#They are MUCH too big brain about all of this

[midnghtprentiss]

yours - jack abbot x f!doctor!reader

a/n: this is for “ a doctor day” which i am so happy to be a part of. it took me some time to think about something cool but i tried my best to work with this prompt. so i really really really hope you enjoy it as much as me. i tried to be subtle about the color cause in my head it means something really bigger. 

a big thank you to @letsgobarbs @ananonymousaffair @clubsoft for creating this project!!!

prompt: The nights feel dull and tasteless without you, I try to get through them but they seem so endless.

color: pink.

word count: +3k

Everything started with an offer for you to go teach at a hospital in London. You were so excited, it was your dream since medical school and you’ve worked hard to experience the things you always wanted. It started small: residency, then you got masters and a doctorate. The job offer wasn’t out of the blue, they were watching your every move, gluing to the details of your incredible brain. 

You loved working at the ED, the adrenaline, the sight of doing something good and to actually do what you loved. You found valuable things there: friends, family and love. You found Jack there. He was your rock, the biggest supporter you could ever get and he couldn’t get in the way of you getting what you always wanted. The moment you told him what they offered he knew being selfish would kill him and letting you go would kill him either. 

The breakup was clean with a lot of tears and feelings. Too many words were said meaning the same thing: you loved him and he loved you more than anyone. 

“Will you miss me?” You whispered, cuddled with him. 

“Every day til you come back to me.” He smelled your hair, pulling you closer. 

So he let you go, even if meant to put his plans on stand by. The house, the ring, the children. He would wait and so did you. 

The day you left was the day he lost himself in his own mind. Jack was quieter, more introspective and a little sadder, Robby pointed out for Dana once. He was still capable of doing his job, of course he was. But you weren’t there to help him, to make funny remarks about him or to share a candy bar when the chaos finally stopped. You weren’t there for him to take you home, in fact, you were making yourself a home somewhere else that wasn’t with him. 

He was terrified of you meeting another person that could easily erase him from your mind. The idea of you marrying someone else haunted him more often than he could admit. He would never forgive himself if the children of another man had the eyes of the girl he couldn’t forget - his girl.

You stopped talking to each other as a silent agreement. It was easy to do your jobs if the anxiety of someone waiting for the call or text wasn’t on your mind all the time. Suddenly three months became three years and the lump in your throat, the knot in Jack’s chest, got loose. 

The countless nights you almost called him to hear his voice or text to know how he was doing, if he was eating, sleeping and trying to be a normal person. Jack almost did the same too. He dialed your number and gave up, he wrote you letters and a journal to inform you about how he was dealing with the distance.

You moved on, made friends, got yourself a home with the things you only dreamed off before and got your shit together. You were a really popular name among the medical teaching. You did some impressive research, amazing experiments and innovations on the field, especially on emergency education, the top of your field. Jack watched you from afar the whole time, he read your papers, he watched your online classes, he did everything to keep you close to him. And he waited patiently for you. 

Pitt was watching you again, they needed someone like you to teach new doctors on the night shift and to take the hospital to the next level, so they offered you another deal. 

You accepted right away. No questions asked. 

Your first call was to Robby and Dana, you decided to let them know you were coming back to work at the hospital again. They were really happy, especially Dana for getting her coffee partner back. You thought about texting Jack, but the uncertain feeling if we ever wanted to hear about you again made you tremble with fear, so you didn’t. Perhaps he already knew you were coming back. 

He did. 

The cold Pittsburg breeze brought back the familiar memories once again. The laughter, the tears, the pain and the comfort. You needed that so bad, you almost didn’t feel the moisture on your cheeks and your heavy breathing. 

Nothing like home, right?

You got into the hospital fifteen minutes before your shift started. You were overjoyed to be there surrounded by so many familiar faces. Princess and Perlah were the first ones to see you, for a fraction of seconds you almost missed their hugs. 

“You are so back! Thank God.” Princess held you tighter, shaking you in her arms. 

“I’m so glad to be back.” They let you go and you went straight to the nursing station, catching Robby and Dana’s attention. 

“I can’t believe my eyes.” Robby’s words made you blush, embracing them. “We missed you here, London.” 

“London?” You questioned him with eyebrows raised. 

“Only the best of us came back, I’m glad you did.” Dana whispered, kissing your temple. 

“I can’t wait to see you making these guys peed in their pants.” 

“It’s going to be a pleasure to make them fear me.” Robby gasped, making you laugh a little louder. 

The nurses joined in for a warm hug and some small talk, even Garcia showed up to see you and you were really surprised to find out she’s literally dating a girl from the residency. She just mouthed you that you talk more later and moved back to the OR. You really missed those people and suddenly life was so much better and lighter. 

He was watching everything from the other side of the room. His heart filled with something he couldn’t give a name right away. You looked different in his eyes. Maybe your hair, your bone structure, your cheeks. He didn’t know. Still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.  You were there, so close to him and he was paralyzed. Frozen in his own world. 

Jack spent nights imagining how he would react when you come back, how he would take you in his arms and forget the rest about the rest, kiss your face and plead you to not walk away ever again, to make his arms home once more. But you were right there and he lost his ability to move and be a fucking person. 

You caught his eyes and gave him a shy smile. Not going straight to him, giving the time you knew he was going to need before doing something else and besides, you were so involved with the crew that for a millisecond you forgot about the butterfly in your stomach almost making you throw up there. 

He wasn’t ready to talk to you. Not yet. Jack heard the rumors, he knew you’ll be back soon to be in the hospital again. Same shift, same people, different you, different him. He hated the change. At the same time, he needed to have you right over there next to him to make sure you weren’t going anywhere far from him. His mind was racing with millions of things and most of them were about you.

By the time the shift started, you were already with the students, talking about your work and what you expect them to do and learned from you. They noticed how smillish and nice you seem just for the way you lead them through the trauma bay introducing one by one to the team. First Shen, who was too energetic by your return to stop talking and then Ellis, who were all sweet and great with everybody else. Bridget couldn’t keep her hands to herself, hugging you in all the opportunities she had. And then Jack, he was serious the whole time, shaking the students hands and quickly looking at you. 

“This is the night shift crew. If I’m not around you can always ask them for help. Doctor Shen is the sweetest person here but you don’t want to piss him off. Dr. Ellis is an amazing teacher if you want to learn something and I’m pretty sure you want to, again guys, don’t piss her off.” You took a deep breath and looked at him. “This is doctor Abbot, he is the best trauma surgeon here and if I were you, I’ll try to be nice to him, he’s a surprise box to solve problems and rage Dr. Walsh.”

You tried your best to focus on them, ignoring his hot gaze on your face, reading you microexpressions like it was his newspaper. His presence made you overwhelmed enough to stumble in a few words. They introduced themselves to them and led them to the patients they were looking for at night. 

Jack liked the new version of you. Confident, smarter, better. Watching you teach was absolutely incredible, you delivered everything without problems, making these kids really think and understand what took him years to do. The more he looked, the more he wanted to take you home and forget about the three years you were gone. 

“Want a picture, Abbot?” You teased him, leaning against the counter with a tablet in hand. 

“If looking at a pretty thing is a crime put me in the fucking jail.” He crossed his arms, locking your gaze. 

“Good to know your taste hasn't changed.” 

“We’re talking about something really serious and I don’t play about anything that revolves around you.” He admitted, coming closer to where you were. “You were missed around here.” 

“I missed being here too.” Your words sounded like a whisper as he was getting closer. 

“We need to talk.” Jack held your arm, softly caressing your skin. 

“Abbot’s pancakes?” 

“You’re still bossy, wow.” He would do whatever you asked. “Whatever you want, gorgeous.” 

“Asshole.” You dismissed him, going the other way shaking your head. 

The next hours felt like you’ve never gone away for three years. The crew was the same you remembered but better and your tiredness didn’t turn out to be an issue. At 07 am you were pretty awake, the adrenaline was making you excited and you couldn’t stop moving around the room. 

You spent at least twenty minutes explaining about your patients to the day crew before really leaving the ER. It was a great day for you, the familiar taste of doing what you love with people you love made your heart ache with happiness. You were glad to be there again. 

Jack was waiting for you at the parking lot, hands in his pockets and eyes on you. You approached him slowly, stopping a few steps away. He watched your face with a discreet smirk, shaking his head. 

He followed you to your car, making sure you were safe enough to drive to his house - the same one you shared for almost two years. The unease on your chest was making you almost throw up in your car. You parked in the driveway, watching the house from the outside for a while. He was still watching you, he couldn’t stop himself from that. 

The small garden you cultivated was still intact, the pink flowers you loved and a few other plants that weren’t there before. He took care of the garden religiously for you. That was his way of hoping you come back to him. You walked towards the entrance slowly, capturing the details you missed while away. Jack finally put the swing on the front porch, like you planned on doing to make the house seem more cozy. 

“I thought it would be nice to sit here sometimes to watch the neighborhood.” He mentioned and opened the door for you. 

The inside was the same you remembered. The picture frames, the decoration. He changed some furniture but the rest looked the same. He still kept the picture of you two above the fireplace with the same flowers you used to put there. In your heed, when he did those things brought him some hope to believe you were coming back to him.

“You still buy the flowers?” You asked, turning your face to look at him. 

“Every wednesday at the farmers market.” He nodded, walking to the kitchen. 

Everything looked the same, like you never left. Even the cinnamon smell you absolutely loved lingered in the air. 

The kitchen was absolutely your favorite place in the house. You got to spend hours sitting at the table doing your shit or just baking whatever came to your head, sipping tea and being loved. Jack had the perfect vision from the living room when you were in the kitchen. He never told you but he had a lot of pictures of you sitting there existing like you’re the only God he believed. 

He served you some coffee and went back to the other side of the counter, putting the ingredients to do the pancakes you asked. The comfortable silence was pleasant, reminding you of the morning you shared in the same way: him doing the breakfast and you enjoying the view. 

“How was London? Last time I heard you were the chief of the trauma department there.” Jack was trying his best to avoid the topic he needed to talk about. 

“It was good. Cold, rainy and absolutely no pancakes.” You joked, crossing your arms over the table. “I had a good time, did things I only dreamed of, taught a lot of people and got to travel a bit.” 

“You traveled? Where did you go?” He seemed interested. 

“I went to visit Greece, did a tour around Italy with a couple of friends, my nephews came to visit me during winter and we went skiing in Switzerland.” You sipped more coffee, smiling at the memories. “I went to a safari, Jack!” Your words slipped in a funny way and he recognized how happy you were. “You would’ve loved that.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Suddenly he stopped in his tracks to finally watch you. 

You appeared relaxed, leaning against the chair, hair messed in a bun, jacket already off and barefoot. Looking like an absolute dream. Like the love of his life. 

“I missed you, you know? A lot.” You admitted, looking away from him. “I almost called you so many times and never had the courage to do it.” 

“I would’ve picked on the first ring.” He chuckled, mixing the ingredients trying to not stare for too long. “I wrote you some letters and a journal.” 

“You did?” Jack nodded, making you smile larger. “I may have taken some pictures of things and places that reminded me of you and kept them on an album to give to you. I hope you enjoy the crazy selfies and the endless comments on the people.” He laughed, picturing the scenes. 

He took his time to finish the pancakes, putting them on the table and sitting across from you with his cup of coffee. The dynamics between you haven’t changed at all, he still knew what you needed before you asked and you still read his face with ease. 

“I thought I had lost you forever.” Jack declared, making you stop. “The day I let you go was the worst day of my life, I felt so powerless and selfish. I couldn’t be the reason you give up your dreams because they were in you before I was present in your life and being the motive of your unhappiness was going to kill me.” You felt your stomach drop. “The nights feel dull and tasteless without you, I try to get through them but they seem so endless. The night shift sucked without you there, our bed was cold, I barely slept thinking about you.”

“The idea of you finding somebody else and deciding to marry and have children.” He didn’t continue and you held his hand. 

“Jack, I am yours and yours only.” You squeezed his hand. “I spent a few weeks crying before bed, wanting to run back to you. The day I went on that plane I left a piece of my heart with you. The life we were building, the plans, the marriage, the children.” You mumbled with tears, chuckling. “Never crossed my mind doing those things with anybody else. It’s always been you and it’s always gonna be. Besides, European guys are not that attractive.” His jaw tensed and you burst out laughing. “I’m just messing with you.” 

“I hate this.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Whatever you say, honey.” You winked, giggling under your breath. 

“Does this mean we can start over?” He asked, holding your gaze. 

“Always, Jack.” You smiled. 

That’s how after breakfast you ended up moving back to your place. The countless boxes with your stuff, bags filled with clothes and your favorite book collection around his living room. You were tired but nothing like the feeling of being home with him. Jack sent you to sleep a while later, finding you curled in his side of the bed, holding his pillow to smell his scent. 

He enjoyed the quietness of the morning to go through the album you made him. Pink cover with some shells and his name in gold letters. On the first page he found a small note you wrote. 

“To Jack.  I hope you know I thought about you a lot and these memories are an extension of my endless love for you.  Love, your girl.”

He couldn't contain a smile with the note, sighing as he passed to the next pages. The first real picture was you outside the hospital in London, bright smile, fearless, beautiful as ever. The note under the picture made him giggle, flushed.  

“You wished me good day before I took this. It was in fact a good day ‘cause I imagined you with me all the time.”

He kept passing the pages, amused by the great photos and the small remarks that sounded too much like you. His favorite was one of you sitting at the safari cart, wearing a pink cap, caressing a giraffe with one hand and with the other showing the necklace he gifted you a few years ago, the largest smile he’d ever seen, eyes shining and cheeks red from laughing. A look he recognized damn well. What made the picture even better was the small text. 

“I was in the safari in this. When theguide was tooking the picture the fucking lion roared next to the cart, almost peed my pants. Definitely not like Lion King, Disney lied to us. The cap was a gift from a child at the village I visited, he said it was to protect me and I truly believed in his words. The necklace is to represent you with me there and the giraffe, well, I’m in love. You would’ve loved this trip. I want to come back with you. Honeymoon maybe?”  Love, your (not so) wild girl.” 

He saw fragments of yourself, a version he was glad you enjoyed while doing the things you loved and still think about him so highly. He didn’t deserve you. Jack would never admit that you’re the light of his life, the shining star that guides him home every time he feels lost. 

You were exactly where you’re supposed to be. 

In his life, in his home, his bed, laying in his sheets with your favorite pink pajamas, being absolutely his. 

[daryltwdixon]

Chapter 6

series masterlist Summary: In the time between when he took you to now, something changed. His hands grew gentler. Your fear turned quiet. And somewhere in the stillness, love kindled. || fluff, this chapter is nsfw, Pre-Boston QZ, Stockholm Syndrome, slow burn, raider!joel, captor!joel, a little bit of dark!joel, homestead, kidnapping, dark themes, morally gray comfort, slow burn, mentions of violence and death, referenced abusive family || notes: again thank you for your love and patience on this!! I daydream about these two all day and then get stuck when writing them because I want to do them justice :') enjoy!

You made yourself busy for the rest of the day.

Normally, most of your chores were done by midday—garden tended, laundry rinsed (now that you had more than just the clothes on your back) and hung, water hauled from the well—but you found ways to keep moving. Anything to stay out of the house. Anything to keep your hands occupied while your mind refused to be still.

You weeded the front path for the second time that week, even though it didn’t really need it. You pulled up overgrowth around the porch, tried to flatten the wild patches into something that looked intentional. Homely. Like a place someone might come home to.

Samson followed close behind, his big paws thudding softly over the grass, tongue lolling as he sniffed the air, circled you, then flopped in the shade nearby. You swore he could sense that restless current in your chest, that burning prickle at the back of your neck that hadn’t left since the morning.

Since you’d seen him.

You hadn’t meant to. God knows you weren’t trying to eavesdrop. But the image of him, there, in the bedroom you shared now, door just barely ajar, sitting on the side of the bed was hard to shake now that you had seen it. The way you had watched his hand moving in a rhythm that skyrocketed your pulse, his mouth slack and breath catching in his throat. And worse…so much worse was the way he had whispered your name. Like it had been clawed out of him. 

But you made sure to leave before he could see you, before whatever haze had fogged your brain could freeze you in place. You turned fast, heart in your throat, catching your breath in the kitchen before stumbling out the front door, splashing cold water on your face from the well.

Even now, hands covered in dirt and scraped raw from wiry weeds, you couldn’t stop seeing it. Couldn’t stop feeling it.

And it only got worse when Joel finally made an appearance onto the porch. You heard him, hell, felt his presence before your eyes caught the movement. 

When your eyes dared to look over at him, your stomach twisted. He looked so…normal. His worn boots, faded and stained denim jeans and plaid shirt with the rolled up sleeves. But now, you saw more. Things you’re not sure you would’ve noticed before. Because now there was a flush blotching at the column of his throat where his skin met his collar. His eyes found yours across the yard with a flicker of something more than recognition. Something like the embers of coals at the end of a bonfire, smoldering low and warm. 

You dropped your gaze immediately, wrestling with a patch of stubborn grass near the front step. 

“You got the whole yard torn up,” he eventually said, his voice a bit quieter than usual.

You didn’t look up at him though, “Thought we needed a path.”

There was a pause. You could picture him in your mind’s eye so easily—standing there, nodding, eyes scanning the land like he always did.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “looks good.”

You hummed a non-response, and soon you heard the screen door creak shut again as he went back inside. You exhaled, wiping the back of your hand against your sweaty forehead, only then realizing how tightly your hands had curled into fists.

“A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs deep and green. The…the water is warm too, for it has s-slipped twinklin’ over the yellow sands in the sunlight before reaching the narrow pool…”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, eyes flicking across the blurred, water-warped lines. You gripped the fragile copy of Of Mice and Men tighter in your hands, the spine cracking faintly as your shoulders readjusted against the headboard for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

“…on one s-side of the river the golden foothill slopes curve up to the strong and rocky Gabilan Mountains, but…but on the v-valley side the water is lined with trees—willows fresh and green with every spring–”

The sound of your legs shifting over the bedspread was deafening in the stillness, skin brushing skin and itchy fabric in the quiet hush of candlelight. It made you falter, your voice catching on the next word as your eyes skimmed the page but didn’t see it. Then a voice broke through the silence, low and rough and startling in its closeness.

“You okay?”

Joel’s voice broke the disturbing loud silence of the room. You thought he’d fallen asleep long ago, unmoving beside you. But when you looked over, one of his eyes was open, peering up at you. His arms were tucked behind his head, elbows bent wide, the thin pillow beneath him flattened and bunched up where it sagged under his head.

“F-fine,” you answered quickly, your voice breaking beneath the weight of his one eyed stare. His brow twitched, just a little as he just kept watching as you turned back to your book, trying to will your heartbeat to slow.

But your eyes barely landed on the page again before they drifted sideways again. To him.

The slope of his nose. The shadowed dip of his throat. The harsh scar carved across the bridge of it. And his mouth, so soft and full, partially under behind that dark, peppered beard you couldn’t stop thinking about. About how it felt against your skin when he kissed you. How it tickled and scratched against your sensitive flesh. It gave you goosebumps even now— how warm he felt when he was that close.

The soft cotton of his shirt clung slightly at the collarbone, wrinkled and worn. He hadn’t gotten under the covers yet, and the candle beside the bed casted its dim, flickering light across the soft skin of his abdomen, the tufts of dark hair just visible where his shirt had ridden up and those old cotton pants slouched low on his hips.

Then he shifted, and your gaze shot back to his face only to find both of his eyes were open now. Fixed on you.

Your breath caught, and you whipped your head back to the book, holding it like a shield.

“--c-carrying in their lower l-leaf, uh, junctures the d-debris of the winter's flooding; and sycamores with mottled, w-white, recumbent limbs and…um, and branches that arch over the pool.”

You were muttering, tripping over your words, you knew that, but really were trying to refocus, yet the words were just lines and loops now. Useless.

You licked your lips without thinking, and he must have noticed, because the silence shifted, and he spoke again.

“You sure you’re alright?” Joel asked, quieter now, but there was something unmistakable in his voice. A teasing edge.

“I said I’m fine,” you replied, sharper than maybe you should’ve been at his amused tone. Your thighs pressed together again, knees colliding as you pulled them up closer to your body. You didn’t even realize you’d done it until it was too late.

“What’s got you all squirmy tonight?” Joel asked. His voice wrapped around you, thick and slow like molasses.

“Not squirming.”

He didn’t argue or tease anymore, but instead, his hand reached forward, fingers sending electric impulses through yours as they brushed against your hand where you held your book. He pulled it gently from your grip, folding it closed with care and setting it aside. 

“C’mon,” he murmured, warm light flickering against his cheekbones as he looked at you with sincerity, “talk to me.”

You curled your knees in closer, wrapping your arms around them as your back settled against the headboard. The space between you crackled, your throat tightening with the words you wanted to say. 

“I…” you cleared your already dry throat. “I saw…”

He waited, humming his gentle coaxing for you to continue.

You swallowed hard, eyes shifting to fix on him.

“I saw you.”

Joel didn’t move. But you were watching closely, watching every little shift in his face. You caught the way his mouth tightened, the faint pink rising along the tips of his ears. Subtle, maybe. Easy to miss in the dim light.

“What do y’mean?” he asked, voice low and steady, and the pink was moving to his cheeks as he asked it.

You hesitated, then forced the words out. “When I didn’t know where you were. I… I came upstairs.”

Just as quickly as something passed over his expression, it was gone. His shoulders tensed as he sat up a little straighter, arms lowering from behind his head to brace against the mattress.

“What exactly did you see, sweetheart?” he let out a deep exhale as he situated himself up.

Your eyes moved away again, back to the end of the bed, chin resting on your knees as you hugged them closer to your torso. Your thighs were molded together but it still wasn’t enough to ease the pulsing you felt. So foreign. So…strange.

“You were…” Your throat tightened. “You were sitting on the bed. I didn’t mean to look, I didn’t. I just—I walked by and the door was cracked and I—”

You stopped yourself before it turned into rambling. Before it sounded like an apology you weren’t even sure you owed him.

Joel didn’t speak right away. He shifted on the bed, leaning back, palms resting on his knees. He exhaled slow through his nose, jaw flexing once before his gaze slid away. “You ain’t in trouble,” he said after a beat, voice rough but soft. “Just… wasn’t expectin’ you to say that.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight.

“It made me feel…” You paused, fingers twisting in the hem of your shirt. “Weird.”

You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your face now, “Weird how?”

You licked your lips. “Like my body got all… warm. Hot. And uncomfortable. And tingly.” The word sounded ridiculous out loud. You stared at your toes, face warm. “I didn’t know what to do with it. I…I still don’t.”

Joel shifted on the mattress. You could sense it, the stiffness in his shoulders, the subtle tension in his breath. But when he spoke again, his voice was calm and measured. Always kind now.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” he said gently. “It’s just your body… reactin’. Don’t gotta be embarrassed.”

You glanced over at him. His face was carefully neutral, but the blush creeping up his neck said otherwise.

“How do you… make it go away?” you asked, nearly a whisper, “it hurts.”

He blinked, eyebrows twitching, and for a second, you thought he hadn’t heard you. But then his eyes found yours again, sharper this time. Curious. Cautious.

His voice was careful. “You never… tried to deal with it yourself?”

You shook your head. “Not really. Once… I had…” You swallowed. “There was a boy. Back before… he was part of the group my—” you faltered, mouth suddenly dry. “Our families used to…trade or work with each other. And he and I messed around a little. But when my father found out…” Your eyes met Joel’s, not finishing the story. You didn’t think you had to.

He looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then you added, almost to yourself, “I’m not…untouched. But I’ve never really, I don’t know, seen the point in all of it. Not until today.”

Joel’s voice dropped. “And what changed today?”

You swallowed. Your voice was barely a breath as you told him: “You said my name.”

Something passed between you then—something hot and slow and tingling with electricity.

Joel’s eyes softened at the edges, but his shoulders stayed tense. He exhaled through his nose and shifted closer. His hand reached out, stopped just short of yours. “You trust me?”

You nodded. It was as easy as breathing. Whatever hesitation you might’ve had days ago was gone with the girl who might’ve cowered at his outstretched hand.

He patted the cotton of his legs. “Okay. C’mere.”

You hesitated, but only for a moment. It wasn’t the first time he’d beckoned you closer. As if it was getting more and more natural for you to give in, to come to him. And so, you crawled toward him now, settling between his thighs. He reached for a pillow and tucked it behind his back, leaning against the headboard, then gently pulled you back with him until your spine rested against his chest.

“You tell me if this gets too much,” he murmured near your ear, his warm breath sending goosebumps to rise over your flesh.

Your only answer was another nod, your voice completely taken by the sudden closeness. Your fingers twitched where they hovered over his legs, uncertainty flooding your senses.

“Breathe,” he said gently, “just relax.”

You exhaled long and low before letting your hands rest against his thighs, grounding yourself in the warmth of him. Joel was quiet as his hands found your skin, so gentle and warm as he began to learn the shape of you. 

I ain't gonna touch you. Not unless you ask.

You weren’t sure what brought the memory back. Maybe it was the way his touch now came with warmth instead of warning, maybe it was how fast everything had changed in the quiet weeks since. How different he was. How different you were. 

Because you were hardly the same girl who had screamed and clawed at him, that girl who spat through cracked lips and flinched from his reach. 

The bruises had faded. Your cheeks had filled out, warmed with color from real meals and something that resembled a life. One that felt worth living.

You weren’t begging for freedom anymore. There were no more plans, no more escape routes scratched into your thoughts. No more counting the days. Because now, all you wanted was to be closer. Your body ached for it, your mind softening every time he was near.

His thumb moved in slow circles just above your hip, not wandering, but steady. A touch that was meant to soothe but made your stomach flutter nonetheless.

You weren’t afraid of his hands anymore.

Now, as you shifted slightly against him, your thighs pressed together on instinct. He felt the way your breath caught, the way your shoulders pulled tight, and he only held you a little closer in response.

“Still okay?” he asked, his lips close to your jaw now.

You sucked in a breath, trying to steady yourself, and nodded, smaller this time. “Mhm.”

“Talk to me,” he said gently.

“I just… I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, voice a whisper.

“That’s alright, baby,” he said, his lips brushing the corner of your jaw, “Don’t gotta do nothin’, just watch.”

You nodded again, uncertain if you had any more voice as his hand on your waist moved again, gliding over the front of your stomach, knuckles brushing up beneath the hem of your shirt. He paused there, warm palm resting just above your navel. The fabric had bunched slightly, and you could feel every ridge of his calluses against your skin. 

“Can I?” he asked.

You nodded. This time, without pause.

His hand continued upward, slow and reverent. He wasn’t searching for anything. Just learning. His fingers brushed the underside of your breast, then stopped. Another pause. 

“Okay?” he whispered.

“Joel,” you exhaled, shoulders rolling back with impatience, “please.”

He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, lips warm where the strap of your shirt had fallen. You could feel the smile that pulled at his lips against your skin, small and hidden. 

When his broad, calloused hand cupped you, your breath hitched. Not because it was bold or rough—but maybe because it wasn’t. His touch was patient, like he had all the time in the world and he’d wait until your skin stopped trembling and your ribs stopped shaking.

“You’re alright,” he murmured, lips still brushing your skin along the top of your shoulder. “Sweet girl. Let me show you.”

Your mind was caught between the heat of his hands and the weight of the names he kept whispering. Sweetheart. Baby. Sweet girl. Each one made your head spin, left your chest aching in ways you didn’t know how to explain. You’d said such cruel things to him all those days ago—sharp, angry words thrown like stones—and still, here he was. His touch was steady. His voice was gentle. He called you sweet like it was the only truth he knew.

Your eyes followed his movement, blinking down at the stretch of fabric over his knuckles as his hand curved to fit around the fullness of you beneath your shirt, and he squeezed, just ever so slightly, and you gasped. The sound pulled a soft rumbling from his throat, and a sudden warmth pooled even worse in your lower abdomen. His breath was coming in heavier now, the other hand now moving to your waist to anchor you to him. 

“T-take it off, please.” you said.

You thought maybe you’d be embarrassed, to be begging him like this. To be this open about the need growing between you. But now that his warm, broad hands were all over you, you couldn’t help it. The ache that pulsed between your legs lit your body like a fuse for him.

He didn’t hesitate, helping you pull the shirt over your head and setting it aside, his hands returning immediately. His palm spanned your waist, warm and steady, and he breathed out as if he needed a moment to take it all in.

“So pretty,” he said, voice hushed. He dipped his head, lips trailing along your neck, making you arch back into him without thinking.

You didn’t let yourself linger on the words for too long.

Pretty.

You weren’t sure when the last time was that someone had called you that and meant it. Or maybe no one ever had. Not your family, that you knew for certain.

Not when your skin would split and bruise beneath their hands, when your hair was tangled and your mouth bled. But now, beneath his hands, Joel’s, with his voice like that, you believed it for a second. 

He held you tighter, his fingers kneading you until they found the soft peaks of your breasts, taking the nipples between his digits so gently. Like he already knew where your body wanted him. You inhaled sharply, a shaky breath that melted out of you as his thumbs swept gently over sensitive skin. 

Everything was so quiet except your breathing, the soft rasp of it mingling with his. His lips hovered near your ear, his voice a low murmur that sent a ripple down your spine.

"That's it," he said. "Doin’ so good for me, baby."

The praise settled over you like a warm blanket, melting away what little nerves still clung to the corners of your thoughts. You weren't shy anymore. You weren’t uncertain. You just felt... wanted. Held.

He didn’t rush. Just breathed with you, deep and quiet, like he was syncing himself to the rhythm of your body. You didn’t think it was because he thought you were fragile, but because he knew what it meant for you to be touched like this and not flinch. No more pulling away, no more unease. Instead, you were arching and pushing back into his chest, breathing deeply at the feeling of him so thick and real against you. There was no mistaking the feeling at the base of your spine, something that sat heavy and rigid against you. It only made the ache between your legs so much worse, feeling it. Feeling him.

One of his hands slipped from your waist, trailing down your stomach with quiet intent. The rough pads of his fingertips stirred your skin into fluttering sparks, soft and ticklish and impossibly warm. Had you always been this sensitive? It felt like your body had been waiting for this—him—for longer than you could admit. Every brush of skin ignited something sharp and shivery beneath the surface. Your lips parted on instinct, tongue darting out to wet them, breath held like you were afraid to exhale and break the spell. 

He didn’t continue his descent into your cotton sleeping pants though, but instead massaged his palm down your thigh, coaxing your leg to fall open over his, and then the other. 

His breath was warm against your ear, your jaw, the column of your throat, “Tell me how you felt,” he murmured, “when you saw me.”

“I told you–”

“Tell me again.” His teeth grazed your ear, the gentlest bite, then just enough pressure to make your whole body jump. A little sound escaped you, sharp and startled, like the breath had been knocked from your lungs.

Your hands reached for him without thinking. One gripped the wrist still spread across your chest, anchoring you in place. The other dug into the muscle of his thigh beside you, trying to hold onto something solid.

“I felt…” you swallowed, “I was…confused. At first.” 

He hummed in understanding, not pushing or rushing you to go on. His hand cupped under your knee and pulled your leg so it hung over his outstretched leg, spreading you further. You obeyed and followed suit with your other leg, forcing your body to fully recline against him. 

“B-but you…” you started, then faltered, your voice catching in your throat. You sucked in a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around his wrist. “You looked like you were in pain. But not the bad kind. Like—like it hurt to feel that good.”

Joel didn’t say anything at first, but his lips brushed your temple, his breath steady even as you felt the way his chest rose against your back. His hand slid slowly along your thigh, gently holding you open, his fingers dipping into the flesh of your inner thigh, making you subconsciously push your knees wider for him. Inviting him. Needing him.

“And it…” you blinked slowly, watching his hand carefully move up your thigh, “It felt like my blood was on fire. I wanted to feel it too. To feel it…w-with you. I didn’t know it could feel like that, like I would ever feel like that.”

His nose brushed the curve of your ear, and you felt the shape of his smile just before he pressed his mouth beneath it—soft, not smug. There was no teasing in it. Just something quiet. Maybe something grateful. And proud.

“And now?” he asked.

You nodded, barely. The motion was tight, like your body didn’t trust itself to move too much.

“Worse now,” you breathed.

“Where?”

The question landed deep in your stomach, and lower. It seemed to pulse in the air around you. You felt your thigh twitch beneath his palm as it moved higher—still slow, still careful. His touch wasn’t searching. It was listening. Curious, yes. But not impatient. His fingers, all roughness and warmth, stopped just shy of where you burned for him. The air felt thinner there, like the heat coming off your skin was something he could see.

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers shook where they dug into his thigh. But then you reached for him. You lifted your hand and found his, large and steady and waiting on your leg. You curled your fingers around his wrist, then slid down to his hand, guiding him.

Your breath trembled in your chest as you moved him to your center, pressing his fingers where you wanted him most. It took everything not to pull away from the weight of being seen like that.

“Here,” you said, barely more than a breath.

Your hand looked so small, resting on top of his. His palm spread over you, warm and solid, the heel of it against your mound, his fingers brushing the damp cotton between your thighs. The contact was almost nothing, but it sent shockwaves of something through you. Something like need and want and hunger. 

Something you never felt allowed to ask for. 

“Here?” he echoed.

You swallowed hard. Your hips twitched, just barely, a subtle press upward into his palm that gave him everything he needed.

“Yes,” you breathed.

He hummed in understanding, the sound low and steady in his chest, vibrating against your back like a lullaby turned electric. The warmth of it traveled straight through your spine.

His hand slipped away, and you almost whined at the loss, already missing the heat of his knuckles beneath your palm. But then you felt the careful glide of his fingertips at your waistband, a pause there in quiet question. Your breath caught. Every nerve was alive under the brush of his rough fingers, the contrast of calloused skin against your soft belly making you twitch. Not in fear. Not in doubt. You hoped he could feel it. That he could tell it wasn’t rejection—but anticipation.

He moved his hand lower then, more confident, tugging gently at the waistband until he slid beneath it, fingers traveling freely right to where you asked him to be. Where you ached and pulsed and craved. 

The first thing you noticed was the thickness of his digits. Rough with years of hard work and survival, now dragging over skin that had never been touched like this before. His fingers moved slowly, unhurried, pressing into the wetness that had gathered between your thighs that had gathered while you fidgeted and tried to keep from falling apart. 

You gasped like the air had been knocked from your lungs. Not from pain, but from the gentleness of it, the unbearable tenderness that nearly tickled. Two fingers slipped through your slick, parting you with a touch so careful it felt almost sacred. They teased up and down, brushing just slightly over your bundle of nerves, then back down again. He didn’t rush. Didn’t press harder. Just kept his rhythm steady, devastating in its patience.

“Shouldn’t be lettin’ an old man like me touch you like this, baby.” he muttered, his breath wrecked and warm against your neck. You jolted against him, and your hands found his arm, gripping tight like you needed something to hold onto before you floated out of your body.

“Next time you feel that ache, this is what you do, alright?”

You shook your head before he could finish, your breath catching in your throat with another pass of his fingers.

“No?” he said with a soft, breathless laugh, part surprise, part pleasure.

“Wa–want you.” you whispered, fingers digging into his arm, “Don’t care t-that you’re… older.”

A low groan rumbled from his chest. Then his mouth was back on your ear, teeth catching the lobe, tongue tracing over it with slow, heated teasing. You could feel him rigid against your lower back, straining through his clothes. But he didn’t push. Didn’t take. He just held you, steady and open, his hand between your legs like he had always belonged there.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said, voice rough and quiet. “Next time you feel like this, you come find me.”

You nodded, lips parting around a broken moan as he circled that sensitive spot again, more firmly this time. Your back arched without permission. The tension inside you was tight, hot, unbearable.

His other hand never left your chest.

It cradled you, the heel of his palm warm over your breast, fingers curled gently around the curve like he wanted to hold your heartbeat in his hand. His thumb brushed softly across your nipple in slow, grounding strokes that had you gasping anew, nerves pulled tight and raw from both sides now.

The rhythm between your legs stayed steady, each slow circle of his fingers more devastating than the last. You were slick and trembling, your body drawn so tight you thought you might split apart. His mouth found the curve of your jaw, then lower, lips dragging over the skin of your throat in open-mouthed kisses.

His fingers moved with unbearable patience. He circled you, again and again until you couldn’t tell whether you were holding back or being held together by him alone.

Then, with a murmured hush against your throat—“It’s alright”—he shifted lower.

You barely had time to breathe before you felt it.

The first press of his finger, thick and careful, slipping into you with a slow, steady push that had your entire body going still. Your walls clenched around him, instinctive and tight, and he stilled there, giving you time, letting you feel the stretch, the shape of him inside you.

You felt him breathing you in.

His lips skimmed your collarbone, your shoulder, the underside of your jaw. He kissed every inch like it was something sacred, something his, and with every press of his mouth, the fire in your belly climbed higher, coiling tight and hungry and aching to be let loose.

“You’re shakin’,” he murmured against your skin. He didn’t sound smug. He sounded wrecked.

You couldn’t answer. Your hands scrambled for purchase, clinging to his muscled arm like it might tether you to the earth.

His fingers pushed into you again, deeper this time, slower, curling up before pulling back just enough to feel the friction of your walls clench around him. The wet sound of it — of you — was filthy and beautiful, and he didn’t stop. Didn’t stop kissing you, didn’t stop touching you as you climbed up the foreign ascent to bliss.

“Gonna take care of you,” he breathed, lips brushing the shell of your ear again. “Let me.”

You nodded frantically, body rocking helplessly against his hand, hips chasing the friction he gave so generously. He cupped your breast in his palm, full and heavy, squeezing gently as his thumb teased your nipple in time with the pulsing strokes between your legs.

Your breath broke into gasps. Your thighs tightened around his wrist. The heat in you was rising sharp and fast now, no longer a slow burn but a wave cresting at full height.

“Joel,” you whimpered, breathless.

“I know, baby,” he whispered, hand working you faster now, lips pressing firm into the hollow of your throat. “Do you feel that? Ever felt that before?”

“N-no– I don’t think–oh!” 

The world tunneled to nothing but his hand, his mouth, the low groan that tore through his chest as he felt you clench around his fingers, your body seizing with a cry that broke you open. Your whole body clenched hard around him, your muscles locking as you let out a sound you’d never heard from yourself before. It was raw. Guttural. Like your body had waited your whole life for this one moment and didn’t know how to contain it.

You’d never felt anything like it. You didn’t know you could.

He didn’t let up. Didn’t pull away. His fingers stayed deep inside you, moving just enough to draw every wave out of you, and his mouth never left your skin. He whispered something against your jaw, something low and quiet and maybe your name, but it was lost beneath the roaring in your ears.

You didn’t know when it ended.

When the trembling slowed, your body went soft against him, boneless and spent. Joel was still holding you, his arm a solid anchor around your ribs, his hand resting low between your thighs, not teasing anymore—just there. Warm and steady.

He kissed your cheek. Your temple. The sweat-damp hair stuck to your skin.

When he finally eased his hand from between your thighs, he didn’t let go of you completely. He rested it on your bare hip, fingers splayed gently over the curve of you, still damp with your slick. The absence of his touch left a hollow ache, but the way he held you after, so tender and reverent, made you feel fuller than before.

His breath skimmed your ear, low and soft. “How do you feel?”

You let out a quiet hum, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. “Mmm…”

He smiled against your neck, “Think it’s time for sleep.”

Your fingers trailed along his thigh, lazy, reluctant to let him go. “What about you?”

But before he could answer, Samson’s bark cracked through the quiet.

You both went still. You had forgotten about the mutt in your moment of tangled limbs and shared breaths. 

But the dog’s warning wasn’t playful or curious. It wasn’t the whine he often made when squirrels scurried up trees in quick escape. It was sharp and vicious, the kind of bark that didn’t carry up the stairs for just anything.

He let out another snarl—low, guttural, full of threat.

Joel’s entire body tensed behind you. The warmth in the room vanished in a breath, as though someone had pulled a curtain shut on it.

He was already moving.

“Stay here,” he muttered, voice suddenly clipped, already reaching into the drawer beside the bed as he stood up. The revolver clicked as he checked the chamber, then snapped it shut with finality.

Your throat went dry as he disappeared down the hall.

You sat up, still flushed, heart pounding in your ribs, pulling the blanket over your bare chest. The sudden silence after Samson’s growl was deafening, like even the house itself was holding its breath.

The ache between your legs hadn’t faded, but now it was eclipsed by a new kind of tension. Something sharp and cold as stone.

Fear.

taglist: @orcasoul, @ilovetoomanymen, @niceforcum, @glaszdoll, @therewastherewas, @axionn, @aleariixx, @izzy698, @shivispunk@demonsasss, @pedropascalsbbg, @urlivingdeadgirl, @televangrl, @mani-pedro, @erska777, @samarav, @levlli, @harriedandharassed, @tomie-it-girl, @streamermattsgf,

[the-rhyme-witch]

As much as I liked to think I was good at many things, staying on task was not one of them. It was a lifelong problem and seemed hardwired into my personality. But much like how I dealt with driving my elderly 1989 Volkswagen (like checking the rear windows after every drive to roll them back up and only letting folk get in the back by folding down the passenger seat), I liked to think I'd taught myself some workarounds to cooperate with the hand I'd been dealt in the genetic lottery.

One workaround was that I had found that I could trick myself into doing a tedious task by lining up a task I liked even less, then boom! First task achievable. Playing Boredom Chicken was not a guaranteed win but it's success rate was high enough to be worth a go. Which is why, when I had a job application I badly needed to do and badly wanted to do and was equipped to do and couldn't seem to bloody do, I hauled my contrary self off to my parents, whose attic I'd been promising to clean out since I moved out in 2014.

I'd gotten into the attic and was unhappily moving stale boxes around with a permanent marker behind my ear when my hatred for the spring-clean task peaked. It was so stale up there. It was so cobwebby. It was so dusty. It was so tedious. "Aha!" whispered my brain gleefully "but why don't we ditch this task and do that job application, you really should, you know, you can come back to this ..."

I tried to hide my smug satisfaction that once again my brain had outsmarted my brain. 1 to me, 0 to my brain. Which was me, too, but I decided to look past that, since the motivation to complete my job application had been unlocked. I dropped my marker and hauled over the extension cable to the power then and there, grabbing my laptop from my rucksack by the attic hatch...

...except I didn't. Because, in the heat of outsmarting myself, I'd failed to pack my laptop.

WHY WAS I LIKE THIS?!

I allowed myself to indulge in a self-berating party for three whole minutes, when I questioned my capacity, my care, my intellect, the fabric of my being, my value to society....

And then I stopped that nonsense because I had workarounds. Sure, I had made a foolish mistake. Classic me, big boohoo. I could whine about it (and, admittedly, in my youth I would have) but whining didn't fix shit. So, workarounds.

I mentally put my frustration with my error in my internal "self-hate" box, and thought loudly to myself that I'd definitely probably maybe come back to that later, then booted it down the cellar in my mental house, then returned my attention to the actual attic in my parents real house. I had a problem. Now, what was the solution?

In one corner, in a cardboard box, my permanent marker had declared that the old family computer sat. It was old enough to have served myself and my parents through much of the 90s, running Windows 96 with trusty old Office 97, until my Dad had won a newer model in a raffle and the old monster had been banished from the designated Computer Desk in The Computer Room that was also the coat cupboard to make room for the new one.

Office 97 had Microsoft Word. I knew it did. I remembered young-me finding a weird pinball type game with a hack a friend's big brother had insisted was real, if you could call typing Blue and doing some font changes a hack (which young me had, we'd started a club and called ourselves The HACKORZ for about three months afterwards). And surely a new package would support an old Word document?

Ahahaa! I'd solved it. I was back in the winning seat.

So I wrestled the bulky monitor out of the slightly soft cardboard box, yanked out the computer tower, plugged it all into the mains and played Old School Wire Jigsaw for five minutes until I was reasonably sure that everything was hooked up. I switched on the computer and to my slight surprise it started, whirring and creaking its way to life.

At this point, a horrible thought occurred to me. How was I going to get a document from this old behemoth onto my own shiny modern laptop? My laptop didn't even have a CD-ROM drive and did this computer even have a burner or had it been it's successor? I couldn't remember. I was about to side-quest into the cardboard box to see if there was a blank floppy disc (though what use would that be?) when I noticed the icon on screen.

It was an old fashioned file icon. It was bang in the centre of the screen, boxy and pixelated. No other icons were on screen. And it had my name on it.

I ditched my side quest and threw myself on the scrabby attic floor. I didn't remember this file but I was intrigued. Would this be my poetry? The list I'd made of my classmates ranked in order of how much I liked them? Preteen Star Wars fanfiction?The possibilities were endless, and endlessly more appealing than job applications. After fluff-picking the mouse ball, I clicked onto the file.

The only thing in it was a Word document with my name. Which was weird but I had been a weird kid.

It loaded and things got a lot weirder.

"If you are reading this then the plan worked. The date should be between April 30 2025 and June 21st 2025 and, if our estimation is correct, you should be in your parents home.

Assuming you have a bag with you, you did not leave your laptop at home. An agent removed this from your bag upon you entering the home of your parents.

The job you are presumably trying to apply for before the 21st June closing date is not as it appears. Following personality assessments and indicator phrases flagged on social media along with the Free Personality Assessment tool you used in 2022, you have been identified as a plausible candidate..."

I read on in disbelief, gooseflesh breaking out on my arms and legs. What was this? Was this a practical joke? If I hadn't known my parents were computer-illiterate, that would be a sensible reasoning. Or my siblings. That would make sense. Or some sort of scam? Though their had been no phone jack up here to plug into so could this old computer somehow have wireless capacity and be accessing the WiFi? Maybe? It had to be something like that.

Except I had a lifetime of practice lying to my brain. I knew what my lies to me felt like. And brushing this off as easily explained...it felt like a lie.

I shoved away the shivers as I finished the document. It listed a physical address, and a name, and a number to message via WhatsApp. I fished my phone out of my pocket and took a photo, switched off the computer and left it where it stood and scrambled down the ladder to make my excuses.

Later, as I drove to the mysterious address, it occurred to me I could have done my job application on my mobile phone

You’re visiting your parents at your childhood home and decide to do some Spring cleaning in the attic. Under a pile of dust, you discover your first 90’s PC and miraculously it still powers on. You check the documents folder. There’s only a single text file. It has your name on it.

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?

I am having feelings about that episode, so please enjoy 3k words of fic about it. I told myself yesterday I wasn't going to write anything about it because I didn't think I had much to say, and then this hit me like a truck at like midnight. Exceptional timing, brain, no notes.

Title is from You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift. (The other line I considered was "I know my pain is such an imposition," for obvious reasons, but I made a different call. Hopefully this one is pointed enough. 😂)

Tommy thinks about reaching out. Tommy thinks about reaching out a lot, but he doesn’t do it. The footage from the cameras in the tunnel plays on a loop in his mind, but Evan had been red-eyed but composed by the time he and Athena came out of there, and the last thing Tommy was going to do was blurt it out in front of everyone. That he’d seen something no one else had. That he knew, and the knowledge was lodged in his chest like a knife. 

Evan kept it together that night, but Tommy can’t imagine that persisted for long. He was subdued at the funeral—and Tommy was focused on doing his own part as respectfully as possible—but there were times when Evan had seemed…lost. Unmoored somehow. It was understandable given where they were, but it had made Tommy wonder, a little bit, who Evan was leaning on to get through this. He had banished the thought as soon as it had surfaced. The 118 was Evan’s family; of course they were seeing what was going on with him, probably more clearly than Tommy could. No doubt they had it under control. They would never let Evan suffer through a loss like this alone.

So Tommy doesn’t call after the funeral.  

He doesn’t call, and he doesn’t call, and he doesn’t call, and he falls asleep almost every night to a vivid memory of the way Evan’s legs had just given out under him. He doesn’t call and the impulse to hold Evan—just briefly, just because he couldn’t then—is almost overwhelming. But that’s not what they are anymore. He’s not sure if they're anything, honestly, and he’s not going to ask. Evan has more important things to worry about right now, and Tommy’s not going to barge in demanding anything at all. 

And then a building goes down, of course with half the 118 inside, and Tommy’s still on ground ops until Melton forgives him. Evan and Ravi are finally pulled out—dusty and scraped up, but whole—and Tommy sees them making their slow way toward the 118 engine and Gerrard.

Evan brightens a little and waves when he looks up and sees Tommy, and Tommy really hopes he’s got a handle on his expression, because Evan looks awful. His smile is brittle and the hollowness in his eyes is concerning. Tommy almost looks around for the rest of the 118 because what the fuck are they thinking? They wouldn’t let Evan walk around like this, looking like an open wound. Right? They would do something about it.

For the first time, Tommy considers the possibility that he’s made a few too many assumptions about what the 118 would and wouldn’t do. 

He jogs over to where Evan and Ravi have stopped. Ravi is chatting with a firefighter from the 133, but Evan is just…standing. His eyes are blank and unfocused, and Tommy is starting to get a little pissed at all the people who are supposed to have Evan’s back because what are they doing?

“Hey,” he says quietly, but Evan startles anyway.

“Oh! Uh, hey Tommy.” He dredges up a smile that goes nowhere near his eyes. “Ground ops, huh?”

“Yeah, Melton’s still pissed, so…”

Evan frowns. “I’m so—Tommy I’m so sorry.”

Tommy frowns back at him. “For what?”

“I shouldn’t have asked…I didn’t think,” Evan says, his shoulders slumping, and Tommy doesn’t like that reaction at all. 

“Sure you did. You thought ‘The team is in trouble; I wonder if Tommy can help,’ and the answer was yes.” 

Evan gives him a wan smile. “But you love flying.”

“I do,” Tommy says slowly, “and I’ll be doing it again in no time. It’s really not a big deal.” He catches Evan’s eye and says firmly, “Hey, I’m a grown-up. I have a mortgage and everything—I can absolutely deal with the consequences of my own actions.” 

Evan stares for a second and then starts blinking faster. His hand starts to come up, like he’s going to wipe his eyes, but stops halfway. He looks around at the clusters of firefighters around them. 

“I have to—” he says, and gestures vaguely in a direction, and then he’s gone. Tommy frowns after him, wondering where exactly he went wrong. 

He thinks maybe he should call this time. 

He doesn’t get the chance. 

The day after the building collapse, Tommy drives home from his 48—which was a bitch and a half, and not just because a building came down—and finds a very familiar jeep parked in his driveway. He stares at it for a while, failing to make sense of its presence, and then realizes he’s been sitting there for too long. He gets out of his truck and lets himself into his house. He can hear water running in the kitchen, and the house smells like red sauce, similar to the one his mom used to simmer on the stove on Sunday afternoons. It smells like home, and he buries that thought as soon as it surfaces.

Tommy drifts into the kitchen, uncertain what he’ll find there. Evan has his back to the door, rinsing a cutting board in the sink. He looks over his shoulder as Tommy comes in. 

“One sec,” he says, and Tommy nods. He takes the time to go set his bag down in his bedroom, kicking off his shoes and changing into sweatpants. When he makes it back to the kitchen, the board is in the drying rack and Evan is standing at the kitchen island, staring down at his hands on the countertop. 

“Hi,” Tommy says as he comes back in. He skirts carefully around Evan to grab a beer from the fridge and opens it, and then he goes back to the other side of the island. Whatever Evan is doing here, Tommy has no desire to spook him. His kitchen is Evan’s kitchen. Hell, if he’s being really honest with himself, his everything is Evan’s everything, to a probably concerning degree. 

Whatever. Not the point right now. 

“Hey,” Evan says, and takes a swig from the bottle of water in front of him. “Your spare key is still in the same spot.”

“Sure is,” Tommy agrees. There’s a brief silence. “What are you making?” Tommy asks. 

“Meat sauce,” Evan says. “I was going to make fresh pasta, but I wasn’t sure when you’d be home and I didn’t know if I’d have time.” 

Tommy nods. “It smells great,” he says. 

Evan glances at him, and then away. “Sorry for invading your kitchen,” he says, but it sounds likes something he thinks he should say rather than something he really means. Tommy can work with that. 

“Don’t be,” Tommy says. “You’re always welcome here.” His tone is warm and probably too fond, but there’s not much he can do about it. He’s just really happy Evan is in his kitchen, looking tentative, but maybe a little less hollow than he looked yesterday. 

Evan looks up at that, faint surprise and…something else flitting over his face before he smiles. “Yeah?” he asks, like that’s a real question. 

“Of course,” Tommy says, and he’s probably giving himself all the way away, but he’s finding it hard to care. He’s tired. Tired of pretending he didn’t see what he saw, tired of pretending he doesn’t desperately want to hug Evan, just to do it. Because he couldn’t then, but maybe he can now. 

As soon as he has the thought, the words come out without him ever deciding to say them. “Could I—do you mind if I hug you?”

Evan glances over his shoulder at the sauce, and then the kitchen timer. There’s a lot of time left on it, and Tommy briefly wonders what it means that Evan came over and let himself into his house to make a dish that has to simmer for hours. 

Evan turns back to Tommy, his expression a little rueful. He’s twisting his hands together in front of him. “I think, uh. There—there’s a solid chance I’m going to cry all over you if that happens,” he says, eyes downcast. 

“I can live with that,” Tommy says immediately.   

Evan’s head comes up, eyes huge in his face, and he drinks in Tommy’s expression. Tommy doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he seems to find it. He moves, and then Tommy moves, and they crash into each other halfway around the island. Tommy clings because Jesus Christ, he’s been desperate to ever since he watched Evan sink to the ground, face twisted in anguish. He’s so focused on Evan, solid and real in his arms, that it takes a second for him to realize that Evan is clinging just as tightly, his face buried in Tommy’s shoulder. And—yep, there are the tears. 

Tommy feels himself tearing up too, for Bobby, for Evan, for Athena--for all of them. For this awful, overwhelming loss, and the horror of how it happened. 

Evan’s breaths start to hitch, and he slumps further into Tommy’s hold. Suddenly he’s choking out deep, gasping sobs, sorrow pulled up from so deep it sound like it it’s physically painful. Tommy just tightens his grip, trying to ignore the part of his brain that is loudly demanding to know why, exactly, Evan seems to need this so badly. He can pull on that thread later. For now, he can do this. He can stand here and be as solid as possible so Evan has something to hang onto while he falls apart.

Later, they end up on the couch. They each have a glass of that stupid passion-orange-guava juice Tommy just keeps adding to his cart at the grocery store, even though Evan hasn’t been around to drink it for a while now. Tommy keeps nudging the plate of cookies toward Evan. 

“Eddie’s crashing at my—at his—on the couch at the house,” Evan says, and his tone is all wrong. It’s stilted and a little wobbly, and Evan’s eyes stay fixed on his hands. He sighs. “He’s probably wondering where I am.” 

Tommy tries to keep the surprise off his face, but something must get through. 

Evan grimaces. “We had a disagreement the other night. I know he’s trying to make up for it, in his own way, but…I. I just wanted to be somewhere else for a while.”

Tommy’s not sure what to say to that. “Well,” he finally gets out, “like I said, you’re always welcome here.”

Evan nods a little, but it’s clear his mind is elsewhere. “Do you—” he starts, and then stops. Tommy cocks an encouraging eyebrow. “Do you think…that is…”

Tommy waits. Evan will decide how he wants to say whatever it is—or decide not to—in his own time. 

Evan looks back down at his hands. “We did everything we could to save Bobby,” he says. It’s a statement, kind of. He looks up at Tommy. “Right?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed, and his expression is full of such naked vulnerability that Tommy is tempted to look away. He doesn’t, because Evan Buckley deserves all the courage Tommy can muster, even if he’s never had quite enough. 

Tommy takes a slow breath in, and lets it out, and reminds himself that giving in to the rage igniting in his chest would be neither helpful nor productive. But what the fuck, Eddie?

“Evan,” he says firmly, “of course you did. You all did.”

Evan looks up at that. “We did,”he corrects, and shoots Tommy a tentative little smile. 

“Of course we did,” Tommy agrees, unwilling to quibble about his own minor role when there are much more important things he needs to say. “It was an impossible situation, and everyone did their absolute best.” He starts to reach out for Evan’s hand, and then stops himself, and then Evan reaches out and takes his hand anyway. “Unless there was a secret second vial we didn’t account for—which there wasn’t—there was nothing more anyone could have done.” He pauses and thinks about how he wants to say this. “It was horrible, and tragic, and I know that every single person there would have done absolutely anything to prevent it. Which is how I know no one could have.” He smiles, but it’s small and sad. “If the folks who were there that day couldn’t find a way, then there just wasn’t a way to find,” he finishes. 

Evan slumps a little in his seat. “Yeah, that’s—” he stops and swallows. “That’s what I thought too, but then Eddie said—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. His shoulders are curled in, making him look small. Tommy hates it.

“Hey,” Tommy says, squeezing Evan’s hand, and Evan looks up at him. “I know everyone is hurting”—he was going to be diplomatic about this if it killed him—“but that is some Grade A bullshit.” Evan blinks at him. “That’s a fucked up thing to say, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry someone said it to you.” The endearment just slips out, and he doesn’t overthink it. He kept himself from saying What the fuck is wrong with your best friend? and I don’t think grief is a good enough explanation for that level of cruelty, so he gives himself a little mental high-five for his restraint.  

Evan blinks a little faster and lets go of Tommy’s hand to wipe at his eyes. He laughs a little. “God, I don’t know why I can’t stop crying.”

Tommy’s got a few hunches, but he doesn’t voice any of them. He shrugs. “Grief is a bitch like that.” He smiles at Evan and gestures at the box of Kleenex on the end table. “I buy tissues at Costco, so, you know—cry as much as you need to.” 

Evan laughs again, and relaxes back into the couch. Tears continue to slip down his face, and he periodically wipes them away. They sit there for a while, and the silence is comfortable. Tommy doesn’t take his hand back, and Evan makes no move to let it go.  

After a while, Tommy gets up to take a real shower, and Evan gets up to stir the sauce. He’s asleep on the couch when Tommy comes back, and Tommy pulls the afghan down from the back of the couch and carefully pulls it over him. He checks on the sauce and then settles into the armchair with his book. The house is quiet, and it smells amazing, and something in Tommy’s chest is settled for the first time in weeks. 

Evan wakes up when the kitchen timer goes off. He blinks a few times, and smiles a little when he sees Tommy in the armchair. Tommy smiles back.  

They eat pasta—the meat sauce is fantastic—and then Tommy serves them bowls of ice cream drizzled with caramel sauce. They eat it on the couch while while they watch some nature documentary, and Tommy follows almost none of it because he keeps glancing over at Evan’s profile. He looks soft and relaxed, and that terrible brittleness seems to be gone. He’s still marked by sorrow—he always will be, to some extent—but he doesn’t look empty anymore. 

Eventually the ice cream is gone, and the documentary is over. Evan shifts on the couch and glances at the clock in the kitchen. 

“I should get back,” he says, with visible reluctance, and Tommy doesn’t hesitate. 

“You could stay,” he says. 

“You mean for the night?” Evan asks, tentative again the way he was when Tommy first walked in to find him in his kitchen. 

“Sure,” Tommy says, “that.” He does not sell it, at all, and a slow smile starts to spread on Evan’s face. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and they both know what he’s asking. 

“Of course,” Tommy says, soft and sincere. He straightens a little. “I have a guest room,” he says, and Evan’s smile dims. “Not like that,” he says quickly. “Just—you’ve been through a lot, and if you just need a safe place to be for a while…”

Evan’s nodding as he talks, and he shifts closer to Tommy on the couch, meeting Tommy’s eyes. “I do need that,” he says. “I do need a safe place to be right now. And that’s you, Tommy.”

It sits there for a second because Tommy doesn’t know what to say, and Evan’s smile falters. Tommy reaches out for his hand. 

“Oh,” he says, and it’s soft and a little awed. “I didn’t”—he clears his throat—“I didn’t know that.”

Evan nods gravely. “I’ll do better this time. At making sure you know.”

Tommy grips his hand tighter. “I—me too. I’ll do better.”

Evan smiles at him, sweet and pleased. “We both will. We’ll do it right this time.”

Tommy can’t argue with that. God knows they have a laundry list of stuff to talk about, to figure out, but…

“We will,” he agrees, and for the first time, he lets himself truly believe it. 

[wendichester]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. sweet, oblivious, you²,

summary. dean likes you. sam likes you, too. lucky you, oblivious to it all.

pairing. dean winchester x reader x sam winchester  genre. smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 2263

notes / warnings. as requested by many families, here's the unholy part 2. i need to go confess myself now to the pope (my local priest isn't equipped enough) ✌🏻// explicit language, explicit sexual content ( sex on the kitchen table!!! ), just weird and kinda hot??

ᯓ★ read part 1

It starts to change after that night.

Not in any big way, not all at once. It’s not like Dean drops to one knee or Sam starts reading you poetry by firelight (though honestly, neither would be completely off-brand at this point). No, it shifts in the quiet ways. The subtle ones. The ways that feel like they’re nothing — until suddenly, they’re everything.

Like how Dean now insists on sitting next to you at every meal. Not across, not diagonally. Right next to you. Close enough that your elbows brush when you cut into your food. Close enough that his arm accidentally finds the back of your chair more often than not, his fingers ghosting over your shoulder, like he just needs to rest his arm somewhere. Totally innocent.

Sure, Dean.

Sam counters with morning coffee.

You don’t even remember telling him how you like it, but one day it’s just there — your exact brew, perfect amount of sugar, that one creamer you love but keep forgetting to buy.

“You didn’t have to—” you start, blinking sleepily.

He shrugs, easy and casual, but there’s that gleam in his eye. “Didn’t mind.”

Dean starts walking into the kitchen shirtless.

Because of course he does.

“Too hot to wear a shirt, sweetheart,” he says one morning, voice husky with sleep, like it’s a suffering he’s graciously enduring for your benefit.

Your brain hiccups for a second. Sam drops his knife against the counter with a little too much force.

It’s war.

You just sip your coffee and try not to combust.

Training sessions become the next battleground.

Dean offers to “spot” you during strength drills. And by spot, he means stand behind you, one hand on your lower back, one guiding your wrist, voice low in your ear, breath brushing your neck like he’s trying to reprogram your nervous system.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, just a little too close. “Keep that form tight, yeah? Just like that.”

Meanwhile, Sam’s out here playing the long game — patience and precision. He takes you through defensive maneuvers, calm and steady. But his hand lingers when he helps you up off the mat. His body presses just a second too long when you crash into his chest. And his praise?

Way more dangerous than Dean’s.

“You’re a fast learner,” he says one afternoon, gaze locked on yours, his thumb brushing your cheekbone after a sweaty match. “I like that.”

You freeze. Swallow hard. Laugh it off.

They both see it.

They both want more.

One night, Dean finds you in the library, legs curled under you, hoodie slouching off one shoulder. You’re so into whatever lore you’re reading that you don’t hear him until he drops onto the couch beside you, legs spread wide, knee bumping yours.

“Whatcha readin’?” he asks, all easy charm.

You hold up the book without looking. “Something about Norse possession rituals. Kinda creepy. Kinda cool.”

Dean watches you over the rim of his beer. “You’re kinda cool.”

You blink at him. “What?”

He grins. “Nothin’. Just sayin’. It’s… cool. That you’re into that stuff.”

You stare at him, a little amused. A little suspicious. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy.” He throws his arm across the back of the couch — again, purely accidental — and lets his fingers brush your shoulder. “You cold? You can borrow my hoodie if you want.”

You’re wearing a hoodie. His hoodie.

He knows. He gave it to you last week and hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.

You’re about to make a joke when Sam walks in, sees you two curled up, and stalls.

Something flashes behind his eyes. Something dark and determined.

He says nothing. Just walks over, grabs a book from the shelf — and drops it in your lap.

“You should read this one next,” he says smoothly, ignoring Dean completely. “It ties into that ritual text. Same demon class. More dangerous, though.”

Your fingers brush when he hands it to you. His touch is warm and deliberate. You feel it all the way down.

Dean clocks it.

His jaw ticks.

Game on.

Later that night, you’re walking down the hall toward your room, yawning. Dean’s voice calls out behind you.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You turn — and he’s there, way too close, one hand braced on the wall beside your head.

His smirk is soft, but it’s hiding something sharp underneath. Something hungry.

“You got plans tomorrow?” he asks, voice honey-slick and low. “Thinkin’ about takin’ you for a drive. Just us. Sunset. You know. Mood lighting.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Oh. Um. Yeah? That sounds nice.”

He leans in — just slightly — enough that your breath catches.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

Before you can answer, a door opens behind you.

“Hey,” Sam says, voice calm but cool. He steps into the hall, barefoot, shirt rumpled, like he’s been pacing. “Didn’t know you were still up. I was about to make tea. You want some?”

Dean doesn’t move. Sam doesn’t blink.

You’re caught between them, flushed and wide-eyed, every cell in your body screaming that something’s happening, even if you don’t know what exactly it is.

You laugh — nervous, flustered — and nod. “Sure! Tea sounds great.”

Sam’s eyes flicker to Dean. “Coming?”

Dean peels himself off the wall with a lazy roll of his shoulders. “Nah,” he says, but the look in his eyes promises blood. “I’ve got other things on my mind.”

And then he walks off, all swagger and smirk, leaving you and Sam standing in the hall like the first scene of a very slow, very dangerous fire.

Sam turns to you, gentle again. “Chamomile okay?”

You nod, suddenly short of breath.

He smiles, soft and devastating. “Good.”

⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

It starts with a look.

One look, too long. Too loaded. Too everything.

You’re in the kitchen again. Nothing special — tank top, sleep shorts, mug in hand. It’s late. You can’t sleep. The bunker hums with quiet and warmth. You’re barefoot on cold tile, staring into the fridge like it holds answers to questions you haven’t asked yet.

And then Dean’s there.

Leaning against the counter like he was born to brood, beer bottle dangling from two fingers, jaw shadowed with stubble and sleep. His eyes drag over you, slow and simmering, and for once?

He doesn’t look away.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice low and sandpapery.

You shake your head. “Nope. Thought warm milk might help.”

He smirks. “Old school. Cute.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, grandpa.”

But your heart ticks faster.

He doesn’t laugh. Just watches you, like he’s trying to memorize something.

You go to the stove. Pour milk into a saucepan. And then?

You feel him behind you.

Not close — not inappropriate — but present. Solid heat. Quiet intensity. You stir the milk and try not to notice the way your breath shortens. The way you’re aware of him in a way you weren’t before.

Dean doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

He’s just there. Waiting.

And then Sam enters — quieter than usual, in joggers and a soft black tee, hair mussed, eyes unreadable.

You expect things to ease.

They don’t.

He sees you.

Sees Dean.

And something shifts in him too.

He walks over to you — not Dean. To you. And places a hand lightly on the small of your back, fingers splayed.

“Everything okay?” he murmurs, voice soft but loaded with that same heat Dean’s carrying. A different flavor — gentler, deeper — but no less intense.

Your mouth goes dry.

Dean watches Sam’s hand. His jaw flexes once.

And suddenly… something clicks.

You freeze, spoon mid-stir.

They aren’t just being friendly.

They haven’t been for weeks.

The lingering touches. The quiet glances. The midnight coffees and training sessions that feel like something out of a dream you’re not sure you should be having. The way Dean’s hand finds your waist when you pass too close. The way Sam’s voice drops when he calls you by name, like he’s saying something sacred.

Holy shit.

You’ve been so dumb.

You look up — Sam on one side, Dean on the other — and finally, finally see it.

They want you.

Both of them.

The room tilts.

The milk starts to boil.

Dean moves first — reaches over you, kills the burner with one flick of the wrist. His body brushes yours, solid and hot, and you gasp just slightly when you feel his chest at your back.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, mouth just behind your ear.

You nod. Lie. “Fine.”

Sam’s hand still hasn’t moved.

Dean’s breath ghosts down your neck. “You sure?”

You should say yes.

You should say you’re going back to bed, thanks for the weird vibe, have a good night—

But instead?

You turn.

Right between them.

Your eyes flick from one brother to the other, and for the first time, you don’t play dumb. You don’t look away.

You look back.

Sam swallows hard. Dean licks his lips. You feel the air crackle.

“Tell me,” you say, voice shaking slightly. “Tell me what this is.”

Dean tilts his head, watching you like a lion would a lamb that just bared her throat. “What do you want it to be?”

Sam’s voice cuts in, soft but certain. “We want you.”

Dean nods. “We’ve wanted you.”

The words slam into your stomach like heat lightning.

You blink.

“Both of you?”

Sam steps closer. “Yeah.”

Dean moves in, too. “We know it’s… different. But we’re not gonna lie to you. Not tonight.”

Your pulse hammers. “You’re serious.”

Dean’s fingers lift to your jaw. “Sweetheart. Do I look like I’m fuckin’ around?”

You open your mouth — to argue, to ask more, to do something — but then Sam kisses you.

Just like that.

Big hand curling around the back of your neck, mouth warm and sure, and it’s like your brain short-circuits. You melt against him instinctively, fingers curling in his shirt, lips parting under his with a helpless, startled noise.

And then Dean’s mouth is on your throat.

Not kissing. Tasting.

His tongue flicks along the line of your neck, rough stubble scraping gently, and your knees almost give out.

Sam pulls back just enough to breathe. “You okay?”

You nod. Whisper, “Please.”

That’s all it takes.

Dean lifts you like you weigh nothing. Hands under your thighs, mouth crashing into yours now — hot and filthy, tongue sweeping past your lips like he’s trying to ruin you from the inside out.

Sam follows, fast and quiet, hand sliding under your shirt, warm palm skimming your waist.

“Bed,” you gasp between kisses.

Dean growls against your mouth. “Didn’t plan on making it that far, sweetheart.”

They lay you out on the kitchen table.

Dean strips your shorts off in one smooth tug, kneeling to drag his mouth up your thigh, slow and reverent. Sam kneels opposite him, pressing soft, lingering kisses up the other.

You stare at the ceiling, panting, heart trying to escape your ribs.

This is real.

This is happening.

Dean hooks his arms under your knees, spreads you wide. “You still with us?”

You nod frantically. “Yes. God, yes—”

Sam’s mouth replaces your answer.

Warm. Wet. Perfect.

He eats you like it’s worship.

Dean groans at the sight, lips brushing your inner thigh. “Fuck, Sammy. That’s not fair.”

Sam pulls back just enough to smirk. “She tastes like heaven.”

Dean doesn’t wait — he takes the other side, tongue flicking over your clit as Sam pushes two fingers inside you, curling just right, deep and slow.

You scream.

They hold you down gently, murmuring filth like a prayer.

“Look at you,” Dean groans. “So fuckin’ pretty when you fall apart.”

“She’s shaking,” Sam says, awed.

They devour you.

And when you come — because of course you do — it’s not quiet. It’s not graceful. It’s violent. Ripping through you like fire, hips arching, fists gripping Dean’s hair while Sam strokes you through it with something dangerously close to reverence.

When you finally breathe again, Dean’s standing, mouth wet, unbuttoning his jeans.

“You want more, sweetheart?” he pants, eyes blown wide.

You nod, half-drunk on bliss.

Sam kisses your shoulder. “You sure?”

You pull him down by the shirt and kiss him hard. “Yes.”

Clothes vanish — you’re not sure how. You’re all hands and mouths and noise. Dean presses inside you slowly, groaning so deep it shakes the table. He fills you like he was made for it, rocking into you with slow, brutal thrusts that make you keen.

Sam kisses your lips, your throat, your chest, whispering praise against your skin.

When Dean pulls out to let Sam take his place, your whole body trembles. Sam’s slower — deeper. He kisses your temple when he bottoms out, hands holding your thighs like you might disappear.

They trade you.

Again.

And again.

And when they both finish — one groaning against your neck, the other gasping into your mouth — you lie there, boneless and wrecked, caught in the heat and scent and feel of them.

You’re not sure who moves first.

Dean brushes your hair back. Sam kisses your knuckles. You curl between them, blinking up at the ceiling, heartbeat finally slowing.

Dean grins. “Still think we’re just bein’ friendly?”

You snort, dazed. “You two are the least friendly people I’ve ever met.”

Sam chuckles, breath warm against your shoulder. “Guess we’ll have to prove otherwise.”

Dean presses a kiss to your temple.

And for once, you don’t feel like the prize.

You feel like the winner.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[gay-dorito-dust]

i love your hc’s about dante and reader being Nero’s parents!! can we get a backstory on how they became his found parents or more hc’s about dante and reader being Nero’s parents?

you and dante had found Nero at an orphanage in the town of Fortuna after a mission, the boy with the glowing demonic arm and white hair that made his blue eyes pop obviously had sparda heratige. There was no doudt about that, especially not to Dante, who was hellbent on giving him the upbringing he deserved.

You pretty much punched someone for calling Nero a ‘child of the devil’ nobody insults your baby and gets away with it.

Dante did the exact same thing when another person called him devil spawn for having such an unsightly arm, an arm only belonging to that of the devil itself. He didn’t take too kindly to religious folk spouting their bigoted rhetoric, especially towards a small child like Nero who was giving you flowers he had plucked from the ground.

Neither of you mess about when it came to Nero and you both were sure as shit to make it known to all that if they spoke ill of your son, they’d have you and Dante to answer to or walk away with a busted nose.

‘Are you my new family?’ Baby Nero asked, his big blue eyes peering up at you and Dante’s he tried to hide his glowing arm behind his back, but was stoped when you grabbed both of his tiny hands within his own and smiled.

‘Yes we are my sweet boy, and you’ll never have to fight for your spot at the table nor second guess yourself or your worth. Not anymore.’ You tell him as you pressed a kiss to his head. ‘Your family Nero and family never give up on each other, never.’

‘Yeah kiddo, you’re stuck with us.’ Dante says as he ruffles Nero’s hair, causing the boy to pout and swat away his hand but it was clear to you and Dante that he was happy to finally having gotten out of the orphanage when he did.

You spoil baby Nero rotten by getting him whether you he wanted while cuddling and smothering your baby boy in kisses until he was laughing, trying to push you away as Dante watched from the doorway, happy to see his little family he was blessed to get back home to after each mission.

It was something that Dante didn’t think he’d ever get with how fucked his life had been thus far, but he was grateful that you had given him a chance and stay long enough to the point where you now have a son that you two would absolutely go to war for just to see smile.

He had to pinch himself most days, hoping that this wasn’t a dream he’d wake up from, alone and without a loving partner and a sweet little boy who’d he knew would one day grow up into a man who’d teach him a few things later on in life. Either way he didn’t want to wake up alone, so he joins you and little Nero by bringing you both into his arms as it was his turn to shower you both in kisses, his stubble tickling you both as you and baby Nero were left laughing and melting into his strong protective arms.

‘I’m thankful for you both’ was a phrase that came out of Dante’s mouth more often then not as he tucks you both into bed, kissing you both on your foreheads before joining you and Nero and holding you to his chest while you held Nero close to yours, a small family sharing a crappy bed but none of that mattered when you were together.

Baby Nero did get a little cheeky sometimes and had eaten some of Dante’s strawberry sundae once, he was immediately proven guilty by Dante as he wiped the melted ice cream from Nero’s cheek, gave it a sniff and knew that his son had taken a little bite out of his strawberry sundae that he had been saving for a while.

Yet he could never bring himself to be mad when Nero was most likely suffering from a brain freeze, and decided to hold his son close to his chest, kiss his forehead and hum a small tune his mother use to use for him and Vergil just before they went to sleep as the brain freeze subsided and Nero fell asleep within the warm embrace of his newfound father.

From then on Dante would split his sundae with Nero, but making sure the boy didn’t have too much for another brain freeze.

You had come across the scene one too many times where Dante and Nero’s face were smeared in the sweet sundae, looking at you with wide eyes as you laughed at the pair, ruffling their hair as you stole some sundae for yourself before reprimanded Dante for indulging Nero into becoming a sweet tooth like him.

‘Guilty as charged sweetheart.’ He’d show off those little fangs of his that he knew made you go a little nuts.

‘Then you’ll be responsible for when he gets a sugar rush then?’ You asked playfully as you picked up Nero after hearing him yawn, nuzzling his nose with your own as he practically clings onto you, babbling his baby nonsense as you rubbed his back.

‘Do I have you?’ Dante asks, pouting.

You peck his lips. ‘If you’re going to indulge our son, then you’re responsible for what happens when he has one too many strawberry sundaes.’ You tell him sweetly as you pecked his lips once more before walking up the stairs to put Nero to bed.

Dante would tell Nero of the tale of how you and him got together, the half demon and the angel as he’s called it becuase what else would he call it? You were borderline perfect -if not- the definition of perfection in his eyes. He told Nero how you’d fell in love, how you were always there for him and how he recalled fighting Hell itself in order to get you back, all the way to the softer moments where you and Dante would cuddle closely and kiss each other before missions and after missions.

‘Our relationship might not be a normal one in any sense but it’s ours and we love it regardless because we couldn’t ask for anything more then each other.’ He tells the quarter demon, who had only baby babbled at him.

‘Exactly son, exactly.’ Dante replies, acting as though he could understand Nero as the baby squealed and laughed, making the red coated half demon smile himself.

Your family maybe small but you and Dante loved your little family more then anything as you had a family album dedicated to all the moments you got with little baby Nero, mainly to embarrass him in front of his future girlfriend, but that was neither here nor there just yet.

[imnez-daydreams]

havent read any rafe fics in a good long while, but moot's writing has me gg crazy so i went snooping a lil for more :p

"It starts off small. Holding onto your wrist for a second too long. When he does that, you turn around to look at him. Then it becomes a habit, looking back at him for permission to walk away, to leave. He presses a kiss to the top of your head before he lets you go. It’s been so long, so many months and so many kisses, you worry he’s upset with you if you don’t receive it."

grrr love casual dominance. how it didnt start that way for rafe, he just saw the way reader reacted to the simple act and it just becomes a habit for them to wait and be obedient.

"Because this is his new high, and he doesn’t have to chase it, doesn’t have to pay for it. You’re devoted to him, and it’s getting worse and worse. He begins to wonder how far you’ll go, how much you’ll stretch the boundaries of right and wrong for him."

i like how reader is devoted to rafe but i think the obsession goes both ways. rafe wonders how far he can push reader past moral boundaries, but he's also being pulled into the darkness by imagining the lengths of reader's descent into depravity.

“That’s right, kid. I do.” He takes the gun from behind his shirt, brandishing it before you. If you’re scared, you don’t react at all. You look at him with your big, wet eyes and your thudding heart like you’d do anything if he asked. Pick up the gun and shoot someone yourself if he wanted. It makes his dick hard just thinking about it. “I have to use this, sometimes, to do it. To make sure no one can hurt you. That’s just how it is.” 

rafe getting turned out by reader would most likely follow his instructions to kill someone for him. what a freakkkk.

"He’s a little surprised, but still, not quite fazed, when you end up squirming in his arms not even ten minutes later. Your skirt pulled up and panties kicked aside, your pretty new shirt ripped down the middle to free your tits in the easiest way possible. "

"Rafe has one hand squeezing your tits and the other balancing the gun, holding it in place while he fucks it in and out of your cunt. He knew you were obedient, but even this is beyond his imagination. When you finally come, the wetness from your cunt shining on the black of his handpiece, he makes a show of licking it off."

AAWFFFFF gun play !! gun fucking !! rafe licking reader's cum off his gun RAHHHHH. insane. losing my marbles. need to write abt this kink soon omffff.

this was so gooddddd !! helpppp but im now thinking thoughts about gunplay ... gunplay with pope ... shea i stand by what i said about everytime i come on your blog n read your writing, i leave with my brain hardwired differently. i already had a thing for the "kid" pet name then you introduced me to "dad" as a pet name. now you've got me having brainrot about gunplay again RAHHHH.

𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲

summary: you're obedient to rafe, and he's starting to realize how much he likes that.

word count: 1.2k

now spinning: cruel world by lana del rey

author's note/warning: rafe does things to you with his gun. this might be dark!rafe which is just.. rafe <3

Rafe gets a thrill when you’re obedient to him without him having to do or say anything at all.

It starts off small. Holding onto your wrist for a second too long. When he does that, you turn around to look at him. Then it becomes a habit, looking back at him for permission to walk away, to leave. He presses a kiss to the top of your head before he lets you go. It’s been so long, so many months and so many kisses, you worry he’s upset with you if you don’t receive it.

He’s conditioned you, in his own little way. Everyone notices it. His father tells him to treat a nice girl like you better. His friends laugh about it when you’re not there. He used to laugh too, but now he doesn’t, and he gives anyone who still mentions it a glare. 

Because this is his new high, and he doesn’t have to chase it, doesn’t have to pay for it. You’re devoted to him, and it’s getting worse and worse. He begins to wonder how far you’ll go, how much you’ll stretch the boundaries of right and wrong for him. 

He’d promised to leave you out of it, out of everything that’s going on, but his own curiosity got the best of him.

You’re lying in his bed, half-asleep and completely fucked out the first time he asks you. Sometimes he’s a totally different person with you, soft and gentle, and sometimes he’s more like himself. 

“If someone wanted to hurt me,” he starts, chin resting on the top of your head and hand tucked safely with yours, “what would you do?” 

“Hm?” you moan sleepily against his chest. You’re out of it, he knows because he’s the reason why, but he really wants an answer. Rafe gives your cheek a little slap, demeaning, the way he knows you like. Your eyes jump open.

“You heard me, kid. What would you do?”

“I-” you start, and then stop. You’re thinking about what to say. He doesn’t interrupt, because he knows you're using your little brain to figure out what answer he wants to hear. 

“Hm?” he repeats, mocking. You don’t notice.

“I would do whatever it took to make sure you were okay,” you say, pressing your hand flat against his chest, right over his heart. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The next time is a few months later. You’re still clueless, maybe a little less than before, but if you know something, you don’t admit it. He’s been testy with you, he knows, but you’re relentless in your mission to make sure the two of you are okay—that he’s still okay.

He’s pacing in his bedroom, running a hand over his buzzed hair, while you sit on his bed with your legs hanging off, watching silently. If you’re thinking anything, you don’t say it. His gun rests against his back, tucked into the waistband.

For a second his shirt lifts, and you stare at the black metal with big eyes. He catches you looking and you shift your gaze in a second, without him saying a word. So obedient, even when you’re scared.

“Rafey?” you ask quietly. “What’s going on?” He turns in an instant, squatting down before your legs, hands gripping your knees.

“What’s going on? What’s going on is that it’s happening. Remember when I asked you what you’d do if someone tried to hurt me? Remember?” and you nod fervently. “Well it’s happening now, kid.”

“Someone’s trying to hurt you?”

“Everyone’s trying to hurt me.”

“Not me, Rafe, not me,” and you sit up straighter, pressing your hands against his arms and holding on tightly. “I would never hurt you.”

“I know that, baby, I know. But I have to protect you, protect us both.” You know how Rafe gets sometimes. He worries too much, you’ve finally decided upon, that was it. The reason he was like this, he just worried too much, about protecting you and doing right by his family, his father. He had too much going on, too much responsibility for one person. That was your way of justifying everything. Your boyfriend didn’t do anything wrong, he never did.

“You will. I know you will, you always do, you always protect me.” There’s your obedience again, clicking in and telling him everything he wants to hear. The best part is that he knows you mean it. 

“That’s right, kid. I do.” He takes the gun from behind his shirt, brandishing it before you. If you’re scared, you don’t react at all. You look at him with your big, wet eyes and your thudding heart like you’d do anything if he asked. Pick up the gun and shoot someone yourself if he wanted. It makes his dick hard just thinking about it. “I have to use this, sometimes, to do it. To make sure no one can hurt you. That’s just how it is.” 

You move gingerly, clasping your hand around his and the gun, eyes locked on his own the whole time.

“I know. I know you’re doing it for the right reasons.” The two of you stay silent like that for another few moments, before your quiet voice fills the space again. “Rafe, no matter what you did, I would never blame you.” Your head shakes a little like you don’t understand what you’re saying. “I would never leave you. I would never hurt you.”

“I have to use it, baby, I don’t have a choice. Y’know these people, they don’t listen, no one, you have to show them you’re serious, and this, this is how serious I am.”

“I know,” you repeat, eyes fluttering between the gun and Rafe, back and forth. 

You’re looking at him like this because you like how he’s talking. The serious, scary way he means every word he’s saying, that he would kill to protect you, hurt someone else to make sure you’re okay. It doesn’t make you scared, it makes you fall deeper in love. Someone willing to risk everything for you. You want to prove that you would do anything for him too.

“I knew you’d understand,” he says, eyes fixed on the way you’re running your tongue over your lips, biting the button while you stare at his fingers wrapped around the grip. 

He’s a little surprised, but still, not quite fazed, when you end up squirming in his arms not even ten minutes later. Your skirt pulled up and panties kicked aside, your pretty new shirt ripped down the middle to free your tits in the easiest way possible. 

Rafe has one hand squeezing your tits and the other balancing the gun, holding it in place while he fucks it in and out of your cunt. He knew you were obedient, but even this is beyond his imagination. When you finally come, the wetness from your cunt shining on the black of his handpiece, he makes a show of licking it off. 

You’re his now in every way, even if you ever change your mind. You know you won’t.

[harkness-pet]

what a pretty girl

Pairing: Agatha x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, dark undertones, sub!Agatha, dom!reader, slight dumbification, praise kink, etc.

Plot: You are a rich woman who stumbled upon an overworked Agatha. And your need to take care of her gets the best out of you.

MEN AND MINORS DNI!

—

Agatha was a woman you met very randomly when she almost fell asleep standing in a line of a grocery store. 

You caught her before she could fall down and you saw the exhaustion on her face, the dark shadows under her soft blue eyes and in that moment she took your breath away. You offered to give her a ride home and on the way she confessed she’s been working three jobs. Her mother had written her off her will and Agatha spent all the money she had trying to save her baby boy who unfortunately died anyway. A brain tumor. 

Your heart kept breaking for the woman. Money never posed any issue to you, you had your own company, so you couldn’t imagine what she was going through. 

After you dropped her off at a very shady building, you asked her where you could find her. She mumbled a name of a very sleazy bar down the street and you shuddered internally, imagining this petite beautiful woman amongst the drunks. 

You made sure to visit her often, always leaving a big tip, which you knew she wanted to refuse, but the look in your eyes made her accept it every single time. 

One day you saw her boss harassing her in the back room and you had enough, especially after she confessed she got evicted from her apartment. 

“Please, stay with me, I have a guest room, you can have your own space there.”

Agatha, tears streaming down her face, a bruise left by a touchy man from the previous evening shining on her cheek, quietly nodded. 

So now Agatha was living in your guest room, you felt better that she was close to you and you could keep her safe. She insisted on going back to work, but you managed to convince her to drop the bar job. She reluctantly admitted that it had been hard to keep the men off her lately. 

You gave her Peter, your driver, to take her to the other two jobs, you always had a fridge full of groceries so she’d never have to buy anything, you wanted to give her the world. 

One evening when Agatha woke up from her nap you brought a bottle of wine to drink. She joined you and soon you were both laughing and drinking on the couch, talking about some reality show you were watching days before. 

“Y/N, thank you so much,” Agatha suddenly whispered and your breath was taken away by how beautiful she looked in the flickering light of the candles around. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I will get better soon and find my own place, I promise.”

You brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear tenderly. “I like that you’re here with me. You don’t have to move anywhere.”

Her eyes flickered to your lips and you waited. You wanted this to be her decision. Soon enough she closed the distance and kissed you softly, her breath tasting like wine and Agatha. 

You entangled your fingers in her hair and deepened the kiss. 

The next day you pulled some strings and Agatha was fired from her second job. You felt bad for doing it, but you wanted her to be safe, in your house. 

She was sad, almost panicking, but you drew her a bath and offered to wash her hair, enjoying her soft moans while your fingers were brushing her scalp firmly. 

Later you told her that she doesn’t need to find another job, if she really wanted to do something, she could sometimes cook at the house. 

So a few days later you came back, exhausted from work, only to find Agatha in an apron working around the kitchen. You stopped breathing and it took every ounce of will power not to go touch her. 

“Hi!” she welcomed you with a smile. “Please sit, I have made you a meal.” 

You sat, unable to speak, and watch her pour you a glass of wine and prepare a plate for you to eat. 

She fixed herself a plate, too, and sat beside you. The meal was delicious, but your mind was elsewhere. You know that the housewife fantasy was the dumbest thing ever, but something about Agatha waiting for you at home with dinner ready, wearing a fucking apron lit a fire in your lower belly. 

“It was delicious, Agatha,” you said, wiping your mouth on the napkin. “Let me help you with the dishes.”

“No, no, you go sit and relax, I’ll take care of it,” she pushed you towards the couch. 

And that became a habit, you coming home from work, Agatha already waiting for you with a smile on her face and prepared dinner. 

You never spoke about the kiss, you were worried she’d get scared. 

But one evening you came home especially annoyed, dealing with stupid people the whole day, so when you saw Agatha in the kitchen, wearing a knee length skirt, a tank top and an apron, you were done pretending there was nothing happening between you. The weeks of soft glances, light touches, the way she was taking care of you and you were taking care of her… it all became too much. 

You sneaked up behind her and laid your hands on her waist and your chin on her shoulder. 

“Ah,” she startled. “I didn’t hear you come home. How was work?” She didn’t seem phased by your proximity but you could see a blush forming on her cheeks. 

“Horrible, people are stupid, men even more,” you grumbled into her neck. “I’m so glad to be home.” 

She slowly turned in your arms. “Do you need something from me? Please, let me help…”

You were confused, but Agatha suddenly started pampering your face in gentle kisses and your grip on her hips tightened. “Agatha…” 

“You take such good care of me,” she whispered, kissing your neck. “Please let me take care of you.” 

You nearly exploded and pulled away, hating the see the fear of rejection in her eyes. You grabbed her hand and led her to the living room. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything,” you said, sitting down. 

She shook her head and remained standing. “I don’t feel like that. I just want to make you feel good. So whatever pissed you off today, please take it out on me.”

You swallowed loudly and then tugged her hand. She slowly lowered herself on your lap.

You put your hand on her thigh, drawing circles on her exposed skin. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Agatha,” you said before the exhaustion and anger of the day took over and you pushed her in the to pillow below. Now she was lying on the couch, each leg on one side of you, looking up at you with wide eyes, full of anticipation. 

“Do you even know what you do to me?” you asked, positioning yourself into a sitting position between her legs. Your hand caressed her cheek, moving down to grab her breast, brushing her nipple over the material of her tank top. “Your eyes… I could drown in them. Your smile when I come home is the best thing of my day. And the apron… I want to make you mine every time you’re wearing the damn apron.” 

“Then do it,” Agatha whimpered. 

You growled at that and put your weight on her body, kissing her senselessly, while your hand disappeared below her skirt, fingers gently pressing against her already soaked panties. “Oh fuck,” you breathed out against her mouth. “How long have you been this wet?”

“Since you came home,” Agatha admitted and moaned when your fingers dipped below the fabric. You slowly encircled her entrance before dipping your finger deep into her, swallowing her load moan with another kiss. 

You added another finger and started fucking her, enjoying the way her hips kept thrusting to meet you, the way her breath kept quickening and the way she kept whimpering. 

The next day, Agatha was fired from her last job, and to make her day better you took her shopping. She chose some nice dresses and skirts to wear at home when she tugged your hand to the underwear section. 

She chose some unholy lingerie and called you to the dressing room to check her out. 

Soon you were pressing her up against the wall, two fingers deep, clamping your hand against her mouth the quiet the sounds she was making. 

On the weekend you woke up to her bringing you breakfast to bed, wearing only the apron. The breakfast was scattered on the floor when you made her ride your fingers. Later she ate you out beneath the sheets. 

There was an annual party happening at your firm and Agatha was of course your plus one. She was mesmerising, but during the night you lost her only to find her chatting with one of your subordinates. When he put his hand on her arm, you saw red and dragged her out of there. 

The drive home was a quiet one and when you arrived, you pushed her up against the door. 

“We were just talking, I swear,” she said. But you were already hiking up her dress, slipping your fingers between her folds. 

“You are mine,” you growled, fucking her slowly. You had drunk way too much and you felt so angry for someone touching what belonged to you. 

“I am,” she moaned. “I am yours.”

You withdrew your fingers before she could come and dragged her to the bathroom, taking a strap on out of your drawer. 

“Get on your hands and knees,” you barked and she quickly obeyed. You pushed your cock into her without warning and grabbed her hips to steady yourself. “This little body is mine, do you hear me?”

“Yess,” Agatha screamed as you kept ramming into her. “I’m only yours, I belong to you.” 

You almost came just from those words alone. 

“Come,” you ordered when you pulled out of her. “Clean your mess.” And you watched her move on her knees to the edge of the bed, catching your cum soaked cock between her lips. 

You grabbed a fistful of her hair and made her head bob up and down. “See, this is what you’re supposed to do, be pretty and obedient, isn’t that right?” 

Agatha looked up at you with hooded teary eyes and managed to nod. You pushed her deep onto your cock making her choke. 

The next morning you felt horrible, you didn’t mean to degrade her like that, but Agatha wasn’t accepting any apologies. She smiled at you and said she liked how possessive you were. 

You decided to explore her kinks and occasionally called her a good girl. The way her eyes sparkled and her cheeks burned gave you all the answers you needed. 

After an exceptionally good sex, you were lying naked in your bed, Agatha’s head on your lap. You were softly tracing the curve of her nose, of her lips. “You were so good, such a pretty girl for me,” you whispered and you could hear her breath catch. 

“Do you like that?” you asked, your finger now circling her nipple. “When I call you a good girl?”

“Y-yes,” Agatha nodded. “I like it. I also like when you take control.”

“Hmm, interesting,” you hummed. 

“I’ve spent a lifetime taking care of myself and terribly failing, this feels like a heaven to me,” she confessed, her cheeks bright red. 

You chuckled and sipped on the wine on your night table. Then you brought the bottle to her lips and spilled some on her face and her chest making her squeal.

You moved down to lick the wine off her. “So delicious,” you murmured. “You don’t need to do anything ever again, pretty girl. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

Agatha’s eyes glistened with tears at your words and you kissed her on the lips. Then you rose up and climbed on top of her, pinning her arms above her head. 

“So are you gonna be good now and do what I say?” you whispered against her lips and feel her nod. 

“Use your words, baby.”

“Yes.”

You grab her leg and moved it to the side before planting your cunt directly on hers. Her hips buckled. 

“No moving, lay still and let me use you.” You started moving on her, moaning as your sticky centres brushed against one another. “You feel so good, Agatha.”

Agatha was whimpering, her arms still above her head, watching you, mesmerised. You could see her gripping the sheet and knew she was having a hard time lying still. 

When you came with her name on her lips, you dipped her fingers into her pussy, dragging the wetness to her mouth. She opened her mouth and welcomed your fingers. 

“Such a pretty girl,” you whispered again. “You don’t need anything else in life, right? You just need me.” You burrowed your fingers deeper, making her gag. “There doesn’t have to be any thought or control in your head. I will take care of everything.”

When you laid down next to her later, Agatha draped her body over yours, holding you tightly as if she was scared you were going to leave. 

Your life with Agatha was everything you had ever wanted. Agatha didn’t need to tire herself out working many jobs or fighting off sleazy men, she was happy waiting for you at home. 

And you drowned her with luxury, gifts and care. 

You were gonna make her yours in every way possible. And when you presented her with a ring, she accepted. 

[rafes-honey]

𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐭. ౨ৎ

(Summary - You always say you love Rafe and he always replies with “I care about you to.”)

There was a time when you thought love would fix Rafe Cameron.

Like if you just held him hard enough, loved him loud enough, stayed patient and sweet and sunlit long enough, the shadows in him would dissolve. The anger, the numbness, the mess Ward left behind. You thought you could kiss away the bruises on his heart like they were nothing more than cuts from falling off a bike.

But Rafe wasn’t broken in the way you understood.

He was twisted. Twisted by a lifetime of never being enough, of being told to toughen up and silence the soft parts of himself until they shriveled into something cold and cruel. And for a while, he let that version of himself bleed into you. The version that yelled when he was scared, pushed when he wanted to be held, ran when he should’ve stayed.

You still remember that night the fight.

It started like most things with Rafe did: soft, then sharp.

He had been distant all week, buried in work, too tired to come to bed, snapping over things that didn’t matter. The dishes. The mail. The way you left your sweater draped over the porch swing instead of hanging it up. You tried not to take it personally. You always did.

But that night, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You were standing in the kitchen, barefoot in one of his old shirts, arms crossed so tight your knuckles turned white.

“You know what I don’t get?” you said, voice quieter than your rage should’ve allowed. “You say you care about me. You say you’re trying. But I don’t think you even love me.”

He didn’t look at you.

Just stood by the fridge, jaw clenched, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I’ve said I care. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah. Physically. But emotionally? You’re a ghost, Rafe. I tell you I love you and you just say I care about you too. Like it’s a fucking business transaction.”

Your voice cracked on the last word. You hated that it did.

Rafe’s eyes darted up to meet yours. There was something in them you couldn’t read not anger, not softness. Just… conflict.

“I’ve never said that to anyone,” he muttered.

You blinked. “Said what?”

“That I loved them.”

The room felt smaller suddenly, like the air had thickened. Your stomach twisted.

“So what, I’m just another girl you’re fucking until you find someone you can love?”

“No.” His voice was sharp now, laced with that familiar frustration. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me understand, Rafe, because all I see is a guy who takes and takes and can’t even tell his girlfriend he loves her after everything she’s given him.”

Silence. Heavy. Immovable.

And then your voice broke completely. “I love you so much it hurts. And I don’t think you feel anything close to that for me.”

His lips parted. But nothing came out.

And that silence hurt worse than if he’d screamed.

You’d gone to bed alone that night. You heard him outside on the porch for hours, pacing, lighting cigarette after cigarette and never finishing one. You cried until your eyes swelled shut, gripping a pillow that still smelled like him and wondering how long you could keep loving someone who couldn’t love you back.

But something changed after that night.

He didn’t say it not that but he changed.

Therapy became more than just a checkbox. He stopped deflecting. He let the sessions carve into him, dig up all the rot and guilt and twisted wiring. He started talking. Really talking. To the therapist, to you. Not always easily, but honestly.

He started showing up. Not just coming home, but being home.

And he got the job. A real one. Building houses, pouring foundations, laying the kind of bricks he said felt solid beneath his fingers. You used to joke that Rafe needed something outside of his brain to break and rebuild, and construction was just that. Each wall he built was another piece of him coming back together.

The two of you bought a house too big, a little old, with hydrangeas out front and floorboards that creaked when it rained. You called it “haunted cottage core.” Rafe hated that, but not really. He rebuilt the staircase by hand. Repainted the kitchen cabinets with you one weekend, both of you speckled in white and blue paint, laughing until your ribs ached.

But he still hadn’t said it. And some nights, that silence still echoed.

Then came the ring.

His mother’s. Found it in a box from Tannyhill, tucked between old photographs and hair clips. Simple. Silver like center like a piece of ocean frozen in time. He stared at it for hours that night.

He didn’t know what it meant if he was worthy of using it. If she’d want him to. If you’d want him to.

But every time he imagined losing you, the air left his lungs.

And that meant something.

So the night he did it, he didn’t plan anything grand. That wasn’t him. That wasn’t you.

You were on the porch, sitting on the swing, wrapped in a blanket, hair still wet from your bath, wearing the hoodie of his you always stole when you were sad.

He sat beside you. Silent. For a long time.

Then, his voice quiet, almost hoarse. “I know I’ve been… a lot. I know I’ve hurt you.”

You looked at him slowly, heart already racing, but said nothing.

“I used to think love was something people said just to get laid. Or control each other. Or pretend shit was okay when it wasn’t. My parents? Yeah. They loved each other. And they still broke everything they touched.”

You watched him, your heart breaking in slow motion.

“But then you came along. And you stayed. Even when I made it impossible. You stayed.”

You swallowed hard. “Rafe…”

“I didn’t say it before… because I didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like.” He reached into his hoodie pocket. Pulled out the ring. “But now? I get it.”

He dropped to one knee right there on the porch, the light from the windows casting a soft glow across his face. His hands were trembling. He didn’t care.

“I love you.”

You gasped, lips parting like they wanted to say finally, but the words got caught behind your tears.

“I love you so much it scares the shit out of me. And I should’ve said it that night. When you begged me to. But I didn’t want to say it until I meant it. And I mean it now.”

His voice cracked. “You’re the only person who ever made me want to be better. You’re the only thing in my life that’s ever felt real. So I’m asking you… will you marry me?”

You dropped to your knees too, hands flying to your mouth, laughing through your sobs.

And you whispered the only word that ever felt big enough for the moment.

“Yes.”

He slid the ring on your finger, and you didn’t even look at it. You just kissed him like your soul had been waiting years for this exact second.

And in that kiss, in that trembling embrace, in that breathless, beautiful collapse into each other Rafe finally understood what love felt like.

It felt like safety.

It felt like pain.

It felt like home.

[angelsforthenight]

im back and ready to push the submissive pathetic!vi agenda yet again... (nsfw)

jesus almighty i want you guys to imagine her perched over your bed, trembling hands gripping the headboard with her ass up. poor thing wouldn't even be able to shut up: strong puffs of breath leaving her lips every five seconds. you'd sit there waiting amusedly, as you know she'd be expecting something. her entire body is just gagging for it - trembling and wriggling uncontrollably.

she'd call for your name, her inferior voice laced in a meek tone. every single movement would just be so predictable. it's almost embarrassing.

"uh-uh. turn around." you'd say with a little smile never leaving your lips. how could it ever go? this is top tier entertainment, seeing your usual big, sturdy girlfriend be a puddle of goopy mess. vi does as you say with a whimper, as there's pretty much nothing else she can do. one wrong move and you're not touching her for another tedious thirty minutes. you watch as vi arches her back, dog-like whimpers spilling from the back of her throat. you continue this act until you start to feel a little bad. i mean, god, you can fucking see the arousal dribbling pathetically down her thighs.

"my baby doesn't like waiting does she?" you coo, rubbing the pad of your fingers against her sopping folds. vi can only whine in response, too anticipated to worry about speaking. but alas, you like to hear words of affirmation.

"answer." you mutter curtly, commanding at her as if she's a dog. she flinches at your change in tone, scrambling to pick up which right words to say. she really, really wants you to touch her after all, even when it's too hard to think.

"i don't... please touch me. c-can't hold it in much longer... i'll die..." she whines, her knuckles turning white from gripping the headboard as tight as she can. she's always too dramatic for her own good, but you can't help but love her for it.

you hum in response, your fingers finally easing in her waterlogged cunt. your index and middle finger easily slip inside, welcoming you in with excited flutters and the attempt to suck you in completely. a low, pleased moan punches out of vi; one that clearly declares 'finally.'

the pinkette vibrates with pleasure, incoherent babbles slewing from her lips, words you couldn't even begin to understand. it's as if you're stirring her brain into a slushy and you've only pistoned two of your fingers in!

it's absolutely world class when you add a third finger into the mix, pushing them in further. you've grazed against her g-spot for sure, because vi jolts as if electrocuted. an adorable little squeak leaves her lips too: clearly, she hadn't expected that.

"you doing okay?" you chirp.

"mmhmmm..." she drones in response. you decide to let it slide that vi isn't actually using her words, because you can tell that she's on the brink of making a mess all over herself. the rhythmic clenches of her pussy tell you everything you need to know, as well as the way her moans are turning into keens.

you press your fingers in and out consistently, the sound of wet filth overtaking the room like a pack of bees. before you know it, vi's shuddering violently, your name leaving her lips like a reverent prayer.

vi lets out an exhilarated sigh as her weakened body decides it isn't able to hold herself up anymore, slumping on the bed. you giggle and nestle on top of her - nestling on top of her and peppering chaste kisses along her back, coated in a film of sweat.

"thank you... thankyouthankyouthankyou...' she mumbles persistently into the sheets, still trembling a palpable amount.

"no need to thank me, handsome." you'd reply, whispering the words into her skin and hoping it somehow embellishes underneath.

a/n: HI GUYS im back teeheeheeee (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵) im very slooooowly working through your requests and i fear i might not do all bc some are too similar to my previous works, however pls do keep sending more! or not! i love anything u guys say in my inbox! (づ> v <)づ♡

[makis-eyebrows]

Request: 🍓

One Page At A Time

Exam stress is something Lily and Oscar never want to see from their daughter. So they do what they can. They help her.

The house was quiet — not peaceful, but tense.

Upstairs, the only sound was the furious scratch of a pen on paper, the occasional frustrated sigh, and the muffled thud of a textbook being slammed shut.

Y/n Piastri-Zneimer sat hunched over her desk, hair piled into a messy bun, eyes darting over formulas and facts that refused to stick. Her room looked like a war zone — colour-coded notes scattered across her bed, flashcards stuck on the wall like battle plans, and a half-finished mug of tea that had gone cold hours ago.

It was exam season. The final exam season.

The one that decided her future.

University applications were around the corner, and her grades this year would carry the most weight. And though Y/n had always been a steady, self-motivated student, the pressure had started pressing in on all sides like a slow tide. Her highlighters were running dry. Her sleep was inconsistent. And she hadn’t smiled — not really — in days.

Oscar had noticed.

So had Lily.

They had heard the small, tired voice from behind her door whenever they checked in. Had seen her rubbing her temples at breakfast, eyes still glazed over from late-night revision. Oscar had even found her dozing off on the couch with her physics notes stuck to her cheek one evening after a study break turned nap.

That night, as Lily stirred pasta in the kitchen and Oscar leaned against the counter with a quiet frown, they exchanged a look.

“She’s going to burn out,” Lily said softly, voice laced with concern.

Oscar nodded. “I keep telling her to take a break, but she won’t listen. Says she doesn’t have time.”

“Then maybe we make the time for her.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Operation Parental Intervention?”

Lily smiled. “Exactly.”

It started small the next morning.

Oscar brought her breakfast in bed — toast, berries, and a soft-boiled egg with a silly little smiley face drawn in sharpie.

Y/n blinked at the tray. “Dad… what’s this?”

He shrugged casually. “Brain fuel. Straight from the Piastri pit crew. You’re the car, exams are the race, and you can’t win if you don’t refuel.”

Y/n laughed softly despite herself. “That was so cheesy.”

“I aim to please.”

Later that afternoon, Lily walked into Y/n’s room with a stack of hot chocolate, fluffy socks, and a candle that smelled like vanilla and old libraries.

“Okay,” she said, clapping her hands. “Five-minute breathing session, followed by a twenty-minute reset walk with your very stylish mum. No negotiation.”

“But I have—”

“Y/n.”

Y/n looked up and saw the gentleness in her mum’s eyes. The kind that didn’t push too hard, just held space. Slowly, she closed her textbook.

“…Fine. But only because I’m starting to smell like exam stress.”

They walked around the neighbourhood, talking about everything but school — their dog barking at leaves, the colour of the sunset, how Lily once fell off a Segway in front of a busload of tourists.

And just like that, some of the weight fell off Y/n’s shoulders.

But the big move came the next evening.

Y/n was hitting a breaking point with her maths exam. Graphs and derivatives blurred together, and nothing made sense. Her hands trembled from too much caffeine. Her chest was tight.

“Stupid curve,” she muttered, eyes burning. “I don’t get it, I just… don’t get it.”

A knock sounded on her door.

Oscar poked his head in. “Hey, I need you for something.”

“Dad, I’m really not—”

“Y/n.”

She sighed, standing reluctantly.

But when she followed him downstairs, she blinked in confusion.

The living room had been transformed.

A blanket fort — a giant one — took over the couch, twinkly lights draped along the top like constellations. A projector lit the wall with her favorite movie’s opening scene. Popcorn sat in a bowl shaped like a racing helmet. On the floor was a handwritten sign:

“NO EXAMS ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT.”

Lily popped her head out from under the fort flap. “Come on in, Professor. Time to shut off that brain.”

Y/n stared, eyes wide. Then she let out a choked laugh.

“You guys are ridiculous.”

Oscar beamed. “And you love it.”

She crawled inside, curling up between them under a mountain of pillows. Her hand found Oscar’s and squeezed.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He squeezed back. “One page at a time, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

That night, after the movie ended and Y/n had fallen asleep against her mum’s shoulder — breathing finally even and calm — Oscar looked down at her peaceful face and smiled.

She’d be okay.

Because she didn’t have to carry the pressure alone.

Not when she had them in her corner, cheering her on — no matter the grade, no matter the result.

Just like he’d always wanted to be for her.

Another piece of work done :)

I'm heading to bed now. I can't wake up upset or anything or I'll miss the bus, since I have school and all.

That's Gang Gang out!!!!

[hot-patootiee]

Part 3

part 2 here. I’m writing these like right after my Calc BC exam and I have a killer headache but fuck it we ball. Aka Steve is not the only one to obtain brain damage because of an ex.

Don’t worry about the headache, I’m having a special gummy and chilling.

…

Eddie wakes up to an empty bed. He finds a note on the nightstand.

Had to go to work, see you later

-Steve

An idea forms in his head on what to do to help apologize. Steve’s constant complaints about the big empty house he lived in. How he wished Robin or Eddie could stay forever.

Eddie was still a little unsure. It would be quite an assumption to make. He would probably have to talk to Robin during her break and see if she would also be on board and if she thought it was a good idea.

But, he knew Steve would be ecstatic to have people he cared about close by. Eddie couldn’t help but remember the nights he was woken up from Steve calling to make sure he was alive.

It would suck moving away from Wayne, but Eddie figured that taking the relationship too serious would be better than not taking it serious enough.

Eddie decided that despite just waking up at this unholy hour (11 am), he would go see Robin and brief her on his plan.

When he got to family video, luckily, Steve was working in the back and Robin sat at the desk.

She perked up as soon as she saw him.

“Eddie I messed up.” Robin stumbles out with a groan.

Eddie waits for her to continue.

“I didn’t know that Steve thought you two were dating. He’s been talking about you for weeks and I never noticed.” Robin whines again, head dropping shamefully.

“I have just the thing.” And just like that Robin is up again.

“Really?” Robin exclaimed, jumping on her toes as she leaned against the counter. Eddie personally didn’t think Robin could show this much emotion, but with Steve’s stories, it doesn’t really surprise him.

“Do you think Steve would be on board with us living with him?”

“He’s been asking me to forever, it’s just my parents give me crap for moving in with a single man.” Robin replied plainly, hints of resentment lacing her voice.

“Well you’re 18 and therefore you make your own decisions. Do you want to move in with him?” Eddie probes and Robin smiles at him in return.

She nods hard, making her hair bounce with the stiff jerks of her head.

“I want to do something else too.” Eddie mutters.

Robin seems a little suspicious as she says “Good idea, but why?”

“This is kinda both a burden and a blessing. Steve’s been wanting it for a while, but it ultimately gives him more work to do.” Eddie points ponders slowly. He rolls over potential actions in his mind, seeing how smoothly they work before coming to a conclusion.

“Maybe just a nice night. Steve gets headaches and weed might help him relax. Or He’s been talking about hosting a game night forever, we could take care of everything and just let him relax.” Eddie shrugs, thinking through different dinner options and possibilities of what Steve would like.

“Ask Steve if there’s anything you can do to make his life easier. He’s selfless by nature so there’s probably something you’ve been doing that he doesn’t like.” Robin replies coolly. She then winces. “I should probably stop putting my feet on his dash.” She murmurs in a guilty tone.

“That’s a good idea.” Eddie nods.

“I gotta pack my shit, I’ll help you pack yours, you help with mine?” Robin inquires. The way she bats her eyes might’ve seemed flirty to anyone else, but it was evidently just effective manipulation. Because Eddie knew unless he was throwing all his shit out the window, she would immediately get bored and ditch him for a German dictionary.

News flash: she did.

…

Steve surprisingly did not get impatient as time trudged on. Eddie searched his face for any mark of displeasure, but failed to find any.

But, apparently Eddie just wasn’t the one seeing it. Something about Steve had changed a little bit, instead of backing down when challenged, he just dug his heels in. It reminded Eddie of the Steve in the upside down.

Allegedly Steve had been driving all the kids down to the new diner. Mike had been skeptical about Steve’s directions and had started loudly declaring that he had gone the wrong way.

“It’s not like you’re the intellectual authority on anything Steve.”

The breaks were hit so fast that all the boys jerked forward with the sudden stop.

According to Dustin Steve then yelled “WELL I AM THE AUTHORITY OF THIS GODDAMN CAR, GET OUT IF YOU HAVE AN ISSUE!”

Steve waited a few beats and when nobody moved, put down the parking break and the engine whined slightly as Steve shifted into first a little too violently and pulled out.

Mike was scared so badly that he just sat there petrified for the rest of the ride.

So, Steve was evidently frustrated.

Eddie went to visit Steve immediately after hearing what happened. When he found him, Steve was grumbling on his bed. Obviously still peeved about earlier, every few seconds he would reflexively rub his temples.

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin when he noticed Eddie.

Eddie didn’t say anything, he just pulled out a joint and handed it to Steve, who took it apprehensively.

“It helps with headaches.” Eddie weakly justifies, but it seems to be enough to convince Steve, who then leans forward and sticks his hand in Eddie’s pocket and extracts a lighter.

He lights the joint with little fanfare, like he was just having his third daily cigarette. He breathes it in easily before expelling the smoke through his pursed lips.

“This is a little different.” Steve comments, slightly more relaxed at the promise of a high that the joint brought.

“I swapped seeds with Argyle, I had sativa, he had indica. What you’re smoking, just indica, apparently argyle is trying to get the hybrid strain.” Eddie says in a blasé tone as he climbs into Steve’s bed.

“What’s the difference?” Steve asked before taking another hit, longer this time.

“It’s supposed to relax you more. Less high, but more relaxing.” Eddie loosely explains.

Steve hogs the joint a little, but Eddie honestly thinks he deserves it. When Steve finally plops his head on Eddie’s lap, he gets an idea.

Eddie sinks his fingers into Steve’s hair and slowly begins to massage his head. Steve immediately melted into it, muscles straining occasionally when Eddie dragged his fingers especially hard at a tender spot.

Conversation became less frequent as Eddie pushed his fingers into Steve’s jaw and massaged the tense muscles there. Steve made the occasional noise, a grunt or a strange trill that he seemed to find incredibly funny.

The tension and brewing migraine seemed to have completely melted off Steve, leaving him tired and happy. He giggled through half lidded eyes and smiled impossibly wide when Eddie left and came back with reheated leftover pizza from Steve’s fridge.

Eddie struggled not to focus on Steve’s face, his gaze traced Steve’s wide smile and the sparkle in his dark eyes.

“Kis’me” the words came from Steve with a slight lisp. An unwavering smile still plastered on his face.

Eddie obliged because honestly how could he not?

The movement caused Eddie’s face to feel like firecrackers were going off on his skin. The tingling sensation danced across his skin, warmth blooming from where Steve and him met.

Eddie couldn’t focus, incredibly overwhelmed by the assault on his senses of different textures and pressures. The plushness of Steve’s lips contrasted with the lean muscle Eddie’s fingers dug into.

Eddie pulled away when his lungs went tingly from lack of air. He giggled as Steve and him stayed close, puffing out breaths of air right next to eachother.

“Wish you could stay all the t’me.” Steve yawned out, stretching his back slightly like a cat and dipping further into Eddie’s personal space.

“I can.” Eddie replies firmly.

“Really?” Steve is smiling again, so wide that Eddie was worried it might hurt from pulling his lips.

“How’d you like that? I move in with you, maybe Robin too.”

Steve trills, making soft stringy vocalizations at Eddie’s proposal. Steve nearly seems to glow at the proposition.

“Youu move ‘n tomorrow?” Steve’s muscles jump erratically in excitement, his knees tapping and jerking like he can’t control it.

“If you still want me to in the morning.” Eddie whispered, stroking Steve’s hair.

…

When morning came, Eddie woke gently, the after effects of the high still cradling him and making him relaxed.

Unfortunately it didn’t last long as he heard a shrill whistle and the telltale thump of something falling and Robin’s witchlike giggles. Eddie reluctantly pulled himself out of bed and found the hallway scattered with boxes. He turned the corner and Will and El were both there, but not to make things easier. El had a little whistle she was happily blowing whenever someone passed her. Will seemed conflicted on whether he found it funny or entirely too disrespectful for him to take part in.

Unfortunately, the first time El did this, it scared Robin so badly that she nearly threw a box of her own clothes down the stairs.

And there Robin was, clothes halfway out of the box and engulfing her upper body. Steve was laughing his socks off which promptly led to a fistful of clothes being thrown in his face.

Eddie quickly decided he wanted nothing to do with this and quietly made his way back to Steve’s room.

Best to act like he didn’t know them for a few more hours.

…

When Eddie finally arose at a normal time (11:30am) he found Robin setting up the room across from Steve with her stuff.

“Heya birdie.”

Robin glared at him.

“I talked it over with Steve, he’s apparently thrilled enough to forgive me only after I cook gnocchi.”

Eddie makes a half confused noise.

“Potato pasta.” Robin paused. “And you’re helping.” Robin asserts, making Eddie grumble.

Eddie leaves without seeing Steve, opting to also grab his shit to move to Steve’s house. Luckily, he and Robin had already boxed up a majority of the room.

It was probably a good thing he’s moving, Wayne’s back couldn’t take the couch springs much longer.

He packed his boxes into the van, the summer sun making his sweat so much he was forced to change into one of his sleeveless tops.

When he arrived back at Steve’s the kitchen had been fully commandeered by Robin who was peeling steaming potatoes with her fingers. Eddie didn’t get more of a glance as he began moving his stuff upstairs, abandoning it in the hallway because he was a little unsure what room Steve would want him in.

During one of his trips back down to his van, Steve finally appeared. He was sitting next to the counter and stealing potato bits from Robin as she worked. He looked at home in his own house for the first time in a while. His eyes traced Robin carefully as she worked as if she’d disappear. When Steve noticed Eddie, his eyes immediately flicked over to him.

“Which room should I move my stuff in?” Eddie asked with false casualness.

“Mine.”

Steve made no move to help, which was honestly something Eddie fully expected. Instead Steve bounced his feet on the floor with a smile and stuffed another crumbling bit of potato into his mouth. Eddie had apparently failed to realize the two little gremlins sitting in Steve’s shadow. Will and Eleven similarly shoving potato bits into their mouths.

Eddie couldn’t help but smile at Steve’s happiness.

…

Later that night, with boxes still artfully scattered around the second floor, a train of children entered the house. Each carried either a food item to contribute or a housewarming present.

Max grumbled as she handed Steve the Apple pie that had evidently been made by the Sinclairs, judging by the streak of flower on the back of Lucas’s shirt.

Eddie was setting up ‘a game of things’ which he knew from experience would always wonderfully devolve into Regan jokes and idiocy.

Steve got to sit and relax as Eddie and Robin hosted the party, letting him play with the kids and receive their guilty apologies. Since they were still kids, Steve forgave them. Heck, he was way more self absorbed and dickish at their age.

When Eddie finished, he dropped behind Steve, putting his hands on Steve’s shoulders and beginning to rub into the tense muscles. Steve twitched occasionally when Eddie hit a knot, but otherwise seemed pretty content.

“Your metal music gives me headaches.” Steve says suddenly. “You play it too loud and it hurts.”

“Then I’ll turn down the music. You’ll never get a headache from it again.” Eddie affirms.

Steve just hums.

“I forgive you.”

Steve paused for a moment.

“But that doesn’t mean you can stop massaging me.” Steve snapped, head lolling back until it met Eddie’s arms.

AN: have a head massage while high, it’s the best thing ever.

Also, I just don’t understand grand gestures of love, they never made me feel good. Like thanks for the stuffed animal and candies, kinda doesn’t make up for you being a dick about my dead dog. How about you instead like make something that takes time and actually shows you give a shit or go out of your way to give me a good night. I don’t understand the fall in love fast thing a lot of people do. I cultivate my love by the light of the hearth, not the light of a firecracker.

Ps. If you want me to do a follow up where Nancy and him talk. Just let me know. It’s just I didn’t really see her as central part of this story. Thought it would be better to highlight the kids, Robin, and Eddie.

Tags @stripey82 @genderfluidbitch @mensch-anthropos-human @c4tharsys @scoops-aboy86 @breealtair @raleighrox @wannabe-edgy-grandpa @flustratedcas @shoujo-wizard @polysdoitforscience @exasperatedsighohmy @piemaker93 @tinyplanet95 @skepticalqueen @sharingisntkaren @scarletyeager @crypticcrytid @midnightskeeper @wheneverfeasible @ancientwormcivilization @fucjinf-whatever-dude @estrellami-1 @queenofshenanigans @grilledcheesehasfeelings <- get out of my walls

@ellietheasexylibrarian @live-laugh-love-dietrich @turinspeachjam @me-ig7 @revevivant @motherofpirates @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @samsoble @legalmenace87 @thehanwen @bigspongey @thedragonsaunt @newagemyth @pentapoctopus @my-hyperfixations-hell-blog @bumbledoubletea @blackbirdflyflyfly @what-if-a-dragon @reddiandbyler4life @i-think-i-thunk @gregre369 @fiddledeedee85 @ladykailitha

You know the drill, rest of the tags in the comments.

[non-un-topo]

Siggy's Old Guard Fic Favourites Masterlist!

Welcome back, fandom! I decided to finally make a big fic rec list and there are a lot. You know the drill: some have definitely been on lists before, though I tried to highlight some lesser-known ones.

This is also a compilation that reflects my specific interests. As such, the vast majority of these are canon-universe, or pre-canon historical. I will separate them by canon universe and AU/canon-divergent for convenience.

In no particular order:

Canon Universe

A Glacier Moving Through You (10k) - harryhotspur

An exploration of Joe and Nicky’s life in New York during the AIDS crisis. Painfully beautiful and viscerally realistic. Reminds me of what we take for granted. Those who know me know I never shut up about this fic.

Some favourite lines: Their eyes met in a way that said wordlessly, I see you. I am part of your family. Nicky saw David’s shoulders relax and the tears fell from his eyes. He sniffed and wiped them away. Other recs from this author: everything feels too large (the steadings and the fields) (22k), An Unexpected Disruption (2.6k).

Old Olives (21k) - aeili_kindara

A crusades-era fic that I read years ago and it just glued itself into my brain. The author has a slightly different take on Yusuf and Nicolo’s first meeting, in which they actually cross each other at a few different battles on the way to Jerusalem. It’s just incredibly well-written and detailed. Feels like reading a novel or watching a movie.

Some favourite lines: Yusuf’s grin hovers, then broadens. “See you around, then.” Nicolo gives him a bow. “I expect you will.” As he’s walking away, he hears the arrow rather than sees it. He tips his head sideways; it whirs over his shoulder and thunks into the heart of an olive tree. Nicolo doesn’t turn back to look. He twangs the quivering arrow with one finger as he walks by, and hears a voice laughing from the walls. All the way back to camp, he doesn’t stop smiling.

Conviction (21k) - fadagaski

Unfinished, but I urge people to read this one because it is so worth it. Set before the events of the movie, while Andy is travelling alone, the boys take on a job in the Philippines where they end up on either side of a conflict that runs deeper than they expect. This author is so good at tension and details, I was hooked.

Some favourite lines: Nicky pats his shoulder. “Poor Booker,” he says to Joe, “he’s been drinking so much crap since we left him that it has rotted his brain.” Booker shoves him flat, landing in a sprawl across Joe, all three of them laughing as Booker leans across the pair of them to try to steal the bottle from Joe, but Nicky gets there first. It’s been a very long time since Booker has felt a smile on his face. His cheeks ache with the unfamiliar arrangement of muscle.

for i have sinned (8.5k) - apocryphal

Can’t say much about this, to avoid spoilers. I recommend going in blind. It’s just a fantastic character study, with a huge gut punch.

Some favourite lines: Immortality breeds muscle memory by necessity, a brain overloaded with a thousand years of life, seizing on any opportunity it can find to run on autopilot. Joe still reaches for a waterskin he hasn’t carried in seven hundred years. He regularly finds his sword in his hand with no recollection of drawing it.  And he will never remember whether or not he finished strapping Andy’s kevlar, that day.

the axe forgets, the tree remembers (19k) - Flamingbluepanda

Post-movie. After being captured and tortured by some of Kozak’s new guys, Joe loses all of his memories and has to start over again in New York. Meanwhile, the team search for him everywhere.

Some favourite lines: Nicky let out an angry roar and punched a wall hard enough that one of his fingers broke and sent the proximal phalanx pushing through the skin. He didn’t even care or hesitate; he just shook his hand through the air and turned to walk away.  And that was when Andy shot him in the leg.  Nicky collapsed, then rolled smoothly onto his back and raised his gun, eyes wild. “Che cazzo, Andy?” “You wanna get angry and fight something, you fight me,” Andy said, voice low and cold. Nicky narrowed his eyes.

no one does it better (13.8k) - maddielle

While Nile decides to go back to school and take a sexualities elective, Nicky delves into one of her textbooks. He and Joe decide to try their own hand at porn and accidentally get really into it. It’s just a delightful read, and reminds me how old and in love these guys are.

Some favourite lines: “I know what sex is,” Nicky tells him confidently. “I’ve been having sex for nine hundred years. It isn’t this.” “It is for some people, love,” Joe comments, warmly amused, but Nicky shakes his head. “No, this is- There’s no passion. No connection. No one looks like this.” He catches a thumbnail of a slight woman strung up in ropes, all of the knots tied wrong. “It’s irresponsible.” Other recs from this author: come as you are (6k), older now (but not done hoping) (2.5k)

Cabinet of Nonperishable Curiosities (3k) - KushielsMercy

A meditation on Joe and Nicky as a 900-year-old unit. Made me really think about what it means to be together for so many centuries, and it stayed with me for long time after reading. This author always writes so vividly and beautifully too, and I especially love the playfulness between Joe and Nicky in this one.

Some favourite lines: They sit in silence, Nicky’s feet knocking gently back and forth against Joe’s shoulders. Joe always processes Nicky’s body as an extension of his own, but he’s uncomfortably aware of it this morning. Why is it he feels an absence of self when Nicky’s heels float away?  “How much of us,” Nicky finally murmurs, “is each other?” Other recs from this author: Daughter of Dust (1k)

if i’d have lived longer (i still would have waited) (5.4k)- knoepfchen

Pre-canon. An exploration of Joe and parenthood. I re-read this one often, since it’s become very special and personal to me. Truly a beautiful fic.

Some favourite lines: He would have expected Nicolò to be with them, seeing as his skills with a bow nearly rival Quynh’s by now, but he is not. Yusuf rounds the square and finally spots Nicolò crouching in the awning of a side street leading away from the square, surrounded by a throng of children. For a moment, it looks like Nicolò is telling them a story, and Yusuf can picture it, that earnest way of his—but then Nicolò stands to his full height again, one of the children hanging onto his back like a little bear. Yusuf is too far away to hear, but he sees Nicolò’s lips move as he makes what is undoubtedly a whooshing sound, spinning on the spot, arms outstretched. The children shriek in delight, the one on his back the loudest. Other recs from this author: all this time (15.9k), a thicket of shadows is a poor coat (32.8k)

world enough and time (9.5k) - raedear

Post-canon. A delightful fic in which Nicky takes a reluctant Andy to the dentist, and Joe and Nile talk after Joe tells her about a recurring nightmare Nicky has. It has all the emerging found family feels that we all love, as well as that ancient love between Andy and the boys.

Some favourite lines: ‘Nicky had a dream,’ Joe says, as though that explains why he’s the one out of sorts. Maybe it does. Maybe after nine hundred years, they dream the same dreams too. ‘He almost died on the crossing to Jerusalem, you know.’ She didn’t. ‘He dreams sometimes that he did, and because of that he walks alone through this life. It always leaves him shaken.’  It’s not Nicky sitting in front of her, pale at the edges and clutching his coffee like a lifeline. Other recs from this author: I can tell (we are gonna be friends) (1.9k), an astonishment of form (3.7k)

beholder (19k) - liadan14

A throughout-history compilation of Joe and the muse, with himself as the muse, and times he was inspired by others. There’s a story at the end of this fic that Joe wrote that is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read, and I think about it so much. There’s also Joe being a total dumbass in love.

Some favourite lines: For a moment, Nicolò simply continued looking at him, the humor in his eyes softening to something kinder and gentler. Then, he said, “Yusuf, I love you.” “I need to take those bowls to Ahmed,” Yusuf said. Other recs from this author: constant stars (1.5k)

I live on kindness, faith and constant courage (37.7k) - Tam_Cranver

A medieval queer quartet fic set in France that is just incredibly well written. What else can I say? The details, the plot, and the dynamics between the immortals are all perfect. This author is incredible.

Some favourite lines: Yusuf barked out a surprised laugh. “Alas, I’m still not certain I’m up to the task of being Andromache’s husband,” he said in mock mournfulness. “Few men are,” she said, waggling her eyebrows at him. “Now come, help me see if this dress will work for me.” Other recs from this author: Stop, listen, feel, believe (17.2k), The Plate of the Eclipses (90.5k)

whatever here that’s left of me (12.7k) - paigian

After Booker’s departure, the team takes some time off, and Nicky develops an old recurring pain in his shoulder that gets increasingly worse. This fic is all about loss, love, betrayal, and the sheer weight of these things. Gorgeous and timeless.

Some favourite lines: What are these shoulders for? Holding up the weight of Booker’s loneliness; the backs of Joe’s knees; keeping a rifle steady for the kill. Catching a bullet next to the scapula meant for Andy as they escaped that awful building; as a place for Nile to lean against as every bone in her body stitched back together- Other recs from this author: you made a fool of death with your beauty (15.6k), the deaths of nicolo di genova, in ascending order of sexiness and descending order of actual dying (14.2k), the Beyond Measure and Reason series (61.9k)

As The World Falls Down (5.2k) - superblackmarket

One of the first fics I ever read in this fandom. What can I say about superblackmarket? Just fantastic and gorgeously written, every fic.

Some favourite lines: Then one day he woke up—he couldn’t have said what time it was, whether it was morning or evening—and Nicky was sitting at the foot of his bed, looking at him. “Hello, Booker,” he said. He wore a grey kameez over military fatigues and his eyes were like chips of jade. Probably a hallucination, Booker thought. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, slurring his words. “Thought you were up in, uh, whatchamacallit, the…” “How long have you been like this?” Nicky said. Other recs from this author: Tales of Burning Love (5.8k), Ere Babylon Was Dust (7.2k)……… all of them.

Gentle (2.7k) - AphroditesTummyRolls

A very sweet fic about Nicolo and his mama. Made me very misty-eyed. It’s always emotional to think that these war-seasoned immortals were once little children.

Some favourite lines: Her heart squeezed in her chest, and she smoothed his soft hair where it stuck up in a cowlicky tuft. She loved her baby, she loved him.  He was so big now, he weighed on her arms. He gripped at her with his little dumpling fists, and she prayed he’d never let her go. She never wanted to stop holding him.

Centuries and Centuries (102.4k) - marbletopempire

Possibly one of the first crusades-era getting together fics in this fandom, and a famous one but I’m still putting it here. This fic is incredibly written, and such an intimate look into Yusuf and Nicolo’s past. Part of the reason for this is that it’s written entirely in first-person, which I’m a sucker for.

Some favourite lines: Once, when I was a child, I sat on my father’s shoulders and watched as a man was hanged. The crowd was thick, full of laughter, and had the air of a festival. I watched as the man was led up to the gallows, his hands drawn behind his back. His face was one of terror – even at my young age I could tell – and as he looked out over the crowd his wild eyes locked onto mine. People jeered and threw rotten food at him but he did not flinch. He smiled at me briefly before they obscured his head with a sack. Sodomite, I heard whispered around me.

though i’m dying to (fall in love with you) (19.6k) - yusufsmoon

Nicky finds himself hopping between alternate dimensions, finding Joe in each one. This is a comfort classic to me, it just fills me with so much joy.

Some favourite lines: He takes in the way Joe’s eyes are regarding him; there’s an assuredness in those brown depths, that he realizes reminds him of Andy, of Quynh, even, before they lost her. Like they could take on the weight of the world with a smile.

life is very long (7k) - kaydeefalls

The OG description does it perfectly: Nicky and his immortal family, over the centuries. This fic is a forever favourite, full of love and wonder for the world and the immortal family.

Some favourite lines: "Come, habibi," Yusuf murmurs, so close that his beard tickles along Nicolo's neck. "Will you not join me?" Nicolo closes his eyes, trying to keep his breathing even. "I cannot dance." Yusuf presses a kiss into the soft skin just below his ear. "I promise you, this is a dance you know." Other recs from this author: Carthaginians (53k), catch you when the current lets you go (5.4k)

July 1982 (9k) - WarriorOmen

I read this one every summer, I swear. It’s got Joe on a motorcycle, clubbing, and the immortal husbands just being absolutely smitten for each other.

Some favourite lines: 900 years old. He’s 900 years old and completely rooted to the ground from surging lust and excitement because, sitting in the parking lot of this store, is Joe. But it’s not just Joe, it’s some iteration of Joe that is currently straddling a massive black motorcycle, leaning over the handlebars like he owns the thing (which Nicky really hopes he does) and staring straight at Nicky with all the confidence of someone who has well and truly surprised his husband. Other recs from this author: My Blade, My Love (2k)

Rain Season (6k) - yu_gin

This fic takes place after the Chernobyl disaster, where Joe is in a period of depression. The way the reactor is described is so scary, I feel like it’s this ever-surveying, hulking, breathing beast. And the way the effect of radiation on the immortals is described… there’s one small scene that will forever be in my head.

Some favourite lines: That night he went to the reactor once again. He pushed himself closer than ever, determined to look the monster in the eyes. He could feel the heat increasing and the air burning his lungs. He knew what would come, he was familiar with the excruciating pain, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Fast Car (7.9k) - PastyPirate

Joe and Nicky go for a Thanksgiving road trip in the 90s. This fic has one of the best and goofiest representations of the immortal husbands’ relationships I’ve ever read, and the dialogue is so realistic. A major comfort read that I think about all the time.

Some favourite lines: “This is more of a general present,” He held up the cassette, tilting it where Nicky could read the label. Nicky tilted his head to read, and burst into laughter, “you asshole.” Joe looked at the label, Sad Songs for Nicky written in clear script for this very moment, “What? No good? I have another.” He held up the second cassette Happy Songs for Joe scribbled on it.

James Copley’s No Good Very Bad Year (12.7k) - Dr_Amuly

Absolutely delightful fic about the cleanup after Merrick’s, where Joe and Nicky “help” Copley (they fuck with him) go through the old pictures, while Copley hasn’t figured out that they’re a couple.

Some favourite lines: “Joe,” Nicky gentled. “We are nearly a thousand years old.” “I’m thirty-three!” Joe protested. “Anno di Cristi…” Nicky sing-songed under his breath. Joe kicked him—lovingly, of course—under the table.

the profession of my fingers (24.9k) - mellyflori

A classic. This is one of those fics that reminds me why I love these characters so so much. Basically a compilation throughout history of Nicky worshipping Joe’s curls. It’s got some of the tenderest moments. Their love feels really tangible and believable here.

Some favourite lines: "Surely, Lord, you’ve sent this man to test me.” “Did you want me to test you? Because I can—“ “Thank you, Lord, for the gift of this great compassionate spirit in my life.” Other recs from this author: there’s a trick with a knife (i’m learning to do) (65.2k)

Impelled by the Persuasion of Love (2.4k) - Lolo (TheLittleLo)

The queer quartet + courtly love! I read this when the zine came out years ago, then re-read it while I was taking a class in Arthurian literature, and it really has it all. Short but sweet, and I adore how the author writes the dynamic between the four immortals. Feels like a lovely bedtime story.

Some favourite lines: “Can I stay with you tonight?” “I think we can risk one night. You are meant to be the brother of my lady wife, after all.” Nico made a face of disgust. “Do not remind me,” Nico said, and he titled his head up to press his lips to Joseph’s.

the dark matter of you (12.9k) - Syysmyrsky (Arktikko)

Gorgeously written meditation on Yusuf and Nicolo’s early love through Yusuf’s account of an old relationship, and through Nicolo’s eyes. Very vivid and realistic, goofy at times, gets me right in the gut and feels so believable as a conversation between these two. Reminds me why I love their love.

Some favourite lines: It feels so natural, he thinks as he looks at Yusuf, to be with this man, to love him. The more he does, the more it feels like perhaps loving Yusuf is what he has always been meant to do. It certainly had felt like destiny when Yusuf had kissed him that rainy afternoon, urgent and just a little desperate. Hurried, until Nicolò, hands still wet from the rain but so careful, had stroked his palm down Yusuf’s broad back slowly, sweetly, and something in both of them slowed down and settled. Calm like coming home. Other recs from this author: The Devil’s Eye (6.2k)

Per usual it didn’t go as planned (but as it should) (19.8k)- linascribbles

Post-movie. The team spends some time in Peru. I come back to this fic every time I need comfort and some Nile love, it’s just so soft and good.

Some favourite lines: "Nile!" Andy exclaims suddenly, eyes going wide and bright on the mirror. "I'm gonna get wrinkles!" She sounds thrilled about it.  "You'll finally get to contest Joe on that," Nile replies, voice full of laughter. Andy pumps her fist.

The Lamp of Nicholas (20.5k) - ViridianPanther

A crusades-era fic in which Yusuf and Nicolo part ways, and Yusuf finds himself captured and imprisoned in a tower. Such a fun one that feels like a bedtime story or legend. It also got me obsessed with the word “defenestrate.”

Some favourite lines: “—and I saw why the Almighty chose to bless us both with a reprieve from death. Because I have been the receiver of his kindness. And now I will never be able to thank him for that, I will never be able to tell him how much I loved him. Because I let him go back to the place that turned him into a monster, and now—” Other recs from this author: The Death of You (22.7k)

Ten Ounces (3.5k) - suchA_Consequentialist

Post-canon, the aftermath of Joe being kidnapped and tortured. A beautiful fic with a gut-punch. This author is a master of bildup and the gut-punch, I am so so obsessed with it. Can’t say much without spoiling, I think it’s just best to go into this one blind.

Some favourite lines: Against Joe’s chest, Nicky’s hand stays still and flat. He looks stricken and desperate as his hand presses harder against the skin. There is no scar. There can't be. So, Nicky can't know. Other recs from this author: A River Arrives in the House of the Dead Men (The Prodigious Flowering Rage) (4.8k)

To kindle a spark in the darkness (7k) - Nary

Pre-canon outsider POV in the 15th century. This fic has everything I love, following a man named Hassan who encounters the immortals at different times in his life. Follows the thesis of the movie perfectly, and it’s gorgeously written. Feels like watching a movie.

Some favourite lines: Then Yusuf gave a sharp gasp, sitting up. Hassan scrambled back in alarm. Yusuf felt his chest with one hand, fumbling for his weapon with the other. "Ugh, one of them has an arquebus," he said, almost to himself, and then, noticing Hassan a few feet away, he gave a rueful smile. "I didn't mean for you to see that, little one."

Making the Marauders (62.2k) - nizzuto

A medieval Yusuf and Nicolo adventure, a Robin Hood story. They work together covertly to try and convince a greedy duke to have some compassion for his people, and this goes as well as one would expect. This author is a master of epics and tension, so it’s hard to choose a favourite, but this one always has me on the edge of my seat.

Some favourite lines (my favourite line is a spoiler, so): “I,” Nicolò starts and stops and starts again, “He believes I am a harbinger of the Lord. I told him that I was to spread a message of mercy and altruism.” “My Nicolò,” Yusuf says breathlessly. “An angel!” Other recs from this author: He, Dreamless (126.7k), A Man Called Mercy (17k)

The Extraordinarily Complex Task of Condensing a 920-Year-Old Romance into a 145-Word Speech (While Being Abducted) (47.3k) - Liketheriver

An anthology following Yusuf and Nicolo through the centuries, with each scene relating to one line in Joe’s van speech. This fic has everything, everything. It’s such a tasty treat when you’re looking for action, angst, hurt and comfort, romance, and historical accuracy.

Some favourite lines: “Oh, Yusuf,”  Nicolo’s breath hitched, and Yusuf could feel warm tears against his neck.  “It’s gone. All of it is gone.” Yusuf cupped the back of Nicolo’s head, held him tighter.  “I know, my soul, but at least you are not.”

Guiding You Through (6.2k) - mekana47

Post-canon, Booker & Nicky centric. The team is on an undercover mission when Nicky is given a truth serum, and Booker watches over a screen. I’m a sucker for the Nicky & Booker brotherly dynamic, and this fic just hits it right on the head.

Some favourite lines: “He signaled,” Booker traces over the screen. Nicky’s head has dropped to one side, but his hand closest to the camera has two fingers pressed flat against his leg and the other three tucked into a fist. “You have a signal for truth serums,” Nile says flatly. Other recs from this author: Code Pink (700 words), Hold Tight (3.3k)

Illustrious Pagans (6k) - saintsideways

Exactly as it says: Five times Joe and Nicky did drugs. There’s something about this fic that I just want to eat. It’s silly and delightful at times, sexy and mind-bendy at others.

Some favourite lines: “Someone’s house, I guess,” Yusuf said, drowsily. “Is this your hallucination or mine?” “Does it matter?” IT DOES NOT said the eyes, watching them benignly.

AU

Take What You Can (15.7k) - theoxfordcommando

An Old Guard x Pirates of the Caribbean au, executed flawlessly. What more could I ever want? Incomplete, but still very worth the read. The author fit the characters into their roles so perfectly, I just adore it.

Some favourite lines: “I dreamed about you last night.” The words came out much softer than Yusuf had meant them to. Like a whispered confession in the dark hours of night. Nicolò’s eyes widened just a fraction and there, that look he knew. Nicolò was embarrassed. “About the day we met,” Yusuf quickly clarified, less of a whisper this time. “Do you remember it?” Other recs from this author: Lingering Aches (1.6k), The Ballad of Robin Hood and Nicolo (7k)

right where you left me (115.4k) - dreamtiwasanarchitect, liadan14

Canon-divergent au. I can’t say much about this one without spoilers, just… God. Please read this one. I’ve never been able to get it out of my head.

Some favourite lines: Sometimes, he wonders what signal got crossed there, how it is that Nicky’s body takes pain and humiliation and turns them into bright, incandescent pleasure so well.

The Town By The Empty Lake (89.4k) - OldMagpie (Magpie Morality)

This fic deserves so much more everything — kudos, comments, bookmarks. It’s a gorgeous Lovecraftian mystery with an ensemble cast, incredible art and a playlist to match. Just fully immersive. I could picture it all so clearly in my mind.

Some favourite lines: She rears back, heart thumping wildly, unsure what had prompted such a visceral reaction. She only knows she does not want to look at the painting again. Poor Yusuf al-Kaysani, maybe he is going mad - to have painted this and then placed it in his room to watch while he sleeps…

i love the way you see the world (series) (40k) - flightofwonder

A canon-divergent au series in which Joe is deaf. I just want to rec the whole series, because it’s hard to pick one out of it. A true classic.

Some favourite lines: He had never needed to hear the prayers, only to feel them. He trusted in Allah to guide him with the rest.

.....and so many more.

[batsybat91]

Heyyy bestieee *slides in with cool shades on, almost trips but catches self* I got a lil somethin somethin for your beautiful brain to munch on tehe

I talk to myself a lot (like everyone else) but instead of speaking normally, I whisper cuz I feel awkward if I don't. But I have to let those thoughts out y'know? The inner monologue in my head isn't enough 💀

Sooo, how about a reader who also whispers to themself and Simon catches them

- Biscuits 🌺

Hello, Biscuits, you gorgeous, big-brained genius!! I also talk to myself a lot - usually when I'm playing video games. Occasionally will be talking to myself at work, too. So I totally get you!!

--

You have been cleaning your husband's (you love calling him your husband!) guns all day. He left you a note on the fridge asking you to do it, and of course, you had to look up a tutorial on how to do it. The last gun you have to clean is a very expensive-looking Winchester rifle, with a wooden stock and a bolt action. It's a hunting gun, you know that much. It has a damn fine scope, so you ensure the covers are on and secured.

"Okay," you whisper. "You can do this. It's just a rifle. You cleaned all his other guns. Pistols... rifles. This one is just. Expensive. More expensive than you, probably."

You pick the rifle up gently. It's a .308 caliber, so it's a pretty big gun. It's heavy, too. Maybe not to Simon, who can pick you up and put you on his shoulders without breaking a sweat. But to you? It's fucking heavy. Your arms shake as you carry it from the safe to the kitchen table.

"Okay. Okay. Don't worry. If you fuck this up, Simon will kill you and bury you in his grave," you mutter. "No biggie. No, no, no. We are so chill about this."

You glance at the instructions you wrote for yourself. First, open chamber. Ensure it's not loaded.

"Check."

"Next, remove action from gun, if possible."

You gently turn the rifle in your hands, propping it on the kitchen chair. You point the muzzle up, just like Simon taught you. "Gently," you whisper as you pull the bolt action out. "Gently!"

You get the action out safely. A sigh of relief floods over you.

"Okay, next," you mumble, setting the gun with the muzzle facing opposite of the door.

Simon has just come home, but you don't hear him open the door. You are locked the fuck in on cleaning this gun without hurting it. He sets his gear on a nearby chair and tosses his mask on the end table. He hears you talking in the kitchen, and moves to investigate. Simon assumes you're on the phone with someone, but no.

There you are, hair pulled out of your face with a headband. You are holding his favorite rifle, examining it with precision.

"Take the rod thingy, then the paper towel," you whisper, "Then you thread it through the rod just like that. And then you dip it in some of that..."

He smiles, watching you from the shadows. There's something adorable in how much care you're putting into taking care of his guns. He didn't actually expect you to learn how to clean them. He expected you to call Johnny or Gaz for help.

"And then you put the thingamabob in the doohickey up here," you say, gently pushing the rod into the top of the gun. He can tell you're being very careful with it, wincing any time you even tap the scope.

"Jam it in and out at a real nice pace," you mutter. Then, even quieter, you say, "He better jam it in me when he sees I've cleaned all his guns."

Simon can't help the snort that escapes him. You look up from the rifle, and you positively beam when you see him. "Simon, baby!" you exclaim. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Long enough," he says, a low chuckle rumbling through his chest.

You frown. "Aw man, I bet you think I'm fucking 'daft,' talking to myself like that."

"Not at all," he assures you. "I think it's cute, luvie."

"Well, you hang tight right there, mister," you command, pointing the cleaning rod at him. Then, doing a horrible, horrible impression of his British accent, you say, "I'll clean this musket of yours and shine your shoes for a smacker."

"Real funny," he growls, though there's a smile on his face.

"I'm hilarious," you agree.

You put the bolt back inside the rifle after you're done cleaning it and keep the action open. Simon saunters behind you and rests his chin on your head. "Oh, that's bloody good work, darlin'."

"Thank you, my lord," you giggle. "Now, help me put them all back in your safe."

He presses a quick kiss to your forehead and pats your ass affectionately. "Not a problem, Queen Riley."

You snort, a very unladylike sound. "Queens don't talk to themselves."

"My queen does," he replies, kissing your cheek before padding off to grab a gun.

[tateypots]

Body and Soul

18+ MDNI

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x f!reader, Dark!Tommy Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: Part 10 of Collared. Same as before, it's dark so please heed the warnings and skip if it's not for you.

I promised an anon I would put Tommy in a ponytail but I had to split the chapter because it was getting too big. So ponytail Tommy will fall in the next chapter, sorry anon!

Moodboard is for aesthetics only, reader is not described beyond having boobs and a vagina and hair (very brief mention and it is not described). Please refer to this post for more info on the series mooboards.

Summary: You take a step forward in your relationship with Joel.

Warnings: Non-Con, dark Joel, dark Tommy, kidnapping, daddy kink, uncle kink, restraints, stockhom syndrome, praise kink, unprotected piv, manipulation. Let me know if I missed anything.

You heave a massive sigh and bury your head in your hands. What a mess. Your brain is on overdrive following Joel telling you about their bet. And the worst of it is that it’s not outrage at them using you as a pawn in their games. It’s the thought of letting one of them down.

A few hours ago you had been drowning in pride at how well you were doing in your training, how pleased Tommy was with you. How much faith he had in you. The thought of disappointing him makes you sick to your stomach. Because of course it would be him. You had genuinely come to care for Tommy. But you needed Joel. Going 24 hours without him would be an unthinkable torture.

You felt like you should hate yourself for how little thought you actually gave it. Because as soon as the secret slipped from Joel’s mouth, the outcome was inevitable. And to make things worse again, you knew that had been his intention in telling you. A manipulation dressed up in praise and feigned sadness over a loss he knew would never come. And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him, because weren’t you just as bad?

Joel had told you because he couldn’t bear the thought of going without you for that long. And you would risk your relationship with Tommy because you felt the same way about him. That pull you felt towards him was inescapable. It defied all logic. You knew Tommy was objectively the better choice for you. He was younger for a start. More open, fun, where Joel was closed off and manipulative. But Tommy didn’t make your body sing or your heart flutter the way Joel did. So no matter how much you hated letting him down, Tommy never really stood a chance.

Now you just had to figure out a way to do it that would limit the damage. You couldn’t just put no effort in. Tommy would know something was off if you did. And that sent your brain spiralling in another direction. What would happen if Tommy found out that Joel had told you?

You’d often considered what would happen if the brothers turned on you. But it had never crossed your mind to wonder what would happen if they turned on each other. It was clear to you how close they were so it had never really seemed like it would be a problem. But now the secrets between them were starting to mount up. Because of you… You grabbed a pillow off the bed and stuffed it over your face, screaming your frustration into it.

You tried so hard over the next few hours to shut off your brain but it was no good. Your mind ran in circles, searching for a solution that wouldn’t materialise. When Joel and Tommy came in for the day you were amped up, pacing and fidgety.

“Whoa sugar, what’s got you all riled up?” Tommy asks, coming over to still your pacing, grabbing you by each bicep.

You couldn’t look at him, too filled with guilt so instead you leant forward and buried your head in his shoulder.

“Hey now, what’s goin’ on?” He tries to push you back so he can look at you but you resist, wrapping your arms around him and clinging on like your life depends on it. He admits defeat and wraps his arms around you and pulls you in close.

“It’s ok princess, just tell us what’s wrong hmm?”

You turn your head to the side and mumble, “I’m ok Uncle Tommy, just got in my head and couldn’t switch it off.” You lift your head slightly to peer over his shoulder at Joel. He’s looking back at you, studying the scene in front of him, frowning. You see how this must look to him, you diving straight into Tommy’s arms while upset, knowing what it must be about.

The panic wells in your chest. Your breath comes in frantic little pants and you start to feel lightheaded. You reach one arm out to him while keeping one locked around Tommy’s back and whimper out a soft, “Daddy!”

He softens immediately and rushes to you, grabbing your hand and leaning over Tommy’s shoulder to give you a kiss on the crown of your head. His thumb rubs back and forth gently on the back of your hand as tears start to leak from your eyes.

“It’s ok baby, we got you, you’re alright,” Joel murmurs into your hair.

You sniffle and nod into Tommy’s shoulder, feeling so safe, so cared for it almost makes you forget what you were upset about in the first place. Almost.

“M’sorry,” you mumble, finally getting a grip of yourself and stopping the tears.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about princess, some days are just like that. Happens to me and your Daddy too, ‘cept he gets a lot grumpier than I do.”

You huff a laugh and Tommy snickers into the side of your head when Joel gives him a playful clip around the back of the head.

“There she is. Happy to hear you laughin’ sugar,” Tommy tells you as he finally succeeds in peeling you off him so he can look at your face. You take a deep breath and meet his gaze with a little smile, still holding tight to Joel’s hand.

“Right, I know just the thing to properly cheer you up. How bout some of Uncle Tommy’s famous hot chocolate?”

You smile and nod at him. He is achingly sweet and its making you feel terrible for the way you know you’re going to betray him. But it’s somewhat easier to face with Joel by your side, your hand held securely in his.

“Ok, good girl. Why don’ you snuggle up with Daddy while I work my magic,” he winks at you and moves over to the small kitchen to get started.

Joel looks at you for a beat before sweeping you up in his arms and depositing you both on the sofa, you sitting in his lap with both legs off to the side. The raging jealousy he felt when he saw you latch onto Tommy just now is ebbing slowly as he runs his hands over your soft skin. He’d momentarily worried that he’d pushed you too far. That he’d lost you to Tommy completely through his scheming. But as you lift your little hand to cup his face and lean up to give him a kiss on the cheek he knows his worries were baseless. You’re his. You choose him. He kisses your forehead in a soft apology for what he’s putting you through. You just sigh and sink into him. His sweet, tender-hearted girl. He’ll think of a way to make it up to you.

///

By the time you finish your hot chocolate you’re feeling much better. Snuggling with Joel has quieted your mind and reaffirmed your conviction that you cannot spend 24 hours apart from him. And his tenderness has reassured you that, no matter what, he will take care of you. And you know that maybe you’re being naïve. Maybe he’s just playing with your mind to pass the time. But something deep within tells you that’s not it. That he wouldn’t risk his relationship with his brother if he didn’t reciprocate your need for him. And you decide that if you need to have faith in something, it may as well be Joel. After all, you’ve never felt as safe as you do with his arms wrapped around you.

So when Tommy pulls you out of Joel’s lap and guides you towards the bed, you don’t resist. You don’t even think twice. You can give Tommy this at least. Make him feel good as recompense. You lay on your back and spread your legs for him.

For once you don’t fight the uncomfortable feeling that overcomes you every time Tommy touches you like this. You let it wash over you, bathe yourself in it even as he sinks inside you. This is your penance. You’re just grateful he decided to fuck you tonight rather than have you blow him. This feels less intimate somehow. Maybe it’s because there’s no thought involved for you. You can lie back and let your body take over.

He lies on top of you and buries his head in the crook of your neck. He pumps into you steadily, moaning into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You turn your head and lock eyes with Joel, even as your hands latch onto Tommy, one burying itself in his loose curls and the other grabbing a handful of his butt cheek, encouraging him to beat into you. Tommy groans as he feels you, enjoying you finally reciprocating his advances.

Joel leans forward on the old sofa, leaning his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. His eyes never leave yours, it feels as though they brand you with their intensity. 

You mewl softly as Tommy starts to move faster, the curls at the base of his dick catching on your clit with every thrust. You let out a broken moan when Tommy’s cock brushes over that spongy spot inside of you and you see Joel’s jaw clench and his hands ball tightly into fists. You wrap your legs around Tommy, pulling him even further into you.

“That’s it princess, bein’ so good for Uncle Tommy, lettin’ him make you feel good.”

He continues to aim for that spot, pounding into with determination, making you cry out. You see something flash in Joel’s eyes as he pushes to his feet. Anger, jealousy? It’s gone too quickly for you to fully identify as his jaw clenches again and he scrunches his nose, but seeing him getting worked up while Tommy fucks you is what pushes you over the edge.

You come with a wail, your pussy clamping down on Tommy hard.

“Jesus, fuck!” he curses as he slams into you a final time before pulsing deep inside. He slumps on top of you, sweaty and breathless. You gently caress his back and press a kiss into his shoulder. A silent sorry that he will never understand. 

“Mmmmm, so good f’me princess. Such a good girl.”

He pulls out of you and disappears into the bathroom, returning quickly with a damp cloth. He cleans you up and announces, “I’m off for a shower,” before disappearing into the bathroom, not noticing the prickling tension between you and Joel, who has resumed his position on the sofa like nothing has happened.  

As soon as the door locks you climb off the bed and make your way over to Joel. He reaches for you before you fully get to him, pulling you forward with his hands on your hips, desperate to have you near. The rough callouses feel heavenly against your skin and you moan out a breathy, “oh Daddy,” before straddling his lap.

You lean your forehead against his and whisper, “thank you Daddy.” Because you know what that was. Him letting you see how affected he was by Tommy fucking you. Letting you see how little he liked it. It was an apology. And a promise. Dropping his mask to let you know how much he cares for you. How little he wants to share you.

He clutches you to him tighter, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Say it. Tell me.” There’s no authority in it. He’s not demanding. He’s begging.

“M’yours Daddy. Only yours.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and his eyes slip closed. You smile and gently cup his face in your hands, waiting for his eyes to be on you again. When he opens them you give him a smile and lean in and press your lips gently to his.

He doesn’t react at first so you pull back, afraid you’ve misread this entire thing but you barely manage to get any distance from his face before he’s pulling you back in with a groan, his lips pressing against yours, gentle but insistent. It makes your breath hitch and you gasp. He takes the opportunity to suck your bottom lip between his before releasing it with a small smacking sound.

“My. Perfect. Sweet. Girl,” he tells you, punctuating each word with a kiss, each one getting firmer. Your hands fall to his shoulders to brace yourself against falling completely into him with the way he is tugging at you.

His tongue swipes against your lips and you moan. As soon as your lips part his tongue is shoving its way into your mouth. It slides against yours and you hesitantly try to match his movements, uncoordinated and sloppy. It feels divine. You pull away every now and again to gasp for air but Joel pulls you right back into him, drowning in his desire for you. You never expected kissing to feel this good. Your pussy throbs and drools as you get more and more aroused, soaking Joel’s crotch with your slick and Tommy’s cum.

Joel’s hands come up to cradle your face and he slides his tongue out of your mouth to growl against your lips, “he doesn’t get to have you like this.” His gruff, possessive tone has you about to lose your mind and you simply whimper as you crush your lips against his once more. He meets your kiss gladly but then abruptly pulls away again and you chase his mouth.

“Say it,” he demands, and you open your eyes to find his boring into yours, expression laced with desperation. “Kisses are only for Daddy,” you mewl at him and he crashes his mouth against you once more, pulling away to growl a “good girl,” at you before claiming you once more.

You can’t take it any more, you drop your hands to fumble with his belt, made harder by the fact that you can’t see with the way Joel is invading your mouth. You finally get it loose and somehow manage to get the button and zipper of his jeans open. He lifts his hips to help you push down his jeans and underwear, just enough to allow his cock to spring free, all whilst joined at the mouth.

He moans when you wrap your hand around his cock and the vibrations rumble pleasantly against your tongue and around your mouth. You break from his lips, head falling back as you sink down onto him, the tight stretch of him stealing any remaining breath you had. You choke and gasp as he slides further and further inside of you, you think you may pass out from lack of oxygen.

His lips are now attached to your neck, the thought of them not being on you unbearable to him. His arms are looped under your arm pits with his hands grabbing at your shoulders as he eases you down to his base. He groans as he finally bottoms out, your head is still tipped back, you can’t think, can’t move as you pant and gulp for air.

He gently guides you forward until your head falls to his shoulder, air coming more easily in the more natural position.

“Tha’s it baby, just breath for me, good girl, big deep breaths,” he coos at you while he strokes your back and lets you settle into him. He doesn’t move, just sits and lets you recover, enjoying the way his balls nestle against the soft skin of your ass.

“My good girl got all worked up from Daddy’s kisses, didn’t she?”

You hum out a dreamy “uh huh,” before latching your fingers in his curls and planting your lips against his once more. He chuckles against you, sucking and nipping at your lower lip and starting to rock you back and forth.

You reluctantly pull away as he encourages you to start bouncing on his cock.

“Fuck yeah you did. Been waitin’ so long for those kisses baby, even better than I imagined. Shoulda’ known. Always fuckin’ perfect for me ain’t ya?”

You whine and your pussy clenches at his words. You already feel that tightening in your core, your whole body lighting up with the pleasure he’s giving you. You’re almost certain he could have made you come just with his kisses.

He groans as you tug on his hair and ride him with fury. You’ve never felt so feral. It’s savage in the way it grips you, your whole existence stripped back to one fundamental truth. You are his. Body and soul.

It’s dangerous you know, to be lured by these feelings in the throes of lust. That it could just be your body fooling your mind into believing this is more than just raw, primal attraction. That this could be his greatest manipulation of all. But the way he pulls you back in to place soft kisses against your lips as you pound each other tells you different. You are his. But he is also yours.

He sticks his thumb into your mouth alongside his tongue, startling you slightly before he retracts it, slippery with your mixed saliva and brings it to your clit. You wail as he rubs it fast and hard, in time with your movements on him.

The pressure releases abruptly and you feel a gush of liquid pour out of you as you scream for him, the world around you seems to explode in light. You feel as though it must be bursting through your skin, the power behind your high is so extreme. Far too intense to be contained in your body.

You’re fairly sure you black out because the next thing you know, you’re limp in Joel’s lap, he’s holding you still with a massive hand each grabbing one of your ass cheeks hard as he punches into you from below, babbling in your ear.

“Fuckin’ made for me, best little girl I could ever ask for, always so fuckin’ good f’me. Kissin’ and ridin’ and squirtin’ all over me. Always takin’ my cock and my cum so good. Oh fuck! Here it comes baby, FUCK!”

He explodes, pouring into you in several warm bursts. He continues to buck up into you, milking himself dry and making sure every drop is in you. He slumps beneath you and pulls you in for another kiss, slow and languid and so fucking delicious it makes your pussy pulsate around him, making him whimper with overstimulation.

You pull back and smirk at him, biting your lower lip to stop yourself from giggling. He rolls his eyes and smacks your ass with a grumbled, “watch it,” but you see his eyes crinkle with the smile he’s trying to hold in. You don’t say anything but you make a mental note that you definitely want to hear him make that noise again.

You sneak another quick kiss when you hear the lock to the bathroom click and Joel pulls you into his chest to cover the evidence of your squirting. You go happily, listening to the beat of his heart through his soft flannel. Strong and steady and comforting.

Tommy chuckles at the pair of you as he walks through the living area to his room, still damp from his shower and a towel wrapped round his waist, completely oblivious to the potentially life altering events that just happened.

Everything is laid bare now, you’ve surrendered yourself completely. To Joel. You wonder if you should feel ashamed. You don’t. You feel content. Happy even. You luxuriate in it as you soak in Joel’s scent and heat, snuggling in as close as you can get. To the man that you love.

///

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[witchslove]

hi shower sex w sub milf wanda and she starts whining n whimpering telling you she’s about to pee and doesnt wanna bc she’s too shy and doesn’t wanna make a mess

and you rub her clit and start telling her what a good girl she is and that she can piss all over your cock :3

OH THIS IS SO BIG BRAIN…

She would be so cute and shy about it, whining when you tell her you’re not stopping and if she really has to go so bad, she can go right there on your cock.

At first she holds it, she’s too embarrassed to listen to you and just let go, but you only fuck her harder so all she can think about is how good you feel inside her.

You bring a hand up to rub your fingers against her clit and she whimpers, knowing she’s going to lose control as she nears her orgasm. When she finally lets go, you moan at the feeling of her hot stream against your skin, praising her and telling her how much of a good girl she is.

Later, you tease her about it, making her blush and hide her face in your neck; “I guess I fucked mommy so good she couldn’t even hold her bladder.” It’s slightly sadistic the way you want to humiliate her, but you wouldn’t do it if it didn’t make her deliciously wet and ready to go again.