucking do. But a lot had changed in the time he’d gotten close to the eldest Gallagher; hell, it felt like a lot had changed since he’d spoken to Mickey.

But Colin was still a Milkovich and he couldn’t be expected to change into a completely different person at the drop of a hat. “You know how my family is, Fiona.”

“And what?” She said challengingly, hands on her hips. “That means you gotta be like ‘em?”

“Not what I said. Just sayin’ I’ll try but you gotta give me time. Took me a long ass time not to give a shit in the first place. You’re damn lucky Frank doesn’t care. You see how easy it is not to care when Terry’s making you come along on fag bashes.”

This made Fiona go quiet. “I guess I see your point,” she said grudgingly. “Just try not to say it around my kids, okay?”

“You think they haven’t already heard it?”

“Colin,” Fiona glared at him.

He mockingly did the scouts honor sign. “I promise,” he said, half sarcastic, half sincere. “Just give me time, okay?”

Fiona’s eyes studied his face for a solid five seconds. “Fine, but you better fucking try. I’m not stayin’ with your ass if you don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya.”

Around fifteen minutes later, Colin was doing the unfathomable: sitting across from his date while she ate her french toast.

It felt fucking surreal. He didn’t do these kinds of things. Once the fucking stopped, he was out of there. This thing with Fiona was different. Colin was drawn to her; her laugh, that smile, everything.

It was uncomfortable as fuck at first- having these feelings. He wasn’t the kinda guy to have feelings and sure as hell not the kind of guy to seek a real relationship.

But than again, something changed in the past couple of months to get him to this moment.

“You good?” Fiona’s voice brought him back to the present and out of his thoughts. She’d stopped eating, her gaze lingering on him.

“Uh, yeah,” he scooped up a bite of scrambled eggs.

Fiona nodded slowly, soaking up the syrup with her french toast. “This is kinda weird, isn’t it?”

They’d talked more once they realized they both wanted more out of this, but this was a hell of a lot different than any of their usual encounters with each other.

He set his fork down. “Might surprise you, Gallagher, but I don’t go on dates.”

“You mean none of those girls you fucked ever took you out?” Her brow quirked.

“Nah, but it wasn’t ‘cause they were unsatisfied or anythin’,” he smirked.

“You know that for sure?”

Colin flipped her off, and a laugh bubbled out of her. It was a real nice sound too.

“You better know what you’re getting into,” he said once it tapered off, “I ain’t gonna be no prince charming or somethin’.”

“Well, lucky for you, it’s not your attitude I like,” she replied with a grin.

“It’s my dick, isn’t it?” He said smugly. A woman at a nearby table made a face of disgust, glaring at him but neither one of them noticed.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“I don’t know,” he said, one arm over the back of the booth, “you seemed pretty happy with it last night.”

“I was also drinking. A lot of things look good by then.”

“Whatever, Gallagher,” Colin stabbed some cubed potatoes, dipping them directly in her syrup.

“Hey,” Fiona moved her plate. “You have your own food.”

“I’m paying for it so it’s all my food,” Colin said, eyes dancing with amusement. “But I’ll generously let you have the rest.” She rolled her own eyes.

“You’re a real fucking sweetheart.”

“You said it,” he shrugged.

Fiona scoffed out a laugh, shaking her head. “Well, for the record, this isn’t the worst date I’ve ever been on.”

“Are you saying you have horror stories?” He said with interest, propping his elbows on the table.

“You sayin’ you wanna hear them?”

“I do like misery,” he said with mock thoughtfulness. He leaned back, getting himself comfortable. “Let’s hear it.”

“It’s not many,” she said, a smile emerging. “But I did have one where his mom came along.”

Colin’s eyes widened a little. “You’re fucking joking.”

“I’m not. She sat a couple tables away from us, kept interrupting our conversation and made sure he ordered some vegetables,” she said with a heavy sigh.

He couldn’t even try to stop the laughter from flowing. “Oh my God!”

“Fuck off, it’s not that funny,” she groaned.

“No, it’s fucking hilarious,” Colin threw his head back, a grin stretching across his face. “Who the fuck brings their mother on a date? How old was this guy?”

“Older than me by a few years,” she said with a grimace.

He chuckled. “Lucky for you, our mother ran out on us years ago.”

“So did ours,” she said, taking a drink of her coffee. “Unmedicated, high and jumping from one bed to the next.”

“Sounds like our mother, besides the unmedicated part,” he said. “She was just always high and drunk.”

“All while they expect you to clean up their messes,” she grumbled.

“Ain’t that the fucking truth. Me and Ig practically raised Mickey and Mandy ourselves. Jesus, it was tough for a while. Tryin’ to potty train Mick, make sure Mandy wasn’t crawling near any of Terry’s shit while Laura was passed out on the couch and Terry was out somewhere,” Colin said with a shake of his head.

He’d never be able to talk about it with anyone else. This was the Southside and all, but not everyone got his situation which was worse than your average family out there. But Fiona? She got it; she was living similarly with the struggles of having Frank and Monica for parents.

“Ugh,” she said sympathetically. “I know what you mean. I’ve been takin’ care of them since I was nine, but Monica can some swoop in and get their hopes up and fucking leave again. Did Laura ever do that?”

“Nah,” he said. “Wasn’t much of a runner. She just wasn’t really there to take care of ‘em if you know what I mean. Don’t think any of us would care if she came back, though. She’s as good as dead to Mandy.”

“That’s how I feel about Monica sometimes,” she admitted. “But then she comes back and makes you feel like she cares until she dips again. Somehow feels worse than all the shit Frank puts through, you know? At least he’s consistent.”

“Consistent pain in the ass,” Colin rolled his eyes. “He tried conning some drugs outta Iggy the other day. He wasn’t brave on the other end of Ig’s assault rifle.”

Normally, a girl would be a little freaked out if her father was almost shot, but Fiona thought this was funny. “Yeah? I owe Iggy a beer for that one. Tell him I’ll take him out soon.”

“Just you and him?” Colin said, going for nonchalance when in actuality, the thought of her going out alone with his brother made him feel fucking weird.

“What, you jealous?”

“You fucking wish.”

“Fine. Maybe I’ll find out what Iggy’s like after a few drinks,” Fiona licked her bottom lip to wipe off the syrup there, but all it did was unintentionally distract Colin.

His eyes darkened. “You better fucking not.”

“Yeah?” Eyebrows raised, an innocent look to her that he didn't buy- she was teasing him.

He leaned forward, voice lowering. “I don't plan on sharing you.”

“That so?” She whispered. She was captivated; a slight uptake of her lips, lust gleaming in her eyes. “What are you plannin’ on?”

Right then and there, Colin knew that Fiona had him in her grasp. There was no escape, but he'd never want one anyway.

“Guess you'll have to wait and find out, won't you, Gallagher?”