#MY SISTER IN CHRIST YOU ARE SO CLOSE JUST MIX THAT AND TAKE OFF THE SPICE

[rat-rosemary]

Just say a post of someone saying "omegas can only eat plain carb heavy foods during heat and alphas need good heavy spicy food and meat" and I need to bash my head in. What happen to sex-ed. You're going to make yourself sick

You are so sensitive during your rut don't eat spicy shit. Alphas AND Omegas need meat and carbs for energy and you need them all to be plain. I swear even if you hate that kinda food normally it's going to feel like heaven during your rut/heat

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Long Distance

A followup to Suburban Sparks Pairing: Javier Peña x Steve's Little Sister Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: He knows he shouldn't fall for you, he knows he shouldn't pick up the phone, but you're all he can think about. Warnings: Javi's POV, angst, guilt, yearning, pining, heartbreak, impressionist paintings, using a Clairo lyric as a play monologue, jealousy, smut, phone sex, secret bathroom sex, dirty photos. Takes place after S3. Words: 8,320

A/N: Written for @almostfoxglove's Angst Challenge, who made the GORGEOUS mood board for inspo. It truly fit the vibes of exactly what I was thinking would be the next step for Steve's Little Sister and Javier. My thanks to @devineconjuring, @mothandpidgeon, and @schnarfer for filling up my draft with suggestions, reactions, and edits and always letting me yap and ... them. Suburban Sparks Masterlist Masterlist

—-

His heart thuds against his chest with every descending step. He hears the clatter of plates and silverware mixed with soft conversation– hears your voice. You’re awake. His eyes immediately catch yours when he walks into the kitchen. You sit at the breakfast table in an oversized sweatshirt that hangs off a shoulder, the same shoulder he kissed before he snuck out of bed and back to his room across the hall.

You’re so beautiful, he almost falls as he takes a seat.

“Damn, Peña, still drunk?” Steve asks as he flips the last pancake.

“Just tired,” he responds. “Morning,” he casually nods towards you, trying not to let his gaze stay on you for too long.

You nod a casual “hey” as you reach for the orange juice, your fingers wrapping around the glass. He loses his breath as he remembers how those same delicate fingers felt wrapped around him.

“Coffee, Javi?” Connie asks, pulling him from his reverie.

He nods, mumbling a response as you smirk. This is going to be an interesting breakfast.

“Good breakfast, thank you,�� you say as you rise. “I’m going to get a shower before I go back home. Landlord still hasn’t fixed the hot water heater.”

“Help yourself,” Steve nods. “And Jesus Christ, find a better place.”

Javier takes a sip of coffee until the thought of you under the warm running water, naked and wet, flashes through his mind. He coughs as he chokes on the hot liquid.

"You okay there, partner?" Steve asks, eyebrow raised.

Javi nods, clearing his throat. "Yeah, just went down the wrong pipe." 

As your footsteps fade upstairs, Javi focuses intently on his breakfast, avoiding Steve's gaze. He can feel Connie's eyes on him, a hint of suspicion in her expression.

He eats his breakfast, listening closely to the rumble of the water heater as Steve and Connie discuss their plans for the day. The water heater turns off, snapping Javi back to the thought of you just upstairs.

"I should get ready too," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact as he picks up his plate and coffee cup, dropping them off by the sink. "Thanks for breakfast."

“‘Course, you’re our guest,” Steve says.

As he climbs the stairs, his heart races. The guilt over Steve sitting just downstairs getting drowned out by the anticipation of seeing you again.

He passes the bathroom door and then retraces his steps, standing in front of the white wooden blockade. You’re right behind the door. He knocks softly.

The door cracks open, a cloud of steam escaping as you peek out. Your face glistens with moisture, drops of water clinging to your skin. You take his breath away.

Your eyebrow quirks up before you open the door wider, stepping aside to let him in. He slips inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. You’re wrapped in a towel–one measly towel. A drop of water trails down your collarbone to between your breasts, and his mouth waters, thinking of how good it’d taste.

"Javier," you whisper.

He steps closer. "I know, I know. We shouldn't."

But, as the words leave his mouth, you’re already reaching for him. His mouth crashes against yours, desperate to taste you again. You instantly mold into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he backs you against the cool tile wall.

The towel slips, pooling at your feet. He breaks the kiss, his eyes reverently roaming your bare skin. “Fuck,” he breathes.

You grab the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them down. “We don’t have much time.”

He nods, helping you pull down his boxer briefs, his cock already hard for you, weeping to feel your tight pussy around it.

He lifts you onto the countertop, spreading your legs wide and groaning when he feels how wet you are for him. Your eyes stare into his as he sheaths himself in you, both of you gasping at how good it feels. Your legs wrap around his waist and pull him closer as he begins to move. His hands grip the counter as he quietly fucks into you, the faint sound of his skin against yours and your soft moans echoing off the tile.

His tongue licks a path down your neck, tasting the condensation on your skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” is softly repeated against your sensitive skin. The way you softly moan back makes his legs weak. You sound so good, you taste so good, you feel so good.

Your hips meet his as his thrusts become more urgent as he listens for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He wishes he could savor you, hear you scream his name, fuck into you for hours, but he can’t. He has to be quick. His hand travels down your smooth skin, and his finger begins circling your clit as his other hand grips the plush of your breast, kneading it in his hand. Your head falls back, your bottom lip captured between your teeth to stop yourself from making any more noise.

It’s forbidden and wrong. He knows this, but the way your body trembles underneath his touch, your hands exploring the broadness of his back, your tight pussy beginning to clench around his cock–he can’t say no to you. He circles your clit faster and harder, his fingers working in quick, tight circles as he fucks into you faster. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your nails digging into his shoulders as you fight to stay quiet.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispers. “I need to feel you cum.”

Your body tenses, a strangled moan escaping your lips before he presses his mouth against yours, swallowing your cries as he chases his own release. You pulse around him, and it’s too much. He buries himself inside you, his body shuddering as he cums, spilling inside of you. He stays buried in your heat, even though he knows he needs to leave. He just can’t. He rests his forehead against yours, listening to your soft gasps, trying to savor the moment for as long as he can.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice lilts in awe.

He nods, trying hard to swallow the guilt. “I know.”

He pulls out slowly, both of you wincing at the loss of each other.

You hop off the counter, grabbing your towel, and wrapping it around yourself again. Javi tucks himself back into his pants and runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

"You should go," you say softly, not meeting his eyes. “You know… just in case.”

He nods, his hand already reaching for the doorknob. "Hey," he says, waiting for you to look at him. When you do, he sees the conflict in your eyes, knowing it mirrors his own, but he ignores it. “What’s your number?”

—-

The phone line hums, building a bridge between Laredo and Washington, D.C. He waits all day to hear the sound of your laughter spill through the receiver–sweet and warm, like honey. Most of the time, silence settles between the two of you, content to just stay on the line with each other 1,800 miles away.

He’d always be the one to call. Phone bill be damned, he made good money.

On some nights, after too many whiskeys or beers, he’d let some of the burden of Colombia off his shoulders. He’d tell you about the girls, the bodies, the nightmares. You’d meet every revelation with understanding and acceptance, letting him talk as little or as much as he wanted. 

It’s simple and comfortable, something he never felt like he deserved. But he can never have simple and comfortable–there’s always a complication. You are Steve’s little sister, after all.

He hates nights like this when the guilt creeps in and gnaws at him. The world is hushed, his thoughts loud. He tosses and turns, sheets tangling around his legs as he wrestles with his heart. He’s falling for you–Steve’s little sister. The same Steve who had his back in Colombia, who became more than just a partner.

He stares at the ceiling, your voice always echoing in his head.

It’s been three months since he met you at that ordinary suburban party. He replays everything in his head to calm himself–your smile, the sweet lilt of your voice, your wide eyes as you stared at him. The sound of your muffled moans escaping from behind his shirt, the warmth of your body pressed against his as you drifted to sleep.

Now, the memory of your soft skin under his fingertips haunts him, an almost bittersweet reminder of what he can never have. It could never work. Steve’s so protective of you that Javi can’t even imagine how he’d react if he knew someone like him was falling for his baby sister. He can’t do that to you… or Steve.

You’re in your twenties, still full of life and promise. While he’s forty, scarred from the long life he’s already lived. He pictures you growing resentful, feeling held back by his world-weariness, longing for someone more carefree and unburdened. He’s not the one for you, though you’re the one for him.

He turns, shuffling his cold sheets up around his shoulder as he stares out the window. One night spent together in his friend’s backyard and guest bedroom. One morning spent in a white-tiled bathroom. Countless nights on the phone.

He thinks about you curled up on the couch during your late-night calls, wrapped in an oversized sweater, your voice soft and sleepy. He dreams of one day being on that couch with you. In a perfect life that he’ll never have.

—-

Javier Peña never reads the news. He doesn’t pay attention to the news. He doesn’t care about the news. He doesn’t want to hear about the news—that is, until you entered his life.

“Any news?” he asks, hearing the rustle of your newspaper crackling through the phone.

“Hmm, lemme see.”

He can imagine you scanning the headlines, your finger running down the text, brows furrowed in concentration. You love the news, love reading and learning, love being informed. Now, Javier Peña reads the news.

"Ohh! The Smithsonian's got a new exhibit opening next week. An Impressionist Sensibility. It says the paintings in the collection are linked through a shared sensibility about American cultural aspirations at the turn of the century."

"Yeah?"

“Yeah, it looks really cool, Jav.”

He loves it when you call him Jav. It’s so casual, so comfortable. Nobody ever calls him Jav besides you. He listens intently as you read, letting the sound of your voice wash over him.

"Sounds pretty interesting. Sounds like something you have to see in person."

You hum in agreement, a wistful note in your voice. "It does. Maybe someday we could…"

The sentence hangs unfinished, both of you acutely aware of the complications that keep you apart. He clears his throat, pushing away the surge of longing that threatens to overwhelm him. Move on, agent.

"My turn," he says, unfolding his paper. "Let's see what thrilling news Laredo's got today."

—

“Tell me I did good, Jav. Tell me to stop obsessing over it. Tell me they didn’t notice I paused a little too long between lines.”

He chuckles. “You did amazing. I’m sure of it, cariño.”

He doesn’t know how you can be so brave, going up onstage in front of auditoriums full of people. All eyes on you. He could never do what you do.

“Really?”

“I’d surely cast you if I could.”

“Mm, I’m sure you would,” you respond. He can hear the smile in your voice.

You’ve been so nervous over the audition for the play. He remembers how you'd practiced your lines with him, how he stayed up late listening to you recite the main monologue over and over just so he could hear your voice. He could hear the emotions. You’re so talented, there’s no way you’re not going to get the part.

“You’re going to get it, cariño.” 

"You really think so?" you ask, a hint of hope in your voice.

"I do. When will you find out?"

"Rehearsals start next month, so hopefully soon," you answer.

"You've got me to keep you distracted."

“I swear, I’d lose my mind without you…”

—-

He’s lying in bed awake again. He’s getting to a point of no turning back with you. He closes his eyes, and all he can see is you.

“I swear, I’d lose my mind without you…” repeats through his head.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand. It would be so easy to call, to hear your voice one more time. But he can't. He won't.

Instead, he pushes himself out of bed, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor of his apartment to the sparse but functional kitchen. He pours a glass of whiskey, hoping it’ll help drown out his thoughts.

This feeling is so foreign to him. He hasn’t felt this way about anybody since Lorraine–and even then, he fucked that up. He shouldn't have let it go this far. Shouldn't have knocked on the door of that guest room, shouldn't have kissed you like a drowning man praying for air. But he did. And now he can't forget.

You’re too young, too bright, and too adventurous. You’re so full of potential. What the hell are you doing talking to him every single night? He has to step away and let you go. But he won’t. Because underneath all of those accomplishments and pursuits, he’s still a coward.

—-

You softly moan into the phone, and he can hear the swishing of the sheets as you get comfortable on your bed. He can almost see you, feel you, remember how sweet you tasted. He thuds his head against his pillow, an ache of loneliness from his heart traveling down to his cock. 

“You can’t do that, cariño,” he lowly growls.

“Huh?”

“Moan like that,” he responds. Now, he’s the one adjusting. “I–it’s been a while.” 

You chuckle, a low, tempting sound. He’s in trouble. It’s been a month of talking to you almost every night, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t constantly fighting the urge to touch himself while listening to your voice. But he’s resisted, not wanting to cross that line and make things even more complicated than they already are. 

“Sorry, my bed feels really good. Quite lonely, though,” you pout, your voice dripping in saccharine sarcasm. 

Fuck. He’s so needy for you, he’s already growing hard.

“What are you wearing?” he asks, feeling a little ridiculous at the question, hoping you’re just as turned on as him.

“Don’t laugh. Promise you won’t laugh.” 

“What? Why would I laugh?” he smiles, shaking his head.

“Because Javi. Just… don’t laugh or judge.”

“I won’t. Trust me. Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Your green shirt.” 

His spine straightens. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You wear it a lot?”

“Mmhmm, I sleep in it all the time.” 

“I’m sure it looks real good on you, doesn’t it?” 

“I think it looked better when it was stuffed in my mouth while you were fucking me.”

He groans, his heart racing as he reaches down and grips the heft of himself tucked away in his shorts. 

“That was a good night, wasn’t it?” he asks, softly squeezing himself. 

“It was one of the best, Javi. I think about it all the time.” 

“Me too,” he divulges, remembering the brightness of your eyes, the sweet taste of your lips, the feel of your pussy clenching him. “I also really liked the morning in the bathroom.” You laugh–a sweet sound that makes his heart beat even faster–before you sigh. “I wish you were here, Javi.” “I do, too, cariño.” 

“What would you do if you were with me?” you ask, your voice low. You’re such a temptress.

His voice drops to a sultry whisper as he closes his eyes and imagines you in his bed. "I'd start by getting you out of that shirt, real slow. I’d get to take my time and kiss every inch of skin."

You let out a soft moan. "Mmm, then what?"

"I'd push you back onto the bed, trail my fingers up your soft thighs." His own hand mimics the motion, sliding up his leg. "I’d spread your legs and kiss my way up, before giving your sweet pussy a long lick, savoring just how good you taste."

"God, Javi. Please," you whimper.

"Touch yourself for me, baby. Pretend it's me."

He can picture you perfectly–laid out on your bed, his shirt bunched up around your waist, your hand between your legs.

You let out a gasp and a long, low moan. He pulls his shorts down and gives himself a tight, slow stroke.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks, rubbing the bit of precum he’s leaked out across his head.

“Mmhmm,” you moan. “I love it when you call me baby.”

“Baby,” he groans as he spits in his hand and strokes himself.

“Fuck, I’m so wet,” you breathe into the phone.

“I wish I was there with you, baby. I'd slide two fingers deep inside your tight little pussy, curl them just right to make you moan for me." He strokes himself faster, imagining the slick heat of you clenching around him.

You let out a whimper. “I need you inside me.”

“I need to be inside you too, cariño,” he replies, his hand moving faster along his length. “Tell me how badly you want me.”

“I want you to fuck me hard and fast,” you moan. “God, I think about it all the time, Jav.”

He grunts in response, imagining your body writhing beneath him.

“Oh god,” you cry out.

He squeezes his cock harder, picking up the pace as you whine and moan for him.

“You sound so good. I love the way you moan for me. You’re all I ever want to hear.”

“Fuck,” you pant. “Gonna cum.”

“That’s it, cum for me, cariño.”

You let out a loud moan as your orgasm hits. It floats through the phone into his ear and down to his cock. He lets out a long, low “fuck” as he reaches his own release, grunting your name as his cock pulses in his fist, streams of cum spilling out onto his hand and stomach.

All that can now be heard is heavy breathing and soft moans as you both come down from your highs.

He feels the guilt begin to show its ugly head just as you say his name.

“Javi, that was… wow.”

“I know, baby, I know.” 

—-

He pulls an envelope out of his mailbox. Your handwriting is neat and flowy–he smiles at the bright green marker you chose.

So, this is why you wanted his address.

He’s opening the envelope before his door even shuts. He hasn’t been this excited to open something since Christmas morning thirty years ago.

He pulls out a handmade card–a dark green Christmas tree adorned with little red hearts is painted on the front, with MERRY CHRISTMAS JAV written in cursive above it–and his face lights in a wide grin.

As he opens the card,  a bundle of Polaroid photos tied together with a ribbon falls out and lands on the table.

A simple message is inside the card.

Surprise! I hope you like them. xoxo

With a quick pull on the silky ribbon, the bundle is untied. He slowly flips through each photo, his heart skipping a beat as he assesses each one like evidence.

You’re smiling in a few of them, his green shirt hanging loosely off your shoulders. You look so beautiful, so carefree and happy. He traces a finger over one, wishing he could touch you.

His breath catches in his throat as he flips to the next photo. You’re still in his shirt, but you sit, wearing only that on your bed. Your smooth legs bent to the side of you, your eyes hooded, with a coy smile playing at your lips. He swallows hard as he flips to the next photo.

His mouth goes dry. You’re completely naked, lying back on your bed. Your body is on full display for him. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling slightly dizzy, his cock twitching at the sight of you.

It feels so forbidden, so wrong to have these photos of you.

“Fuck,” he whispers when he turns to the next picture. You’re kneeling on your bed, your hands resting on the back of your neck. Your tits are pushed out, your nipples hard. He can see the glistening wetness between your thighs. He wants to taste you so bad.

The following picture makes him gasp. You’re lying across your bed, one hand gripping the soft swell of your breast while the other is between your legs. Your lip is caught between your teeth. He can almost hear the breathy moans you’re letting out.

He flips to the next one, and his cock throbs painfully against his jeans. You’re on your hands and knees, your head turned, peering over your shoulder at the camera. The sight of your ass makes his mouth water. He wants nothing more than to grab your hips and pull you back onto his aching cock.

With a shaky breath, he reveals the final Polaroid. Your hand is outstretched towards the camera, a drop of your arousal glistening on your fingertip as if you’re offering him a taste of you. The image is so visceral he can almost taste you.

He sits back in his chair, the Polaroids tightly clutched in one hand while the other palms himself through his jeans. This is, without a doubt, the best gift he’s ever received, but he still feels wrong to have it.

—-

“So, any news?” you ask, your voice still a bit slow and low from the orgasm you just moaned out for him. It’s now a nightly ritual–phone sex followed by sharing local articles.

He scans the headlines. “The Laredo Little Theater is putting on a production of Our Town next month.”

“Our Town! I was Emily a few years back.”

“I-I’ve never seen it.” Frankly, he’s never heard of it. He’s never really seen a play–unless he counts the couple of productions Lorraine was in during high school. He wishes he was more cultured for you.

"I still remember my lines. Emily's monologue at the end about realizing what she missed in life. It's always stuck with me."

He leans back against his headboard, intrigued. "Tell me about it, cariño."

You clear your throat softly. "Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it — every, every minute?"

“Wow,” he whispers after a long pause. "That's beautiful, baby.”

“Thanks, Jav. I just wish…”

Your voice trails off, and his chest tightens.

“I know,” he sighs. “Me too.”

He knows exactly what you’re thinking. If only things were different. If only there wasn’t a shadow of guilt and secrecy. He knows he’s already fallen for you.

Silence stretches. He clears his throat. “Your turn, cariño. What’s in the news?”

—-

Another sleepless night, another internal battle, another lonely sunrise, another cup of black coffee to try to wake him up.

The shrill ring of his phone cuts through the silence, startling him from his brooding. He glances at the clock–8:17 a.m.–an unfamiliar number with a DC area code on the screen.

"Peña," he answers gruffly, his voice rough from whiskey and lack of sleep.

"Mr. Peña, this is Agent Thompson from DEA headquarters in Washington. I wanted to inform you personally that we'd like to offer you the position."

The job. The one he'd interviewed for months ago, the reason he'd been in DC. The reason he'd met you. He should feel elated, triumphant even. Instead, dread settles in his stomach and heart.

"Mr. Peña? Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here. Thank you for the offer. When, uh, when would you need me to start?"

"We'd like you here in two weeks, if possible. Is that doable?"

Two weeks. Fourteen days to uproot his life, to move across the country. Fourteen days to figure out how to tell you… or if he should tell you at all.

"Mr. Peña?"

"Yes, that's fine. I'll make it work," he says, his mind already racing.

After hanging up, he stands motionless in his kitchen, the half-empty whiskey glass from last night sitting on the counter. The job he'd wanted, the fresh start he'd been seeking for so long–it's all here for him. But now, it feels like a curse.

He imagines being in the same city as you, knowing you're just across town. The temptation to see you, to touch you, would be constant. And Steve–how could he look Steve in the eye, knowing what he's done with you?

The guilt gnaws at him, heavier than the weight of everything else. He should be honest, should tell you about the job offer. But the words stick in his throat every time he thinks about picking up the phone.

Days pass in a blur of packing and paperwork. You try calling, leaving a message each time. They start out sweet until the third day when you sound upset.

"Javi, hi, it’s me. I-I don’t know what’s going on, but please call me.”

Each night, he stares at the phone, his hand reaching to grab it. But he can't bring himself to dial. Can't bear to hear the excitement in your voice when he tells you he's moving to DC.

On the sixth day, you leave another message.

“Hey Javi, it’s me again, I… I hope you’re okay. I… did I do something? Please just call so I know you’re okay.”

He has to call you. Has to think of some way to let you down because he knows, deep down, that he can't have you. Not really. Not without destroying his friendship with Steve, not without ruining your relationship with your brother. Not without tainting the pure, beautiful thing that's grown between you.

By the tenth day, you’re mad.

“Hey, Javier. I ended up having to ask Connie if she had heard anything about you, so that was real fun. Listen… I don’t know what the hell is going on. If you found someone else or… got tired of me, but I just—I hope you’re happy. I… I guess I’ll… I don’t know. I hope you’re fine.”

His heart clenches as your voice cracks on the last words. He can hear the hurt, the confusion in your tone, and it tears him apart. 

He can't take it anymore–the guilt, the longing, the fear. It's all too much. He picks up the phone and dials your number.

Ring… ring… rin–

"Hello?" Your voice is hesitant, guarded.

"It's me," Javier says. "I'm… sorry."

There's a long pause on the other end. He can hear you breathing, can almost feel the tension radiating off of you through the line.

"Javi?" You sound uncertain, like you can't quite believe it's him. "Where have you been? I've been so worried."

He closes his eyes, leaning against the wall. "I know, I'm sorry. There’s been a lot going on. I… I got a job offer last week. The job in DC is mine."

Another pause. "Oh," you say softly. "Javi… that’s great news. Congrats.”

"Thanks," he says before taking a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knows has to be said. "Listen, I-I think it’s best if we don’t keep doing this."

The silence on the other end of the line stretches. He can almost picture you, your eyes wide with confusion and hurt.

“This?” 

“Yeah, talking and… I just fear it’s gone too far.”

"What?" you finally whisper, your voice barely audible. "Why?"

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He feels his heart break as the words get caught in his throat, but he forces them out. "It's complicated. I’m so much older than you, and you’re… you're Steve's little sister, and I’ll be working with him again. It's not right. It was never right."

He hears you take a shaky breath. "So, you ignore me for over a week and then call to let me know this? I know you’re older than me. I know I’m Steve’s sister. That’s fucked Javi. How could you? I thought we had something speci—”

"I know," he interrupts. "I know, and that's why we have to stop. Before it goes any further. Before anyone gets hurt."

You gasp, and his heart clenches at the sound. He wants to take it all back, to tell you he didn't mean any of it, but he forces himself to stay silent.

“Yes, before anyone gets hurt…”

“You deserve more than me, cariño. I’m old, and I’ve been through so much. You’re still so young and full of life… I’d only hold you back. I’m sorry.”

"I see," you say, your tone suddenly cold and distant. "Well, thank you for your honesty, Agent Peña. I hope your new job in DC is everything you've ever wanted."

The formality in your voice cuts him deeper than any anger could have. He opens his mouth to speak, but you've already hung up. 

—-

He stands at the windows of his new apartment in Arlington, gazing out at the lights of DC across the Potomac. Snow falls outside, and he reminds himself he needs to buy some warmer clothing. It’s beautiful, he thinks. His eyes search the horizon, wondering if your building is visible.

His apartment is nice–modern and spacious with sleek furniture that doesn’t suit him. It’s more than he needs, really, but the DEA had been generous with their relocation package. It doesn’t feel like his place at all, but a Polaroid of you that leans against his bedside lamp makes it feel like home.

He'd chosen this place for the view, telling himself it was because he'd always wanted to live somewhere with a skyline again. But deep down, he knows it's because he wanted to look out at the city you love.

He imagines what you might be doing right now. Are you curled up on the couch, reading a book? The newspaper? Are you, like him, standing at a window, looking out at the city and wondering what might have been? Or are you out with your friends, trying to meet somebody else? Do you miss him like he misses you?

He tries to dislodge the thoughts with a shake of his head. It’s been two weeks since that phone call. Since he broke things off. Since your cold voice let him go. He tells himself it was the right thing to do, that he’s protecting you from the darkness that follows him.

In a perfect world, you’d be here, looking out the same window as he wrapped his arms around you. You’d lean back against his chest, fitting perfectly in his embrace. There’d be no hesitation, no guilt. Just pure happiness, waking up next to you every morning. In that world, Steve would be happy for you both. In that world, Javier would be happy. But he knows all too well this is not a perfect world.

—-

He goes to the Smithsonian alone, wandering through the halls of the art museum on a quiet Sunday afternoon. The same exhibit you read to him about. The same exhibit he dreamed of taking you to, holding your hand and kissing your cheek as you gazed at the paintings. He moves slowly, hands clasped behind his back, taking in each painting. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, how to describe what he’s seeing, or how to feel… he wishes you were here to help him understand. None of it makes sense to him. Are the paintings supposed to look unfinished and kind of blurry? He imagines you beside him, telling him all about the break from tradition these paintings represented. He’d nod, pretending to understand, the same way he’s nodding as he reads the guidebook.

He pauses before a painting. Vibrant flowers grow amongst the dappled sunlight–the bright colors remind him of the way your eyes light when you laugh. He can almost hear your sweet voice reading the exhibit description to him again. He wonders if you’ve been here, if you’ve stood in this very spot, admiring the same painting.

As he moves to the next painting, a flash of familiar color catches his eye. For a moment, his heart stops. A woman stands across the room, her back to him, wearing a dress in the same exact shade of green as the shirt he’d left you. She resembles you from the back, and he takes a step forward, your name on the tip of his tongue, before she turns.

It’s not you. Of course, it’s not. All that’s left now is a hollow ache in his chest.

What would he do? What would he even say? What is he doing here, a cop trying to be cultured?

He moves on, trying to focus on the art. He thinks of you again, imagines your voice in his ear. “Art is for everyone. There’s no right or wrong way to experience it. Just let yourself feel.”

Feel. He doesn’t want to feel. All he can feel is how much he misses you. How much he knows he’ll never have this with you, seeing the world through your eyes.

Each painting seems to hold a piece of you. The soft light of a Twachtman landscape captures the glow of your skin in the firelight. The bold strokes of a Sargent portrait remind him of your spirit and personality.

He pauses in front of a Renoir. A man leads a woman, her hand in his. His eyes focus on their fingers intertwined with each other’s, imagining the feel of your hand in his. He rubs his hand against the denim of his jeans, trying to warm the coldness running through his veins.

He turns away, unable to bear the sight any longer. The weight of his regret, his longing, settles heavily on his shoulders as he exits the gallery.

He'd pushed you away to protect you, but being here, surrounded by a softer, more beautiful world, he wonders if he made the right choice.

—-

He finds himself driving through the busy streets of Adams Morgan, the same neighborhood you call home. His heart pounds stronger with each turn as he navigates the unfamiliar roads. 

He parks his car and steps out onto the sidewalk, feeling out of place as he takes in the colorful row of houses and stores that line your neighborhood streets. He walks down the street, his eyes scanning the bright buildings until he finds the taco place you’d always rave about.

“I bet it’s just as good as Laredo, Javi,” he remembers you saying. “You have to try it when you’re here.”

He hesitates for a moment before pushing open the door. The small restaurant is packed.

His order is simple: two al pastor tacos and a Topo Chico, just like you’d recommended. He takes a seat at a small table by the window and waits for his order.

How many times have you walked down this very street? Have you sat at this very table?

He takes a bite of the taco. It’s good. Damn good. Almost as good as home. He can practically hear your triumphant "I told you so!"

People pass by on the sidewalk as he eats. He imagines you and him–his arm wrapped around you, your body close to his as you walk around your neighborhood. Your face lighting up as you show him all of your favorite places. He'd follow you, unable to resist your enthusiasm… or you.

The winter wind snaps against his skin as he steps out of the restaurant. He starts walking with no real destination in mind. Colorful murals, bright storefronts, and eclectic homes line the street. This is your world, he realizes. These are the sights you see and sounds you hear every day.

He wonders how close he is to your apartment. He imagines you coming home from work and stopping at one of the little bodegas on the corner for some milk or bread.

He doesn’t think he’d fit in well within this world, but he sure as hell would try, just for you. God, he misses you.

—-

Steve drops a pile of files on Javi’s desk.

“New case. Have some fun. So, how’s DC treating you?” Steve asks, casually leaning against his desk.

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. Trying to hide the sadness that consumes him. “It’s different from Laredo, that’s for sure.”

Steve laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “Yeah, I bet. Hey, you should come over for dinner sometime. Connie would love to see you. I’ll invite the usual group.”

Javier’s heart skips a beat as he tries to keep his face neutral. “Yeah, maybe,” he says noncommittally. “Been busy settling in, you know how it is.”

“Well, find time, Peña.”

The guilt, a constant companion these days, gnaws at him as he watches Steve leave.

—-

The early spring evening is warm. His heart beats faster as he gets out of his car and walks up the pathway to Steve’s front porch.

He steps through the front door, breathing in the scent of a happy home, feeling so out of place among the marital bliss and designer furniture.

“Javi,” Connie breezes over, looking like the perfect hostess she always is. She pulls him in for a hug. He’s always liked her, felt comfortable around her.

"Hey, Connie," he says, returning her hug. "Thanks for having me."

"Of course! I’m so happy to see you," she beams. "Come on, everyone’s outside.”

Everyone. Does that include you? He's never been this nervous, not even when he saw Lorraine after all those years.

He follows Connie through the house, his eyes scanning for any sign of you. His heart races as they step out onto the back patio. Steve's at the grill, chatting with a few friends. There are kids running around the yard, couples mingling with drinks in hand. But no sign of you.

It’s as familiar as all those months ago. He felt like an outsider… until he met you. He still searches for you. Still no sign.

"Beer?" Connie offers, already reaching into a cooler.

"Thanks," he nods, taking the cold bottle from her. He takes a long swig, trying to calm his nerves.

"Peña!" Steve calls out, waving him over. "Get over here, man!"

He makes his way across the patio, overhearing a snippet of conversation. He hears your name and slows his pace, straining to hear more.

“She’ll be a little late. Rehearsals for the play ran long.”

The play. You got the part. In a perfect world, he’d be there on opening night, sitting in the front row with a bouquet of flowers for you. He’d watch you, so proud and in awe of your talent. After the show, he’d wait for you backstage, hold you close, and whisper in your ear how amazing you were.

Pride swells in his chest… until the guilt creeps back in.

“Hey, man,” Steve’s voice breaks through his daydream. “Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry. What?”

"I said, glad you could make it," Steve repeats.

“Oh, yeah, me too.”

“A couple of guys from work are here. I’m sure they’d love to get to know you. I’m tired of answering all of their questions about you.”

He lets out a tense chuckle. The last thing he thinks he can do is pretend to care about a group of rookie agents wanting to get to know the Javier Peña.

He really hates these parties.

—-

An hour passes. The sun begins to set, casting everything in Steve’s picturesque backyard in long shadows. Javi goes through the motions. He makes small talk with his new coworkers and Steve's friends, laughing at jokes he barely hears. His eyes keep darting to the gate, waiting for you to arrive.

He remembers the first time he saw you. You walked through the gate, your flannel shirt tucked haphazardly into your ripped jeans. He couldn’t look away from you. Maybe he knew he needed someone like you in his life–honest, bright, funny, and too cool for him.

He hears the click of the gate latch. His breath catches as he turns.

And there you are.

You look so beautiful. A plaid skirt sits just above your knees, paired with a simple white tank top under a soft, oversized cardigan. His heart hurts as he takes in your beauty, trying not to stare. You look happy, relaxed, glowing. He wonders if you know he’d be here tonight.

His rapidly beating heart sinks when you turn to say something to a man following you through the gate.

The man’s wavy chestnut hair falls perfectly in place, and thick-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, framing bright green eyes. He’s wearing a vintage t-shirt underneath a well-worn brown leather jacket. Everything about him screams, ‘hip theatre guy.’ The exact opposite of an old, grizzled DEA agent haunted by his past.

He envies the man with everything in his entire being. The way he gets to look at you–a wide smile, soft eyes that get to follow your every movement.

Javi’s jaw clenches as he watches you and your handsome stranger approach a group. Your eyes also scan the backyard, and for too quick of a moment, they meet with his… until you look away and laugh at something your companion just said. The sound feels like a knife twisting into his chest.

He’s hyper-aware of your presence all night, watching you from the corner of his eyes, each sight of you a blessing and a curse.

He tries to focus on his conversations, on Steve, on his coworkers–on anything but you. But his eyes keep drifting back. The man who came with you never strays from your side, his hand often resting on the small of your back or brushing against your arm.

He wants nothing more than to cross the patio, pull you aside, and explain everything. To beg for forgiveness, to tell you how much he misses you. But he stays rooted in place, trapped by his own choices and the consequences that followed.

The gathering begins to thin out as the night goes on. He watches as you say goodbye to a few guests, hugging them warmly. Your eyes sweep across the yard again, and for a moment, he thinks you might look his way. But you turn, whispering something to your companion before heading towards the house alone.

Before he can second-guess himself, he sets down his beer and follows you. He slips through the patio doors and can just make out the soft pad of your footsteps heading upstairs.

He follows you as if you’re a perp, softly ascending the stairs–just like that morning after he first met you. The light escapes under the door of the guest bathroom. He takes a breath, steeling himself as he waits for you to come out.

The knob turns, and his heart races as the door opens, revealing you in the soft light of the bathroom. Your eyes widen in surprise.

"Can I... can I apologize?" Javi asks hesitantly.

You shake your head, your voice barely above a whisper. "No, Jav. You can't."

Jav. Fuck. Hearing you say his name makes his heart drop. His hand taps against his thigh, fighting the urge to reach out and pull you into his arms.

"You hurt me," your voice trembles. Each word feels like a dagger in his heart. "I'm... I'm trying to let time pass by. To move on."

“Please, I never meant to—”

His plea is cut short by the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs.

Connie appears, her keen eyes taking in the scene before her. She reaches for your hand while shooting Javi a glance. She understands without a single word spoken.

“Go on, love, go back to the party. Elliott is waiting for you,” Connie softly says to you.

He watches as you nod and quickly leave, not even sparing a glance back at him.

“Javier,” Connie says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s happy.” 

He swallows, his brown eyes rounding with the guilt he too often has to hide.

Connie's eyes soften as she looks at him, her hand still resting on his shoulder. She leads him to the guest room where he spent that first night with you.

She closes the door and motions for him to sit on the bed. The same bed he held you close on.

"Javier," she begins, her voice gentle but firm. "I know what happened. I know you care about her. And I know she cares about you. She told me.”

He looks up at her, surprised by her words. "She told you? About us?"

Connie nods, a sad smile on her lips. "She was heartbroken. That first month after you told her not to call, she was a wreck. She tried to hide it, but Steve mentioned you while she was here for dinner one night, and she… she quickly got up and made an excuse. I found her crying in this room. She told me everything.”

“Steve?” he asks, feeling even more guilt wash over him, the weight of his choices crushing his chest.

She shakes her head. “He doesn’t know. I promised not to tell him.”

“I had to let her go–for her, for Steve, for everyone." He hangs his head, staring at his clasped hands. He squeezes them harder, needing to let the pressure out somehow. He searches for the right words. "She’s happy now? With him?"

Connie nods. "Elliott is a good guy," she says gently. "He treats her well. But..." She pauses and then sighs. “But I don’t think he’s you.”

A flicker of hope ignites in his chest. “How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know. If you really want to make things right, you need to tell her how you truly feel."

He nods slowly. “I can't stop thinking about her. About what could have been."

"If you really care for her–if you're willing to face whatever might come from being with her–then you need to let her know. But if you're going to run away again at the first sign of trouble, then you have to let her go. For good this time."

“And Steve?”

“Listen, he’s a big softy underneath it all. Might take him a bit to come around to it, but I’ll hide his gun for you. I know that, in the end, as long as she’s happy, he’ll be happy.”

He nods. He knows you’re the one. “Thanks, Connie.”

She stands, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Just think about it, okay? And whatever you decide, be sure. She deserves that much."

Connie leaves him alone in the bedroom. He runs his hand along the comforter, closing his eyes, and can almost feel the warmth of your body curled against his. He wishes he could hold you again.

He takes a deep breath, his decision made.

—-

The house lights dim, the audience hushes, and the stage lights brighten. The curtain draws back, and there you are, center stage, glowing like an ethereal being.

His heart soars with pride as he watches you mesmerize the crowd with your talent. You embody your character completely, and he’s in awe of you even from his seat in the back row.

He hears the familiar lines of the end monologue–the same lines he heard you recite over and over months ago. They transport him back to those nights spent on the phone with you. The familiar ache in his chest gets tighter, squeezing his heart harder. A lone tear wells in his eye as he mouths the final line with you.

“I’d rather be alone than a stranger.”

The crowd erupts into applause as the curtain closes. You were flawless. He knew you’d be amazing.

You return to the stage, a wide smile on your face, the stage lights glinting off unshed tears in your eyes.

Now’s his chance. He slips out the stage door, walking down a side hallway marked "Authorized Personnel Only." In this hand, he clutches a bouquet of bright flowers and the day’s newspaper.

He pauses at each door, reading the names scrawled on makeshift placards. He finally finds yours, glancing over his shoulder before gently turning the doorknob.

He’s never been in a space of yours before. He knows he has to be quick, but he takes a moment to breathe in the scent of your perfume.

He places the bouquet and newspaper on the vanity, before quickly exiting and slipping out the stage door.

—-

Javi paces in his apartment, unable to sit still. He can still hear your voice and picture how you looked under the stage lights.

It’s been hours since he left the flowers in your dressing room. Did you find them? Did you read his note? Has enough time passed?

He pours himself a glass of whiskey, hoping it might calm him.

As he raises the glass to his lips, the shrill ring of his phone cuts through the quiet. He sets down his drink and reaches for the phone.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself before answering. "Hello?"

"Javi." Your voice is soft and hesitant. He closes his eyes, smiling at the sound he's missed so much.

“Hey,” he says, a relieved smile lighting his face. “Congratulations. You were incredible.”

“Thank you. The flowers are beautiful… and the newspaper?"

His heart speeds in his chest. “I-I was hoping we could read the news together like old times?”

Silence hangs between the two of you as he waits for your response.

“I’d… I’d like that. What’s your address?”

[4wkjun]

✴ Kinktober, day seven: accidental stimulation with Sunoo

✴ Word count: 1,5K ✴ Content warning: kitchen sex, oral sex (f!receiving), little bit of an oral fixation. ✴ Taglist: @starsareseen, @lucid-sombra, @enha13, @karinashairdryer, @kim2005bomi, @hyun00

✴ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! ✴

✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴

“Jesus Christ, we should’ve bought a cake”, you laughed.

“Ya! It’s not that bad!” Sunoo responded, pretending to be offended.

The two of you were decorating a cake for your nephew’s third birthday. You told your sister you’d buy him a cake, but your lovely boyfriend suggested that the two of you bake it.

Baking wasn’t the problem at all. You two agreed on a chocolate cake, Sunoo mixed the batter while you worked on the filling. However, none of you seemed to know how to work around chantilly, the counter gross and sticky because it took you three tries to finally achieve the right consistency.

Now, the cake was weirdly covered in a heavy mass of chantilly, looking almost like cement all over it. You laughed while Sunoo tried to move it around with a spatula to cover the holes. You collected an excess of it with your (clean) fingers and placed it on the spot without any chantilly at all.

“Maybe we should make more, I think a can of heavy cream wasn’t enough.”

“Do we have any heavy cream left?”, he asked with a chuckle. “Plus, what if we forget to add vanilla again? It’ll taste like nothing.”

“Nah, it’ll taste like whipped cream.”

“Nobody likes plain whipped cream.”

“I do!”, you responded in a higher pitch, ready to playfully fight him. “I’d punch you if my hands weren’t sticky right now.”

Sunoo laughed, putting the spatula down. “Let me see”, he asked, reaching out for your hand. You let him grab your hand in his, only to watch him wrap his lips around your fingertips to suck the chantilly out of them.

You knew it wasn’t his intention, but it sent a shiver right down your core, turning you on instantaneously. You just watched him sucking your fingers (without any sign of dirty thoughts behind his eyes) without a single reaction, not being able to move.

Sunoo removed your fingers from his mouth and smiled, leaning in to peck your lips quickly.

“So much better than plain whipped cream”, he winked, laughing a bit. He turned around to toss the spatula on the sink, and you stood still, your brain suddenly fogged. “Hey, you ok?”, he asked after a few seconds, looking at you over his shoulder as he opened the tap.

You cleaned your throat, nodding. “Yeah, yeah.”

“You sure?”, he asked, pouting. “You got quiet all of a sudden.”

You moved a bit, leaning your back against the counter. Your mind couldn’t forget that scene and how it made you feel – only making it worse.

“Nah, I haven’t”, you said, voice an octave higher.

Sunoo turned the water off, turning around to face you. He arched an eyebrow, obviously not buying it.

“Do you actually think you can fool me?”

“Sometimes, yeah”, you shrugged, smiling awkwardly.

With a sigh, Sunoo walked towards you (took him literally three steps), standing still in front of you. “Do I need to tickle the truth out of you?”

You scoffed, leaning in to lay your forehead against his shoulder. Sunoo crossed his arms behind your back, holding you as he leaned his cheek against your head.

“It’s a little gross.”

“Not possible”, he said softly. “I can take anything that comes from your weird-ass head.”

You playfully slapped his ribcage before wrapping your arms around his torso. “I’m just a little embarrassed ‘cause I got a little turned on.”

“Oh”, Sunoo said, eyebrows raised even though you couldn’t see. “Should I ask how that happened?”

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and holding him closer.

“When you… sucked my fingers.”

You needed no other word for Sunoo to get it. He stayed silent for a few seconds before rubbing your back. He placed a gentle kiss on top of your head before saying:

“What should we do about it?”

You looked up, confused.

“Nothing?”

Sunoo scoffed, shaking his head. He moved one of his hands towards the side of your neck, part of his fingers placed on your cheek before leaning in to connect your lips.

His soft lips moved slowly against yours, melting you beneath his touch. Every time your tongues brushed against each other’s, you felt a sparkle. Your hands moved to the sides of his body, holding tightly his hoodie.

“What are you doing?”, you asked once he broke the kiss. Sunoo didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed your hand from his clothing and dragged it towards his lips.

He started kissing your hand gently, just by pecking your fingers – already turning your pupils dilated by the feeling – while keeping eye contact. He didn’t know your hands were that sensitive, but now he wouldn’t let it go.

“Ya, Sunoo”, you tried warning him, but your voice sounded shaky. He scoffed, slowly licking your fingertips. Your eyes closed involuntarily, the excitement growing by the second.

Sunoo held your waist more strongly than he normally would, while his other hand held yours against his lips. He sucked your index and middle finger up to your knuckles, making you sigh heavily.

“How do you want me to make you cum, love?”, he asked gently after completely removing your fingers from his soft mouth while his fingers brushed your waist softly through the fabric of your shirt.

You mumbled something incoherent and lay your head against his shoulder again, completely embarrassed. Sunoo knew not only you but also how your body reacted to his touch. He knew you were wet and growing desperate for him to touch your whole body.

“I guess it’s up to me, then”, he chuckled. Sunoo used his hand to hold your chin and raise your head, looking at your flustered face. His inner self wanted to smirk and make some mean comment about your state, but it was just so hot for him that he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

With care, he kissed your lips. His actions were sweet, but his intentions were just the opposite, his cock getting hard at the thought of you so desperate because of him. 

“Will you let me take care of you?”, he said in almost a whisper, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. You nodded, eyes still closed.

Sunoo used to go big or go home, so instead of torturing you, he dropped to his knees. His fingers reached the button of your jeans, undoing it in such a peace it killed you. Your cheeks burned hot as he calmly pulled your jeans and your panties down, embarrassed for not wearing anything sexy and for that little wet patch on them. Your right hand reached for his soft hair, caressing his scalp as you leaned against the counter. He took your bottom clothing completely off, making you feel exposed. His hand reached for the back of your right thigh, pulling it over his shoulder.

“What are you-”

You couldn’t finish the sentence, once Sunoo’s warm tongue licked a stripe from your slit to your clit and made you hold your breath. His lips focused completely on your clit from that moment on, making patterns in it with his wet muscle and eventually sucking it.

“Jesus, Sunoo”, you meawled, almost melting beneath his touch. Your eyes barely stayed open, but Sunoo’s were focused on your face. Your expressions and soft moans of pleasure were way too amusing for him to miss.

Without a warning, Sunoo’s middle and ring fingers were abusing your velvety walls from the inside. The way he curled his fingers and massaged your g-spot with ease made your eyes close even harder and your hand left his hair, now both of them supporting your weight better against the counter.

Sunoo absolutely loved how fast you’d cum when he eat you out, never lasting more than three minutes of his tongue abusing your swollen clit. He knew how and when to press all the right spots to make you melt beneath his touch.

“Hmpf, Sunoo”, you mumbled, biting your lips in between the words to keep the moans from floating out of your throat. “I’m so close.”

Sunoo scoffed, already knowing that. With no warning, his left hand pressed down your stomach while the other one worked harder and faster, pumping in and out of you and massaging your g-spot with ease.

Within seconds you were a babbling mess, grinding your hips against his face. He only stopped stimulating your g-spot and your clit once you whined higher, letting him know it was too much.

Sunoo got up, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, a big smirk on his face and a bulge on his pants. You were panting, knuckles white from the strength you put into them to keep you standing up while your lover gave you a mindblowing orgasm.

“So, how do you feel?”, he asked, gently even though his face had the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

“I…” your chest raised fast. “I think I really love you”, you said, playfully.

“Maybe you could show how much you love me”, he said in the same playful tone, right hand pressing his boner over his pants.

You laughed, nodding.

[ravennaortiz]

11,22,43,52 with Chibs please. I’m rewatching SOA right now and I would love to read a story where the reader is the club princess who fell in love with Chibs.. thank u so much!🫶🏼

I too am rewatching SOA! I absolutely love the idea of the club princess falling in love with Chibs! Your very welcome, stop by anytime for another! As always my stories are 18+!

Princess

I'm not enough for you lassie. Too old and with you being who you are. I just can't lass.

You frowned looking up from where you stood in front of Chibs as his words echoed through your head. You weren't used to not getting what you wanted as the club princess. You had had a crush on the Scottish biker since he joined your brother and stepdads MC years ago. That's crush had slowly grown over the years into much more. You had fallen hopelessly head over heels for him.

Chibs sighed as he watched your eyes sparkle with tears. This was entirely his fault. He should have nipped this in the bud years ago. He had simply thought it was a young school girl crush and it would go away with time. It hadn't and now here he was trying to let you down as gently as possible.

His loyalty to your stepdad and brother prevented him from giving himself to you even though he wanted too. He couldn't deny you were a stunning young woman and anyone would be lucky to have you in their life and bed at night. But you were strictly off limits and every man in this club knew that. As much as he would love to feel your lips against his he just could not risk it.

You nodded as you sniffled and wiped at your eyes as the tears slipped down your cheeks. A mix of emotions battled within you. Maybe you could talk to Jax. He would okay it you thought and you could care less what your stepdad thought. Sometimes you truly hated being the club princess and how people treated you differently. A surge of anger had a challenge falling from your lips as you glared back at Chibs.

"Make me believe you don't want me" you firmly stated as you moved closer running your hands down the older mans chest to his belt which you started to undo. Chibs was slow to respond and you had his belt and zipper undone before he grabbed your wrist. "Stop" murmured Chibs trying to be gentle as he felt his own body start to betray him.

As sweet as you were he knew you had the Teller signature stubbornness and hardheadedness just like your brother. Rarely could wither of you be talked off or down from something once you were latched on. The smug look on your face before you spoke next had him worried.

"No one is here but us. Hell no one else knows I'm here. So whats he harm? Just a small taste?" you whispered as you walked forward making Chibs move back so you were all the way in his dorm room. Chibs swallowed hard and his brain was short circuiting as the implication of your words hit him. The sound of his door slamming closed as you kicked it shut had him snapping out of the trance and releasing your hands. Putting more distance between the two of you he rubbed his face.

Taking the opportunity you slipped your dress down and let it float to the floor around your feet. When Chibs turned back to you he swallowed hard as he took in your nearly nude body. "Jeezus Christ" he murmured as he snapped his eyes closed. "Put your clothes back on now" he ordered even though he was straining at the front of his jeans.

You huffed before rolling your eyes and moving towards him. Once you were in front of him you dropped to your knees as you tugged on his jeans. "Please Chibs?" you whimpered as you batted your eyes up at him. Chibs shivered at your words but quickly moved around you and left his room as he uttered a firm no.

***

"What's going on with you and my sister?" inquired Jax as he slipped into the stool next to Chibs a couple of days later. Chibs sighed heavily as he took a sip of his whiskey. It was no secret you had been cold with him and made your irritation known to the whole club since he had denied your advances.

"I thought I did the right thing but apparently not" replied Chibs not bothering to elaborate. Jax simply nodded as he looked at his friend. "Well I want you to fix it. However you need to" replied Jax after a couple minutes as his eyes trailed over to where you stood talking to a member from another charter.

Chibs had slipped outside for fresh air when he heard your voice raising into almost a yell as you struggled in the arms of a man Chibs had seen a couple times but not bothered to learn the name of. A surge of jealously had Chibs stalking over silent and grabbing the man before beating his face to a bloody pulp.

"Chibs!" you screamed as you pulled him back. Your eyes wide with fear and shock at his reaction. "Why di-" you started before Chibs lips on yours had your words cut off. Moaning you ran your hands through his hair pulling him closer before he pulled back a moment later.

"I would kill for you lass. I've missed you so damn much the last couple of days. I was a damn bloody idiot. Can you forgive me and give an old man another chance love?" begged Chibs as he looked into your eyes.

You gulped and simply nodded. "I love you Chibs" you whispered looking up at him with a soft smile.

"Love ya too lass" replied Chibs before he picked you up and carried you back to the clubhouse.

Want more Chibs? Click here

Want to make your own request? Click here

[themultifandomgal]

Shelby Clan- Anna’s Daughter

Anna Gray had YN young, but she cared for her just as much as she could. YN loved her mother with all her heart. She didn't care that other kids her age had a mum and dad, clothes that fit and treats after dinner. However when Anna passed away YN was taken in by social services. They began the search for any other family members. Once they found out that her last name was Gray  YN was dropped off at Polly's Grays door step holding a pink knitted blanket. Polly obviously took her in amazed at how much the 4 year old looked like Anna.

YN sits on a large chair swinging her feet back and forth with her thumb in her mouth and her blanket in her other hand while Tommy, Arthur and John all stare at her

"So she's Anna's daughter?" Arthur asks for the second time. YNs eyes look between the men in front of her then to her grandmother

"Oh my Christ" Polly sighs again

"So your going to take care of her?" Tommy asks

"She's my granddaughter so of course I am"

"Where is she?" Michael bursts through the door but stops when he sees the little girl who looks like his sister sat on the massive chair. Ada and Finn come in behind him

"Michael meet YN your niece" Polly smiles "YN this is your uncle Michael"

"Mummy's brother?" YN questions looking at her grandmother

"Yes mummy's brother" YN slides off the big chair and runs up to Michael hugging his legs

"Mummy told me about you" YN says making Polly's eyes tear up "she said she loved you and that she missed you"

"I loved her too"

"Why don't we get YN settled for bed? It's getting late" Ada suggests looking at family who all agree.

"Here" Polly passes some warm milk to the little girl on the sofa. YN takes the drink in her hands and sips it. Polly has sprinkled nutmeg on the top

"This tastes like mummy's hot milk" YN says

"I used to make milk like that for your mum and Michael when they were young. Drink up then bed time"

"Ok" YN smiles at her grandmother siping at her milk once again.

Polly takes YN up to bed, reads her a story and the young girl falls asleep. When Polly leaves the sleeping girl she heads back downstairs to see Michael sitting on the sofa feeling many mixed emotions

"I can't believe Anna had a daughter" he says into his hands

"I know"

"She looks like her. Her eyes..."

"I know they're the same. Michael this is our chance to be close to Anna again" Polly tells her son

"Where's her father?" Tommy asks

"Gone. YN said it's just been her and Anna until she passed away"

"So some fucker got her pregnant then left?"

"He might not of even known she was pregnant Michael" Ada tries to reason

"If I ever met the man who did this to my sister I will...."

"Ok Michael enough. Right you off to bed as well" Tommy point to Finn who moans all the way up.

From that day on the Shelby's become increasingly protective of the little girl. Polly, Michael and the Shelby's all dote on her.

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

But When I'm Way Up Here, It's Crystal Clear (That I'm In A Whole New World With You)

“Man, it’s fuckin’ boring,” Mickey presses his arms into the front counter, his body bent forward with an open magazine that he flips to the next page but doesn’t really pay attention to. Across from him is Ian, who sits in the chair and absentmindedly winds a loose piece of fabric from his worn out hoodie around his finger. He’s as bored as Mickey is given that business is slow today, somehow even more than usual. 

“Yeah,” Ian murmurs without looking up. 

“Why don’t you do something about it?” Mickey hints, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Ian doesn’t get the hint, only frowns. “We almost got caught last time,” he reminds him. “We shouldn’t press our luck.” 

It’s not what Mickey means, although he’s not opposed to  quickie. “No fuckwad,” he huffs through his nose, annoyed. Ian furrows his brows, staring in confusion. “Jesus Christ,” Mickey gestures towards the flock. “Can’t you just...I don��t know, move time or whatever?” 

“No,” Ian says pointedly. 

“Why the fuck not?” 

“I don’t want to get in the habit of using it that way,” Ian says. 

“You ain’t getting in the habit. You’re just doin’ it so we’re not stuck here any fucking longer.” 

Ian hops off the chair, deciding to put his time towards doing something useful like cleaning off the sticky handle of the donut container. “Sorry, Mick, but you’ll just have to deal with it.” 

“Asshole,” Mickey mutters. “Jesus, what’s the point of having you around if you’re not gonna use it?”

The cloth gets dropped. Ian turns to face him, cocks his eyebrow, flicks his tongue over his bottom lip and it’s got Mickey instantly bothered. “Thought you liked having me around for a good fuck?” 

Maybe it’s the way he stands there, a gleam in his eyes that challenges Mickey to deny it or he might just be horny already, but he has to fight the urge to strip right there in the middle of the shop. 

“Man, whatever,” he scoffs, and he’s about to grab himself a Gatorade from the freezer when Ian takes hold of his chin to turn him back around. The kiss is soft, chaste since they’re at work, and it sends waves of electricity down his spine. 

Shit, he thinks as Ian parts from his mouth briefly but recaptures his lips. It’s so fucking good that he can’t stop himself even though there’s a part of him that knows he shouldn’t be doing this, that warns him of the danger he’ll be in if Terry catches word of what his son is doing. 

But for once, he doesn’t give a shit what Terry thinks. He kisses Ian back, feels his stomach swoosh violently and his entire body goes feather light. 

Ian pulls away for a second time, but he’s not far, lips just centimeters away. “Meet me in the park at midnight,” he whispers through a pant. 

“For what?” Mickey’s mind calculates where his dad will be at that time. Either out gallivanting from one bar to the other or passed out in the house after mixing too much alcohol and drugs together. 

“I wanna show you something,” Ian’s got this grin of excitement. Fuckin’ dorky is what it is. 

“Show me what?” Mickey asks. 

“My broom,” Ian says, adding nothing else for dramatic effect, probably. 

There’s a smart ass remark on the tip of Mickey’s tongue. He holds back, mostly because his interest is piqued. He knows Ian has a broom he rides but he’s never actually seen it, but that isn’t because Ian refused to show him. 

“Thought your sister didn’t want you taking it out right now?” Fiona, from what Ian’s told him, was nervous about him getting caught after a couple close calls so she told him not to fly for a while. 

Ian smiles mischievously. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” 

*

It’s breezy when they sneak out of their respective houses. Leaves float through the air, their hair is blowing every which way, the chill that nips at them a little more than it had been earlier. Mickey pulls his jacket closer, shivering. 

“Jesus, it’s cold.” 

“Oh, here,” Ian snaps his fingers. Instantly, Mickey’s warm again, it starts at his head and goes all the way down to his toes. “Warming spell.” 

They resume walking. Mickey stifles a yawn.

They get to the park and it’s deserted as it’s expected to be at this time of night. There’s a dim light that casts over the playground but otherwise, it’s dark. 

Ian reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulls out something that’s covered by his whole hand. He flicks his wrist, while Mickey watches that tiny thing expand to a broomstick. 

“Ready?” Ian grins at him. He angles the broom down, throws a leg over. “Come on.” 

Mickey sits behind him, leaning back a bit so he doesn’t get Ian’s floppy hair in his face. 

“You’ll have to hold on,” Ian says. 

“Hold on to what?” 

“To me,” Ian stretches his long ass arms behind him to pull Mickey’s around Ian’s waist. 

“This is fucking gay,” Mickey grumbled. 

Ian rolls his eyes. Mickey doesn’t see that, of course, from where he’s sitting but he damn well knows Ian does it. “You take my dick up your ass and this is gay?” 

“Fuck off or I’ll beat your freckled ass.” 

“You’re paying attention to my ass?” Ian sounds smug. 

There’s silence. Mickey’s face is fucking flushing. He’s snuck a glance at it when he thinks Ian isn’t looking.“Just do the damn thing, Gallagher.” 

Ian laughs. It’s like he knows the effect he’s having on Mickey. “Okay.” 

Mickey doesn’t have time for another smart ass remark, because they’re zooming off towards the sky now. They’re going at lightning speed, the wind whipping at their faces. They hurl hundreds of feet into the air towards the twinkling stars and brightly lit moon, and the ground below is getting further away from them the more they go. 

It’s fucking incredible. 

Ian sours them through the air, agilely maneuvering them around the clouds. It’s a surreal moment that has Mickey speechless, a rarity for him. 

Shit, he’s in the air with the fucking birds flying past them. 

“Cool, huh?” Ian shouted to be heard over the wind. 

It’s really fucking cool but Mickey’s never been particularly good at having a conversation, even with his fucking boyfriend. It’s like he can’t reveal too much of himself because maybe to some extent, it’s just hard to fully trust Ian after he’s had to suppress so much because of his dad.  He's trying, though. Ian's chipped away at so many walls that Mickey's built over the years.

Ian slows them down. The broom glides through the air, and Mickey takes it all in. 

“I like coming up here,” Ian says, voice kind of far away like he’s thinking. “It’s nice to get away when I can.” 

Mickey thinks about himself, imagines if he had the same opportunity. 

“Sometimes I think about leaving and not coming back,” Ian admits. His voice is hushed, like he’s just confessed a secret. “Monica and Frank just get too much sometimes...you know.” 

He can get that. There’s no doubt that Mickey would use this to get away from Terry. And maybe, Ian knows that, even though he still has difficulty wrapping his mind about the danger that Terry truly is. 

“You can come riding with me if you want,” he offers. “If you want to get away from your dad.” 

Mickey doesn’t have to answer him now -  though he’s all but completely sure he’ll take him up on that because any time he doesn’t have to spend it within Terry Milkovich’s vicinity is a good day as far as he’s concerned - because Ian’s not thinking about that anymore. He stops the broom mid-air, behind a white puffy cloud that conceals them from view, twists himself so he’s facing Mickey somewhat. And maybe it’s his ducking eyes that sparkle from the moonlight or Mickey’s still struggling to make sense of this whole magic thing he’s got going on, but the whole world slows down right then. It’s just them, and Ian’s so fucking close his damn heart is beating so fucking fast.   

“Come on, Mick,” Ian whispers. Mickey already feels himself giving in. “It’s just us up here.” 

He leans in, kisses Ian back with abandon and lets himself get whisked away through the starry night sky. 

[punkybrewstertoo]

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Three

Walking into Charlotte’s room, Tommy was unprepared for the sight in front of him. It looked like a bomb had gone off. Looking around there was furniture, glass, blood, and books strewn about. Taking in the mess, the people, and the cacophony of voices, it was all too much.

“...I swear to God if you come at me...”

“...Just hold still...”

“...I’ll sit on you if you don’t stop it...”

“...He’s bringing the whisky...”

“...Get your fucking hands off of me...”

“...It’s got to come out...”

“...Watch the shoulder...”

“...I will cram this rag down your throat...”

“...Calm down...”

“...Strangle you in your sleep...”

“Enough!! Shut up, all of you! Shut up!” The room went quiet as the words left his mouth, all four faces in the room noticing him standing there for the first time. Each family member froze in place like a photograph.

Polly was standing near the window, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly trying to stave off a headache. Charlotte lay on the floor, John straddling her, arms pinned above her head. Esme had a towel in one hand, his sister’s leg in the other, kneeling in a small pool of blood.

“Jesus fucking Christ. What is happening here?” As John, Polly, Esme, and Charlotte all started to speak at the same time, he raised his voice again to be heard over their squabbling, “Esme! Only Esme, answer my question.” Charlotte took a breath and started to speak.

“Did I say ‘Charlotte answer my question’? No. I said ‘Esme’. Shut your mouth, Charlie. Esme, please, go on. Nobody will interrupt you.” Waving his arm in a theatrical gesture he urged her to speak.

“Right. Well, obviously she fell and managed to knock over a few things–”

Attempting to interrupt Charlotte started, “But it was–”

Glaring down at her, Tommy cut her off, “I clearly remember telling you to shut it not ten seconds ago.”

Glaring back at him she kept her mouth closed and allowed Esme to continue. “Now, as you probably heard, Arthur was able to put her shoulder back into place, so that’s good and done. But there’s this piece of glass here. I’ve got to remove it, but she won’t stop moving so it keeps bleeding and the cut is getting worse. It’s not too bad, it’ll only need a few stitches. But it will need stitches. There’s a cut on the top of her head, but it doesn’t look too serious.” Taking a breath she looked around the room, “And other than the mess, I think that’s it.”

Nodding at her assessment Tommy asked, “What do you need from us?” Taking a second Esme thought to herself before speaking, “I need a knife or scissors to cut this fabric away from her leg. I need some cocaine mixed with a bit of water, to create a paste to numb the cut for stitches. I need that whisky your holding. And honestly, this would all be easier if we weren't all on the floor.” As an afterthought, she added, “And if Charlotte would sit still.”

Nodding at her instructions, Tommy ordered, “John, why are you sitting on her like that? Get offa her, and help her sit up. She’s not some pig that needs wrangling.”

Scoffing John tried to explain the situation, “She won’t sit still and let Esme work. Keeps trying to go after Arthur.”

Pointing a finger at her to get the girl’s attention, Tommy told her, “Charlie, stop thrashing around like a child. Besides, Arthur’s long gone.” Leaning down he handed a bottle of whisky to Charlotte, before passing the other to Esme, “Take this and start drinking.”

Taking the bottle of whisky from him, Charlotte looked unsure. “You’re gonna wanna start drinking that now.”

Brining the bottle to her mouth and taking a drink, Charlotte winced as the burn hit her throat, “This stuff is shit.” She complained looking up at him.

“The point is to get you drunk off you ass. Not to enjoy it. I’m not pulling out the good stuff to get my sister toasted. Now keep drinking.” Looking to the other occupants in the room he continued on, “Polly, you got scissors in that sewing box there? John, help me get her up and on the bed. Esme, you wanna get that chunk out of her leg before or after we move her?”

Looking up at him from her position on the floor Esme replied, “I need to get it out before you move her. But you gotta be careful of her shoulder — we’ll need a sling for that too. And I don’t think you’ll want her on the bed. Too much blood. The downstairs table would be better.”

Grinning at his sister John said, “Looks like you’re breaking free one way or another.” Grimacing as she continued to take big gulps of the whisky Charlotte questioned, “Esme, is there any way to shut him up? His voice is giving me a headache.”

Smiling at Charlotte, Esme pushed her husband out of the way and got back to business. “Can we do this now? When I take this out, I’ll wrap this towel around it to stop the bleeding. Then one of you needs to pick her up and carry her down to the table.”

Taking the scissors and cutting open Charlotte’s trouser leg, Esme instructed Charlotte to lay down and hold still. “Alright, here we go.” Pressing down in Charlotte’s leg with one hand, she yanked the shard of ceramic out with her other. Then, almost too quickly for anyone to notice, Esme took the second bottle of whisky and poured it over Charlotte’s leg.

Charlotte let out a coughing sob and her body spasmed upward, a silent scream leaving her mouth, unable to do much of anything else due to the combination of pain and liquor.

Reaching forward, Esme tied up the gash with a towel and gestured for Tommy to pick up his sister. “Sorry about that, Charlie. I had to make sure it was cleaned. But it’s done now, so let’s get you up and downstairs so we can finish this.” Sitting up in a daze, Charlotte brought the bottle to her lips once more, chugging to numb the pain.

Kneeling by his sister, Tommy announced, “That is probably enough of that.” And taking the bottle from her hand he realised that she’d managed to consume three fourths of the bottle, and she’d done so in about five minutes time. He had no doubt that by the time Esme started to stitch her up with a needle, she’d be three sheets to the wind.

Passing the bottle off to Polly, Tommy reached under and picked up his sister. One arm under her knees and the other at her back in a bridal style, he tried not to put too much pressure on the open wound. Holding his sister in his arms he instructed his brother, “John, check the smallest drawer at my desk. You’ll see what Esme needs in there.”

“What is it?”

“Just look, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

John nodded and left. Tommy followed, walking out of the room and toward the stairs, when he realised that Charlotte was shaking in his arms. “You ok there, Charlie?”

Pressing her face into his chest she shook her head.

“I don’t wanna do this. It doesn’t feel like I need stitches. I can tell. Don’t make me do this.”

Tommy tried to comfort her, “Don’t worry, Charlie, you’re not gonna feel a thing. That whisky you drank will make you numb through and through. Just give it another five minutes you’ll be so gone you won’t remember any of this in the morning.”

Setting her on the table Charlotte looked up at him, “That’s what Arthur said... He said not to worry that it wasn’t gonna hurt. And then it did hurt. It hurt a lot.”

“Do I lie to you Charlie? Have I ever lied to you?”

Staring at him blankly she replied, “You told me that the war would be over by Christmas.”

It was like a sucker punch to the gut. She knocked the wind outta him with just her words. As Esme and Polly rushed around them in the kitchen, Tommy tried to find an explanation for his sister.

“I know I said that– It’s just– I didn’t– We thought–” Not knowing how to respond, he found himself rambling.

Taking a breath he pushed on, “I know I said that, Charlie. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I told you that.”

Leaning in to her, he kissed the top of her head.

Rushing down the stairs John interrupted, holding out a vial of cocaine in his hand. “Here ya go, Tom.”

Smacking his hand away Tommy demand, “Do I look like I need that? Give it to your wife.”

Noticing the small blue vial in her brother’s hands Charlotte asked, “Is that snow? Why’d you got snow, Tom?”

Trying to hold her alcohol riddled brain together Charlotte knew there was something about cocaine that she was suppose to tell Tommy. Or was it something she wasn’t suppose to tell him about? Damn it. She couldn’t remember. Thinking hard she barely heard Tommy’s response, telling her to mind her own business.

Finally getting the numbing paste finished up, Esme instructed Charlotte, “You go ahead and lie down now Charlie. I just need you to lie flat ok? I’m going to put this paste on your leg and let it sit for a couple of minutes. You hear me?”

Closing her eyes and laying back on the table, Charlotte responded to her sister-in-law, “I hear ya. Lay still. I’m on it. I’m laying. And I’m very still.”

She paused for a minute and then started up talking again, “Where'd you learn to be so smart, Esme? How’d you know doctoring? You got everyone, even Tommy, following your orders. That’s how I know you’re smart.”

“Oh, here we go.” John muttered under his breath, knowing that the whisky was starting to take over both Charlotte’s brain and mouth.

Taking a breath, Charlotte didn’t give Esme a chance to answer her questions before rattling on, “You know Ada, right? Our sister. You remember her? She couldn’t sit still through one single nursing class before she got bored. Ran out with her friends to do... I don’t know... Whatever it is she does when she’s not in bed with Freddie.”

John and Polly laughed as Tommy tried to get his sister to shut up, “Alright, I think that’s probably enough talk about Freddie and Ada. Completely ignoring him as if he hadn’t said a word, she went on, “Oh, boy, Ada’s gonna be mad at you all... She’s gonna be real mad.”

Nearly bursting with joy, laughing at his sister’s drunken ramblings John asked, “Why’s that, Lottie? What’s happening that she’s got to be mad over?”

Smacking his head, yet wearing a grin across her face, Polly attempted to admonished him, “Don’t you encourage her.”

Explaining herself, Charlotte started in, “Well, first you cut up the new trousers she got me. Then you go handing me an entire bottle to drink. She’s gonna feel left out. I know she will. Ada likes to be part of things. She misses us, I can tell. Can’t you tell, Tom? She misses you. I know you’re serious businessman, Mr. Tommy Shelby. But I can tell you miss her too. You probably miss her more than–”

Once again interrupting her ramblings, Tommy started in, “Alright Charlie. I think that’s enough. Why don’t you just relax. Huh?”

Stubborn indigence filled her voice, “Yeah, alright. But I want a story. Like before the war. Tell me a story, Tommy. Tell me one I haven’t heard before.”

Joining in with a sing song tone John added, “Oh yes, Tommy! Tell us a story!”

Completely unaware of John’s joke Charlotte continued, “Tell me a story about Mom. It’ll be ok, because I won’t remember. So you can’t be sad.”

Laughing John added, “It’s hard to argue with that logic. Just give us a bloody story, Tom. Don’t deny the poor girl her last wish. Look at her, lying there, dying, half naked–”

“I’m not naked, stupid! It’s only me leg. You’ve seen a leg before, haven’t you?”

Indignant at her name calling, John asked his sister, “Who you calling stupid?”

As Tommy threw a bloody towel across the room to shut his brother up, Esme’s voice rang out, “Alright, I think the wound is sufficiently numb. Why don’t you boys clear out. We don’t need an audience for this.”

Reaching over and clinging to Tommy, Charlotte started to panic, “No, no, no, no. I need you to stay, everyone else can go. I need a story.”

Relieved for an excuse to avoid telling a story to his sister with an audience, Tommy tried to calm her, “You heard the nurse, Charlie. John and I are just going into the shop to get some work done. You’ll be fine here. You got Aunt Pol to take care of ya.”

Still clutching his arm she tried to whisper to him, “But Pol is fucking awful at stories.” As her “whisper” reached the ears of everyone in the kitchen Polly snorted.

Laughing as she waved for him to sit, she went into the shop with John. Closing one of the doors she told them, “She’s not wrong. I’m shit for stories. You stay with her, Thomas.”

Watching their aunt walk away, Esme got down to business. Sterilising the needle and thread Esme eyed him before speaking to Charlotte, “Alright, Charlie, I’m gonna start now. Just try to lie there. Alright?”

Nodding at her orders, Charlotte turned her head away from Esme and the sewing needle.

As the needle entered her flesh Charlotte gasped, her eyes went wide, and tears brimmed their edges.

Giving in to his sisters demands, Tommy asked, “Has anyone ever told you about the time Arthur stole a pie to give to the new school teacher?”

Without waiting for her response he continued on to tell the tale of the oldest Shelby brother’s attempts to woo the pretty young school teacher. “Obviously Arthur didn’t have the brains to impress her with his intelligence, so he decided to knock her stockings off with a homemade pie. Only problem was, Mom had made the pie to take to the minister’s house that Sunday. With the beating she gave him once he confessed, you woulda thought that Arthur had damned all our souls to hell — all over one little pie. Worst part was, that teacher didn’t even last the year. At some point she found out she was up the duff, and left Birmingham to live with her family in the country.”

“Poor Arthur.”

“Poor Arthur, my ass. Don’t ever feel sorry for that man. He deserves everything that ever came to him.”

At this, Esme cleared her throat and announced, “Alright you two, my work here is done.” Snipping off the thread used for stitching she told them, “I’ll come by later this evening with bandages and salve. You’ll need to keep that covered for about a week. I’ll check in every now and then to make sure it’s healing good. Don’t go climbing or running around, it’ll rip the stitches, and we’ll have to do this all over again.”

Thanking his sister-in-law for everything, Tommy readied to scoop up Charlotte to take her back upstairs. “You ready to go back to your room, jailbird?”

Barely able to open her eyes she nodded at him. Pale and sweaty, she was clearly strung out on blood loss, pain, and alcohol. This girl was ready to sleep it all off.

Carrying her back up the stairs and settling her into bed Tommy gave her strict instructions to stay put. No more cleaning, and if she needed anything, just to give a shout. He tried to keep his orders simple enough that she’d remember once the alcohol wore off.

Agreeing to his commands she rolled over and mumbled something into her pillow.

“What’s that? You talking to me or the pillow?”

Turning her head she drew out her words as if she were speaking to a child, “I said, Do. You. Wanna. Hear. Something?”

“Sure, make it quick. What do you got to say?” Looking to the folding clock on her table he could see that the day was getting on, and he still had work to take care of.

Removing her face from where she’d planted it in her pillow, she sat up and looked around the floor. “You see a blue book around here? Not for reading. A writing book — like from school.” Looking under the bed Tommy grabbed the book in question and handed it to her.

Flipping through the pages looking for something particular she told him, “I’ve wanted to share this for awhile. But now seems like a good time.”

Curiously watching her he asked, “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you shared something with me. So I’ll share something with you.” Nodding as if to finalise her statement she continued, “But you gotta close your eyes. I can’t do it with you watching. So just close your eyes, alright?”

“Sure, but what are you on about?”

Exasperated she demanded, “Just close them!”

Closing his eyes he tried to be patient as he heard pages rustling and she cleared her throat.

“Ok, now keep ‘em closed. And remember it’s better when there’s instruments. But don’t say anything.”

Ever so quietly she started singing, her alto voice breathy but strong.

“Oh, the desert dreams of a river

That will run down to the sea

Like my heart longs for an ocean

To wash down over me.”

“Oh, won't you take me from this valley

To that mountain high above?

Oh I will pray, pray, pray

Until I see your smiling face.

I will pray

To the one I love.”

Opening his eyes as she sang, her voice gained strength and volume. Hey eyes were closed, the book laying open in her lap, words scribbled across it’s pages. Smiling while she continued her song she seemed to be strumming the air as if she were playing a guitar.

Given that not a single person in the Shelby home had ever played, let alone owned a guitar, he thought it seemed unlikely that Charlotte had picked up the instrument somewhere along the way. Pushing his thoughts aside he sat back and continued to watch and listen.

“Oh, the outcast dreams of acceptance,

Just to find pure love's embrace

Like an orphan longs for his mother.

May you hold me in your grace.”

“Won't you take me from this valley

To that mountain high above?

Oh I will pray, pray, pray

Until I see your smiling face.

I will pray

To the one I love.”

“Won't you take me from this valley

To that mountain high above?

Oh I will pray, pray, pray

Until I see your smiling face.

I will pray

To the one I love.”

As she finished the song she opened her eyes, startled to see him staring back at her. “You were suppose to keep your eyes closed.”

Apologising he told her, “I’m sorry — I'm no good at following orders. But that was really nice Charlie, where’d you hear that?”

Shaking her head at him, she looked down, flipping through the pages of her school book. “I didn’t hear it anywhere. It’s mine. I made it. Well, Johnny helped me. But it’s mostly mine.”

Confused, Tommy asked, “You and John are singing music together?” John wasn’t one for singing, he sure as hell couldn’t picture the two siblings writing a song together.

Interrupting his thoughts Charlotte drawled, “Johnny. John. NEE. Johnny. Not John. Don’t be daft. John Shelby couldn’t hold a musical note if his life depended on it.”

Still not quite understanding what his sister was telling him, Tommy tried to get more information out of her. “Johnny Dogs? You two are writing music together? When?”

Tossing her book to the ground she laid down, pulled up her quilt, and closed her eyes. “You’d be surprised at the things I do when you’re not paying attention.”

“I’m sure I would be. Would you care to elaborate?”

“No.”

Trying to keep an even tone, he told her, “How about you try, or I’ll go hunt down Dogs meself and cut the story outta him.”

Still not opening her eyes she responded, “No. Sorry. Can’t. Dogs says it’s our secret. The whole thing is. You can’t be part of it. You and Arthur and John, you always get into everything. This is mine. Only for me. And it’s my secret.”

“Charlotte...”

“Won’t you leave me be now? You got me all drunk, stuck sewing needles in me, and now me head is fuzzy and sleepy.”

Well, the drunk girl in front of him did have a point. With nearly an entire bottle of whisky pumping through her, the story she was telling him could easily be equally as true as is was a fabrication of her imagination.

“Alright, I’ll leave you be. But you’re gonna have to tell me the truth sometime.”

Growling at him, he could practically hear her eyes rolling. “Jesus, you’re demanding. You know Ada says you weren’t like this before.”

Stand up to take his leave Tommy told her, “You and I both know Ada says a lot of things, most of them rubbish.”

Finally opening her eyes she glared up at him, “Sometimes I don’t wanna be one of you. It’s hard ya know? Being a Shelby. Ada had the right idea — don’t be one of us anymore. She’s lucky. And I’m stuck here with you lot.”

Not willing to have any kind of argument with a drunk child, Tommy told her, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Ada is the lucky one. But unfortunately for you, you’re stuck here with us until I say so. And I’ll promise you this, you’ll not be getting married any time soon, princess.”

Leaving the room he could hear her question softly, “But, did you like it? My song...”

“Of course I did. It was beautiful, both the song and your voice. Now please, Charlie, go to sleep.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btcGAAahSTs

[panther-os]

I have So Many 911 wips open on my computer rn, list and snippets below the cut

Snow crunched under boots, and Razor swiveled. “Friendlies!” Neyo called, one of the 501st medics right behind him as he walked out of the woods. “Her name is Maddie Buckley,” Stak reported to the medic. “No obvious injuries besides that black eye and that shallow cut on her face. Blood’s not hers.” “Alright, Maddie, I’m Kix,” the medic introduced himself. “Let’s see what’s going on.” “Report,” Neyo ordered. Razor stood at attention. “Her husband was chasing her, armed with at least a slugthrower. We haven’t touched the body yet. She grabbed my blaster, said she wasn’t running anymore, and shot him.” “He hurt me,” Maddie cried, as Kix worked, apparently eavesdropping. “He killed that man - oh, God, he killed Chimney. He chased me across the continent, he wasn’t ever gonna stop.” “He’s stopped now,” Kix said gently. “He can’t hurt anyone ever again. Now, trauma is funny, you might feel trapped in this moment or in others from the past, but in every future moment, he’s stopped.” Maddie tipped over and sobbed into his shoulder.

Friendly reminder relevant for later: I'm mixed Chicane/Tsalagi. I don't know everything, I'm reconnecting and I'm not AMAB, but the argument between two Brown people about indigenous heritage reflects my own struggles and internal dialogue and Eddie's struggles with masculinity are based on insider understanding.

Untitled TCW crossover - The 118 keeps running into the 91st, just one of several clone battalions trapped on earth and trying to stay under the radar. Eventual Ponds/Josh

Nate (Star Wars crossover) - The 118 is called to a human trafficking sting because of their reputation for pulling off the impossible. They're led to Nate/Jangotat/Alpha-98 who has been tortured and has vital readings that shouldn't be possible. Eddie identifies him as a possible military project and refuses to let anyone take him away. Eventual Chimney/Maddie/Nate

“Eds?” Buck murmured softly. Eddie shook his head and started snapping out orders. “Get him down and put him on oxygen and a nebulized sedative. The minute he comes to, he’s going to start swinging and we don’t have the space or the numbers for that.” “Christ,” Hen cursed, readjusting her bag over her shoulder. “He doesn’t look like he has the strength to twitch, let alone swing.” “He’s a soldier,” Eddie said, pulling equipment out of his bag, “and he’s been tortured. Trust me.” “Seen this before, Eddie?” Bobby asked, not unkindly. Eddie scowled up at the unconscious man’s injuries. “Close enough.” Bobby nodded. “Alright, take the lead.”

Olivia - Buck 1.0's daughter surfaces while Eddie is still recovering from being shot. Eventual Buddie.

Buck shook his head, then sat beside Chris at the table. “I learned that I’m a dad. I have a kid.” Chris snorted. “That’s not new,” he laughed. “No?” “No.” “Who’s my kid then?” Chris shook his head, looking at Buck like he was being especially silly. “Me,” he said. “I’m your kid and you’re my Buck.” Buck blinked in shock, flopping back against the back of his chair. “I think your dad might have something to say about that.” “He said it first,” Chris said, then frowned to himself. “Not the kid part, though.” Buck chuckled nervously, interlacing his fingers over his stomach as he bounced his knee. “Yeah, I’m sure. Okay, but, if you insist, I have another kid. A little girl.” Chris tilted his head. “I have a sister? What’s her name?”

tiny black panthers - Mid-season 1, Buck joins the adopting post-Black Panther black cat adoption craze.

I don't have an excerpt for this one yet, but I did look through adoption listings currently in the LA area for inspo and found two black kittens I'm pretty sure I am legally required to give Buck - Sharpie and Athena. (Backup links because hopefully they get adopted soon. 🤞)

machismo - Eddie struggles with sexual, cultural, and gender identity. Buck thirsts and helps. Eventual distinguished bigender demi-uranic Eddie/disaster cis+ bisexual Buck. ("Cis+" here meaning "had a gender journey, wound up being a gender circle".)

“No, no.” Eddie sat up straighter. “You don’t understand. I literally cannot be gay.” Hen and Bobby shared a look. “Is there a problem I need to be aware of?” the captain asked. “What?” Eddie waved his hand in the air. “No, you know I’m supportive. But I can’t be gay.” “Why not?” Buck asked. Eddie struggled for words before landing on “I’m Mexican.” The others laughed. “Better tell Carlos,” Buck teased. Eddie sucked in a sharp, panicked breath between his teeth. “Have you ever been a gay Mexican man? I guarantee Carlos has his own problems, and I respect the hell out of him for however he deals with them, but I have Christopher to think of. Like I said, I cannot be gay.” He shook his head. “You all make fun of macho men, because to you it’s a negative stereotype. I was raised with machismo - the good and the bad - as an ideal to live up to. I cannot be gay.” [...] “But it does say it’s alright to be feminine, right? Which is usually the biggest worry about being gay?” Eddie sighed and knocked the side of his head against the truck window. “Machismo literally means masculinity. So if all those things are part of machismo, none of them are feminine in my culture.” “Oh,” Buck said. “You know it’s alright to be feminine sometimes,” Hen said. “Not for me,” Eddie said. “I’d really like to drop this.” Chim popped his gum in the uncomfortable silence that followed. “Hey, what if you topped?” Buck asked. “Buck!” everyone yelled.

Untitled 911 Fic - Chris helps Buck realize and accept that he has ADHD, just not in the stereotypical way.

Chris waved a finger in the direction of Buck's temple. "You don't have enough brain chemicals, but your brain makes more of them when you're happy. So if it's something you like, you can get hyperfocused on it; and if it's something you don't like, your brain starts ignoring it and looking for something you do so that you can get enough chemicals." "Yeah?" Buck asked. Chris nodded. "You like being a firefighter, and you like researching things, so you can focus on them and remember them. You like cooking now and can focus on it now, but you told me that you didn't like it before Captain Bobby starting teaching you, and Miss Maddie said you were worse than Dad when you didn't like it because you couldn't focus." Buck's mouth dropped open a little. "Because my brain didn't get the chemicals from it?" "Right," Chris said.

Untitled 911 Fic 2 Electric Boogaloo - A second generation Nahua immigrant (OFC) joins the 118, immediately pisses Eddie off, and then apologizes and works to earn his trust. They become friends. Established Buddie.

"Díaz, eh? Cualli tonalli. Notōcā Silvina Chavez, notōcā Nahuatl Citlalli. Nehua Guerrero. ¿Campa tihuala?" "…. I understood 'Nahuatl' and 'campa'." "Where's your family from?" "Texas." "Originally? Before the Annexation?" "Ah, no, Ciudad Juárez, my abuelo worked across the border in El Paso and they got green cards to be closer to his job. It's basically the same city, you wouldn't know you were crossing if not for Border Patrol." "Juárez…. Apache, then? Chiricahua Apache?" "Mestizo conversos." "Ahhhhh. You speak Ladino?" "Ladino is from the Sephardi who fled east first, to the Ottoman. My family fled west first, to the Americas." "I see. It's just a shame." "What is?" "So many self-identified Latinos are just brainwashed Natives. You have indigenous heritage, I can tell by your nose. It's there if you want to reclaim it." "I'm not lost and I don't need you to save me."

friends with miracles - Buck and trans!Eddie have a night together while drunk. Eddie winds up pregnant and decides to carry to term, though he's not sure what he'll do after that. Requited Unrequited Love and Friends to Lovers Buddie (Shannon and Eddie were open poly, and Eddie was the only one of her partners willing to marry her so she didn't have to deal with single mom stigma. Christopher is his kid in every way that matters.)

in your arms lies eternity - Buck winds up with custody of Connor and Kameron's kid for Reasons. Eddie sees him holding the baby and has a Gay Moment.

I don't have a snippet for either of these two, just empty titled and saved docs and a head full of daydreams.

[hellfirecvnt]

Because I love your stuff so much I’m gonna put in another request 😊

A smutty Eddie request where the reader is Steve’s sister and Eddie comes over to get something from Steve but he isn’t home and the reader is. She’s at the pool tanning in her little black bikini. She asks Eddie to stay and wait, meanwhile she teases him horribly.

Love you bb!💕

This has been months in the making lol. Sorry I took so long. ❤️

"Your Sister is Hot."

Eddie Munson x Fem!Harrington!Reader

Warnings: smut (+18, minors DNI)

"I want my vest back, Harrington. Took a long time to collect those patches," Eddie chats with Steve over the phone. His playful tone is a reflection of his mood. "I'll come by and get it in an hour." He hangs up.

"No, dude I won't be home-" Steve is cut off by the click of Eddie's phone returning to the wall. "Whatever, Y/N will be here." He mumbles to himself before heading out the door. Eddie smokes a joint or two and reads through his D&D adventure before finally deciding to head to the Harrington house.

Eddie approaches the upper-class home and rings the campy doorbell. A loud chime echoes through the house, alerting no one.

"Where the fuck are you, Hair?" Eddie peeks into the window and notices the sliding door is unlocked. Someone has to be home. He treks around back, jumping when he notices you by the pool. You're laying on your stomach with the strings of your tiny bikini undone to avoid tan lines. You relax with your head resting on one folded arm, the other holding a book.

"Oh, um. I'm sorry. Is uh, Steve here?" Eddie trips over his words, wishing he would've just ran off before you knew he was there.

"He left about an hour ago. He'll probably be back any minute. You're welcome to hang out here." You smile at him. "Just give me a sec to get situated if you don't mind." You gesture to your undone top with your thumb.

"Oh, yeah. Of course." Eddie answers, but he doesn't look away. He continues to stare as if he didn't hear you.

"So, can you turn around?" You giggle, a small blush rising on your sun-kissed cheeks.

"Oh, OH! Yeah," he spins on his heel, covering and closing his eyes like he doesn't trust himself. A few seconds pass and you grant him permission to turn around.

"Sorry 'bout that, but as I was saying, Steve shouldn't be gone long," your body glistens in the sunlight from the various SPF lotions and tanning oils you've layered on. Each of your curves catches the light, making you look almost like a painting. A masterpiece, Eddie thinks to himself. "Can I get you a drink or anything?" Your words shake Eddie from his daze, he blushes, unsure if he was staring. He was.

"That'd be great, thank you," he rebuilds his charismatic front, staring confidently into your eyes with a wide, toothy smile. You disappear into the house, feeling as his eyes shamelessly scanned your hips and ass as you gracefully walked away from him.

"I hope this is okay," you hand him a fruity mixed drink. "I made a whole pitcher, I'm... Not sure why." That was a lie though, you were gonna get day drunk. At first, Eddie chuckles at your girly little drink. It's hot pink with slices of orange and strawberries in it. It looks like Barbie threw up on a Bratz doll and someone blended it up with glitter. But the second he takes a sip, he's nearly knocked off his feet.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N. That's a little strong for a whole pitcher, don't you think?"

"No? This is lighter than I usually mix." You tilt your head to the side. "I thought you knew how to party." Your teasing elicits a dramatic reaction from him. He stares at you in mock shock, mouth agape with his hand on his chest.

"I am the party, doll," he quips, turning the glass of boozy liquid up like water. After a short while, the entire jug is empty, and you're both very drunk. The heat of the Summer sun only amplifies the alcohol.

"Eddie, you have a guitar pick on your necklace." You point a wavering finger at his chest.

"Yeah, I do," his words are almost giggles. He smiles cutely, watching your face as it scans his.

"Do you play guitar?" You furrow your brow. He widens his eyes again.

"I'm about to leave, what is this?" He laughs. "You know my band plays at the local venues. I know I've seen you there wearing almost nothing-" he blushes instantly after realizing what he said.

"Oh, is that what you remember when you see me?" You smile, narrowing your eyes, beckoning him to get naked right here with just one look.

"God, no that's not-" he laughs nervously.

"I'm kidding, Munson. I like that my outfits leave an impression. And of course I know about Corroded Coffin," you lean closer to him in your poolside chair. "I was just seeing if I could steer the conversation to your hands."

"My hands?" His chest is threatening to hitch as you lower your voice, eyeing him like a piece of meat.

"Well, your fingers, really." You bite your bottom lip softly. "I bet you're pretty quick with them."

"I mean, I don't like to brag or anything..." He's fighting for his life, uncomfortably hard against the denim of his pants.

"I guess I'll only know if I come see you play." You twirl a piece of your hair around your finger, blatantly scanning your vision up and down his body. His heart races as he does the same to you.

"I-I could play for you any time." He doesn't even realize it, but he starts lightly palming himself through his jeans as he fucks you with his eyes, taking in every angle of your oily cleavage as the sun reflects golden against you.

"I'd love for you to play with me."

"What?"

"I said I'd love for you to play for me?" You repeat, toying with his head as he fights himself to keep his eyes on yours.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," he laughs nervously, a bright red blush spreading across his cheeks. You giggle at his disheveled appearance, he's normally so cool and carefree. It's such a fun power to have over him, and you're taking full advantage.

An awkward silence threatens to fall over the two of you. You bite your lip before reaching for your bottle of tanning oil.

"Eddie, could you help me reapply this to my back?" You smile devilishly, watching him squirm in his seat, desperate to hide his growing erection.

"Oh, of course. Sure." He rushes to your side, carefully smoothing the shining oils across your skin. As his hands work down to your lower back, you arch your spine, unintentionally giving him an almost perfect view of your ass. His pulse rises in his chest. He doesn't realize he's stopped moving his hands as he stares directly at the way your bikini bottoms have slipped between your cheeks due to their high waisted thong style.

"Eddie?" You notice his staring and "accidentally" shake yourself a little as you flip over to speak to him. Your voice tears him from his trance. "You look a little bothered," you tease.

"Oh, yeah?" Eddie finally catches on.

"Yeah. If I were bothered, I think I'd do something about it."

"Yeah? You want me to do something about it?" With a wide grin spread across his face, he climbs on top of you in your lounge chair and slams his lips into yours, hungrily. His hands glide across your oily skin, drowning the both of you in the smell of coconuts.

"It's about fucking time, Eddie."

"What do you mean?" He chuckles, gripping at your curves like he isn't ruining his clothes with your tanning oil.

"I don't wear those outfits to the venue for fun." You smirk. He releases a gutteral chuckle and reconnects his lips to yours.

"Well isn't this cute." Steve's voice alerts both of you, returning you to reality. "Jesus, Munson. Just take the vest and leave next time." Steve averts his vision and stalks away sassily. You and Eddie look at each other in shock before busting into laughter.

"Why don't we..." Eddie looks you up and down yet again. "take this back to my house?"

"I'll meet you in the van." You spoke quickly, like this was something you'd been waiting for. Just the thought made Eddie's erection strain against the fabric of his pants. In his van he grins ear to ear thinking about the very second he gets you through the front door of his trailer.

All he can think about is the way your skin ignites his fingertips. He's startled from his thoughts when you yank the door open and climb into his passenger seat. His breath catches in his throat as he drinks in the image of you in yet another skimpy, barely-there outfit.

Eddie tightens his jaw before suddenly grasping at the nape of your neck, guiding your face to his belt buckle. Your hands eagerly free his throbbing cock and you take his full length into your mouth. Eddie presses harder on the gas pedal. You bob your head rhythmically, earning several sensual moans from Eddie. He throws his head back and goes even faster, arriving at his house in what feels like minutes.

"Get inside. Wait for me." Eddie smirks wickedly. Your stomach flutters with anticipation, but you do as you're told. He likes that. You step inside the door and close it softly behind you. Scanning the room, you try to imagine what position he'd want you in and where. A dull light glows from a room at the far end of the trailer, Eddie's room. You only know that because you see the smoke still casually leaking out into the living room.

The door knob begins to turn, and you realize you're out of time so you bend down, ass facing toward the door, like you dropped something and await his reaction to your all-too-short skirt.

"Jesus-" Eddie gasps as you slowly rise from your bent position. You lock eyes with him immediately, softly gliding your hands up your legs as you straighten out your posture. "I remember this skirt." He chuckles.

"You and half of the men in that bar on main street." You wink, looking over your shoulder at him. Just as you're about to turn to face him, he grips the waist band of your skirt and pulls you against him.

"I doubt any of those old fucks could handle a babe like you."

"Probably give 'em a heart attack." You giggle, patiently waiting for him to snap. His soft chuckles rumble against your neck as he drags his lips against your skin, grinding against you all the while. "Eddie," your patience quickly wears thin.

You're cut off by his swift, agile movements. Before you realize, you're being tossed onto the couch. Eddie looms over you, admiring your sun kissed body. Your top malfunctions, exposing one of your breasts as you prop yourself up on your elbows. His eyes seem to flutter back into his skull before he dives down to you, roughly running his hands anywhere he pleased.

You moan loudly as his fingertips dig into your breast. His thumb teases your exposed nipple as he locks his lips with yours. His hands finally find the tiny string of your thong. He swiftly removes them and tosses them aside, desperate for more contact. You reach to remove your skirt next, but he stops you.

In one quick motion, he flips you on your stomach.

"Eddie?" You expected a bit more foreplay.

"Shh," you hear his buckle jingle as he unfastens his jeans. "You've been teasing me for hours, Y/N."

"E-Eddie?" You grin ear to ear, biting your lip with excitement. Longing to be punished for your relentless teasing.

"Not a fucking sound." His warm, low voice rumbles like thunder down your skin. You barely have time to register his command when he slams his entire cock into you. Your first instinct is to let out a loud moan, even a scream. But you catch yourself at the last minute, releasing nothing but a small squeak.

Eddie continues to slam into you, grunting and growling behind you, gripping your hips for leverage. Each thrust sends a lightning bolt through your body. The pain and pleasure build up in your abdomen, and staying silent feels nearly impossible.

"Okay..." He huffs between thrusts. "You can talk now." With his last syllable, he slams into you as hard as possible. You scream and writhe beneath him, orgasming. Eddie doesn't let up, he fucks you as fast as possible, basking in the sounds of your pleasure. Smooth, deep laughter escapes his lips as he fucks you out.

He grabs your hair at the back of your head, making you stand before him. You face him and he lifts your legs around his waist, slipping inside of you easily. His strong arms hold you steady as he bounces you up and down his twitching erection. Your arousal drips down the two of you.

"Oh my God, Eddie-" your breath hitches in your chest as you near your climax. He laughs, continuously drilling into you as your orgasm. You rife out your high, begging for a break as he reaches his peak. He tosses you back onto the couch and cums across your chest and stomach.

He stands over you, bracing himself on the wall behind the couch. His sweating skin glistens in the warm, yellow light of his home. The curls and waves that frame his face drip small droplets of sweat onto your just-as-sweaty body.

You excuse yourself on wobbly legs to clean up and return to find Eddie waiting for you in his room. He seems to have shoved the "mess" into any corner he could find, clearing a space for the two of you on his bed. Hes holding an old band tee out to you and that's when you realize your hoe-clothes are a bit disheveled. You shed the skimpy outfit and dawn the comfy, worn in shirt. It's soft and smells just like Eddie.

[acidh2otoby]

Like Starting Over

Claire Redfield x Male!Reader

Warnings: Angst, injury

Won 7th place from this post.

If Claire didn't worry about you being a BSAA soldier, the hospital warnings definitely did. Most of the time you got injured and ended up in the hospital wing they were not too terrible but often require stitches, but this time felt different.

Claire ran past soldiers and scientists to get to you as fast as she possibly could, fearing the worst. When she got there, most doctors were busy with other things but went up to the receptionist to get answers.

"Hi, my name's Claire Redfield. I'm Chris Redfield's sister, but is a (Y/N) (Y/L/N) here by any chance?" Claire asked, breathing heavily from the running and trying to fix her hair a little.

"Ah, Claire, good to see you. Um, yes, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) is here but he's undergoing a surgery at the moment." The receptionist said, checking over all the current occupants in the wing.

"Surgery? For what? Why?" Claire asked, her thoughts jumbling into worry.

"Reports say he was in too close of proximity to an explosion that left him unconscious and missing a leg, they brought him here as soon as they could." The receptionist explained, seeing how panicked Claire was.

"Will he be okay? Is he gonna make it?" Claire asked, her thoughts still all mixed together.

"As far as I'm aware, he'll be fine. They stopped the bleeding while they were transporting him shortly after his accident and immediately brought him here." The receptionist told her, understanding that she was scared and stressed.

"Um, here's my phone number, could you please give me a call when he's allowed visitors?" Claire asked, quickly writing down her phone number and giving it to the receptionist.

"Of course, thank you for stopping in." The receptionist said, taking Claire's scrap of paper before Claire left.

She knew Chris was busy and had only one other friend that she knew wasn't occupied with something else, Leon Kennedy. Claire went to Leon about everything, especially when it came to you because having her brother tell her how a guys mind works is a lot weirder than having a guy friend.

Claire texted Leon that she was gonna stop by for a bit, she needed to get this information off her chest or it was gonna eat her alive. She waited for a response from Leon to start making her way to his apartment, once she saw his text, she left.

The drive wasn't long and neither was getting to his apartment but her mind still ran through everything possible about all the bad things that could happen to you, the worst thing coming up is you dying.

Claire knocked on the door and waited for Leon to open it, to which he did very shortly after the knock.

"Hey, how's it been?" Leon asked, stepping aside so Claire could enter the room.

"Something happened." Claire said, taking her jacket off and hanging it up.

"With work or something else?" Leon asked, closing the door and locking it.

"Something else. It's about (Y/N)..." Claire trailed off the thoughts she was thinking before starting to now get to her.

"Did he break up with you?" Leon asked, walking up to Claire.

"No..." Claire muttered, shaking her head.

"Did he hit you?" Leon asked, trying to figure out if he needed to make someone disappear.

"No..." Claire said and tried to continue before Leon kept going.

"I swear if he..." Leon was cut off.

"He didn't hurt me in any way! Christ, Leon! Just let me finish!" Claire yelled, causing Leon to fall silent a little.

"Right, I'm sorry." Leon said, nodding.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to yell, I just... (Y/N) is in the hospital right now getting surgery after his mission." Claire said, walking past Leon to sit on the couch.

"Do you know what happened?" Leon asked, sitting down next to Claire.

"He apparently got too close to an explosive of some kind and lost his leg, he's been unconscious since then." Claire explained, staring at the floor.

"Jesus... When did they say his surgery would be done?" Leon asked, hoping this wouldn't end anything between the couple.

"They didn't say, I just told the receptionist to give me a call when the doctors were allowing visitors." Claire said, shrugging a little.

Leon nodded, he began to grow worried too. You and Leon were both orphans together and basically became brothers, it was impossible to separate you two. You both were roughly the same age and you followed Leon's steps into becoming a cop and asking to be positioned in Raccoon City when the incident happened and you met Claire.

You and Claire got separated from Leon and worked together to get out alive, eventually helping Sherry Birkin and practically adopting her for the short amount of time. You stayed with Leon for a little bit until you decided to go look for Claire, ultimately leading you to joining the BSAA alongside Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine.

You were roommates with Leon for a short time until you moved in with Claire, buying your guys' own house and going with the flow of things. Claire's job was not as demanding as yours but you still worried about her safety whenever she was away.

After roughly two years of living together, you both decided to try and be a normal couple and you were planning on marrying her after this current mission, the ring you were gonna propose to her with was hidden in your stuff. You were also in a small process of cleaning out one of the rooms you two weren't using to create a nursery for a future baby.

Leon knew all about this too, you had told him, shown him the ring you bought, you had taken pictures and screenshots of things you were looking at for some baby stuff. Leon had asked you that should you and Claire have a baby what he wanted, you said that you didn't care because you would love having a daughter or son or maybe both at some point.

"I just..." Claire began again, pulling Leon from his thoughts. Her voice is now shaky and her body is shaking. "I don't know what to do. I'm scared."

Leon pulled Claire into a hug, letting her cry into his chest. They sat like this for what felt like a long time until Claire's phone rang, Claire immediately jumped up and answered it, wiping her eyes and clearing her throat.

"Hello?" Claire answered, gently placing her phone next to her ear.

"Hi, is this Claire Redfield?" A lady asked, it wasn't the receptionist from before so she assumed the two must've switched shifts.

"Yes, I'm Claire. Is (Y/N) okay?" Claire asked, her hands shaking a little.

"Yes, he's doing good. He's been out of surgery for about an hour and the doctors have made sure he's stable and healthy. He was awake when the doctors left but he could be sleeping right now but you can now visit him." The lady said, she sounded happy.

"Thank you, thank you so much. I'll be up in a bit." Claire said, hanging up.

"So, is he okay?" Leon asked, Claire now realized that he jump up almost as fast as she did.

"He's okay." Claire said, tears getting in her eyes but they were happy this time.

Claire hugged Leon again, smiling and crying a little. Leon pulled away and rested his hands on her shoulders. "Go ahead and see him, I'll probably visit tomorrow." Leon said, ruffling Claire's hair a little.

Claire giggled a little before hurrily putting on her coat and leaving, yelling a quick "Bye" before shutting the door. Leon chuckled a little and shook his head.

Claire did her best to not go over any speed limits but wanted to get to you as fast as she could, she almost didn't even turn her car off when she got back to the base. She quickly ran back down to the wing, asked the receptionist what room you were in, and set off to find it.

When Claire got to your room, she found you, Chris, and Piers having a conversation. She didn't know what but honestly didn't care, her main care went towards you being awake and responsive. She knocked on the door, causing the three boys to look at her and smile. Claire watched your eyes light up upon seeing her, making her heart melt a little.

Chris glanced at Piers before they both nodded and left, saying their goodbyes to the two of you. Claire made her way to one of the chairs relatively close to you, before she sat down, she hugged you. She sat down after breaking the hug but ran her fingers through your hair, making you sigh and close your eyes.

"How do you feel?" Claire asked, moving some of your hair from your eyes.

"Better now that you're here." You replied, smiling at her.

She chuckled a little before she moved her hand to hold yours. "Truth?" She asked, wanting to know if you were lying.

"Mostly, just tired is all." You said, shrugging a little.

"Really? Nothing else? No pain?" Claire asked, looking at you with a little confusion.

"No, why? Do you want me to be in pain?" You asked, jokingly looking at her in shock.

"No, it's just... Every time I've visited you when you had to come here, you were never in that much pain. Now here you are, missing a leg and you're still chatting and being the best you that you can be." Claire said, shrugging a little.

"I'm just that awesome." You joked, smirking at her. She scoffed and rolled her eyes before gently patting your shoulder. "Wanna see it?" You asked, almost forgetting why you're here.

"What? Your leg?" Claire asked, glancing down towards the end of your bed.

"Yeah, it's honestly a lot better than I thought it was gonna be." You said, sitting up a little and shifting before moving the blankets to show Claire what was left of your leg.

Your right leg was missing from the knee down but you had bandages completely wrapped around your thigh, some bandages having very faint red spots on them.

"That is a lot better than I thought." Claire said, staring at stub leg.

"They said that most of the damage was my foot and that there was almost no skin on it and it lead up to around my knee but was just scratched up on my thigh, they had to cut my foot off from the knee down so no more damages or infections could latch onto me before I even got here." You explained, remembering clearly what Chris and Piers had just told you.

"This is best case scenario, right?" Claire asked, looking back at you.

"Yeah, the explosive was on a trip wire and I didn't see it, had I been a little more to my right, I probably wouldn't have come back." You said, knowing that the trap was practically unavoidable.

"Can you move your leg still?" Claire asked, seeing that you hadn't moved it yet.

"Yes, but my doctors recommend that I don't until they think it's healed up enough too. They're also getting me a prosthetic so I'll be able to walk around again." You explained, slightly tapping your finger on your thigh.

Claire smiled and nodded, helping you get tucked back into the blankets. She stayed with you the whole day and you had a few more visitors, Chris and Piers came back, Jill stopped by to chat for a bit, and a few doctors came in to check on you. Eventually, you two fell asleep and hoped for the best tomorrow morning.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted 28 - Sunlight [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, hospitals, medicine.

Word Count: 4400

Summary: Survival makes people stronger.

Everyone’s voices were so muffled that for a moment it felt as if you were under water. It came and went just like the warmth, just like the comfort—

One moment there, the other moment far away, and anytime you tried to reach through that haze, you were pushed back into the numbness.

You could swear at some point your father was there too. You were still at the cabin, in that dress, sitting across from him by the chessboard, and then back at the weekend house where your sister was chasing you around the piano, your mother calling out for you to stop running, then someone pushing you into the lake by the cabin before it changed again and your father handed you a knife.

If this is hell, I’d like to talk to the manager.

But eventually, it all came back to you. There was this heaviness on your hand, your chest and ribs hurt terribly and your forehead kept stinging as you tried to open your eyes to meet the bright lights of the hospital room.

Ah. You weren’t in the woods anymore.

You had made it after all.

The constant beeping of the machine caught your attention for a moment before you looked down to see Spencer’s head resting on your hand, his fingers entwined with yours. Your mother was by the couch, her eyes fixed on the ceiling with a crumpled tissue in her hand and Mina was resting her head on her shoulder.

“Mom?” you rasped out and your mother’s eyes whipped to yours, Mina sat up and Spencer’s head shot up.

“Oh thank God!” your mother jumped out of her seat to come to your beside and pressed a kiss on top of your head, making you wince. “Oh thank God you’re okay…”

“Hey,” Mina wiped at her eyes and cleared her throat, “Welcome back brat.”

You smiled and turned to Spencer who was still holding your hand tight, watching you with bloodshot eyes.

“I know,” you said, “No eyeliner right?”

A small sob mixed with laughter rose from his throat and he pressed your hand to his lips, swallowing thickly.

“Hi.”

“Hey professor,” you tried to smile but you were in too much pain to do so, “Is there like…a morphine button or-?”

“I’ll go get the doctor,” Mina rushed out of the room and closed the door behind her, and your mother pulled back.

“How do you feel honey?”

“Like I crawled out of hell,” you said, “Is- is everyone okay?”

“Everyone is fine.”

“Where’s Lily?”

“With Kenzie and Nolan, outside.”

You let out a breath and turned to Spencer.

“You figured it out?” you asked, “The note?”

“Ophelia, yeah,” he sniffled and nodded fervently, “Cabin by the lake, we were on our way there when—” he stopped talking as if remembering it was way too heavy on him and you squeezed his hand.

“How did I….” you looked between them, “Survive? Erica shot me.”

“The helicopter,” your mother said, “We sent it with a medic and a sniper just in case.”

“You sent a helicopter with a medic and a sniper?” you repeated, “Mom, that sounds like a joke.”

“Well I’m glad you find it funny,” your mother wiped at her eyes again, “Because you’re grounded for the rest of your life.”

“Okay,” you shot a look at Spencer, “Ignore this.”

“No, not even your boyfriend can help you right now.”

“They still like you, no worries,” you explained and he shook his head slightly, reaching out to touch your cheek as if trying to prove to himself that you were real.

“I thought—“ he started and blinked back the tears, gritting his teeth and you rubbed your thumb over his hand.

“I’m fine,” you said and lifted your head when the thought hit you, “Wait what happened to Lincoln?”

A shadow crossed Spencer’s eyes and your mother flexed her fingers as if she wanted to throttle someone upon hearing his name.

“That monster is currently handcuffed to a hospital bed,” she said, “But not to worry, we put ten guards in front of his door, and I will make sure to ruin his life myself.”

“He survived?”

“Barely,” Spencer said through his teeth but before he could say anything else, the door opened and a doctor stepped in. Even you could hear Lily’s very loud protests, Kenzie trying to shush her and you smiled slightly before turning to the doctor who was checking the file in her hand.

“Hello Y/N,” she said cheerfully “Nice to see you awake, for a moment you had me worried we wouldn’t get to meet. So, we have head trauma, a bullet wound, broken ribs and blood loss. Were you trying to fill out a bingo of dangerous injuries or…?”

“Go big or go home doc,” you nodded and she raised her brows.

“Should I put in a psychiatric evaluation in here as well then?”

“Yes please,” your mother pinched the bridge of her nose and you heaved a sigh, making a face.

“Pain?”

“A lot.”

“Let’s see what we can do about that,” she said and Spencer stood up.

“Can I see her chart please?” he asked and she took almost taken aback before showing him the chart.

“I’d like to change these two meds,” Spencer said and started listing off his suggestions while you watched him with a smile on your face.

“Spencer,” you said, “Please let the nice and smart lady do her job.”

The doctor grinned at you, “That’s alright. Is there anything you would like to ask me?”

“Two questions. One, when can I go home?”

“We’d like to keep you under observation for a couple of days, depending on how fast your body shows progress to heal.”

“Okay. Can I smoke here?”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” your mother threw her head back, Spencer just stared at you and the doctor blinked a couple of times.

“Since this job taught me never to take any question as hypothetical,” she said, “I’m just going to answer it. No, under absolutely no circumstances are you allowed to smoke here.”

You curled your lips, “It was worth a try.”

“We’ll give you some really good painkillers, don’t worry,” she winked, “I’ll let the rest of your family in and see you later.”  

She walked to the door and opened it, and soon enough Lily rushed inside but as soon as she leaped at you, Kenzie caught her mid-air like a troublesome cat.

“No, what did I say outside?”

“But mama—“

“It’s okay Kenz. Hi bug.”

Kenzie gave you a teary eyed smile and slowly set Lily down, and she hugged her teddy bear before taking a step towards you, nibbling on her lip.

“Does it hurt?” she pointed at the stitches on your forehead and you tilted your head.

“Just a little, sweetie.”

She carefully put the teddy bear beside your bed and grinned at you.

“Mr. Chocolate Chip Cookie will be your friend here,” she patted the teddy bear’s head and you let out a small laugh.

“I really appreciate it bug, thank you,” you said and held the teddy bear in your lap before you turned to Nolan. “Hey man, thanks for the helicopter.”

“Thanks for the almost heart attack,” he replied and fixed his bowtie, “You keep me young with all this panic and adrenaline. Honestly Y/N, never do that to us again, please.”

“I’ll try my best not to get kidnapped by a maniac again,” you stated, “Besides, mom already grounded me so…”

“Good! No jet for you for a while young lady.”

A nurse came in to inject the painkiller into your IV, and you smiled at the sight of your family fondly, then cleared your throat.

“Hey, not that I didn’t miss you guys,” you said, “But um…can I talk to Spencer for a moment?”

Kenzie and Mina exchanged looks and Kenzie lifted Lily up.

“We’ll be right outside,” she said and walked to the door. One by one they left the room and your jaw dropped when you saw Mina squeezing Spencer’s shoulder before she left as well.

“Well, something changed,” you commented and Spencer came to pull a chair next to the bed before he reached out to hold your hand.

“She was the first one to talk to me when we landed,” his voice still didn’t sound so strong and you frowned.

“What did she say?”

“Go there and bring my sister back.” Spencer said and ran a hand over his eyes, “Based on the profile, I thought he’d already—“ he couldn’t even finish that sentence before he kissed the back of your hand, “I thought I lost you.”

“Nah, cigarettes will kill me, not serial killers,” you reached out to push a curl out of his eyes, “I thought you knew that. All looks and no smarts, aren’t you?”

He scoffed a shaky laugh and you licked your lips.

“What happened there?” you asked, “I heard gunshots after Erica shot me, is she—“

“Dead,” Spencer nodded, “She was shot right there.”

You could feel the goosebumps on your skin, “And Lincoln?”

“I was going to kill him,” Spencer said, “If I got there first, I would’ve.”

“Spencer you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he told you, a dangerous light gleaming in his eyes, “I do mean that.”

You heaved a sigh, now easier thanks to the painkillers, “Yeah well, I guess I know the feeling.”

“Um- the team is outside as well by the way,” he said, “Luke and Garcia has been here the whole night, and I’ve been instructed to tell you, word by word, no amount of pastries will excuse the worry you put them through.”

You grinned, the tired haze of sleep crashing on you, “Ouch, I’ll have to try harder I guess,” you said and yawned, making Spencer smile.

“Rest a little,” he said, “I’ll stay right here, okay?”

You nodded and leaned your head back to the pillows, then closed your eyes.

                                                 ***

You were given the permission to go home after a week because your mother insisted on keeping you there until she was convinced you wouldn’t drop dead all of a sudden. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t raise hell when you told her you would be staying at Spencer’s place for a while, and for once, Mina agreed with you.

You really needed to ask Spencer what had happened while you were gone, in detail.

It was strange, but your sleep was much less disturbed after you had returned from the hospital. When you were in hospital you had just assumed it was because of the meds they had given you, but now, sleeping with Spencer in his bed, there was still no sign of any nightmares.

With you, that was. Spencer was a completely different story.

You still had to be careful because of your ribs and the doctor had told you to be careful with how you slept, so the moment you moved a little in your sleep and felt the pain shooting through you, you made a face and reached for Spencer’s side of the bed only to meet an empty spot. You opened your eyes, and carefully sat up in bed, trying to hear whether there was any noise to signal he was coming back to bed but there was none, so you slipped out of the bed and walked to the living room.

Of course he was there. Cradling a cup with steam coming out of it in his hands, staring into the darkness as if he was lost in his own mind.

“Spencer?” you said softly and he turned his head, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, trying to smile, “Why are you up?”

“I could ask you the same question,” you tilted your head before you went to sit beside him and he ran a hand through his curls.

“It’s not important.��

“Nightmares?” you asked and he nodded silently.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later,” he murmured, “How about you? Any pain? Do you need an ice bag?”

You shook your head, “Nah it’s fine,” you said, “It doesn’t hurt that terribly.”

“And your nightmares?”

You shrugged, “No nightmares. I mean—at least not like the earlier ones. Not where I’m turning into him.”

“Trauma works differently in everyone.”

“I don’t think it’s the trauma though,” you said, “I think it’s because…because I know now.”

He raised his brows, his whole attention on you, “What do you mean?”

“It’s not in me,” you said, “It’s just—it’s just not. I don’t think it ever was. My father killed people because it made him feel powerful. It wasn’t like that with me, back at the cabin. It was survival. For me and people I care about, that’s all. It doesn’t make me evil.”

That seemed to pull him out of his thoughts and he smiled.

“No it doesn’t,” he said, “You’ve never been evil. Even when he tried to turn you into that.”

Even your heart felt light, despite the pain in your ribs and your smile widened.

“I know he’s not dead but…”

“He’s locked away. Same difference from now on.”

You paused for a moment, “Speaking of,” you said, “I was thinking I could go and see him for the last time.”

He frowned, “Why?”

“I don’t know. I think it’ll help me put this whole thing behind me.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I want to see the look on his face when he realizes his small project failed,” you said, “Trust me. There’s no way he can get to me, not anymore.”

He rubbed his thumb over your hand and you leaned back to the back of the couch, still keeping your gaze on his handsome face.

“You don’t have to come with me,” you said, “If it’s too much.”

“It’s not that,” he rasped out, “Officially, I might not be allowed in.”

“Why not?”

“I’m leaving the BAU.”

You blinked a couple of times, gawking at him, then sat up straighter.

“What?”

“I can’t anymore,” he averted his glances from you to look into space, nibbling on his lip, “Y/N, I was out of the city when they called me to tell me you were missing, that you were most probably taken by the copycat. And for the whole time until I found you…” his voice cracked, “Lincoln’s profile, before we even knew that he was Lincoln, it all suggested that he…killed his victims without spending any time with them. I thought—“ he sniffled and cleared his throat, “I can’t do that anymore. Imagining you like all those victims…”

“Spencer, I’m fine.”

“But you weren’t,” he said, barely moving his lips, “Back there.”

Ah. The woods.

“That’s what your nightmare was about?” you asked and he heaved a shaky sigh.

“I couldn’t save you,” he said, “You died there, and I couldn’t do anything, I was too late—“

“Spencer,” you reached out to touch his cheek, “Hey, look at me.”

He turned his head so that his eyes would meet yours and you dragged your fingertips over the slight stubble on his cheek.

“You weren’t too late,” you told him, “And I didn’t die. Okay? I’m right here. Don’t leave the BAU because of me, do it only if you want to. I’ll be with you either way.”

He blinked back the tears and nodded. “I want to,” he whispered, “I can’t anymore, and I want- I want to be here. I’ll just…I’ll focus on teaching, and the team can consult me whenever they need to, but I need to be here.”

“And you’re sure about that? It’s not some…heat of the moment decision?”

“It’s not,” he said, “I’m positive.”

“Alright,” you smiled at him softly, “Okay then. I guess instead of talking about gruesome murders and copycats who were after me, we can be one of those boring, cliché couples who bicker about…I don’t know, dirty dishes in the sink, or how you forgot to put down the toilet seat or-“

“Your hair in the drain.”

“I’m going to pretend like you weren’t waiting for the opportunity to bring that up.”

He let out a teary laugh and wiped at his eyes before he pulled you closer and carefully wrapped his arms around you so as not to hurt your ribs, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You brushed your fingers through his curls, as if trying to prove to him that you were there, that you were alright.

“I love you so much,” the confession left his lips in a whisper and you could feel the burning behind your eyes as you raked your nails over the nape of his neck gently.

“I love you too,” you murmured, “God, you have no idea how much.”

                                                      ***

The BAU, upon your request, fixed a meeting with your father for the next week.

And throughout that week, everyone tried to convince you to change your mind. Your mother had made a whole scene during brunch, telling you that it was as if you liked torturing yourself, but you knew deep down that you had to talk to him for the last time.

Seeing your father after what felt like a life time, especially after everything that you had been through was strange at the very least. You didn’t have any goosebumps, you didn’t have that nervousness messing with your head, you didn’t feel like you were under the threat of being attacked any time, and most of all—

You didn’t feel like he was stronger than you. At all.

You lit a cigarette in the interrogation room, then flipped the cap of the lighter and turned your head when the door opened and your father walked in, chains dangling from his handcuffs wrapped around his ankles. He stared at you for a couple of seconds as if he didn’t expect to see you there and let out a breath.

“Petal…”

“You should sit down,” you said, exhaling the smoke and a guard helped him sit down across from you.

“We’re right outside, miss.”

“Thank you,” you said and watched as he straightened his back, his gaze focused on you.

“You look…” he trailed off and you raised your brows,

“Hm?”

“What did they do to you?”

“Ah I guess your outside source ending up dead gets you a bit behind on the news,” you said, “Erica is dead, Lincoln is never gonna see the sunlight again, and your whole project to turn me into your legacy with the help of them failed terribly.”

“I’d never allow them to harm you like this.”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling the smoke.

“But you fought your way out, didn’t you?” he asked you, “Looks like my training helped you after all. Even if you refuse to see that.”

“Did you seriously think I’d become like you?” you asked back, “Did you think Lincoln would manage to turn me into you?”

“Honey, Lincoln was going to be your companion at best, your first kill at worst.” he said and you clicked your tongue.

“Oh, that was your plan all along?”

“Some part of it, at least. I knew they wouldn’t be able to handle you, but I thought you could decide what to do with them. Could you kill Erica at least?”

“Didn’t get the chance.”

“You should have,” he said, “You would see, Petal.”

You twirled the cigarette between your fingers, staring at him for a couple of seconds.

“I keep thinking,” you mused, “You know what I said to Mina and Kenzie when they first told me they wanted to have a baby?”

He tilted his head, “Hm? What?”

“I asked them if they lost their minds.”

Your father pulled back slightly and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Because I mean… Kenzie’s parents are assholes, and there’s you,” you motioned at him, “Not that anyone else could take the cake on being a messed up parent when you’re in the picture.”

“I take offense to that.”

“I don’t care,” you said, “But then it hit me, back at the hospital. I was looking at this whole mess from the wrong perspective.”

“Which is?”

“They had a point,” you said, “Back then- before all this I mean, I thought when someone decided to have kids, their first priority was to be the perfect parent. That’s stupid, it’s impossible to be the perfect parent, our own parents mess us up in one way or another. But I get it now.”

“You get what?”

“The first step is being better than your own parents, not starting out perfect,” you said, “That’s why every generation is different, we’re all trying to be better than our parents, and some of us actually succeed.”

“And you think you’d be a better parent than me, is that it?”

“Shouldn’t take that much of an effort to be honest.”

“Are you…?” he motioned at you and you scoffed.

“No,” you said, “No, but what happened back there made me think. I’ve been living my whole life so convinced that you messed me up beyond my own control, beyond saving, but that’s not completely true, is it? I mean, just because you’re in my past, doesn’t mean I’ll have to include you in my present.”

“But I am in your present Petal.”

You pursed your lips together, then gestured around you. “Debatable. Nolan is buying this whole place, did you know that?” you asked, “All your guards are on our paychecks, so it should be harder to…use them to contact outside. We control everything that’s happening here, and there’s nothing you can do about that.”

He blinked a couple of times, trying to catch up with your train of thought.

“And you think that will be enough to put me behind you?”

You shook your head, “No, I don’t think it’s that easy,” you confessed, “But it’s a start.”

He moved his hands on the table, the chain rattling.

“I raised you.” he said, “I’m inside your head, whether you like it or not. You’re my legacy—“

“I’m my own legacy, you fucking idiot,” you said with a small chuckle, “That’s who I am. Just because your expectations of me will not leave me, doesn’t mean I’ll let them haunt me.”

“And you think that will be enough.”

“I will never see you again,” you tilted your head, “Should make things easier, to be honest.”

He smiled, “But you already hurt people,” he said “You know how it feels now, don’t you? That fire? Now you know what you’re capable of.”

You thought for a moment.

“Yeah,” you said, “Yeah I do. Now I know that if it ever comes to that point, I’m capable of protecting myself and my family. It doesn’t make me a monster, it makes me a survivor. Me and mom have that in common, after the shit you’ve pulled.”

He stared at you and you took a last drag of your cigarette, then checked your wristwatch.

“Well I should go. You may have all the time in the world, but I actually have a life, so…”

You stubbed your cigarette and walked to the door but as soon as you opened it, he said your name, making you stop.

“You can’t escape from this,” he said, “Even if you never see me again, you still won’t escape, you know that, right? Why do you think I chose you and not your sister? Even when you were a child, you had…something in you. Something dark, something dangerous.”

The idea was very familiar to you. You had been saying the same thing to yourself for many years and hearing it from him for what felt like a hundredth time was supposed to make you feel bad, you knew that. If it were any other time before your kidnapping, before saving yourself in that cabin, before surviving everything your father and his followers had put you through, it would probably have more effect on you.

The last time he had done that, you had ended up in the stairs, shaking until Spencer had found you.

But it wasn’t that time.

It was as if something had clicked inside your head after everything, and your father’s words held no strength in them.

“Come on honey,” he told you, “Some people are just born twisted.”

A small smile pulled at your lips and you raised your brows, looking at him for a couple of seconds, etching the sight of him in chains into your memory.

“Maybe,” you said and took a step towards him, opening your cigarette case to pull out the small jasmine flower out of it, then put it on the table, eyes locked to his before you leaned in slightly.

“But I wasn’t.”

With that, you turned around and walked out of the interrogation room for the last time, ignoring the way he was yelling your name. Your smile widened as you made your way out of the building, your heels echoing in the halls before you stepped out, the fresh air filling your lungs.

“Hey,” Spencer greeted you, leaning back to your car and reached out so that you could step into his embrace as he pushed your hair out of your face, “How did it go?”

“As expected,” you stood on your tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips and he heaved a sigh.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said “Yeah I feel like…he’s gone. He’s gone, I’m here and I’m free and I know myself now. I finally woke up from that nightmare, for good.”

He smiled and brushed his lips against yours, “That’s a good start,” he commented, “What do you want to do now?”

“I’m open to suggestions,” you said and he tilted his head before he held up your keys.

“What do you say we drive away and never return here?”

You let out a small giggle and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I like that idea,” you said, “Let’s drive away and never return.”

Chapter 29 

[goldenraeofsun]

Day 21: Missing him was dark grey, all alone

Dean’s old things arrive on his doorstep two days after Cas breaks it off. He shoves the returned clothes in the very back of his drawers and almost dumps the photos in the trash - but one look at Cas’s smiling, frozen face, and he switches to the recycling instead.

He keeps the picture of them in matching cowboy hats, where Cas is wearing Dean’s favorite exasperated but so, so fond smile. Dean’s smiling too, dopily at the camera like he couldn’t believe his good luck.

Well, his good luck finally ran dry, just like he always knew it would.

It’s only five days after Halloween, so Dean splurges on candy instead of ice cream. He doesn’t care what, as long as it has some combination of chocolate, nougat, and maybe peanuts. He cracks open the first bag that night and polishes it off by mid afternoon the next day.

And he drinks.

He drinks a lot.

The next morning, hungover and dreading work, Dean texts Cas.

Dean 8:15 Got my stuff Thanks

He stares at his phone until the screen makes his bloodshot eyes water. Groaning, he double checks the time. Christ, it took him fifteen minutes to type out four goddamn words. How the hell is he going to do this?

Step-by-step. That’s what he told Sam while he was getting over the whole Ruby disaster - except Ruby was a demon, and Cas was an angel.

Brush teeth.

Make coffee.

Get dressed.

Don’t crash his baby on the way to Reading Hill Elementary.

Dean still feels like death warmed over by the time he slumps into work. He freezes as he takes in Claire, unsticking laminated paper pumpkins and cartoon bats from the wall. Her long blonde hair is swept up in a high ponytail (three glue incidents, and she finally caught on), leaving her face clear.

He’s never going to be free of Cas, not when his teacher’s assistant shares his eyes.

“You look terrible,” Claire tells him, frank as ever.

“Oh yeah? I hadn’t noticed,” Dean says, slumping over in his chair next to the chalkboard.

Claire sets down the decorations. “What happened?”

“None of your business.”

Claire crosses her arms over her chest. “It is if I’m going to have to pick up the slack because you don’t have your shit together enough to put on matching shoes.”

Alarmed, Dean drops his gaze down at his feet.

What the hell? His shoes totally match.

He glances up at Claire’s smirking face. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Claire says loftily as she carries the Halloween decorations to his desk. “What should I do with these?”

“How should I know?”

Claire groans. “Seriously? I spent the past ten minutes taking down all the Sanderson Sisters’ merch.” She grabs a plastic tub they keep for their library books and drops the pile in there and kicks it under his desk. “We can figure it out later.”

Dean rubs a hand down his face. “Yeah, sure.”

“Do you wanna stop by the water fountain or something?” Claire asks, eyebrows rising. “You really don’t look so hot.”

Dean shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.”

And all too soon, Dean hears the first, “Good morning, Mr. Winchester!” chirped by the front door.

Ignoring the concerned look from Claire, Dean gets up to greet his student.

The day crawls by. Dean loses his train of thought more times than he can remember, and he gets the Banes twins mixed up - which is ridiculous since they are clearly fraternal. At story time, he accidentally chooses a book about an artist whose paintings come to life, and Dean nearly loses it right there.

At three, Dean lets Claire go early and furiously cleans up after his students. He reviews tomorrow’s lesson plan at his desk at school instead of at home like he usually does and takes extra time at the grocery store, planning an elaborate dinner for one that will keep him occupied for the whole evening.

Of course, Cas texts back before he can even preheat the oven.

Cas 6:19 You’re welcome. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Dean doesn’t throw his phone against the wall, but it’s a close goddamn call.

Instead, he dials for pizza. He’s halfway through his second slice and fourth straight episode of Dr. Sexy when Charlie texts.

Charlie 8:11 Yo what up handmaiden

Sighing, Dean wipes the grease off his hands.

Dean 8:13 Not much

Charlie 8:13 Not according to what a little birdie told me.

Dean stares at his phone screen, dumbfounded. Who the hell could have told Charlie? He didn’t see anyone after Cas dumped him. He just went home and brooded, and then it was time for work -

Dean 8:14 Is this birdie a blonde pain in my ass?

Charlie 8:14 Of course

Dean 8:14 What the hell I didn’t even know you knew her

Charlie 8:14 We’re two lesbians in a small town. Of course we know each other. It’s the secret gay agenda.

Dean 8:15 Awesome.

Charlie 8:15 I’m coming over in 10. Chocolate or vanilla?

Dean 8:15 What?

Charlie 8:15 You’re right. I’ll get both!

Dean runs a hand down his face and stares around his house. Half-heartedly, he picks up the fun-sized candy wrappers and dumps them in the trash. He glares at the empty beer and liquor bottles in his recycling, but nothing he can do about that now.

When Charlie arrives, she takes one look at his face and says, “I’m calling Benny. And Jo. Sam. Maybe Garth.”

“Aw, come on,” Dean says as he shuts the door behind her. “It’s a school night.”

Charlie shoots him a quelling look. “You and Cas split. I don’t care what day of the week it is.”

Dean sighs. “Claire found out?”

“Duh,” Charlie says as she flops on his couch and picks up a slice of his pizza. “She spent one mopey day at school with you; of course she called her uncle first thing for the 411.”

“Great,” Dean mumbles as he throws himself into his seat and tries not to look at Charlie.

“You want to tell me what happened before the cavalry gets here?”

“Nope.”

“I’m really surprised this happened. Like, really.”

“That makes two of us,” Dean says darkly.

Cas had clearly been stressed. He always pulled away, was always on edge, before a big show. Cas lived and breathed for his art, but the dog and pony show to showcase his art was the bane of his existence.

But one argument at the wrong place at the wrong time was all it took to break everything to pieces.

It started over Thanksgiving plans. Dean had a standing date with Mom and Sammy, like he always had since he learned how to brine a turkey at fourteen. They usually had it at Mom’s house because of the size of her oven (not that she ever used it) even though Dean did all the cooking.

However, this year, this was the first year he’d been serious with Cas, and Cas insisted Dean come with him to Thanksgiving with his extended family. A requirement, apparently, not a request from Cas’s dad.

But Dean couldn’t just leave his family in the lurch, so, naturally he asked if Mom and Sammy could come along.

Cas vehemently refused. They would hate his family, he said. His parents had exacting standards and were generally awful people.

It escalated from there.

Dean scrubs the heels of his hands down his face. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look super fine, my dude.”

Dean looks up at her. “Yeah, I guess not.”

“But you will be,” Charlie says, pocketing her phone. “Trust me.”

He’s not magically better after a quasi-sleepover with all his friends. But he does feel lighter when he tells them about what happened. They all call Cas names - some Dean agrees with, most he doesn’t - and raid his cabinets for all and every available snack food.

A month and a half later, Dean gets an email about an upcoming show featuring Cas’s work. While they were dating, Dean got on so many gallery email lists, he can’t ever hope to unsubscribe to all of them. For a split second, he actually contemplates going.

He deletes the email.

Claire throws down a paper flyer for the show on his desk the next day. The kids are busy, off mashing clay into each other’s faces with Miss Rourke, so the classroom remains blessedly silent except for them.

Dean stares up at her, jaw clenching. “What the hell is this?”

“Uncle Cas is showing his art,” Claire says calmly. “I think you should go.”

“In case it somehow escaped your notice, we’re not together,” Dean says, forcing his voice to stay even. “I don’t have to go to any of his shows anymore.”

Claire huffs. “You should go to this one.”

“Claire-”

“You need to go to this one,” Claire amends, the faintest note of pleading to her words, which Dean has never heard before. “I - I saw some of his pieces. He hasn’t been doing so well since you two, you know.”

“Cas was the one who ended things. He made that choice.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “Then he lied or fucked up, or something. He’s not good.”

Dean takes the flyer, and some of the tension eases from Claire’s rigid spine. “I’ll think about it.”

“Fine,” she spins on her heel and gets started on rearranging the tables for storytime.

Dean stares down at the flyer in his hands.

He shouldn’t go.

Charlie would tell him to avoid it at all costs.

Sam would offer to go in his place to report back if Dean was really concerned.

These days, he can almost go a whole 24 hours without thinking about Cas.

Dean goes.

He even dresses up, pulling on the khakis Sam got him for Christmas three years ago that he’d never touched in his life, and a blue striped tie Claire got him as a gag gift for his birthday after he got together with Cas. (She got Cas a matching one when his next birthday rolled around.) His only other tie is for Parent-Teacher meetings, and it has cartoon apples and A pluses on it.

The gallery is a local one Cas favors for his newest stuff, a test drive for the more well-known shindigs in the big cities. An attendant swings by with a tray of champagne, and Dean gratefully takes a glass. He drains half of it in one swallow.

Cas always gets a good turnout, so Dean doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb. He wanders around the gallery, his heartstrings pulling at the familiar palette of colors, brushwork.

It doesn’t take him long to find the paintings Claire was talking about.

They’re all of him.

Blue Like I’ve Never Known is, predictably, done entirely in shades of blue. The frame shows Cas’s bed, the sheets rumpled to hell. The nude figure in it is lying on his side, his face (Dean’s face) in profile. But he’s not all there - the lines around his midsection, over his shoulder, and at the balls of his feet all blur in with the lines of the sheets tangled around him.

For Dark Grey All Alone, Cas didn’t paint entirely in greyscale. But he used such muted colors, it has the same effect. It shows Dean sitting at Cas’s kitchen table, his face thrown back in laughter. But here, too, he half-blends into the background, like a faded Victorian photograph.

Loving Him Was Red is last. Cas painted Dean behind the wheel of his baby, speeding towards the sunset, his face a relief of pinks, reds, oranges, and maroons.

“Dean?”

Dean whirls around at the sound of his name, and there he is.

“Hey, Cas,” he says, his throat dry.

Cas swallows, his gaze flicking to the trio of Deans behind him before settling on the live version. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see your show,” Dean says lamely.

Cas takes a step closer, his eyes wide, like he still can’t believe Dean is really standing in front of him.

Dean scans the gallery floor, but there are no convenient attendants with more glasses of champagne. Dammit. His gaze pulls back to Cas, as natural as anything. “You know, if she gets wind of this, she’ll probably sue your ass for copyright infringement.”

Cas licks his lips. “Those probably aren’t the final titles. I’ve, uh, been listening to a lot of Taylor Swift recently.”

“Really?”

“She covers the full spectrum of human emotion,” Cas says defensively. “I know you know this, or else you wouldn’t have recognized the lyrics either.”

Dean flushes. His top guilty pleasures go, 1. Dr. Sexy, MD, 2. Taylor Swift, 3. Biggerson’s Pepperjack Turducken Slammer.

“But, in all honesty,” Cas starts, “what are you doing here?”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “Claire told me to come.”

Cas swears under his breath. “I’m sorry. She shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, wait,” Dean says quickly, “I’m glad she did. I had no idea…” he drifts off, gesturing to the paintings behind him instead of finishing the thought he has no words for.

Cas sighs, glancing around. “Do you mind going somewhere private so we could talk?”

Dean blinks. Before his brain catches up with his mouth, he says, “Yeah, sure,” and follows Cas across the main floor and through a door marked STAFF ONLY in bold black letters.

Cas opens a side door and ushers him into a nondescript office. One window to the side of the desk shows the dark street in front of the gallery, and photos of Cas’s many family members adorn a cabinet in the corner - Dean just recognizes one of Cas’s dad, Chuck, shoved way in the back. Unsurprising, with how he fucked up his entire family.

“So,” Dean says as Cas closes the door firmly behind them. “I take it you got something on your mind?”

Cas nods, his face troubled. “I - I didn’t think you’d ever see the paintings.”

“Yeah, no shit -”

“But I’m glad you did,” Cas continues over his interruption. “I still have feelings for you.”

Dean had known this was coming. For fuck’s sake, Cas’s heartache is spread over three entire canvases outside. But still the words knock him speechless.

“I think I made a mistake when I said we should break up,” Cas says, his eyes downcast. “I didn’t actually want us to separate at all -”

What.

“- but when I said I wanted to leave, you didn’t stop me, so I figured it must have been for the best. If you didn’t bother fighting for us -”

That is it.

“If you didn’t want to leave, you shouldn’t have goddamn left!” Dean explodes. “I’m not a mindreader, Cas. If you say you want to do something, and you do it, how the hell am I gonna get that you secretly decided it was Opposite Day?”

Cas glares. “You said nothing when I walked out. How could I not have read more into it?”

Dean takes an incredulous step back. “I know your parents and siblings played mind games for fun, but my head doesn’t work like that. You have to be straight with me.” He pauses at the weird look on Cas’s face. “You know what I mean.”

Cas’s mouth purses. “You’ve always thought I was… somehow better than you. That you didn’t deserve to be at my side, which was patently ridiculous. I was worried your insecurities would get the better of you, that you didn’t think you could fight for us. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“It wasn’t my stupid inferiority complex, you dumb son of a bitch,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “it was you saying to my face you didn’t want to do this anymore. When I hear that, my first thought isn’t, he’s lying out of his ass.” He throws his hands up in the air. “Maybe I’m not the only one with a complex if you thought that was an awesome way of evaluating our relationship.”

Cas’s head tilts as he studies Dean. “Of course you’re not the only one,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’m full of shortcomings, but you never seemed to notice them.”

“I mean, now I do,” Dean says with a grimace. “I extra do. Now what?”

“Now,” Cas says, the corners of his mouth twitching, “I can keep groveling for you to take me back, or… ”

Dean takes a step back to sit against the edge of the desk. “It’s not that easy.”

Cas sighs as he moves to stand next to him, their shoulders brushing. “I know.”

“Like, what are we doing about Christmas?”

“Seriously?”

Dean holds up his hands. “I just want some sort of warning if it’s going to be a thing.”

“It won’t be,” Cas says shortly. “My family is currently not speaking to me.”

Dean makes a face. “What, us breaking up wasn’t a good enough reason for me not to show?”

“No, it’s because I didn’t go at all. I spent Thanksgiving working on my pieces. They’ve caused me nothing but agony for years, and, honestly, if I went, I probably would have said something hurtful and would have ended up in exactly the same place as I am now.”

Dean scrubs his face with the heel of his hand. “I had no idea you-”

“What, could be so disloyal?” Cas asks bitterly. “Believe me, I heard it all.”

“I was gonna say brave,” Dean says, inching his hand over so his fingers can intertwine with Cas’s. “They sounded really shitty, but I know family’s really important to both of us anyway.”

Cas meets his gaze, his face slack with clear relief. “They almost cost me you. Of course I couldn’t let that stand.”

When Dean tugs him closer and kisses him, it’s not blue, grey, or red. It’s golden, like daylight.

[1dmonthlyficroundup]

1D Monthly Fic Roundup 

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for April 2021! Below the cut you’ll find 17 One Direction fics that were all published this month in the order they were submitted to the blog. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup​. 

To Begin Again by @chloehl10​ / lovelarry10 

[Harry/Louis, 23k, Teen and Up, tumblr post] 

“I, uh, I’m really sorry for yelling at you like I did.”

“Hey, I deserved it and more. I’m lucky you didn’t come and deck me on the nose,” Louis said, holding his hands up as if to surrender. “Seriously, you went lightly on me. If a crazy dog was leaping around me and my kids, I’d have lost my shit long before you did, and it would have been a lot more sweary than yours as well.”

Harry laughed at that, quite liking the man now he was getting to know him. This Louis seemed to have a good sense of humour, and his dog was fairly likeable too, laying there sound asleep, sunbathing.

“Well, I don’t usually lose my temper, so I just wanted to apologise.”

“It’s me who needs to say sorry. My stupid dog ate their bloody eggs, and on Easter Sunday at that. It’s a good job we don’t go to church, Cliff, or we’d both be going straight to hell. Nice ears, by the way. I meant to say earlier.”

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Harry’s ready to spend a fun Easter morning with his two children at the park, but it’s thrown into chaos when an over-excited dog and his owner come barrelling into their lives…

A Small Matter (A Matter of Trust) by @kingsofeverything​ 

[Harry/Louis, 18k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

Harry knows he and his Grindr hookup would be perfect together, if only he could convince him to give a relationship a chance. 

Or Harry has a thing for jock straps. Louis likes to wear them. 

Are you proud of me? by @sadaveniren​ 

[Harry/Louis, 2k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

Louis was completely naked, except for a silk scarf that Harry had never seen before. It was tied around his neck like a bow. His lithe body was cast in dramatic shadows as he descended the stairs and all Harry could think was holy shit, mine, mine, mine.

“Well this is a shame. I was hoping you’d keep the boa.”

Harry blinked in surprise at his voice. He was too caught up in his perfection. “What?”

“I guess the leather will do. I do love you dressed in leather.”

aka I show up 2 weeks late with Grammy Fic

Right Back Home to You by @behindmeday​

 [Harry/Nick Grimshaw, 4k, Teen & Up, tumblr post] 

It wasn’t the first time Harry and Nick were cut off before they really got started talking. In fact, it seemed to be happening more often than not. Nick had an insane schedule that no rational person would choose, but Harry’s was even worse. Between the early mornings on The Breakfast Show and the never-ending time zone changes of tour, it seemed that Harry and Nick weren’t really meant to have any real conversations these days. 

Or, Harry writes Nick a song. 

take my hand (my whole life too) by @beckydoesthings​ / beckywritesthings

 [Harry/Louis, 44k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

“You’re famous?” he asks, deciding to dive straight into the heart of the issue.

Harry winces, dropping his gaze to the table. “Erm… famous is one word for it.”

Well, that’s reassuring. Louis raises an eyebrow until Harry heaves a sigh and continues.

“How much do you know about the British monarchy?”

His stomach drops to the floor in a heartbeat, jaw following suit. There’s no way that what Harry’s insinuating is possible. But as the time ticks by, there’s no change in the deadly serious expression on Harry’s face, fingers twitching steadily on the table as he waits for Louis’ answer.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Or a Crazy Rich Asians AU with a royal twist where Harry is a prince, Louis is most definitely not, and there’s a royal wedding to attend.

Forever Is In Your Eyes by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed​ / we_are_the_same 

[Harry/Louis, 126k, Teen & Up, tumblr post] 

Harry looks fragile in the moonlight, and Louis stands there, pondering, not even sure what it is that he’s thinking of. It’s all just noise in his head, a mix of melancholy and desire, of longing for something that he doesn’t even have a name for.

He wants-

He wants love. He wants to be held and cherished and have a home. Not just a place to lay his head down at night. He wants to be loved the way that Louis had loved creating Harry. He wants his perfect man, but he wants him to be real. He wants Harry to be real-

His lips press against marble, against something cold and unforgiving, and it’s not until his hand comes up to rest against a sculpted neck that his eyes fly open and he stumbles backwards, nearly falling off the stepladder that he’d stood on.

“Jesus Christ.” He whispers, shaking his head and resisting the urge to brush the back of his hand against his lips, erase evidence that isn’t even visible to the naked eye. Harry stands there, as though nothing’s changed, and of course he does, because he’s a statue.

A statue that Louis has just kissed.

Stuck in an eternal spring by @chrysopon​ / flamboyo 

[Louis/Zayn, 4k, Teen & Up, tumblr post] 

Louis is about to go crazy in the silent solitude of London’s lockdown. The only breach into the grey monotony of his days is the hope of catching a glimpse of the dark-haired guy who lives in the building across the street. One night they have their night cigarette together while both in their flats, twenty meters and an empty, quiet street between them. It becomes a habit, but maybe there’s hope for it to become something more. 

It’s Been So Long by @elsi-bee​ / elsi_bee 

[Harry/Louis, 31k, Teen & Up, tumblr post] 

Harry Styles’ first crush was one of his sister’s best friends, a certain someone named Louis Tomlinson. And Louis? He just vaguely remembers Gemma’s younger brother from back in the day. 

A lot can change in ten years. 

Featuring Niall and Liam as Harry’s friends, flirting, fluff, and flashbacks to the awkward days of high school. 

This Dream Lost by @zanniscaramouche​ / zanni_scaramouche

[Liam/Louis/Harry, 5k, Mature, tumblr post] 

It’s a dangerous game to play his Alpha like this, and it gives Harry a thrill through his spine he’s not sure he likes. It’ll be worth it, but he doubts he’ll be pulling any surprises on Louis for a while after this. He can’t fucking stand it as is and it’s not even really for Louis, it’s for Liam. 

Mercy by @zanniscaramouche​ / zanni_scaramouche 

[Niall/Shawn Mendes, 5k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

“I-” Shawn licks his lips, eyes bright and wide with the shock. 

Balls in his court now. He could refuse, step away from the line they’re toeing and laugh it off. But he doesn’t, just like Niall knew he wouldn’t. Because Shawn wants this. They both do, and that’s what makes it so fucking insane. 

Blind Faith by @2tiedships2​ 

[Harry/Louis, 18k, Mature, tumblr post] 

“Harry?” Liam prompted.

“I’m blind,” Harry eventually said, trying his best to keep himself from crying.

Liam was silent for a few moments, before responding, “That’s not exactly news, H. You were blind when I met you a year and a half ago. Have you been in denial this whole time or something?”

“No, Liam,” Harry cut in. “This is different. I’m not legally blind like I used to say. It’s not just my night vision. The tunnel from my tunnel vision has closed. I’m fucking blind! I moved halfway around the world in the hope of finding my soulmate and it’s obviously not happening now. Not even a soulmate is going to want to put up with a blind alpha.“

The Journal by @wait4ever​ / RecycledStardust & @evilovesyou​ / 4ureyesonly28 

[Louis/Harry, 14k, General, tumblr post] 

When Harry finds himself purchasing an antique journal in the ancient bookshop of a town he’s never heard of, he doesn’t exactly want to admit that he has no idea how he got there. A myriad of odd coincidences and a few kind smiles from the shopkeeper have the two of them working hard to solve the mystery of this strange journal that seems to have been waiting for Harry for almost a hundred and thirty years. 

But I’m the Quarterback by @evilovesyou​ / 4ureyesonly28 

[Harry/Louis, 52k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

Harry Styles is the quarterback of Sunny High’s football team, dating the beautiful head cheerleader, and determined to enter his senior year with focus and discipline. That is, until a strange man shows up at his home, makes his girlfriend break up with him, and convinces his parents to send him off to a “reparative therapy camp” over the summer. 

At True Directions, Harry meets four other boys and five girls, all there to be cured of their homosexuality. He has to find a way out of this place as soon as possible—Christ, he isn’t even gay! 

Know a Trick or Two by @sadaveniren​ 

[Harry/Louis, 45k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

The night before Louis is scheduled for a Portkey to begin training with the Vratsa Vultures in Bulgaria he heads into Muggle London for one last night of fun. A few months later he finds out he’s having a child. 

Eleven years ago Harry had a one night stand and now there’s a strange man on his doorstep telling him his daughter is something called a wizard and she’s got a place at the British wizarding school Hogwarts. 

Aka the one where Muggle Harry and Wizard Louis have a one night stand and get more than they bargained out of it. 

Until That Day by @kingsofeverything​ 

[Harry/Louis, 44k, Explicit, tumblr post] 

Harry Styles is days away from walking down the aisle when his previous failed weddings are turned into a public spectacle by jaded London journalist Louis Tomlinson. Hoping to witness Harry leave another groom at the altar, Louis heads to Holmes Chapel, where nothing goes as planned, and he finds himself falling for the serial heartbreaker. 

A Runaway Bride movie AU 

Caught In Your Gravity by @lululawrence​ 

[Harry/Louis, 63k, Not Rated, tumblr post] 

It felt like the blood froze in Harry’s veins even as he got a bit lightheaded. He hadn’t even made it two practices, only one of which he was remotely in charge of, without giving it all away and now he and Liam were both absolutely fucked.

“Shit,” Harry breathed out. “Who all have you told? Does everyone know? I thought I covered it better than that…”

“No, no,” Louis said quickly. “They’ll figure it out soon enough, though, because they’ll get used to you changing things up, but you’re only going to trip over your so called Americanisms for so long before they realize it’s because you don’t actually know fuck all about football.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I figured. I just need to bullshit for long enough to allow Liam to get the situation figured out from his end.”

“Right, which brings me to my entire point. I think we can find a mutually beneficial arrangement with all of this.” Louis leaned forward. “You need to learn the ins and outs of the sport incredibly fast. I can help you with that.”

“What do you want in exchange?”

Or, an AU inspired by a 30 second trailer of Ted Lasso that doesn’t actually have much in common with the show at all.

Passing By by @larryyouknow​

[Harry/Louis, 48k, Explicit, tumblr post]

Sometimes, people are in each other’s lives just for the briefest of moments. They meet and then go their separate ways because being vulnerable is scary and it might be easier to not let anybody else in. But some people aren’t meant to be just passing by. Maybe when they open their eyes, they can learn things about themselves they haven’t known before. If they let their hearts speak they will find a way to be together.

Or the one where Harry doesn’t even know he’s into guys until he meets Louis on a boat trip. There’s something more to their friendship but it ain’t gonna be smooth sailing.

[nationalharryleague]

So Golden

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: FLUFF

Word count: 1.2K

A/N: Hi guys! This is a quick and fluffy little something I wrote super quick tonight! I hope you like it and please let me know what you think in my ask! You can also read more of my work here in my masterlist!

***

“Harry, you have to stop fidgeting,” you playfully scolded as you attempted to smooth the foundation brush across his cheeks. You were both sitting on the floor, you straddling his thighs, hovering closely to his face and concentrating on getting an even coverage. He let his eyes fall closed and his back rest against the foot of your bed, hair held out of his face by a clip sat atop his head in a poof.

“It tickles,” he whined and you giggled in response. You gently slid the foundation over his skin, moving to even his skin tone but not to cover up all his moles and freckles you loved so much. You dabbed concealer under his eyes to cover the blue hue that always developed when he was working too much and over small spots on his forehead that had started this whole ordeal. After complaining about a pimple, you had offered him some concealer and it had somehow morphed into a full blown makeover.

“Oi, be careful,” he muttered, as you dabbed under his eyes to blend the cream. His long eyelashes fluttered and flinched with every gentle tap.

“You’re acting like you’ve never had your makeup done before, Mr. Rockstar,” you teased as you rested a hand on his bare chest to steady yourself. You had moved on to powder and set his base, sliding the big puffy brush coated in a white powder softly across his still slightly blushed cheeks.

“I only let professionals do my makeup,” his pouty lips smirked, teasing right back. You feigned offense with a gasp and moved to get off his lap, but your hips were caught by his large hands, his eyes never even opening in the shuffle. “I’m kidding, don’t stop,” he spoke softly. You continued on to blush, popping it on the apples of his cheeks, deciding to skip contour as his cheekbones and jawline didn’t need any help.

You loved being this close to him. While the two of you were that couple, and spent the majority of your time touching each other in some way shape or form, you hadn’t gotten the opportunity just to stare at him for a while. Harry was always on the move, unable to sit still for any extended period of time you could use to observe him. The only time you got to stare and take him all in was while he was asleep, but Harry had recently become an early riser, always out of bed by the time the sun broke through the curtains and woke you from your slumber.

You carefully watched him as you worked. Light fell softly over his flushed cheeks and showed off his exquisite eyelashes, ones you had always teased he had no use for. His tattooed chest rose and fell lightly with his soft breath and you resisted the urge to press your hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat; sometimes still questioning whether or not he was real or a figment of your imagination.

“Open your eyes,” you instructed, rousing him from his peaceful calm due to your own selfish urge to get a look at your favorite shade of green. His eyes fluttered open and there it was. His irises were a speckled mix of forest and moss greens and always reminded you of shattered sea glass.

“What color are you thinking for my eyeshadow?” he asked, looking down at the stacks of eyeshadow pallets you had pulled out from the drawers in your vanity.

“Gold,” you told him confidently. “I think it’ll go nicely with your eyes.”

“I trust your professional opinion,” he said as he nodded in agreement, knowing if he teases you again that you would quit for real this time.

You continued on to his eyes, attempting to blend warm browns over his eyelids, prepping them for the bright and metallic golds you had planned. With each tap of your brush, his breath caught in his chest lightly in surprise and his eyelashes fluttered with the flinching of his eyes, no matter how many times you warned him the brush was coming. You smoothed the gold across his lids at last, brightening them with a sparkle and metallic gleam. He stayed quiet and still as you worked for the most part despite the ‘I’m so golden’ he occasionally sang, earning a laugh from you.

“Do I look pretty yet?” he sing-songed from underneath you, clearly running out of patience.

“You’re always pretty, my darling,” you assured him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, praying not to have smudged any of your work in the process. You decided to forego eyeliner, knowing that would never end up going well on your fidgety boyfriend. You carefully applied glue to a set of false eyelashes and waited for them to get tacky while you explained the importance of him staying still for your next step.

“If you move too much, they will get glued to your real eyelashes and the glue will pull them all out,” you warned.

“Jesus Christ, that’s brutal.”

“Beauty is pain. Now, stay still or else,” you playfully threatened as you neared him with the eyelashes. After a few tense moments, they were on and Harry was complaining that his eyelids were heavy.

“How do people see in these things?” he whined, unable to open his eyes more than half way and rapidly blinking.

“Give them a moment,” you instructed through giggles, batting his hands away from touching. “You will adjust.”

“Too big to adjust to,” he groaned.

“That’s what she said,” you quipped. After your joke, he magically gained enough ability in his eyes again to roll them.

Your final touch was a red lip, knowing it would pop against his green eyes and tanned skin. You slid the lipstick bullet over his pouty pink lips, erasing his natural rosey shade and replacing it with a cherry red. You instructed him to press his lips together to blend any harsh edges and had him smile, rubbing off a tiny bit that had transferred onto his pearly whites.

With a dab of highlight here and there, your masterpiece was complete. While you always thought your boyfriend was gorgeous, he looked so pretty all done up like this. While he was one of the male celebrities more familiar with femininity and makeup, you still couldn’t understand why he didn’t wear it more often. He looked hot.

“Can I see now?” he asked politely, moving to grab the handheld mirror layed on the carpet next to him. You nodded and he gasped when he saw himself in the reflection. “I look hot!” he exclaimed with a laugh, looking at the giant smile on your face before returning to inspect his own further. “I do kinda look like Gem though,” he pointed out after more observation.

You leaned in and pressed your own carefully painted lips to his, unable to resist any longer. His arms snaked up your legs and settled on your hips, pulling your chests against each other, and your own arms hooked around his neck. You felt his now much longer eyelashes brush against the tops of your cheeks and slightly slick lips sliding against each other a little bit more than usual. Coming up for breath, you caught a slight glimpse of him and was slightly startled by who stared back at you, pushing yourself away from him.

“I’m sorry, you have to take it off. It’s like making out with your sister.”

Thank you so much for reading!! Please let me know what you think here! Reblogs are appreciated :) 

[my-simp-land]

Orange Blossom Kisses

more domestic fluff because that's all I dream about. Bucky x reader. 1747 words. again, i didn't do any profreading so...happy reading!

Fridays are reserved for baking. Ever since I moved into the compound, I’ve trashed my(Stark’s) kitchen making delicious cakes, pies, pastries, you name it. Each week I try to make something for someone, but I don't tell them it’s for them. Kinda like gift giving. This week, I’ve been pestering Steve about things Bucky may like. I think he knows I’m trying to get recipe ideas out of him, so he’s made it quite difficult.

“Cakes? From the old days? Oooooh, I don’t know. It’s been so long ago. You said yourself I’m an old geezer. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”

“What’d ya say? I can’t hear ya. These ears aren’t as good as they used to be.”

“Oh I don’t remember any pie recipes. I was but a wee lad and didn’t pay attention to the kitchen.”

Thankfully, I got Sam to work as my spy in exchange for an apple pie. Steve had told him about the orange blossom cookies Bucky’s mother would make. Usually Steve and Bucky were joined at the hip, but on orange blossom days, Bucky and Becca would stick to their mother’s side. Steve would usually hang around and enjoy the fresh orange smell. I used a couple favors to track down an old fashioned orange blossom cookie recipe. I changed it up to fit Bucky’s description of a good cookie (don’t worry; he can be pretty critical.)

“Damn hothead. The whole building smells like an orange. What are you making?” Tony asked. He funded my Friday

baking extravaganza as long as he got his ‘blueberry stuff.’

“I’m making orange blossom cookies, Tony. Orange. Blossom. The kitchen is sticky, so I couldn't come any closer.”

“The kitchen? The whole thing? How did you manage to get orange juice everywhere?”

“I’m the one baking. What did you expe- oh hey guys. Y’all are back early. What are you doing here so early?”

Steve, Sam, and Bucky shuffled their soaking wet bodies onto the dining room rug. “Rain. Apparently, the weather station is as bad as it was in the 40s.”

Tony switches his concern from the sticky kitchen to the soaked rug, but Bucky steps into the kitchen.

“Whatcha makin, doll?”

“Uh, just some cookies. Go get dried off and you can help me if you want.”

“Sure. I’ll be right back.” Bucky hurries down the hall. His heavy steps down the hall gives Steve enough cover to slip into the kitchen behind me.

“Bucky loves orange blossom cookies. It was one of the only things that could separate us. I know you’re good at guessing, but how did you end up hitting the nail on the head?”

I could only smile. Steve was a smart guy, but he could get pretty boy syndrome sometimes.

“A little red bird happened to mention something to me. A few favors later and I was presented with the finest orange blossom cookie recipe in the Northeast.”

“I see. I guess I should’ve known the master baker could get whatever they want with the promise of a home baked pie or honey butter croissants. I’ll keep that in mind next time you need something. I’ll see you two around.”

With Steve’s departure, Bucky slides right next to me, hip to hip. He’s only wearing some classic grey sweatpants and the tee shirt I embroidered a chibi Bucky onto. His hair is pulled back into a bun, still dripping water onto the nape of his neck. At this distance, I can admire Bucky’s baby blue eyes and his 5 o’clock shadow. Once Bucky got back from Wakanda, he cut his hair short and shaved his beard, but recently, he’s been working towards the white wolf look.

“Alright, doll. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Oh okay. Uh, I’ve got all the ingredients prepared for baking. Let me check the recipe.” I go to grab the sheet of notebook paper that I scribbled the recipe down on, but Bucky gets to it before I do. He studies the paper hard. His brows scrunch together and his lip between his teeth. His metal arm falls around me and brings us shoulder to shoulder. At this proximity I can tell Bucky spritzed a little cologne on. The refreshing smell of pine and eucalyptus cuts through the overwhelming smell of oranges.

“This recipe is shit. What if I told you I know a better one?”

“Oh um well then I’d say take the lead. I hope I’ve got everything you need.”

“You’re everything I need sugar, but this stuff should be good.”

I can feel the heat rush to my cheeks. “Let's start by making the wet mix and then we’ll slowly add the dry ingredients in.”

Baking with Bucky is a dangerous game. We work well in the kitchen, but Bucky’s hands tend to wander. Resting on my lower back, brushing my thigh, standing close enough that I could feel his warm breath on my neck. By this point, my face is flush enough to cook these cookies, but the cookies are already in the oven. Maybe next time.

“Lookin’ beautiful, dollface. The cookies are looking pretty good too. They gotta rest a bit. We can work on the glaze now.”

Oh god. Things got saucy with the glaze. Not only did Bucky wiggle his eyebrows and point to the glaze in an inappropriate manner, but he was very handsy. We basically recreated that one dirty dancing scene with the kitchenaid. It didn’t help that Tony walked into the kitchen halfway through our romantic mixing. He had quite a lot to say: tinman and hothead, the cold and the hot, opposites attracting. You get the bit.

“Doll, I think this is the best glaze I’ve ever seen. We make quite the pair.”

“I’d have to agree with you there. I wonder what else we could get into.”

I realize what I said too late. His eyes grow wide and his smirk stretches from cheek to cheek. “Is that so, doll? I would love to work with you some more. Cooking dinner, dodgeball, go karts. Maybe some f-”

“Aren’t you supposed to be best friends with Steve? Like two peas in a pod? I wouldn’t want to upset Steve. That just doesn’t seem right. A disrespect to America. America’s ass, you know? A disrespect.”

That shuts him up.

“You look at Steve’s ass?”

“Well, yes. I mean no! I don’t look. I mean it’s a nice butt, you have to agree, but I wouldn’t know since I don’t look. I do not look at Steve’s ass.”

“Oooooo. You look at Steve’s ass. No wonder you zone out during meetings so much. All that cake bouncing around. Is that why you bake? Trying to recreate that dump truck? Do you look at other people’s ass? Do you look at my ass?”

“Bucky! I- I just know a good ass when I see one okay?”

“Well, what about my ass? Whose is better: mine or Sam’s? I know you’ve looked.”

Christ on a cracker this man is gonna kill me. “Bucky, y’all both have nice asses okay. Steve has the ass. You have the thighs. Sam has the pecs. It's as simple as that, okay? Why don’t we invite everyone down to try these cookies”

“Whatever you say, angel.”

Once everyone made it to the kitchen, we fixed everything up nice and served them to the rest of the family. They were an overall hit. Tony loved them because he’s a hardass, but Rhodes would’ve liked them just a bit softer. Thor enjoyed them with milk. Natasha made quite a few comments about how silky smooth the glaze was and how it complimented the cookie perfectly.

Once everyone was served and sent on their way, Bucky and I sat down to try our creation. I set our plates and meet Bucky in the common room. We cuddled up hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder in the common room to enjoy our cookies and begin a movie.

“You know, my mother used to make orange blossom cookies when I was young.” I looked up to Bucky’s face. I could see all the emotions. Pain. Happiness. Nostalgia. “My sister and I would always help her cook them. It was damn near impossible to come by an orange back in the day so sometimes we’d use other citruses. Orange was always the best. There was one time Becca had gotten some flowers from a sailor visiting from down south. The flowers were damn near dead when she brought them home. My pa told her that they would eat the flowers on their journey, so she did what she could to stick the flowers in the glaze and make pretty cookies. I wish I could remember what the flowers were.”

“I’m sorry Buck. I wish I could help.”

“No, no. I should say thank you. Coming in and smelling the orange and you telling me what you were making awoken something in me. At first, I was upset because I never got to make those cookies with my mom and sister again, but I’m glad I go the opportunity to make such sweet memories with you.” My breath was caught in my throat. I could feel the tears in my eyes and could just see the reflection of some in his. “She would’ve loved you. So strong, don’t take any shit, but so soft and gentle. You could keep me straight and make me bake cookies with you. Becca would’ve picked at you a bit to see if you’d hold, but she would’ve made you her sister quicker than I could’ve married you.”

“You want to marry me?”

“Well, doll, I love you. I’d love to spend a future together with you, but I think I should ask you to be my girl first. But I don't want you to feel pressured. Or you might like Steve or Sam or someone else. I don’t know. I don’t want to assume. You-”

I don’t you what came over me, but his lips were so sweet. They were sugary sweet from the cookie glaze, but the tartness of the orange made it refreshing. His lips felt so soft against mine; I never wanted this kiss to end.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I’ll be your girl. Only if you’ll have me.”

His smile took over his face. His lips were stretched thin and wrinkles fell beside his eyes.

“My girl. My best girl.”

[samsm2mstories]

Body Swapping with Romeo Beckham (A dream I had) PART 2

As we were talking, I couldn't help but to check my mobile out and see everything on my phone, my contact list was crazy! I now have an older brother and a younger brother plus a sister. Looking through my contacts I see familiar names like HRVY, Blake Gray and other famous names and influencers. My photo collection is a ton of selfies and places that I have been too and suddenly I went into my social media pages. FUCK I'm totally famous as there is so many followers on all my new pages.

Romeo who was me was laughing away as he knew I was checking him out and told me it's not all fun and games, I now have an appearance to keep up and I better get used to the press being on my back alot. He got up and told me to be back here in two days time, he was rubbing my former bulge during these talks. We agreed on a time and he said his goodbyes and told me to take it easy. I got up myself as I slide my phone into my green short pockets. I felt uneasy standing up as I was much lighter and taller, I shook Sam's hand and went my way.

Walking back I was checking my new outfit which suited this new body of mine, tattoo's over my twinkish tanned leg, high socks and a pair of AF1s on my feet. A plain black tee and this totally awesome snapback which was holding my beautiful longer hair back. I felt so energetic feeling this new body and seeing how it naturally walks. I knew from walking back I had to explore this body more but something caught my eye. I have noticed in my new gained memories that Romeo was planning for longer swaps if I was his break. My new bulge grew instantly at the thought of that as I must be careful not to cause an embarrassing scene, luckily nobody was about so I took a quick peek at what I got in my shorts.

FUCK ROMEO I'M HUNG AS FUCK!

I chuckled as I well impressed having this new package of mine and it suddenly hit me that I'm hungry, having all these memories helped as I went to my car which was a beauty! I'm driving a 45k Jeep now!

JESUS CHRIST I'M SURE RICH NOW BABY!

I got in checking everything out, new touchscreens, so many more buttons, getting familiar with everything as I recently just passed my test and this was my first vehicle. I was loving this life but I decided to head to the nearest shops but I must first check out how busy it is as I don't want all the extra attention being a popular person in a pack store. First shop I normally enjoy was too packed which was a joke as I really wanted to eat from there so be it. I took the risk and pull on a hoodie.

It's a good thing I got some spare clothes with me, this must be such a pain having to deal with the attention if not being careful, already I feeling the pressures of this new life. Hoodie, mask and a snapback so I walked into the busy posh store. I was checking out all these new interesting foods that was on other, the prices were extortionate but who cares? It's like loose change to me!! I found some stuff this body likes and I paid for it at the till and saw this handsome guy there. He was a complete stud, luckily he didn't notice who I was and I memorised his name and decided to slip him my number.

Did I actually do that? This new found confidence of Romeo's mixed with my alpha personality was something unquestionable. I do have a current GF but she is away for a few weeks and so is the real Romeo. This is my body now for two days.

This sushi tastes AMAZING as I'm getting used to my new tastes now, I couldn't help eating it as I was walking since I was hungry. It seems this body enjoys food but rarely put on any weight. Luckily enough I hardly got any plans for today but I got to hit my home gym or do football practice in my back garden to keep myself active. Time to head back home.

It felt incredible exploring my new life as I'm having to learn everything from my newly gained memories. You know I could get used to this pressure with ease, maybe that Romeo wanted. Someone like me being him on his breaks from life. I actually would accept that someone is controlling parts of my life while I control part of his. This feels so natural as we both got the same excitement. I couldn't help but checking my new boyish face in the mirrors taking in every facial expression I can do.

All of this was secretly turning this body horny as I recall how I enjoyed my own stories. Now here I am living it as a reality. I'm the sexy Romeo enjoying life to the max. I arrived at a huge gated entrance as the cameras and sensors reckonised my car and face. It opened up to a large drive way to this enormous mansion!!! I was in awe as this is my new home!

I pulled next to an Bentley that must of been my father car. It seems fairly quiet as my parents are in LA with my younger siblings. My older brother has his own place so that means I got this whole place to myself apart from the staff that keep this place in shape.

I got out and walked into this grand place, There was 10 bedrooms with their own bathrooms, two large kitchens, 4 reception rooms and so much more. I knew all of this naturally as I lived here. I went towards my bedroom and WOW IT WAS HUGEE!

I couldn't resist it any longer as I took my clothes off and admired my sexy body in the mirror. I was surely very toned and fit. Muscles all over, I was loving my smooth sexy mini six pack knowing I've worked hard daily to gain this strength. I couldn't help but admired this body all over and then I had to deal with my bulge. I jumped onto my new huge bed and moved my hand down my abs towards my new cock. I closed my eyes and pumped my cock slowly feeling up the new skin and veins over it. It felt like my first time all over again as I pumped it more which I moaned softly getting used to this new bigger cock of mine. Everytime my hand went down, I moaned louder as it was sending me crazy. I went faster and faster as I was enjoying this until I let go and shot my loads into an empty cup. I was breathing loudly seeing thick loads shooting away until I depleted my tanks. I couldn't believe how thick these loads are. My very own body now is relieved as I looked at the cup and craved it. I had to do it so I drank my loads and it tasted delicious! I knew considering how flexible I am that I could potentially suck myself but that can wait.

I went into my walk in wardrobe and saw my mass collection of clothes. It was a dream come true! All these huge names were mine for pickings. I enjoyed wearing my outfit today but I'm keeping to that for now on. Hoodies, snapbacks and af1s or Jordans. I want to show off my sexy legs as they were perfected like everything else is. I feel Romeo would want me to be him more often. I suddenly remembered that I got a flight to LA in a days time.

He has set me up! I'm actually got to be him for months as he set the deal up differently to what we said. Not that I'm worried but fuck this is me now. This is all mine and my mobile started ringing.

It was that guy at the shop.

Part 3 coming soon