#ain’t seen her in three weeks and i’ve had ENOUGH

[tinyluvs]

going to my friends house, she hasn’t asked me to but i have a key and free will so im going lmao

[multifariousqueer]

can you write miles 42 having readers bank account, card ALL that on his phone and gets mad if she purchases shi with money he didint give her. its really crazy but its miles 42....what do you expect??? hehe

Sure love!!!

A/n: y’all I love you so much but I need you guys to start requesting regular miles fanfic pls. Although 42 miles owns my 🩷

It was just a simple necklace. It was the Vivienne Westwood necklace that you saw everyone around you wearing and wanted so badly. You knew Miles would get it for you in a heartbeat but a part of you wanted to get it for yourself. It had been a long, stressful semester but you struggled through it all and got to a point where ou were passing with A’s and B’s. Coincidentally, you had gotten a job at Starbucks after months of applying and you had about $1000 saved up of your own money that you were waiting to spend on something special. That was, until that “something special” came along in the form of Miles.

You never knew what he did but you knew he was making 8x your salary in a month. It seemed like anything you wanted, you got when you were with Miles; shoes, clothes, books, makeup any and everything you wanted, it was yours in a matter of days. It’s worth mentioning that Miles is extremely overprotective and wants to know everything about what you’re doing and buying because he loves you and cares about your habits.

Even on Miles’s birthday when you dipped into your savings to get him the latest Jordan’s, he was furious that you had to use your own money:

“Damn Ma, these are valid. How much were they?”

“Oh don’t worry about it” you said

“I said, how much were they.” His eyes narrowing in on you because he knew how much they were because he was gonna buy them 2 weeks ago but decided not to.

“$500. I’ve been saving for them for you, baby. It’s all good” you tried to assure him

“Aight. thank you.” He said, pulling you close to him, the scent of the Dior Sauvage cologne you also bought him, filling your nostrils

But deep down you knew he was pissed off and mad that you spent your own money, so after a long talk about how he should be able to keep tabs on you and keep you safe, you gave him your Apple Pay and banking info for emergencies only but of course it’s Miles and being the overprotective boyfriend he is, he checks it everyday for any “extravagant purchases” made by you or someone else.

Of course he isn’t crazy, he set a $25 limit for you before he steps in and asks what’s up. Once, you were at a mall with your friend and found the cutest shirt at Urban Outfitters and decided to buy it. The price tag read $50 but you went ahead and got it; the same happened at Bath and Body Works and Tilly’s and as you made your way to the bathroom, you got a text from Miles:

Miles: did someone take your card?

You: no why??

Miles: why’d you spend $150 in an hour??

You: I’m at the mall

Miles: so? I pay for your shit

You: dawg it’s $150. It’s not that deep 💀

Miles: I ain’t yo “dawg” and yes it is when Yk I buy you shit

You: you aren’t my sugar daddy

Miles: I basically am atp. I’m sending you $1000, buy something cute

You contemplated leaving him on seen but you remembered how he hates that so you replied:

You: Okay

You had saved up enough to get the necklace and when you got it, you were ecstatic. You thought about all of the possible outfit combos and how good it will look against your brown skin but your thoughts were interrupted by a certain someone:

Miles: what’d I tell you, Mami?

You: ?

Miles: don’t play dumb, yk I would’ve bought you that necklace in a heartbeat but instead you wanted to be miss independent and buy it yourself. I guess since you’re so independent, I’ll stop sending you that $1000 every week. How about that?

You: ok

Miles: ?

You: we can discuss this when I get home

Miles: K

You: k

It was a long ride home but eventually you accepted that Miles was gonna rip your head off and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

When you got home, he had three of the necklaces, two huge teddy bears, a bouquet of your favorite flowers and the newest pair of Jordan’s waiting for you:

“What’s all this?” You smiled and asked

“I told you I’ll pay for your shit, y/n” miles said, with a small smirk on his face

[storiesfromafan]

My Girl - Benny Cross x Reader

A/N: I know this is a slow series, but hopefully it's not too bad 😅

(Also, posting this from my phone, might have to fix this up later 😅😅)

Previous: Part One, Part Two, Part Three

I’ve got sunshine, on a cloudy day

When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May (ooh)

I guess you’d say

What can make me feel this way?

My girl, my girl, my girl

Talkin’ ‘bout my girl, my girl

- My Girl by The Temptations

It had been a week since Benny spoke to you. And it was all he could think about. Sure, he’d seen you around the town, mostly at the grocery shop or the diner, in passing. But it wasn’t enough. He’d gotten a taste of your sweet voice. Seeing you up close; the colour of your eyes, which had specs of (colour) to them. How your hair was (colour) but when the light hits it, it looked (colour). How your cheeks go a rosy colour when you were shy or embarrassed. Benny wanted to experience it all so much more.

Cal waved his hand in front of Benny's face, snapping the young Vandal from his thoughts of you. That’s right, he was currently playing a game of pool with the man laughing at him. While waiting for his shot, it looks like Benny had zoned out again. Holding the cue against his body, Benny shot Cal and those around him an embarrassed smile. Which only made them laugh.

“Sorry" he muttered, moving with his cue to the pool table and looking over his options. Before finally lining up his shot and taking it, sinking the four ball.

Johnny was sitting near by on a stool, nursing his beer. “Ya alright kid? Ain’t like ya to be off with the fairies".

Before Benny could say a word, Cal beat him to the punch. “Yeah, he’s alright. Just found himself a girl".

Johnny raised his eyebrows in surprise, this was the first time he’d heard about there being a girl. “Is that right, huh?”

Another man – one from the diner incidents – laughed before speaking up, “yeah! She’s a shy, little thing. Some of the guys were makin' fun of her, but Benny stepped in and told them to ‘knock it off’”.

Johnny nodded, listening to the man’s words. Benny stood back from the pool table – his turnover – as he listened to them, embarrassed by the retelling of the diner. But it was true. He stepped in and defended you. And he would do it again for you if needed him too.

Sliding off his stool, Johnny down the rest of his beer before walking past Benny. He chuckled, patting him on the back. “Well, ya'll have to bring her around sometime. Would be nice to meet the girl that’s got ya by the balls".

Johnny then walked off to speak with a few other guys. Cal and the guys around Benny laughed at their leaders' words. They even jostled Benny and shared their own comments, which he wasn’t too fond of. But Benny knew he’d have to bring you to the bar. It would be a shock for you, but he knew you could handle it. Plus he’d be there with you, making sure nothing happened to you.

“Alright, spill!” Fran demanded, as she and Sandra sat across from you in a booth at the diner where this all began.

“Yeah! I had to hear it from my neighbour, who heard from her hair dresser, who got the gossip from Mrs Martin about Benny coming into the grocery store! And talking to you!?” Added Sandra.

You sat on your side of the booth, wishing it would swallow you up from their intense gazes. Once more, they asked you about Benny. And to be honest, you didn’t know what it meant. He’d come in for gum, and you shared a small conversation.

Taking a sip from the milkshake before you, you sat back and cleared your throat. “Well...there’s not much to say-" you started before being interrupted.

“Oh bull!” Huffed Fran. “From what we’ve heard, it was pretty intense between you too!”

“Yeah, so don’t down play it!” Added Sandra.

You sighed. “Really! It wasn’t like that, it wasn’t that big a deal!” You took a moment to gather your thoughts. “It went like this; I was just working and stupidly singing when I was surprised to see Benny. And I was a complete bumbling idiot! He wanted to buy gum-"

“Gum?” Both women questioned.

You nodded. “Yes, gum. He then apologised for the Vandals comments" you recalled that moment a week ago. “Benny then asked for my name, which I gave him, and he said it was pretty, that it suits me...then Mrs Martin showed up, and yeah, she wasn’t pleasant to him at all".

Both women stared at you, as you went back to your milkshake. “Bull" Sandra said, leaning over the table. “That’s not the story, right?”

“Yeah, its too...clean?” Fran said confused.

You wanted to laugh at their faces, but held back. “It’s the truth".

Both women sat back against the booth, utterly confused. As they began to tell you, the way they heard it was some big drama. That Benny was harassing you when Mrs Martin stepped in. Not to mention one retelling told that you were shamelessly flirting with Benny, practically in his hands, one palm on each cheek, and not that of your face. You blushed at the notion.

“If this is what we've heard, just imagine what your parents might hear" Fran's words sobered you up.

You hadn’t even thought about your parents, and God only knows what they’ll say, or do, if they hear the gossip of Benny and you. But it being after a week and only now had your friends heard about it. So, there could be a small chance they might not hear it. So long as you stayed clear of any further gossip, you might be in the clear.

Unfortunately for you, the other half of the gossip mill didn’t know your plan. You heard the bell above the diner door jingle and heavy feet. You were talking to your friends, not even caring about your surroundings. It was only when you glanced up to look at Sandra and Fran, discussing a coming movie to your local theatre, were you confused to see their shocked faces. They looked stunned, mouths slightly agape and eyes wide. Before you could questioned them the silence at your table was disturbed by an all too familiar gruff voice.

“Hey (Y/N)”

You turned only to find Benny. Who looked just as good as the last time you’d seen him. Only this time he was wearing dirty white jeans, black t-shirt and his denim vest that sported the Vandal colours. The way he looked at you with those baby blues of his, warm and twinkling. The way his full lips turned up in a shy, slightly toothy smile.

You felt one of your friends kick your foot, snapping you from your observation of him. “H-hi Benny...”

Hearing his name from your lips, in that honeyed voice of yours, had Benny's heart skipping a beat. His smile brightened, and he slowly began to relax. Finally, he noticed your companions, which he smiled at – but not as brightly as he had you. Benny even shot them a hey. You’d have laughed at their reaction to being acknowledged by the gorgeous Vandal. But you were busy trying to wrap your head around him being here in the first place. And even then, that voice in the back of your head was telling you to be careful, you don’t need more gossip getting around town.

“Mind if I join ya?” Benny asked, looking at you, yet not even waiting for your reply before slipping in into the booth next to you, boxing you in without an escape.

All you could do was look at Benny, not doubt like a deer in headlights, while he just continued to look at you. That charming smile on his lips. Both Fran and Sandra shared a look before turning back to you and Benny. One of the women cleared their throat, which got your attention. Turning from Benny, breaking the connection between you both. From there, they made small talk, which was mostly directed at Benny. Who only gave vague or one word answers.

You found it amusing how he didn’t seem to care for their attention. Yet when you spoke, he listened attentively and spoke to you. Slowly, you relaxed and were able to drink the rest of your milkshake, all while those baby blues watched you. Fran and Sandra eventually left, as they weren’t getting any of Benny's attention. So they slinked away with their tails between their legs.

“Finally, just us" Benny sighed, placing his arm on the back of the booth. His fingers brushing your clothed back.

A small, pleasant shiver ran down your spine. Your breath catching for a moment. You imagined what it would be like if you had been wearing a sun dress. How warm he would be, how rough those pads would be against your skin.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Benny's rough voice said into your ear, his breath fanning over you from how close he was to you.

When you turned to look at him, you were surprised to see how close Benny was. Being so close, you could see how blue his eyes were, with small specs of a darker blue. They were beautiful and captivating. You could easily get lost in those blues.

“A-ah, yeah...I'm fine" you squeaked out, making Benny chuckle.

He moved back a little, a warm smile crossing his lips at your words. “Good. I wanna know, do you wanna come to a meetin’ when I get back in town?”

You blinked. “You’re leaving?”

“Just for a few days, sweetheart," he replied, drumming his hands on the booth.

“Oh...” you muttered.

Then you took a moment to think over his offer. You knew you should keep your distance, stop any chance of gossip coming back to bite you. And yet, this was the second time he’d sought you out. Coming to talk to you. You should be running away from Benny Cross, and yet you wanted to move closer to him. Maybe you could be a girl he could want.

‘You sure?’ That voice asked. Yet you did your best to ignore it.

Pushing away your thoughts and insecurities, forgetting the repercussions that could come from talking and being seen with Benny. You couldn’t deny how you liked having his attention. So, you made your bed and planned to lie in it.

“Sure Benny" you smiled.

[ponyosmom35]

show him

Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Liability series chapter three!

synopsis: reader is struggling with the aftermath of disrespecting Ghost. Everyone seems to avoid her now. Gaz and Soap come to the rescue and enlighten her about Ghost.

Link to full Liability series!

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

She walks into the lunchroom, her back aching. She’d been with a soldier all day dealing with an impalement. She was able to save him and keep his vitals stable. She made herself a plate of the food being served, it was taco Tuesday her favorite day of the week. Walking over to an empty table and sits down, she looks over her shoulder at the others staring back at her. She’d made quite a reputation for herself as rumors spread around that she’d spoken to Ghost. She rolls her eyes, feeling like she was back in high school all over again. 

“Hey ankle biter what are you doing over here?” Soap asks as he plops down across from her with a plate packed to the brim with food.

“Hungry?” she asks 

“Starved” he says inhaling his first taco

“I don’t think anybody wants to associate with me right now” she admits “feels like high school all over again”

“Eh fuck em’, they don’t know what to make of you lass. Nobody speaks to Ghost the way that you did, plus there ain’t many young American beauties around here” he adds, she rolls her eyes and sets down her food. 

“He’s hated me from the moment I got here, I shouldn’t have done it but I’ve had enough, someone needs to take him down a peg” she explains causing soap to cackle. “That you certainly did, you’ve got quite a reputation round here. You’re the bravest person here, I’m surprised you survived, LT ain’t one to take back talk” Gaz says as he sits beside her.

“Hey Gaz” she says 

“I don’t know how you did it, I work with the man everyday and you’d never catch me mouthing off to him, look I’ve got chills just thinkin bout it” Gaz says showing them his forearm

“Whats his deal?” she asks “I mean the mask, the attitude? Why is he like this?”

“Not my story to tell love” Gaz says with his hands raised in defense

“LT doesn’t hate you, he wasn’t trying to be rude, he just comes off that way” Soap explains

“What do you mean?” 

“Ghost ain’t afraid to speak his mind, doesn’t matter if it hurts. He’s blunt and straight to the point. He takes his job seriously, this is his life. He’s got high expectations of everyone he works with. He doesn’t accept failure, he doesn’t entertain anything less than perfection” Gaz says

“How am I supposed to be perfect with him breathing down my neck? I’m not one of his soldiers, I mean who does he think he is?” she exclaims angrily 

“He’s the greatest fucking solider I’ve ever seen” Soap says defending his leader

“Ghost isn’t some random LT bossing people around, the guy is fucking lethal. He’s the greatest asset the SAS has, there ain’t nobody in the world like him” Gaz explains 

“He’s a fucking legend, half the world is terrified of him” Soap adds 

“Great, now I’ve got a target on my back then?” she asks 

“He’s not like that love, you’ve just got to earn his respect. It’s tough but once you do, there is nothing that man wouldn’t do for you. He’s a loyal motherfucker, does anything for his team, there is nobody else I would want leading me into war. You just have to give it time, you’re here because you’re good at your job. We’ve all seen it, now show him” Soap says placing a hand on her forearm “you got this ankle biter”

“Stop fucking calling me that” she laughs 

“How about ginger snap?” Gaz asks 

“Even worse! You guys are so unoriginal” she responds, finishing off her taco. In the time they’d spoke, Soap had demolished at least seven tacos and a side of dip. 

“Jesus take a breath” she jokes 

“No time” he responds before standing up

“Where are you going mate?” Gaz asks 

“Seconds” he deadpans, staring at them like they were crazy

“He doesn’t joke about taco tuesday” Gaz says nudging her shoulder to cheer her up. She sends him a smile.

chapter 4:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733948907969740800/my-sisters-keeper?source=share

[obsessedelusional]

Your Pretend Boyfriend

paring ✦ Eddie Munson x Reader

summary ✦ Eddie was your pretend boyfriend. Your mutual dislike for Jason Carver brought you together. You met during Thanksgiving break and had to separate to go back to college. Christmas break could not come fast enough. CONTAINS SMUT

word count ✦ 3,144

authors note ✦ absolutely baffled by the sheer amount of love y’all have given me since my last post I’m almost to 600 followers and have over 10,000 notes, thank you so much (((I didn’t mean to leave part one on a cliff hanger tumblr just loves to cut my text short and won’t let me fix it)))

MASTERLIST ✦ PART ONE

FEEDBACK AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!! If you like this let me know if I should keep it going, I got some ideas...

⊹ ꙳ ✦ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹

“You’re so dramatic.” Your dorm mate, Tiffany laughs.

“And what about it?” You ask, tears brimming your eyelids.

“Christmas break is three weeks away. You only have to make it three weeks till you can see him again.” She sighs, pulling you in for a brief hug.

“You two met two weeks ago and now you’re crying after being separated for less than twenty four hours? Is he like Jesus himself reincarnated or something? What did he do to you?” She laughs, pulling away from your embrace. Your brain immediately races thinking of all the lovable qualities about Eddie. Remembering the last time you were with him. Where you confronted him about your relationship status only for him to tell you everything you had hoped he’d say. Eddie is your boyfriend. Long distance boyfriend.

“He’s just so-“ She cuts you off.

“He must have like a massive dick. Be amazing in bed or something.” She says, you can’t help but grin at her comment. Your smile through the tears tells her all she needs to know.

“Oh my god. You’re addicted to what the dick did, huh?” She laughs.

“Okay maybe I am. Is that a crime?” You groan, pulling your sleeves past your fingers and wiping away the tears.

“No I just ain’t ever seen you like this. The two years I’ve been your roomie not once have you even brought a guy around, let alone cry over one. It’s cute.” She says, her tone teasing.

“Whatever.” You stand up making your way to the bathroom.

“This is not the end of our conversation. You will be telling me everything.” She hollers at you as you slip into the bathroom, smiling at her comment.

You slip your jeans down your legs, letting them rest at your ankles as you sit on the toilet. After doing your business you go to wipe, only to find blood. It all making sense now why you’ve been so emotional. You laugh to yourself, thanking whoever is listening that you’re not pregnant. Not that you thought that was an even an possibility. The second time you and Eddie slept together, you told him to not wear a condom. Wanting to feel him raw, feel him fill you up with his warmth. Needing nothing more than to feel him spilling his release inside you. Putting all your faith in that little white pill you take once a day.

—

“Let me guess, Eddie?” Tiffany teases and she walks into the dorm to find you on your phone, face timing someone.

“Yeah,” You smile momentarily taking your attention away from your phone.

“Listen Eddie the quicker you let her clean the dorm with me so we can pass inspection the sooner she can come home to you. Okay?” She interrupts shoving her face in the face time call.

“Okay.” Eddie sighs dramatically, “Let me know when you leave. Drive safe, princess.”

“Will do.” You say, the cheesiest grin on your face. He had realized quickly what that pet name did for you. So he used it the most amongst the others.

“Y’all are gonna make me sick.” Tiffany says, pretending to throw up causing you to roll your eyes.

“Bye Eds,” You sneak a smooch face when she’s not looking before hanging up.

“Can we get this over with?” She ask, passing you the coffee she brought you.

“I guess so.” You stand up from your bed to begin prepping the dorm room for winter break, you get a whole month in Hawkins. You take a sip from the sweet drink as she turns on some music. As you tidy up and pack your belongings away, you can’t help but think about the last three weeks.

When you weren’t in class or working your part time job, more often than not you were on the phone with Eddie. Staying up late in your car not to disturb Tiffany. The sexual aspect of your relationship never slowed. Constantly sending each other explicit messages usually accompanied by nude photos. Eddie would save any photo you’d send his way, he could never get enough. Having to decide what he’d delete on his phone so he could save more photos of you.

You try hard not to think of them time when Tiffany was suppose to be at her boyfriends apartment. So you set up your laptop, giving Eddie the best view of your body. Legs spread perfectly so he could see your wet cunt as you rub circles on your clit. His camera faced toward his cock where he was desperately tugging on it. The sound of the dorm door being opened and lights turned on caused you to scream, slamming the laptop shut hurrying to cover your naked body.

Tiffany screamed too covering her eyes, “Jesus Christ can you warn me next time your gonna do that? Put a sock on the door or something.” He tone mostly teasing you.

You mutter out an sorry before grabbing your clothes and going to the bathroom. As soon as your in there you hear her laughter fill the dorm room. Takes you some time but eventually you find the courage to leave the bathroom. Tiffany looks up from what she was doing, a understanding smile on her lips.

“I’m not upset or anything. Actually kind of amused by the entire situation, that your so horned up you felt the need to do that. Can’t judge though if I lived farther from my man I’d be doing the same.” She let’s out a soft chuckle.

“Speaking of your man, weren’t you supposed to be at his?” You asked completely disregarding the rest of her words.

“Unfortunately for you, he got called into work girly.” She laughs, you sink into your bed absolutely mortified.

“Come girl you know damn well I’ll never let you forget that?”

“I know.” You groaned.

And she didn’t. Every time she came into the dorm room she’d knock obnoxiously loud, only to enter with her eyes covered. Asking if it was safe to enter or if you had all your clothes on.

—

It had taken much longer to prep your dorm room for winter break than you thought it would. Once you were finally done, your car packed with a suitcase filled with more than enough clothing to last you well over a month. You said your goodbyes to Tiffany and made the dreadful car ride home. Only this time it wasn't so dreadful, for once you had something to look forward to, Eddie.

The plan was to drive straight to Eddie's house. Your parents weren’t expecting you till Monday so you had all weekend uninterrupted with Eddie. The first hour or so of the drive was spent on the phone with him, only hanging up because service was spotty until you got closer to Hawkins.

With the shit service and nearly dead battery you didn't bother checking it again. The sun was just beginning to set when you arrived to Eddie's trailer, parking right in front. Wasting no time, you take your phone and keys up to his front door, knocking eagerly. Your excitement grows as you watch the door handle rattle as he opens it.

Your greeted by Eddie, he looks just as happy as you are in this moment. You step forward wrapping you arms around his waist, taking a moment to breathe in his smell. He follows your lead, hands wrapping around you. Before he can speak you reach to his level, fingers finding his hair. They always end up in his hair. You cut him off by kissing him deeply, for a moment he drops into the kiss only to pull away. Your face contorts to a pout upset at the loss of contact.

The sound of someone else clearing their throat alerts you to their presence. It’s Wayne, Eddie’s uncle, the man you’ve heard so many stories about. Eddie’s only family whom you’ve never met before. His first impression of you was you throwing your self at his nephew.

Eddie’s face is apologetic as you smile at Wayne and introduce yourself, his face flat with no emotion.

“Nice to meet the one that’s been occupying all my nephews time.” He teases, finally smiling putting your anxieties temporarily at ease.

“Figured you’d be hungry after a long drive. Made dinner and thought we could all have dinner together.” Wayne admits, walking into the kitchen out of view.

“Ain’t nothing fancy just made some spaghetti.” Wayne says from the other room.

“I’m starving, sounds delicious.” You respond before zeroing on Eddie.

“Could of used a warning. The first time I ever meet your uncle and I was too busy climbing you like a tree to notice he’s here.” You say in a whisper, in hopes that Wayne can’t here.

“I messaged you and tired to call you. I’m sorry.” He replies. You unlock your phone and immediately all the notifications start coming in, too late.

“It’s fine.” You smile, sneaking one more kiss before joining Wayne at the kitchen table.

—

“So you’re in college right? What you going to school for?” Wayne asks, shoving his face with another fork full. You begin explaining why your in school and what your majoring in.

“Damn Eddie how’d you land this one? She’s smart and you’re... not.” He laughs, he’s the only one laughing. You look to Eddie who looks like he's use to these type of comments.

“Eddie’s smart in his own ways.” You respond, more than ready to stand up for Eddie.

“How so?” Wayne scoffs.

“Have you ever seen him perform? He’s so talented. He totally has stage presence when he’s up there performing. I could never do that.” Eddie smiles at your kind words.

“Or have you ever sat in on one of his campaigns? He’s so creative, a natural born story teller. Half the time I don’t even understand what they’re doing, way beyond my comprehension.” You add, watching as Wayne pays no attention to you.

“That shits never gonna make him any money. Let’s be real.” Wayne laughs, food spilling out of his mouth.

“I could totally see Eddie being a bad ass rock star. Have you heard their music? I feel like they just need to create a brand for themselves and start promoting their music. Corroded Coffin could totally make it.” You snap, feeling yourself getting worked up. Eddie only ever talked about Wayne in such a positive light. So to hear Wayne shit on him so easily was very upsetting. Seeing Eddie’s reaction only further upsetting you.

“Has he told you about he’s on his second senior year?” Wayne asks, dismissing everything you said.

“Yeah I know that. Schools not for everyone.”

“Not for Eddie.” Wayne laughs harder then he laughed before. At this point you don’t respond too sacred if you say something, it’ll be something you regret. The rest of dinner is filled with silence. Wayne gets up and leaves without saying a word, he’s left the two of you alone in the trailer.

“You okay?” You ask, Eddie’s slumped over his place.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound okay.

“He’s kind of a dick.” You admit, Eddie cracks a smile.

“He’s just concerned about me. He took me in at such a young age and now I continue to be a failure for him.” He sighs, getting up and grabbing the plates from the table and bringing them to the sink. He begins washing them leaving you sat at the table. You stand up and hug him from behind, resting your head on his shoulder blade.

“You’re not a failure.” You murmur, against his back.

“How’d I get so lucky to have you in my life?” He asks, still working on the dishes. Eddie was always asking you questions like this one. As if he didn’t feel adequate enough to be with you. Which was entirely the opposite of what you believed.

“By not being a failure.” Eddie chuckles finally, you can feel him relax and a smile return to his lips.

“And by being so so so so sweet and uhhh sexy.” You tease, he shuts the water off to face you.

“Sexy?” He says with an perplexed smile.

“Mhmm,” You purr. Eddie cups your ass before kissing you tenderly, pulling you closer. His lips travel down your throat causing you to whimper under his touch.

“What about your uncle?” You ask barely audible as you squirm under his touch, his hands slipping under your shirt.

“He went to work. He’ll be gone all night.” That’s all you needed to hear, you had been waiting for this moment for weeks. Dreaming of this moment, when you’d finally get to be alone with Eddie.

You pull away only to lead him to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He pushes your body into the bed, climbing on top of you. Kissing you for a brief moment before pulling your shirt off revealing your chest. He places a soft kiss on your nipple before enveloping in his mouth. A small moan leaves you lips as your hips buck upwards. Eddie pushes you down, only to release your nipple from his mouth. His pulls you jeans down, to reveal the sexy underwear you wore specifically for this occasion.

“For me?” He growls, you nod yes. He reaches to remove them. A swift push of his hands has him confused.

“I want to make you feel so good. As good as you make me feel every day, okay?”

He nods yes as you instruct him to take his pants off, he stands up to do so only for you to follow before getting on your knees, fully on display for his viewing pleasure. You’re face to face with the tent in his boxer, you grasp his hard on though the thin fabric. Pumping it a few times, watching as his face contorts with pleasure. You let go only to slips his boxers down, letting them fall to his ankles. His dick sits straight up for you.

“I’ve missed you.” You say, out loud accidentally.

“Are you talking to my-?” He’s shut up by your lips kissing his tip in an attempt to distract him from the fact that you were fully talking to his cock. Your mouth parts around the length of his shaft. Slowly at first letting your throat stretch until his tip reaches the back of your throat. One hand reaches for his balls, playing with them. You let his cock leave your mouth for a moment before sucking on it again, only this time faster. Hollowing your cheeks as you take him deeper into your throat.

You look up through your lashes only to make eye contact with him. The sight before you makes the pool between your legs grow. His hands tangle into your hair, forcing your head into him. Your nose rests in his pubes as you choke on his cock. He lets go and watches as you let you go, drool webs from his cock to your lips. You wipe it away, only to use the spit to pump his cock a few times. Your lips part once again, taking his full length in. He forces your head into him again, this time your eyes start to water.

“Fuck your taking me so good.” He says, bucking his hips into your mouth. Fucking your mouth. Your a mess, tears and spit dripping down your chin landing on your chest. He pulls away momentarily, only to admire the site in front of him. The mess he’s made of you. He taps his tip on your cheek causing you to smile before he’s parting your lips once more, letting his cock hit the back of your throat a few more times.

“How do you want me? Huh?” He asks, your unable to answer your mouth still full. He pulls out so you can answer, knowing if he doesn’t change up the position he’s gonna finish quicker then he’d like. Knowing he needs to feel your insides before that happens.

“I want to be on top.” You say, barley audible. He helps you stand up, kissing you roughly before laying down. You waste no time crawling up his body, eventually aligning your entrance with his cock. The wetness from your pussy and the saliva that coats his cock mixes as you bottom out on his cock. The most pornagrapic moan leaves your mouth as he stretches your cunt. It’s a mixture of pain and pleasure, having to get used to his size again after weeks of only using your hands.

“It’s like your pussy was made for me, so fucking perfect.” He groans as you finally start to move. You begin by grinding on his cock. Rolling your hips setting a rhythmic pace. Eddie’s large hands rest on your hips pushing you further down on his cock. You fall to his level, kissing his lips once again never stopping the motion of your hips.

His arms wrap around you so he can thrust into you from under you, harder than what you we’re currently doing causing you to cry out in pleasure. Your head falls between next to his as he fucks you.

“I need more. I need you on top.” You whimper, knowing that when Eddie’s on top he can truly fuck you at his best. He doesn’t argue, rolling over so your under him. His kisses you as he lets the tip of his cock, slip between your folds. Your moaning turns into a cry as he enters your cunt, his lips still kissing you as the sounds leave your mouth.

He picks up his pace, thrusting his hips in a steady motion. Your fingers reach for your clit, running circles around it. Knowing that’s the little push you need to come undone while wrapped around Eddie’s cock. Your walls start fluttering around his cock, your gut tightens. Your vision blurs as your pushed over the edge, your nails dig into Eddie’s back probably leaving marks.

“Good girl.” He grunts, continuing his brutal pace. He gives you one last powerful thrust before flooding you with his cum. You pull his head down to your level, kissing him frenziedly. Letting his tired cock rest in your cunt, keeping it warm. You can’t help but frown when he eventually pulls away from your embrace, leaving you feeling empty. He rolls over next you, you cuddle up closer to him. Listening to his heart beat so fast. You two lay there in silence for a few minutes before he breaks the silence.

“Are we just going to gloss over the fact that your were totally talking to my dick? Telling him how much you missed him?” He laughs tiredly, voice cracking as he teases you.

“I missed both of you.” You say with a roll of your eyes.

TAG LIST: @nika-sophie05 @comboboo @tlclick73 @anaisweird @soulesstravlers @resident-gay-bitch

[nightghoul381]

|ω･)ﾉ👉👈 could i get some fluffy comfort pwetty pweaseeee(´,,•ω•,,)♡ mm, mc/emma is just… having a bad few weeks and it all piled on top of her and beat her down a lil, she's lost all confidence in herself, in her ability, and her looks ._. she lost her sparkle and her bounce so… silvio being silvio and trying to give her her sparkle baaack ;u; either pov is good!! ;uuuu;

(っ ᵔ◡ᵔ)っ(っ ᵔ◡ᵔ)っ(っ ᵔ◡ᵔ)っ(っ ᵔ◡ᵔ)っ

(っ ᵔ◡ᵔ)っ(っ ᵔ◡ᵔ)っ(っ ᵔ◡ᵔ)っ(っ ᵔ◡ᵔ)っ Hugs back at you!! I hope you enjoy it!

Silvio Ricci x Reader Hurt/Comfort + Fluff WC: 1.1k

It seemed that everything you’d been doing recently was destined to be a disappointment. The paperwork you’d done: riddled with mistakes. The event that you were planning: A complete mess after three different vendors cancelled. Even your cooking seemed to be nothing more than a Clavis-esque conglomeration of ingredients.

After so many repeated failures, you could feel your confidence slipping. It had been hard coming to Benitoite; the culture was so drastically different from Rhodolite, and to say you had been feeling out of place would be an understatement. You’d managed to get through the first couple of months easily enough since Rio and Silvio had rarely left your side, but life goes on and responsibilities piled onto both of them relentlessly, leaving little room to cater to you any longer.

You’d hardly seen either of them this past week: Silvio out on a voyage and Rio up to his ears in fixing a collection of trade agreements. You know it doesn’t help to feel sorry for yourself, but you couldn’t seem to stem the rushing tide of negative, self-deprecating thoughts that flooded your brain.

Even now, as you sit staring out over the sea from the balcony you couldn’t seem to shake the dark cloud hanging over you to truly enjoy the beautiful colors of the sunset. You let your head drop into your hands, heaving a heavy sigh.

You hear the sound of the door bursting open, followed by the obvious jangling of your fiancé as he strides into the room. At first you feel a brief rush of excitement that is devoured by the shame you’d been burying yourself with all day.

“Okay, what the hell happened?” Silvio barks, flopping onto the sofa beside you.

You curl in further to yourself, trying to become smaller, but of course Silvio isn’t going to accept that. He pulls you into his lap, turning you to face him.

“Ya gonna tell me why you didn’t run up to greet me like an excited puppy? Something obviously musta happened or you’d be bouncing all over the place and yappin’ my ear off.” He grumbles, pulling your hands away from your face.

When he sees your forlorn, defeated expression, his gaze softens.

“That’s the last time I leave you under the watch of that damned dog.” The statement is meant to be inaudible, but he can’t hide the growl in his throat.

“Come on, tell me what’s goin’ on,” he whispers, tilting your chin to force you to look at him. Staring into his sea-blue irises sends warmth through your body, but you still feel like opening your mouth would only make him more upset.

“…it’s nothing.” You whisper, leaning into his shoulder and taking in his familiar spicy scent.

“Bullshit.”

He shuffles around, pushing you back so that you can’t hide from his piercing gaze.

“Talk to me.” The deep frown on his face pulls at your heart and you finally let out a sigh.

“It’s just been a rough week, is all,” you admit, forcing an unconvincing smile. You lean in to give him a kiss and he puts a hand on your forehead, pushing you back again.

“That ain’t gonna cut it, you’ve had rough weeks before and they don’t have ya lookin’ like that,” he scoffed. His eyebrows quirk up in question and you feel your heart sink.

You swallow, feeling the emotions you’d been bottling up for the past few weeks bubbling to the surface. The gentle kiss to your forehead causes the dam to burst.

“I… I can’t seem to do anything right…” You feel your voice catch, “Everything I’ve done for so long just falls apart and I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with me? Why can’t do anything myself without completely messing it up.” You feel your eyes stinging with tears at the admission. A shaky breath escapes your lips and suddenly you’re falling backward.

As your back hits the couch, you see Silvio leaning over you. He threads his fingers through yours and squeezes tightly.

“You ain’t supposed to be thinkin’ like that dammit. How do you not see how amazing you are?” He says, voice softer than you’d ever heard it. He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips, so gentle and full of love, your chest aches.

“One of the things I love most about you is how you try so fuckin’ hard all the time and put your all into everything you do. I get that since stuff’s been fallin’ apart, it probably does hurt more for you. You take everything so seriously. But you don’t need to blame yourself. You came into royalty outta nowhere. No ordinary woman would be able to handle the ridiculous work load without cracking. No other person I can think of would be able to do what you’ve done.”

Letting out a long sigh, Silvio reaches up and strokes your cheek with his thumb, staring deeply into your eyes.

“What I’m tryin’ to say is… if you’re feeling like nothing’s going right…remember that you’re my favorite person in the whole world and I can’t have you thinking bad stuff about her, okay?”

The earnest passion in his voice twists your heart and you’re unable to hold back the tears.

“Aahhh shit! That wasn’t supposed to make you cry!” He mutters, sitting back on his knees, running his hand through his hair. He hops up, beginning to pace anxiously.

It takes you a moment to regain your composure, but soon you’re standing and just as he turns back to face you, you throw yourself into Silvio’s arms.

“What the—”

You cut his response off with an aggressive kiss. When you finally release his lips, you hold Silvio’s face in your hands and looking him directly in the eye.

“Thank you, Silvio,” you whisper.

“You’re so damn confusing.” He murmurs, a smirk lifting the corners of his mouth before he leans down and captures your mouth in another kiss.

You’re not really sure how, but his less than eloquent reassurances are able to soothe your worried mind more than anything else ever could.

The rest of the evening passes with the warmest of snuggles and the sweetest of words shared just between the two of you.

The next morning you wake in his arms, his vibrant gaze rested on your face. The tender love you can see in those deep oceanic pools brings another wave of affection rushing through you and you pull him into a brief kiss.

“You back to being you?” He asks with a chuckle as you part.

You nod, smiling happily at him.

“Good.”

Taglist: @candied-boys @aquagirl1978 @ominousjangling @violettduchess @themiscarnival

If you'd like to be added to the tag list just send me a message :)

[beechersnope]

omg trick or treat red light spells danger 🏮

regretfully i do not have anything new from that verse prepared, but i do have a few other anons clamoring for max or maxiel content, so i shall offer a ghost town fic that is a bit longer than most of the stuff that i've posted for the trick or treat fills

***

The sun had already set behind the black ridge of the mountains when Daniel finally pulled onto the stretch of rough dirt road that led into the town of Coldspring.

Calling it a road was a kindness it didn’t deserve, Daniel decided after bouncing along in his truck for nearly half a mile before a haphazard collection of buildings in varying states of disrepair came into view. He felt practically an expert on the subject after spending the last fifty-odd miles on a relatively well-maintained gravel road that ran north-south between Highways 6 and 50. If he’d known what he was in for after that, Daniel might have taken the long way around—but eager to get to Coldspring before dark, he’d opted for the more straightforward route.

Daniel didn’t know much about Max Verstappen or her ultimate plans for Coldspring even after countless emails exchanged over the last three months in addition to a handful of curt, to-the-point phone calls in the last two weeks. But he did know that she would be driving a truck almost identical to the one he’d picked up in Vegas after he’d landed a couple days ago, and when Daniel pulled up alongside the only vehicle in town—a rusty pickup with a bed cap that might have been white, once upon a time—it became immediately clear that Max wasn’t here.

As soon as Daniel hopped out of the truck, his boots crunching loudly through the clumps of gravel and sand, the door to the building he was parked in front of swung open to reveal a grizzled old man in plaid and overalls, a cowboy hat adorning his otherwise bald head. His beard was halfway down to his gut, and everything about the man’s appearance set off alarm bells in Daniel’s head. He didn’t have much Este that Max had done her due diligence in making sure the former owner of Coldspring wasn’t a serial killer. At least he’d had the presence of mind to buy a gun before hauling his ass out to the middle of the desert, though he hadn’t ever really planned on using it.

But surprisingly enough, the man paid Daniel barely any attention at all. “I was expecting a lady,” he said in a gruff voice with a similar cadence to the way country folk spoke back home. His eyes moved straight past Daniel and off into the distance, like he was expecting to see Max’s truck trundling up the road any second now.

“I know her flight landed in Reno this morning,” Daniel explained, “but I haven’t had any cell service the past couple hours, so I’m not sure where she is. She should have been here by now. You haven’t seen her?”

The man shook his head. “I’ve been waiting here nearly all damn day, and I ain’t seen a soul.” Finally, his eyes drifted back to Daniel with a suspicious glint. “You the handyman she mentioned?”

“Yeah,” Daniel replied, nodding. He wasn’t sure where the man was headed with that line of questioning, but he was starting to wish he’d put on his holster as soon as he’d stepped out of the truck, just so everyone was on the same page.

The man seemed wholly unaware of the effect his presence was having on Daniel as he responded. “You’ve got your work cut out for you,” he said with a derisive snort. “That’s all I’ll say.”

Daniel had figured that, seeing as Max had bought the place for a fraction of what the land should have cost—regardless of the level of disrepair the buildings appeared to be in. Evidently, the man in front of him had been desperate to rid himself of whatever burden owning this ghost town had become.

The man seemed just as eager to get the hell off the property now that Daniel had shown up, despite the fact that Max was the one who should have been there for the passing of the torch, as it were. But after fifteen minutes of the two of them standing there in uncomfortable silence, waiting, as the sunlight rapidly waned, it became clear that something was gonna have to give.

“All right, why don’t you show me around,” Daniel finally offered. “I’ll go into town tomorrow and make some calls if Max doesn’t show later tonight.”

“You know where town is?” the man asked in a skeptical tone.

“Keep going north, right? Until you hit the highway, then west for a few miles.”

The man nodded, seemingly impressed. “Y’all did your research, at least. Don’t see how it’ll help you much with this dump, but God bless you for taking it off my hands.”

Daniel was tempted to ask why the man was so desperate to sell, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to open that can of worms with a stranger who seemed like he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of dodge.

The man—whose name Daniel still couldn’t remember from the sale documents though he’d been wracking his brain trying to recall it since the second he’d pulled up—took Daniel’s silence for the cue it was and started to walk up the dusty road that used to be the bustling main street of a turn-of-the-century gold mining town.

Daniel was surprised by how many structures were still standing even though practically every building was crumbling at the foundations, so ill-cared for in the century since the town’s abandonment that it was a wonder there was anything left. There was a bank, a schoolhouse, a jail, a handful of residences, and a brothel, all nestled within the narrow valley that sloped up toward the crown jewel of Coldspring: its namesake—a deep limestone pit with clear blue water that lay at the base of the mountain in the north end of the valley.

The man stopped where the road had been overtaken by sagebrush just a few hundred yards from the limestone caldera of the spring. Behind it, Daniel could just make out a dilapidated wooden path that meandered up into the mountains, where the great yawning mouth of a mineshaft stood starkly amongst the vegetation even in near darkness.

“Well, that’s the lay of the land,” the man told Daniel, his eyes flitting toward the mineshaft up on the mountain for just a brief moment before returning to Daniel’s face. “If you or Ms. Verstappen have any questions, you’re welcome to call and ask, though truth be told, I’m rather relieved to be done with this place for good.”

Once again, Daniel made a conscious decision to keep his mouth shut, instead of asking the question the man almost seemed to be daring him to ask. “Where do we sleep?” he inquired instead. He’d had a long drive after all, and for all of Coldspring’s charm—or lack thereof—Daniel wanted nothing more than to crawl into his sleeping bag so he could get some rest. He didn’t harbor any delusions about sleeping in an actual bed.

“The saloon,” the man said before starting a quick pace back to their trucks, both parked in front of the building in question. “It’s really the only building still fit to live in. For now, anyway.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

Once the former owner had raced down the valley toward the main road, leaving Daniel on his own in the growing darkness, the magnitude of his decision to take this job finally started to set in.

When Daniel had first responded to the listing, which had asked for someone with a litany of skills better suited to a contractor and his entire crew, he hadn’t taken more than a few minutes to look up where the hell Coldspring was before deciding that the job was his.

The strain of the pandemic that had led Daniel to move back in with his parents now had him desperate to get as far away from Nashville as possible. Running away to the middle of the desert and getting paid to do it had seemed like the perfect solution. It wasn’t until after he’d actually gotten the job and signed the paperwork that Daniel even bothered to research why this particular ghost town had died.

In Coldspring’s case, it was literal. The entire town had perished without warning in the late 1800s from an apparent mass poisoning. The prevailing theory was arsenic contamination of the groundwater supply caused by a mining accident, though no definitive evidence to that effect had ever been found.

While that hadn’t been enough to scare Daniel away when Max had booked him a one-way ticket to Vegas, it was the only thing he could think about now as he unpacked all his necessaries from the truck and brought them inside the dusty saloon, which didn’t appear to have a single working source of light. Thankfully, Daniel had come prepared.

Daniel set up camp behind the bar, his lantern perched on the countertop near the windowsill as a beacon of sorts, though he wasn’t expecting Max to come strolling in any time soon. There was a deadbolt on the inside of the saloon door and a more elaborate padlock on the outside. Daniel removed the padlock and secured the deadbolt once he’d retrieved everything that he thought he might need, and then tucked himself into his sleeping bag, the lantern still sitting on the bar top casting the rest of the space into shadow. Daniel stared into the patch of darkness in the corner for a moment before finally sitting up to turn off the light entirely.

It wasn’t until he was lying there surrounded by the pitch black and the overwhelming quiet that he realized he’d never asked the former owner where he was supposed to go if he had to take a shit.

Daniel woke up bright and early the following morning from a sleep that had been fitful at best. It was difficult to get used to the change in the ambient sounds. Gone was the frog-song that had lulled him to sleep since he was a baby; in its place the rhythmic instruments of insects hiding in the brush, their melody muted now that fall was in full swing.

Daniel’s mind was busy as well. Max still hadn’t shown up, which meant that he had a long drive ahead of him before reaching the nearest town, Austin, and even then, there was no guarantee he’d have cell service. Or that Max would, for that matter.

But luck was on his side. Daniel made it up to Austin just in time for mid-morning breakfast, and his signal made a reappearance almost as soon as he crossed into town. Max answered on the first ring and out came a long, rambling explanation for her absence which boiled down to her car breaking down somewhere just outside of Fallon, where she’d spent the night, and that she was on her way to meet him in Austin as they spoke.

Satisfied with her assurances (for now at least), Daniel strolled into the little diner on the side of the highway in the center of town and sat down for a bite to eat.

There was a waitress at the head of the table almost as soon as he slid into a booth, a broad bucktoothed smile on her face as she greeted him. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Just water, miss, thank you,” Daniel replied. He didn’t like to rely on caffeine to keep himself going. “Do you have any breakfast specials?”

“Eggs and bacon with toast or a short stack with fruit,” the waitress recited easily. “But if you’re looking for something a bit more substantial, Pierre makes a mean chicken-fried steak.”

Daniel thought it over a minute. “Yeah, all right,” he decided. It would give him a reason to hang out in this diner a little longer, at least. “Side of scrambled eggs with that, also.”

“You got it, boss,” the waitress replied with a flirtatious little wink before sauntering back to give Daniel’s order to the cook.

Daniel watched her walk away with a bit more interest than he’d shown before and made a mental note to try to get a look at her nametag, assuming this place had the budget for something like that.

It did, as it turned out, and when the waitress came back with Daniel’s glass of ice water, he discovered that her name was Este. When Este came back with Daniel’s chicken-fried steak, slathered in thick white gravy that had his mouth watering before the plate reached the table, he also discovered that Este liked to gossip.

“You planning to stay in town long?” she asked, nearly leant up against the table while Daniel cut his steak. He couldn’t really fault her for hanging around, seeing as he was the only customer in the whole place, but he had to wonder just what she meant by it.

“In the area, yeah,” Daniel replied.

Este scoffed. “There’s not much else ‘in the area’,” she countered playfully.

Daniel took a careful bite of his steak, chewed, and swallowed. “You know where Coldspring is?” he asked her.

All the color drained from Este’s face. “You work for Don Stevens?” she asked in an almost breathless rush, her tongue stumbling over the words. “Don’t tell me he’s planning on fixing up the place.”

“Was that the guy who owned it before?” Daniel clarified. “No, I work for the person who just bought it.”

“Someone bought it?” Este sounded utterly incredulous. “You’re not staying there are you?”

Daniel nodded. “Through most of the winter,” he replied, “long as the weather’s mild enough to work.”

A taut expression took over Este’s face as she drew back from Daniel’s table, her eyes darting toward the door, where another customer had finally come in. “Well, I’d rethink that plan if I were you,” she snapped before rushing away like her ass was on fire.

Daniel had to suppress the urge to laugh out loud.

He thought Max might find the anecdote amusing as well, but when she finally showed up a few hours later, it was clear that the young woman was in no mood for ghost stories. She looked uncharacteristically frazzled when she burst through the door of the little diner, her long blonde hair knotted up into a messy bun atop her head, and she blew straight past Este without a word, her fiery gaze fixed solely on Daniel.

“Nice to meet you,” was the first thing she said, her consonants sharp and carefully enunciated, though beneath that Daniel could still detect the remnants of a lisp. The second was: “I didn’t get ripped off by that Don guy, did I?”

Daniel shook his head. “Long as you knew you paid for some rundown old ghost town in the middle of nowhere,” he told her.

Max rolled her eyes. None of his previous interactions with her had been what Daniel would consider the height of professionalism, so he wasn’t really taken aback by her attitude, but it was a whole other thing in person, that was for damn sure.

“All right, let’s hit the road, then,” she said, gesturing for Daniel to follow her back outside.

Daniel climbed to his feet a bit reluctantly. He was sort of hoping to grab lunch before heading out to the boonies. “You don’t want to grab a bite first?” he asked. “I don’t know about you, but I didn’t exactly stock a gourmet kitchen when I packed.”

“If gourmet’s what you’re looking for, I’m pretty sure you’re in the wrong place,” Max replied with an unjustified sneer before storming out the front door.

They caravanned back to the saloon in Coldspring at a slightly quicker pace than Daniel would have liked, though even Max for all her impatience couldn’t maintain the same speed once they reached the rugged trail that led up into the mountains.

It wasn’t until they parked in front of the saloon and Max hopped out of her truck that Daniel finally took real stock of her, realizing almost immediately that this woman did not seem well equipped for living off-grid over the next three to six months, or however long she expected this damn project to take.

But he had to give her credit where it was due: as soon as her designer leather boots hit the dirt, she was already rolling up her sleeves and getting right to work.

That work consisted mainly of surveying the entire property from top to bottom and making a list of everything that needed to be done. Daniel followed along, letting Max know exactly what was required for each task in the way of supplies and manpower, and the whole time, watching the grimace on her face deepen ever-further with each new item added to her notebook.

“What exactly are your big plans for this place, anyway?” Daniel asked after they’d combed practically the whole town top to bottom—with the exception of the mineshaft looming high above them and the spring below.

“Tourism,” Max replied vaguely. “People love ghost towns.”

Daniel wasn’t sure that even the most hardcore would-be ghostbusters could be convinced to come all the way out to Coldspring to get their rocks off, but he just nodded and let Max keep believing that all of this wouldn’t just be one massive money sink in the end.

“First snowfall could be right around the corner,” Daniel pointed out to her as Max leaned down over the bar top to jot something else down in her notebook. His eyes dropped to where the first few buttons of her shirt were undone. Her fair skin was already starting to burn. He forced himself to look away. “We might not have much time to work on the exteriors before winter makes things harder than it needs to be.”

Max glanced up sharply, but if she’d intuited the focus of Daniel’s gaze, she didn’t make any indication of it. “I guess we better get started, then,” was all she said in reply.

Over the next week, Daniel managed to make significant headway on repairing the foundations of the major structures in town, though he still wasn’t convinced some of the smaller residences could actually be saved. Max was a surprisingly big help throughout the whole process; Daniel had anticipated more traditional foremanship on her part, but when it came right down to it, she didn’t seem at all afraid to get her hands dirty.

With another human being sharing the saloon floor—albeit on the other side of the bar, out of view—the town didn’t seem quite so threatening at night. Daniel slept well after each day of strenuous manual labor, and with Max keeping them supplied with fresh food from town, Daniel was missing a lot fewer creature comforts than he’d expected.

By the end of the first week, the days started to blend into each other. Without being able to rely on his phone, which had been tucked into his backpack turned off since the last time Daniel had gone up to Austin with Max for gas and propane, there wasn’t much to keep him tethered to the trappings of the outside world as he worked. It was everything Daniel could have hoped for and more. Complete and utter freedom.

But Daniel couldn’t quite seem to shake the sense of unease that came over him every time he caught a glimpse of the abyssal void of the mineshaft in his periphery. Sometimes he forced himself to stare up at it for minutes at a time, squinting against the wind that howled through the valley in the late afternoons, trying desperately to convince his subconscious that whatever movement he’d thought he’d seen in the darkness was just a trick of the light.

The next time Daniel went up to Austin on a supply run, he bought a calendar from the gas station and started marking the days.

It was a Tuesday when something finally happened that Daniel couldn’t explain, nearly two weeks after his first arrival in Coldspring. He was doing measurements in the old jailhouse, flummoxed as to how to begin restoring the damn thing without just knocking it down and starting all over, when he heard it.

“What?” Daniel called out frustratedly. It was the fifth time Max had called his name in the last twenty minutes with no additional response. After the sixth, Daniel finally threw down his measuring tape and notepad and stalked out of the building to see what she wanted. But when he walked outside, Max was nowhere to be found.

It was only after he turned a full one-eighty degrees that he spotted her, sitting out on the porch of the saloon where she usually hung out when she was thinking over a problem. The only thing was, Daniel could have sworn he’d heard her calling him from the opposite side of town.

Daniel slowly turned his head again, his eyes drifting upward to the mineshaft that Max still hadn’t made any mention of in her grandiose plans for restoring the town. He squinted hard as he stared up into the darkness, half-convinced that if he tried hard enough, he could make sense somehow of the disquiet that fell over him every time he remembered the source of Coldspring’s demise.

“What are you doing?” Max asked.

Somehow, she’d managed to come up behind him without making a sound. Daniel whirled around to face her, and then glanced over her shoulder at the place where she’d just been sitting to find the chair on the porch empty, though he wasn’t sure what to make of the relief he felt at the sight.

“Were you just calling my name?” Daniel wondered.

Max shook her head. “No, why?”

“Nothing,” Daniel replied. “Don’t worry about it.” Then he put the whole thing out of his mind and got back to work.

By the end of the third week, Daniel was positively certain he was going stir crazy.

He hadn’t had any more auditory or visual hallucinations, or whatever the hell it was that he’d experienced the week before, but he was waking up every day painfully hard in his sweatpants with no hope of release. It didn’t help that he was spending each night in the saloon just a few feet away from Max, who hadn’t shown the slightest bit of interest in Daniel since they’d met—and honestly, Daniel was kind of grateful for that, but it didn’t help him address the more immediate problem he was facing, and that was that he desperately, urgently needed to get laid.

Per their agreement, Daniel was entitled to a full two days off of his choosing every week. Today was a Friday. Barely five minutes after waking up, Daniel had decided that he was going to make a trip up to Austin that afternoon to see if Este was maybe a little bit interested, even after their sour farewell at the diner that Daniel had been carefully avoiding since their first encounter.

Este wasn’t interested. Georgie, a tall English tourist who was dressed more appropriately for mid-July rather than late-October, was.

“Please tell me you have a hotel somewhere around here,” Daniel muttered against Georgie’s sweat-soaked skin as he pressed her up against the cab of his truck. He had a knee wedged between her bare thighs, and he almost felt like he would die if he didn’t get inside her in the next five minutes.

“I have one of those van conversions,” Georgie replied with an awkward giggle. “Got a whole mattress in the back. We could really make my bed rock, you know?”

Daniel nodded, barely registering a word she was saying. He was pretty sure he would have followed her off a cliff if she asked nicely enough in that moment, but when he finally pulled away from her so they could do just that, it wasn’t Georgie’s face looking back at him. It was Max’s.

Then Daniel blinked, and like that, whatever he’d seen was gone. But the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach was only growing stronger.

“What’s wrong?” Georgie asked, reaching forward to pull Daniel back in.

He dodged her and stumbled back a few feet. “I have to go,” he said, mouth dry as he fumbled through both pockets before remembering that his keys were attached to his belt. “Sorry, I—”

Daniel didn’t finish the sentence before climbing into his truck and speeding away, leaving Georgie and the rest of Austin behind.

But when Daniel finally made it back to Coldspring about an hour later, Max’s truck was gone. She hadn’t said anything to him when he’d left that morning, but a cursory examination of the saloon revealed a note hastily written and taped to the bar top. Went 2 Fallon for more supplies. That was it, no further explanation of when she planned to be back or why it was so urgent that she’d left midday for an errand that would take her at least six hours of driving to complete.

Frustrated with Max, but more-so with himself for letting this damn place get the better of him, Daniel buried himself in his sleeping bag and screamed into his pillow until he tasted copper in the back of his throat.

It was dark when Daniel woke up on the floor of the saloon, and it took him a moment to realize what it was that had woken him. Usually, on nights where the moon was full, as it had been the past two nights, the light shone straight through the saloon windows, illuminating the entire space with an eerie glow. But when Daniel’s eyes opened, all he could see was blackness, and there was a disorienting period of half-awake confusion before it finally dawned on him that the shape obscuring the moonlight belonged to a person.

Daniel’s blood ran cold. Instead of opting for fight or flight, his body simply froze.

Daniel watched as the shadow moved, completely silent, with none of the tell-tale creaking of the wooden floorboards underfoot that had become the de facto confirmation of either his or Max’s presence within the saloon. He held his breath as the shadow drew closer, and then—

“Max?”

She put a finger over her lips and moved closer as Daniel sat up in his sleeping bag.

“What is it?” he asked, in a whisper this time.

Max answered with a press of her lips against Daniel’s, surging into him, forcing his mouth to open to the insistent pressure of her own. She tasted metallic, but her hands against Daniel’s thighs were electrifying, distracting him for the moment from the strangeness of the encounter.

Then he remembered himself—remembered that Max was his boss and that there couldn’t be a worse idea.

Daniel pulled away sharply, and as he did so, he caught a glimpse of a face that wasn’t Max’s face, desiccated and bone white. But when he blinked, the apparition was gone, and it was Max staring back at him again, though there was still something about her that seemed…off. Different, somehow.

“If we’re going to do this,” Daniel started to say before just as quickly backtracking. “We shouldn’t,” he finished, though it felt like he was trying to convince himself more so than Max.

Once again, Max didn’t respond, but when she leaned forward to kiss him again, this time, Daniel didn’t put up a fight. He tangled his hands tightly in her long blonde hair as she laid a trail of bites along the hollow of his throat and down his chest, his other hand struggling to find a way to take off whatever it is that she was wearing. A nightgown? Bloomers? Before this, Daniel had never seen her go to bed in anything less than a crewneck and sweatpants, but maybe that was the reason she’d gone to Fallon, to plan for this—whatever this even was.

 Finally, Daniel managed to literally tear the undershirt off of her. With it gone, he drew back to appreciate the way her breasts were illuminated by the moonlight. Under other circumstances, it might have all been very romantic, but as it was….

Daniel quickly flipped Max over onto her back, temporarily getting himself tangled in his own sleeping bag before managing to break free. She stared up at him quietly, her expression calm and supplicating. The silence was a bit unnerving, but it wasn’t hard to ignore now that Daniel had his thumbs tucked into the waistband of her lacy bloomers. He slowly pulled them down, savoring every centimeter of skin revealed to his eyes. He was surprised to find a full thatch of dark blonde pubic hair between her thighs, but he certainly wasn’t disappointed.

When he ducked his head down to press his mouth against her cunt, Daniel was startled once again by the sharp metallic taste, the same as her tongue. It took him a moment to get used to, but then it faded quickly, and all Daniel could taste was a familiar mix of sweetness and salt.

Max sighed quietly when she came with her thighs flexing against Daniel’s face. He sat back, fingers shaking to unknot the front of his sweatpants, his cock so hard it almost hurt. Condoms, he remembered belatedly. There was a stash in his backpack on the other side of the bar.

“I’ll be right back,” Daniel reassured Max before running around to the front of the saloon to grab his bag.

The condoms weren’t in the pocket he remembered putting them in, which led to a frustrated scramble as Daniel searched every pocket and seam for them before finally finding them tucked between the pages of his notepad. He breathed out a quiet sigh of relief as he tore one away from the rest before hurrying back to where Max was waiting for him.

Only she wasn’t there.

Daniel stared down at the imprint in his pillow where Max’s head had just laid, his mind conjuring up a vivid memory of her moonlit blonde hair standing out starkly against the black fabric. He stood up slowly, examining every corner of the saloon for any sign of her, but she was just…gone.

“Daniel.”

He turned his head to find the door to the saloon hanging open on its hinges. Through the darkened entryway, he caught a glimpse of something out in the sagebrush, a distinct silhouette with bright eyes, reflective like an animal’s, but whatever it was he’d seen, it disappeared too quickly for Daniel to get a good look at it.

Daniel slowly stumbled over to the open doorway. He peered outside cautiously, taking note of his truck, which was parked on its own next to the vacant spot that Max’s vehicle had occupied before he’d left for Austin yesterday. It didn’t make sense. He should have heard her pulling in, loud enough to wake him, or at the very least, driving off again. Had she parked further down the road? How had she gotten out of the saloon without him seeing her?

Daniel swallowed, trying to clear his throat so he could call out to her, but as he stared out over the lonely valley, his vocal cords seized up, a paralyzing fear suddenly washing over him like a tidal wave. Daniel stood there just a moment longer, and then reached forward to slam the saloon door shut. His fingers were trembling as he secured the deadbolt. It was a long time before he managed to fall asleep.

Daniel woke the next morning to the sound of tires crunching against the gravel outside the saloon. He ripped himself from his sleeping bag immediately and stumbled out into the daylight, his eyes slitted against the sun’s late-morning brightness as he watched Max hop down out of the cab of her truck, looking for all the world as though she’d had a perfectly peaceful evening.

“Where the hell did you go?” Daniel demanded as she walked over to the front door of the saloon.

Max paused, looking a bit startled by the venom in his tone. “Didn’t you see my note?” she asked.

“I mean last night. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Max countered. “I left yesterday right after you did. I just got back. And good morning to you, too, by the way.” She stormed past him into the saloon with a quiet ‘asshole’ muttered under her breath.

Daniel remained standing there on the front porch for a minute or two, he wasn’t quite sure. When he finally came back inside, he walked straight past Max and into the backroom, which might have served as living quarters once upon a time before the gaping hole in the wall had rendered it unusable. The mirror still worked, though, for all its spiderweb cracks and layers of dust, and Daniel approached it with a trembling hand pressed to his collar.

Daniel stood in front of the mirror for a few seconds, just staring at his own reflection as if to reassure himself that he was still real, and then at last, tugged down the neck of his t-shirt to reveal a pattern of pale white marks that trailed down the side of his throat to his sternum, tracing the exact path of Max’s mouth the night before. They weren’t bruises—the exact opposite, in fact, as though the pigment in his skin had literally been leached from the places where she’d marked him.

All Daniel could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he stared at the marks. Then something—a face in the mirror that wasn’t his own. Daniel whipped around to find nothing waiting over his shoulder, just the same gap in the wall that had always been there, opening up onto the sagebrush-covered landscape, illuminated fully under the bright sunlight.

But Daniel could have sworn he’d seen something.

When he finally emerged from the backroom a few minutes later, Max was standing at the bar, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked him.

Daniel nodded. “Fine,” he lied. “Just a little….” He paused and swallowed hard. “Have you noticed anything strange lately?”

“Strange like what?” Max asked.

Daniel just shrugged.

Max laughed. “You should really stop letting the locals tell you ghost stories about this place,” she advised.

Daniel forced a smile and nodded. “You’re right,” he told her.

“Come on, then,” she said. “Let’s get back to work.”

[kiarpennington]

Okay now, NBC Found startin to bug me. Before I take my hiatus, Imma gone head and get this out after last night’s episode.

One: This coulda been one of the best dark romance couples I’ve seen on tv in a hot minute if they had just aged Gabby up and made Sir’s motives more clear. Like, obviously ya can’t do romance now cause it would be hella weird, but like……he DOES wanna be her partner in EVERY WAY: a parent, a teacher, a…….lover, but…..we’ve already established that can’t be….like, why did we write it this way??

Two: Gabby, girl ain’t you tired of threatening Sir every promo?? Like, find another way to tease the next episode…..(also, actors can only do so much with cringe writing; at some point the acting is gonna get a lil……questionable if the writing is). And, OF COURSE HE BROKE THE CHAIN; we’ve already established he WANTS to be there, but if you gone act reckless, so is he

Three: and perhaps my biggest issue is that…maybe this show shouldn’t be a procedural…..We get too much of those plots (and yet, also not enough, cause it seem like they always solve the cases too quick or that it’s rushed) and not enough of Sir/Gabby…in the present. I appreciate the flashbacks, but I also feel like we need an equal amount of flashbacks (sometimes)/present Sir/Gabby, AND cases and I don’t think we’re getting that. Just a lot of case plot (which, I feel, is why they solve them so quick) and 2-6 minutes of Sir/Gabby working on the case or her dealing with her feelings towards their situation. Separate that time out as equally as ya can to well round the overall story as well as the case of the week.

Of course, just my feelings, but I definitely will be sat for that season finale and already eagerly awaiting 2 lol 😅

[praxcrown5]

Moments in Time: Chapter 2 (sneak peek)

Should have this done in the very near future, just gotta finish editing the part where it jumps back to Doc and Lightning...

Cycle 9: August 12th, 1936

“Annette?”

A Cadillac series 62 Sedanette looked up from the engine that she had been rebuilding, her striking, Dartmouth green paint hidden beneath a bulky, leather tool belt.  There were splotches of oil and grease all over, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.

Idling near the breezeway was a blue Oldsmobile model 30E coupe, one Otis Glenrunner.  Otis was Annette’s father, and patriarch of the once-sizable Glenrunner family in Dawsonville.  He was also the proprietor and chief mechanical engineer of Glenrunner’s All-in-One, a full-service garage and convenience store serving all of Dawson County, Georgia.

“Oi, Pa,” Annette said happily, stowing her tools on the magnetic strips of her tool belt and rolling over to meet him.

He smiled as she nuzzled his front right fender affectionately.  “You know…you should still be resting.”

“I’ve been cooped up for three weeks, Pa,” She pursed her lips “My platin’ has been hard for 24 hours, almost double the recommended time, and this engine ain’t gonna rebuild itself.” She gestured behind her towards a disassembled 221 cubic-inch, flathead V8 that was spread out across the entirety of her workbench.

“Alright, if that’s what ya wanna do…”

“It sure is.” She smiled, broadly.  “It’s so much easier to work on things, now!”  She made a graceful turn before pushing herself as tall as she could with her front suspension.  “I can actually look down into an engine without havin’ to get me up on a lift!”

Otis beamed at her proudly.  Annette had just finished her 11th-year growth spurt, and though he knew right from the start that she would mature into the newest model of the 62-series, he was expecting something more in keeping with her brothers: An egg-crate grill, protuberant hood, big, rounded steel fenders reminiscent of a truck, and large bumpers.  But Annette’s model, the sedanette, was sleek and stylish in a way that he’d only ever seen in Packards and Talbots, with in-line front fenders, a smaller, rounded grille, opulent chrome stylings and gorgeous, upturned fins on her rear fenders…a novel design element that would, undoubtedly, make its way to other makes and models in the future.    

“So…what’cha need?” Annette asked, suddenly, snapping him away from his thoughts. 

“Do ya have a minute to talk?  We…um…” He paused, unsure of how to bring up a topic that he’d been dreading for the last four months.  “…We gotta discuss somethin’ important.”

Annette nodded.  “It’s about me bein’ eleven now, right?”

“Yeah…”

She chuckled.  “I was wonderin’ when you’d be bringin’ it up.” She looked around the garage.  It was Monday and all of Otis’ appointments, thus far, had been quick and easy—oil changes, wheel alignments, and the like.  He didn’t have any afternoon clients, but there was always the possibility that anyone shopping next door could hear them.  “Do you wanna talk about it here, or…?”

“Not here,” He gestured down the breezeway beyond the shop.  “Figure we could talk in the kitchen,” He smirked at her.  “You still craving moss and crab?”

“Moss, more so,” She admitted, sheepishly.  “Crabs are cute…I feel bad every time I gotta eat one.”

Otis chuckled as they started down the hall.  “At least you ain’t craving bitumen...”

Annette laughed and gave her father a playful bump on his front fender.  “Wait…you craved bitumen?  Really?”  Bitumen was the sludge left over from petroleum distillation.  Despite being edible, fresh batches had the same pungent smell and texture as the waste products that their own bodies produced.   

They rolled into the kitchen.  It was a quaintly-decorated space with a single window illuminating wall-to-wall chestnut cabinets, a pantry, marble countertops, a small washbasin-stove combo, and a table large enough to accommodate their whole family at the same time.

As Annette crossed the threshold, she took note of the table and froze, sapphire blue eyes wide in disbelief. 

The entire thing was covered in letters…and they were ALL addressed to her. “What…?”  She gave the older car a questioning look.  

Otis frowned.  “Well, you’re eleven, now…” He averted his gaze.  “Them’s marriage proposals…”

[ludi-ling]

Sunday Morning

Rogue and Gambit Week 2023, Day 6. Prompt: Valle Soleada

*A little treat for all you guys. My brain is firmly stuck on my longer form fics at the moment, but here is something I wrote back in 2004 and has never seen the light of day. No one, apart from angyxoxo almost 20 years ago, has ever read this saucy little (long?) drabble. Have fun!*

            “Remy, darlin’…”

            Her hand slides across my chest, stopping midway over my heart, fingers spreading out, one, two, three, four, five, as if to relish the simple sensation of skin upon skin.  Her face is nuzzled against my side, but her eyes are closed – I have no idea whether the words she has just spoken have been uttered while awake or asleep.

            “Oui, ma chere?”

            She doesn’t answer for a long while.  But her fingers contract, then open again, rubbing me gently, a familiar exercise in substantiating that what she touches is, in fact, real.

            “…Dontcha evah leave me, y’hear?” she finishes off, in a voice less hoarse and sleep-bound than it had been before.

            I chuckle briefly, taking her hand in mine, knitting our fingers together, holding them tight.

            “Now why’d I want t’ do dat?” I ask her.  She shifts, ever so slightly, so that one green eye pokes out sleepily from the behind a strand of white hair.

            “Ah’ve lost yah too many times before t’ take moments like this for granted, swamp snake,” she drawls huskily.  Hmm, morning conversation, you gotta love it.  There’s nothing sexier than waking up to that lazy Southern drawl of hers.

          “I don’t t’ink neither of us is likely t’ be goin’ anywhere fast de way t’ings stand now, chere,” I answer, running my free hand through her auburn locks.  Funny, this.  We’ve known one another for too long, but we’ve never known one another enough, or as much as we would’ve liked to; or at least as much as we would’ve liked in certain, shall we say, aspects.  How many years was it that this was a fantasy of mine, to wake up beside her in the morning, in a bed we called our own, lying flesh to warm, naked flesh?  And here we are now, and we’ve been waking up like this every morning for the past five months and the novelty of the fantasy-become-reality still hasn’t worn off.  I wake up beside her and it’s still the most goddamn exhilarating, whimsical, cozy, sexy and passionate thing I’ve ever experienced.  And let me tell you, this Cajun’s experienced a hell of a lot of things in his life.

            “‘Bout time,” she remarks between a yawn. “Been runnin’ away from each other enough t’ put an escapee convict t’ shame.”

            “Y’ still tired?” I ask her, brushing the tousled white strands of hair from her forehead.

            “Hmm.  Didn’ get much sleep last night.”

            Neither of us did.  There was a good reason for that.  The previous night had been Valentine’s, and we’d naturally indulged ourselves with a three course meal at a fancy restaurant, some –ah– energetic dancing to live acid jazz, naturally fuelled by rather too many bottles of vintage wine; not to mention three hours worth of gourmet lovemaking afterward...  Nope – life doesn’t get much better than that.  Or this.  And I thought I’d experienced all that Valentine’s had to offer.

            “Heh.  I hear that.”

            “Lucky it’s Sunday,” she comments, eyes closed.

            “Yeah.  We get t’ lie in an’ sleep off our hangovers.”

            “An’ have some time for other things,” she returns, rather cheekily.  And not a little suggestively.

            “Are you proposin’…?”

            “Ah ain’t proposin’ nothin’,” she retorts petulantly.  Women.  ‘When they say no they mean yes’ and all that.  But she’d already given herself away.  I let go of her hand and stroke the length of her arm with a cajoling air.

            “O’ course you weren’t, mon coeur,” I reply slyly.  Slowly my fingers creep up her arm towards her shoulder.  By the time I’ve got far enough to tickle her armpit she’s already left it too late.  With a gasp she swivels away from my grasp, pounding her fists playfully into my chest.  If there’s one thing she hates it’s being tickled under the arm.  The past few months I’ve learnt through bitter experience that if you want to make her angry, that’s the fastest way to do it.  Unfortunately for her, I happen to find her peevish expression endlessly appealing.

            As soon as she sees me laughing she knows what that ruse had been all about.

            “Damn you, Remy LeBeau, if you do that again, you are so dead!” she scowls, teeth bared.

            “You wouldn’ hurt me, an’ you know it,” I counter brazenly, looking back up at her insolently.  She glares at me, emerald eyes blazing.  Honest to God, I don’t know which version of her looks more arousing:- sleepy, angry, bed-head Rogue; or jazzed up, femme fatale Rogue, complete with lacy black underwear, stockings and suspenders, evidence of which lies about the bedroom floor from last night’s little –ahem– adventure.

            “Oh?  An’ what makes you think that Ah wouldn’t?”

            “Because, mon bijou, you love me too much to lay a finger on me.”

            “Ah’ll lay a finger on you all right,” she levels fiercely at me, although she can’t stop me from noticing the decidedly naughty sparkle that’s suddenly entered her eyes.

            “Oh, an’ now I’m so scared,” I return smoothly, goading her.

            “Forget it, Remy,” she seethes, eyes narrowed. “You ain’t gonna have your way wit’ me, not this mornin’.  Your stupid tricks don’t fool me!”

            “Maybe not by usin’ stupid tricks, chere,” I reply. “But dis t’ief always has other methods hidden up his sleeves.”

            “Oh yeah?” she half-grins. “Like what?”

            “Like bein’ the irresistible, lovable rogue that he is,” I answer with an outrageous wink.  She laughs, all trace of her anger gone.

            “Dontcha evah get tired of bein’ so full o’ yourself, Cajun?” she asks.

            “Not when I can have my fill o’ you, chere.” Technically, any man would be pushing his luck by now, but not me.  Not with my in-built charm.  It’s come in infinitely handy in the past, and now is no exception.  The thing with Rogue is, she knows when I’m using it on her.  She could just as easily turn it all round back at me.  What she doesn't admit is that she loves it when I try to seduce her.  The more suggestive I get the less she can resist.  I can see the conflict in her eyes right now.  Those gorgeous eyes… Mon Dieu, I want her right now.

            “After last night,” she begins, leaning in playfully, finally giving in to what, in the end, we both want, “Ah woulda thought you’d already had yah fill o’ me and then some, swamp rat.”

            “Chere,” I begin, chancing the risky maneuver of slipping an arm round her waist and gently rubbing the small of her back, “this Cajun ain’t never gonna get tired o’ you, no matter how many times he has his fill of you.  Or how many times he fills you, for that matter.” Another gamble and we both know it, but I ain’t called Gambit for nothing.  She doesn’t give in grudgingly.  What would be the use in that?  She’s loved me for too long, she’s been without me for too long.  Now she can have me all she wants, and Rogue’s greedy for love just as much as she’s greedy for touch.  She’ll take all she can, but she’ll never buy or sell herself cheap.  If she won’t put out, I sure as hell will.  Don’t forget, it takes two to tango, and she’s not the only one who’s been starved.

            “Remy,” she purrs, half in reaction to my innuendoes, half in reaction to my tender ministrations, at the current moment concentrated solely on her back though admittedly creeping rather dangerously low, “you are a very naughty boy.”

            “O’ course,” I murmur in agreement.  It isn’t lost upon me just how close her lips now are to mine.  And the way her breath tickles my cheek as she enunciates every little word drives me crazy.  Steady, Remy, steady.  Connoisseur of the seductive arts I may be, but Rogue has an annoying way of beating me at my own game. “And whatcha you gonna do about it, hmm?”

            “Hmm,” she pretends to think about it, tracing an intricate pattern along my cheekbone and my chin and across my lips. “It’s like they always say - one day yah have t’ make good on your innuendoes.  An’ Ah do believe you’ve made several years worth of un-acted-upon innuendoes.”

            “So how long before I work dem all off, sweet?”

            “Well, Ah think after last night, we’re probably about…hm, halfway there, shall we say?”

            “Only halfway?  Still a long ways t’ go, chere.  Might as well work off a few more while we’re here.” I bolster the suggestion by placing a tender kiss on the tip of her finger while rather adventurously groping that cute li’l butt of hers under the covers.  Goddammit I want her right now, and she knows it, she has that funny little gleam in her eyes that tells me that, once again, it’s me that’s fallen victim to her charms and not the other way round.

            “Ah don’t know, sugah, maybe we should string it out some, y’know…make it last.”

            Merde!  She definitely knows she’s killing me here!  Suggestive banter is never so goddamn fun as it is with her, but for some reason, today, this morning…I haven’t felt this horny in a good long while, and that’s saying something.  And for some reason, she’s never looked so indescribably gorgeous as she does right now.

            “Mon Dieu, you’re beautiful,” I murmur, brushing away the perpetually falling locks of that white skunk stripe from her cheek. “What’d I ever do t’ deserve you?”

            “Remy,” she murmurs back, leaning in closer. “Shuddup an’ kiss meh.”

            Me shut up?  She was the one doing all the talking.  But, in such situations, the best thing to do is not to argue.  So I shut up and let her do the rest.

            I could go on forever about what it’s like to kiss Rogue.  There’s two types of kisses that she’ll give you – the one that steals your powers, and the one that steals your soul.  Both so similar, both so different.  The first is a kiss of life and death, the second is a kiss of passion.  I’ve tasted both – I’ve tasted both mingled, so that I couldn’t even tell where love and life and death begins.  I’d never tasted anything so wonderful and sweet and deathly as the kiss she gave to me in Israel, so many years back.  I’ve danced with death before, but never in the way I danced with it when she first put her lips, her mouth, on mine.  For that one moment, I would gladly have died.  Just as, whenever I make love to her, I feel the love-death, and I can’t explain it, the feeling’s too intense, too incandescent, and yet so subtle I can hardly distinguish it from the shuddering starbursts that are our shared climaxes.

            Now she puts her mouth on mine.  Now we kiss, and it isn’t like the first time, but it’s like our first time should have been.  She has a kiss so charged it could set Antarctica ablaze – and let me tell you, I’m one of only a few who could tell you just how cold it is out there.  But it’s best not to think about that, not here, not now…  It’s only so much water under the bridge, and to be honest, mentioning Rogue and Antarctica in the same sentence usually conjures up images of a less than arousing nature…

            The kiss pushes all further thoughts of anything out of my head, let alone thoughts of Antarctica – save for the irresistible, primeval urge she always unfailingly seems to invoke in me.  Both of us are caught up in the stupid notion that somehow we can make this moment last, that it doesn't have to end, that if we kiss one another hard enough somehow we’ll stay that way forever.  I run my fingers through her hair, brush her cheek – the tactile never feels so special, so novel as it does when I touch her.  The fifth sense, so underrated, so taken for granted, is nothing short of a godsend to the two of us.

            She breaks away slowly, nipping my lower lip playfully as she does so.  She’s goading me, and I know it; she sees the understanding and lust in my eyes, smiles, nuzzles her face against my cheek, presses light kisses to the corner of my mouth.  In response to her invitation I grasp her by the waist, swivel round; she gasps as I capture her beneath me and bury my face into that soft, succulent dip between her neck and shoulder.  God, she smells good – traces of last night’s perfume still cling to her, but it’s more than that, a mingling of that lavender scent with her shampoo and that unique aroma that she continually carries around with her regardless… I think of the fine sheen of sweat on her as we danced last night, the heaving of her chest as she pants for breath and laughs in pure delight, in unadulterated elation…  The memory of her scent is tied to this recollection, this fleeting instant in time photographed so neatly in a three-dimensional imprint of touch and smell and sight and sound.

            And now taste:- I taste the memory, I lathe my tongue over her soft, warm, scented skin, I suck in the flavour of her, the flavour that’s so familiar and yet so indescribably elusive, so that every time I taste it, it seems new, it seems inspired.

            “Remy…” she begins, she wants to make it sound like a warning, but she fails – instead it comes out as a plea and a concession, a note both of supplication and permission, a giving and a taking.  Her voice is soft, wistful, whimsical; her arms encircle me, her hands rub my shoulder blades, surrendering herself yet ensnaring me in her trap, the delicious trap that is her body.

            “I want y’, chere, I want y’ so much…”

            The words come out incoherent to my own ears, an unnecessary articulation of a train of thought that involves actions, not slow and ineloquent speech.  She has already yielded to me anyhow; her thighs rub coyly against my own, she surrenders her lips to mine eagerly: we kiss, we fall.

            I thought I knew all there was to know about love.  Of all the women I ever shared my bed with, none of them were ever playthings to me – I will not lie and say I loved them, but, during those moments, those long, fervent, passionate nights that I spent with them, I cared for them, each and every one.  Maybe I even made believe I loved them.  Maybe I thought I did, or maybe I pretended I did, or maybe it seemed like love at the time.  Sex is, after all, sex, wherever or however you do it, or whoever you do it with.  How then, can I hope to convince you that with her it’s different?  That with her, it’s not just about desire, or the gratification of a sexual pleasure that one or both of us share?  That it is not even simply just a giving or a taking of one another, or that it is a mutual and intimate sharing that only we, lovers, lovemakers, can understand?  There’s nothing so safe, so secure, so warm, so personal as holding her in my arms, as relishing her flavour and her fragrance, of feeling her tender limbs against mine, the subtle delicacy of her fingers in my hair, of the warmth of her smooth skin against my flesh.  Sometimes, the quietest, most torpid of encounters are the best; they are the moments I can savour what we share in manifest form, moments when I can measure the sum and strength of our love, and I could lie there in her arms forever and try to analyse it, and the answer would never come to me.  Morning sex, sleepy sex, the languid exchange of our bodies, is the subtle equation of our love, an enactment of this strange bond we share in slow motion, a thing which opens itself as a book yet cannot be read.  I will never be able to grasp the meaning of this act – its significance eludes me – but I catch a glimpse of it, during this one precious, passionate act.

            One thing I learnt was, I never knew what love was until I met her, until I waited for her, until I touched her, until I tasted her.

            Now we are locked together.  Our kiss is slow, soft, as if the world could wait for us, as if it had already ended and no longer mattered and no longer owned us.  As I kiss her I slide into her, softly, softly: this is a pivotal moment in lovemaking, any man would tell you that; the pleasure of penetration involves no sacrifice: we infringe, we take, always.  But for her there is pain-pleasure, the beginning of love-death… I feel myself enter her, I feel her receiving me; I watch that reception on her face, in the dim pallor of her eyes drawn back; but I feel it too, on her mouth, the way she imbues our kiss with the lowest, softest of moans; it excites me, to feel the echo of her pleasure on our conjoined lips, our embracing tongues…  There is nothing so sweet.

            We barely kiss now, the kiss is broken and yet continues; our lips touch, but it is our cries that own our mouths, not one another.  We make love slowly, finding more pleasure in the analysis and synthesis of each other, in the lazy journey of mutual discovery.  My hands travel her body, her breasts, her stomach, her hips…It is always the same ritual, I never tire of it.  Sometimes, she’ll be on top; but Rogue’s an old-fashioned girl, and when it comes down to it, she prefers the good old missionary position.  Whether on top or not, I never fail in this ritual, this exploration of her body – in either instance it gives me equal pleasure (although admittedly, to see the way she arches her back when she straddles me, when I touch her there, has always been something of a personal turn-on).  The number, the equation, the perusal of her amounts to this and yet so much more.  On mornings such as this, I will take the lead, I will be on top of her in order to understand why it is that I love her the way I do.

            My hands grip her hips.  I draw back, I look into her face; I try to see in her eyes what I do to her, what she does to me, what we do to and for one another.  She looks back at me, wordless, but not voiceless – what I look for I see, but it always remains elusive and just outside my grasp.  Her expression changes.  Her eyes roll back, her pupils dilate, her breath comes short, ragged; our ministrations become more fevered now; we push, I groan, she sighs; I remember my pleasure, my lust, where I had forgotten it: and yet I exacerbate it in gazing at her beautiful, agonized face.  I bury my head into her bosom, smell the lavender scent, smell the sweat, smell her fragrance, smell our mingled fragrance…  I feel her hips beneath mine, grinding… Desperation…  The quiet wonder of our exploration has been shattered; now the journey finds itself disrupted; our movements are hurried, urgent; we have lost the importance of meaning, only the destination matters for us and we strive for it, we strive so goddamn hard…

            She laces her fingers in my hair, I hear her call my name, in a voice so far-away, so delicate it hardly seems real.        Why does she do that, why does she make it sound so beautiful?  I grunt with the exertion of my effort to take us both there, but she eases me, she holds onto me and eases me, balancing out the rhythm of our bodies, slowing me, guiding me, trusting me.  My breath shallow, regular, I lick the sweat from my upper lip, I raise my head and look into her eyes; she half smiles, encouraging.  Her legs wind about my waist, pulling me deeper into her; I gasp, but her cry is long drawn out, half wail, half moan; her hands grip my hips, my shoulders, my hair…  And as for me, I keep her rhythm, I follow the soft melody of her cries, I match the rise and fall of her hips…  Slower, more focused, in perfect harmony the pleasure increases tenfold.  I’m nearly there, I can feel it.  I’m nearly at the sum of that simple equation, that one and one makes two.

            I tell her so, or think I do.

            “Wait,” she tells me. “Oh, wait…”

            I renew my efforts, gritting my teeth, giving myself into the torture of loving and waiting for her; ten seconds seem to last forever during this one key moment when we end the equation, and, if we can, we end it together.  She presses against me hungrily, her cries as laboured as her breath – I know when she approaches the moment, when she pauses, when she clasps me to her, when she arches back; I allow her to hit the climax first because, inevitably, she draws me in; we orgasm together, bodies straining so that it is not only our very existences that seem to shatter, but everything else, the moment, the time, the space, our beings, the only things that exist inside and out of that one jangling, earth-rending instant.  I hear her voice, the triumph, the ecstasy, the bittersweetness of it all; I cannot recall what I sound like – what is important to me at that moment is the thought that, if I could die, it would be here, now, with our bodies joined…  That here, now, with our bodies joined, it feels like death, it feels like love and it feels like death, and it feels like dying and being reborn all over again.

            The moment itself is shattered, splintered – it is cut short, in the earliest seconds of its earliest stages; yet, strangely, it lasts a lifetime.  We barely know when it is over.  For a long time after, we lie there, still somewhat entwined, each privately experiencing the last vestiges of the orgasm we have gifted to one another – the present, first shared, now savoured.  Meanwhile we comfort ourselves with the security that is the cradle of our naked bodies; we nestle into one another, like birds come home and settling in for the night.  The peace, the unreality is only broken when the sound of our voices brings us home.

            “Ah love you,” she murmurs into the side of my chest, and somehow the words seem painfully inadequate; they don’t even go halfway to describing what love is, not after the both of us have seen it and felt it somewhere in the maelstrom of our fervid lovemaking.  We both know that.  But I know what she refers to when she says, ‘I love you’.  And she knows what I mean when I say ‘I love you too’ in return.

            “I love you too,” I say.

            We don’t need to prove it.  But vocalising it into these simple words, that simple sentence, somehow gravitises it; it is no longer simply something imperceptible and inexplicable, a mood, a passion, a whim that floats freely in the air and blesses whoever it may chance upon.  It is as solid and real as our bodies, it is as tangible as our flesh-to-flesh embrace.  This is how I first knew that I loved her, and that I’d never truly loved another woman before her.  In vocalising it, what I feel becomes the ultimate in expressed reality.

            She smiles.  Her expression is sleepy, full of wonder; her cheeks are still flushed.  She looks so beautiful, so radiant, so earth-bound…

            “Why do you love meh?” she drawls.  It is less a question than an expression of wonder. Her accent tends to get stronger in the mornings.  It’s undeniably sexy.

            “Does there haveta be a reason?” I whisper back.  We do this often.  Whisper.  Murmur.  Maybe it’s because we don’t want to lose a hold of the moment, because we don’t want to shatter it any more than we have to with unwieldy words.

            “There’s always a reason,” she replies seriously.  She pauses, goes into another line of questioning. “What makes me so different from all those other women?”

            I can tell she’s not going to let this one slip by.  She can be vain like that.  She loves to hear the compliments I have to give her.  I could tease her badly if I wanted.  But she’s giving me that look.  The one that could disarm a whole platoon of heavily-armed soldiers quicker than her fists could.

            “I dunno,” I answer at last, perusing her face thoughtfully. “Your eyes.  Your smile.  Your laugh.  De way you sass me.  De way you make coffee.  De way you always put de toothpaste on my brush b’fore you come out de bathroom.  De way your accent gets heavier in de mornin’s.  De way you leave de toilet seat up for me…”

            “Only ‘cos you leave it down for me, sugah,” she interrupts, grinning and stroking the dip between my chin and lower lip with an index finger.

            “…Not to mention dat gorgeous bod o’ yours.  You want me t’ go on?”

            “Ah could just listen t’ your compliments all day long, sugah,” she smiles, disengaging herself from my arms and propping her cheek up with the palm of her hand, drawing lazy circles on my chest with the other. “But Ah think we should save some up for another time, jus’ so’s you don’t run outta things t’ say.”

            I stare at her, grinning inanely.  Why do I let her toy with me so much?  If Lapin and Theoren and all those others back the Guilds heard about this, they wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.   

            “You know what Ah’ve been thinkin’?” she asks whimsically.

            “What?” I’m trying to concentrate on the patterns she’s drawing on my chest.  Right now they appear to be figure eights.

            “Do y’ reckon, if we were t’ go an’ see the different versions of ourselves in all those alternate realities out there… In how many d’you think we’d be t’ogther?  Or d’you think that this is the only reality in which we’re t’gether, an’ that us, here an’ now, in this world… that we’re just an anomaly?”

            I stare at her.  This is Rogue being unusually and overly philosophical. 

            “You t’ink dat’s possible?” I begin, running a hand through her hair pensively, “Funny dat.  I always thought it was de rest of dem realities dat were de anomalies, not ours.” I pause momentarily, start again. “I don’t believe we could be an anomaly, chere.”

            “Why not?” she asks, with the peremptoriness of a child.

            “B’cause this jus’ feels too right, p’tit,” I reply. “B’cause nothin’s ever felt so right, ‘cept for us.  We made for each other, Roguey.  I can feel it in my bones.”

            “An’ it’s that simple, huh?” she asks, a humorous smile on her face.

            “Yes, it’s dat simple,” I reply, a wry grin on my face as stroke her bare thigh playfully.  She laughs, husky, free, easy.  I love her laugh.  She never used to laugh like this.  But then, she’s never had a lot of things to laugh about until a few months ago.  Before then, simply laying a bare finger on her skin would have been impossible, nothing short of a death-wish.  It’s a miracle then, that we are both able to do this, to have a relationship in the fullest sense of the word, to be lying here, face to face, talking, laughing, being ordinary…

            “Well, if it’s so simple, then Ah guess there’s no point in me hangin’ around an’ talkin’ ‘bout it,” she replies, sitting up, but I quickly put out a hand and grasp her wrist, stopping her.

            “Aw, Rogue, y’know they say afterplay’s as important as foreplay, chere,” I whine plaintively. “Stay a few more minutes.”

            “Ah need a shower,” she pouts at me. “An’ you’re not invited.  We been goin’ at it like rabbits the past twelve hours, an’ if Ah put out anymore, it ain’t gonna be healthy.”

            “Au contraire,” I remind her suggestively. “Sex is just about one of de healthiest activities out there.”

            “In moderation,” she counters heatedly.

            “Ain’t no limit, chere, as long as it’s wit’ only one partner.” Dieu, am I sounding desperate yet or what?

            “Ah can’t believe we’re havin’ this conversation,” she sighs in irritation, getting up.  I should’ve known that last remark would only make her more mad.  I sigh.  Pushed your luck there, LeBeau.  She’s right anyhow.  We should quit while we’re ahead.  Too much of a good thing can get bad.  And we have had fun the past twelve hours…

            I watch her sashay into the bathroom.  She’s doing it on purpose to punish me, showing off that cute butt and that sexy walk of hers.  I groan as the door slams behind her and I hear her lock it.  Usually, I’d be the one carrying her into the shower; I’d tenderly wash her clean of our mingled juices; inevitably we’d become excited once more and end up making love all over again right there in the shower.  We both know that if we step into that bathroom together that’s eventually what’s going to happen.  And I don’t blame her for putting her foot down, to be honest.  After last night…  Well, like I said, too much of a good thing can get tedious after a while.  Right? 

So why am I not convincing myself?  The truth is, I could be with Rogue whenever, wherever, and however, and I still would never get bored.

            “I t’ink you misunderstood me, chere,” I shout in the general direction of the bathroom. “Gambit was only anglin’ for a hug an’ a kiss…  Chere, are you hearin’ me?  Maybe I can join you in dere, non?”

            Her only answer is to turn the shower on full blast.

            She emerges later, while I’m in the kitchen cooking breakfast.  While frying the eggs she steals up behind me with a stealthy silence that would put any ninja to shame.  I start only briefly as she wraps her arms round my waist and buries her face against my back.  Her embrace is too warm, too delicate to startle me for long.  I delight in the thrill that her touch sends across my bare skin.  I know then that all traces of our previous quarrel have been forgotten.

            “Is this good enough for you, sugah?” she asks, purposefully trailing her warm breath along the line between my shoulder blades.  I shudder involuntarily.

            “Good enough for what?” I ask, my voice suddenly thick.  See what this femme does to me!  One touch and I’m crazy for her again.  Remy LeBeau ain’t never been in a trap so helplessly reinforced before.  Especially not one built and orchestrated by a woman.  Not that I’m complaining or anything…

            “Y’ said you wanted a hug an’ a kiss, baby,” she murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss with just a hint of teeth against my right shoulder.  I get the impression that our little spat has definitely been forgotten.

            I pause, setting down the spatula and swivelling round to slide my arms about her waist.  She looks great, wet hair tousled, and wearing just a simple white T-shirt I’d left discarded somewhere about the bedroom.  And the scent of the shower gel is so soft and light it makes me want to bury by face in her neck and drift away without a care in the world.

            “Hm,” I say, passing her one of those broad, suggestive smiles that always works so well on women. “I was t’inkin’ more of me wit’ my arms around you, an’ a kiss on de lips…”

            “Ah think it’s a little too late for afterplay, Cajun,” she murmurs seductively, yielding to my embrace and sliding her arms up my shoulders and around my neck.

            “Well, howzabout we engage in a little more foreplay den?” I propose a little too optimistically, while leaning forward quickly to kiss her before she has a chance to say no.  We lock lips feverishly in a blistering kiss that takes our breaths away, while our hands wander not a little too boldly.  By the time we break apart her fresh underwear is already sopping wet, and we would probably have ended up making love again right there on the kitchen table, if not for the fact that the eggs had begun to burn, and had threatened to bring the house down in an inferno almost as heated and passionate as our own.

            Unspoken rule of the house: if it can be helped, I’m the one that does the cooking.

            Rogue is a terrible cook.  The mess I’d made of the eggs due to neglect looked more like something she’d come up with, even with unreserved concentration.  Rogue tackles food like it’s her worst enemy – she’ll hack at meat like an axe murderer and chop up potatoes instead of peeling them.  Watching such horrors in action is like torture to a culinary master such as myself; so much so that, after the first few days of our living together, I had effectively banned her from the kitchen under pain of death.  That had earned me several day’s worth of enforced celibacy as a punishment: yup, she’d actually held her body to ransom on account of that little episode.  Four days later, I was on the verge of insanity, wondering how I was ever going to compromise the idea of no sex versus food poisoning for the rest of my life.  Women are clever like that.  Rogue is no exception.  And when she’s mad, let me tell you, she’s mad.

            Eventually, we came to a compromise.  She could have access to the kitchen, under the condition that I not have to eat anything that was made by her fair hands; and/or her cooking should be a joint venture between the two of us.  Because I can tolerate hacked up veggies in my gumbo, as opposed to gumbo that leaves me bed-ridden for a week or so.  She had begrudgingly agreed to my terms; ten minutes after agreeing to them, she’d been all over me again as if nothing had happened at all – which had irked me more than just a little, and had convinced me that the best course of action was to beat her at own game and show her what a bit of enforced celibacy felt like.  This had, of course, lasted all of half an hour, by which time I had already caved in and we were making up for four days worth of abstinence very vigorously on the living room sofa.  She had had a smug smile on her face for days after that, and, being the couyon that I am, I just didn’t have the resolve to snub her, or, perhaps more humiliatingly, to keep my hands off her.

            Now she helps me clean up the burnt eggs with a vicious frown on her face that seems to be accusing the poor scorched things of ruining all the recalcitrant little schemes she had had in store for me for the day.  And there’s something oddly satisfying in the notion that her continued seduction of me has been thwarted by that most unassuming of her enemies – food.

            Yup – forget Joseph, Longshot and Mags – if there’s anything that’ll nail the two of us, it’s burnt eggs.

            Having re-cooked breakfast, we snuggle up on the sofa and watch TV.  I like to stretch out and take up as much room as I can; she, invariably, will sit in my lap and lean her head against my shoulder, while the breakfast tray teeters precariously in her own lap.  Rogue’s a sucker for French toast, and I have a feeling that’s half the reason why she decided to make it up with me.  And bad cook she may be, but she makes a mean cup of coffee.  So, all things considered, we’re pretty much quits.

            Outside the sun is shining with full force – it’s midday, and outside the bright young things are going out to play.  This is, after all, California.  Rogue, however, has pulled down the blinds – the room has a cozy atmosphere as we settle down in true bohemian fashion in front of the TV.  I’m not deceived.  She wants to snuggle, and her pulling down the blinds is a way of shutting out the world from our embrace.  Rogue’s like that – she can be capable of grandiose gestures when she wants to be, but when it comes down to it, she prefers her displays of affection to be private, secluded things, where she can secretly open them up and gorge herself on them like a box of chocolates.  Understandable, for a woman who’s had to sacrifice so many of the things we take for granted.

            I let her lower the blinds and snuggle into me without questioning.  I understand her need to close us off from the outside world, if only for a little while.  After so many years of pushing one another away, and a more or less utter inability to touch her, I am as grateful for her displays of affection as much as I enjoy them.  There is so much warmth and passion inside her that I always knew simmered beneath the surface of her Southern Belle facade – to actually experience it, after all this time, physically as well as emotionally, is something that never fails to pleasantly surprise me.  In many ways, the notion of us actually being a couple still hasn’t sunk in yet – we are living in a sort of dream period, where nothing exists but us.  We live as we please, we take what we please, we love as we please.  This is as much a new experience to me as it is to her.  I’ve never made this type of commitment to any other woman before Rogue.  I never knew that living with the girl I loved could be so fulfilling or rewarding.  To both of us, this honeymoon period is one that could never end.  We’ve spent too much of our lives running around being superheroes to appreciate the simpler things in life.  And goddammit, we ain’t gonna let go of moments like these, moments that so many other, normal couples take for granted.

            “So, I take it I’m forgiven,” I decide to blurt out, midway through breakfast, while my loving girlfriend dutifully passes toast over her left shoulder and into my mouth.

            “’Bout what?” she asks, changing the channel with the remote.  The news disappears only to be replaced by the Powerpuff Girls.

            “Y’know, dis mornin’…”

            “Oh, that.” Her voice is distracted. “That wasn’t an argument.  Ah’d already f’gotten about it.”

            Oh, of course, naturally.  While I think she’s still sore and making me suffer over it, she’s all but gone and forgotten about it.  Typical.

            “Mon Dieu, femme, dis Cajun jus’ can’t keep up wit’ you,” I groan.

            “How d’you think Ah manage t’ keep you interested?” she states slyly, giving me a wink and a grin over her shoulder.

            “No need for dat,” I reply, leaning forward to nibble the lobe of her ear playfully. “You have other assets dat keep dis Cajun more n’ jus’ interested.”

            “Like mah dancing skills?” she chuckles, switching the channel over again.

            “Dat n’ more,” I answer, more absorbed in her than in what’s on the TV screen.  It’s true though – after last night, Rogue proved once again that she is one great dancer.  She enjoys teasing me about that, for some unfathomable reason.  Okay, well maybe not so unfathomable.  Before we came to Valle Soleada, back in one of the Southern states (I forget which – I don’t think we’d reached Texas by that time) we were at this bar where they were having a dancing contest.  Now any femme that knows me knows that I dance a mean dance.  Unfortunately, I had decided to brag about it that night, and Rogue had insisted that she could beat me in a competition without even having to make any effort at all.  Naturally I’d scoffed at that, at which point she had literally dragged me onto the dance floor in order to prove her point.

            Now to be honest, I’d never really seen Rogue dance before.  Kurt had once told me that she likes to dance when she wants to cut loose, but unfortunately, I’d never been around to witness such an event.  Kurt had said she dances like a demon.  I hadn’t believed him.  Until that night.  She beat every other dancer roundly, including my own oh-so-talented self, and had even won a trophy for her troubles – which now stands conspicuously in a shelf facing the window, where it taunts me cruelly every morning when I come downstairs.

            Last night her dancing skills had been used much more to my benefit than to my shame; besides which, latin jazz is always so much sexier than country or zydeco.  She’d really jazzed (no pun intended) herself up for Valentine’s – I don’t even know how she managed to move inside that slinky green dress, let alone dance.  But hell, she did it.  It makes my heart flutter just thinking about it.  I have the feeling that half the time she enjoys torturing me whenever we find ourselves in such situations.  I’ve already had several years worth of such tortures, but she still puts me through them – I guess she knows they keep this Cajun in line.  Last night she’d flirted like hell, just enough to drive me crazy with anticipation at the innuendoes she was throwing at me.  A look, a wink, a touch, a peck on the cheek, a flick of the hair – that girl uses them all with the subtle refinement of a torturer with his bloody implements.  But when she dances – Dieu, when she presses her body against mine and moves those hips the way she does… well, let’s just say that any hot-blooded male would be slavering over her in a matter of seconds.

            Yup – my girlfriend gets a helluva lot of attention these days, especially now that she doesn’t have to worry about killing someone if they touch her.  She’s knows I’m jealous and likes to tease me about it.  But then, I know she’s jealous, although she tries to hide it – and yes, the levels of attention I get puts Rogue on the defensive whenever we go out together, wherever that happens to be.  I always tell her jokingly – you wanna keep dis Cajun in line, all you gotta do is dance wit’ him.  You dance wit’ him, he’ll be hot for you any time of de day or night.

            Last night was no exception.  In fact, the Valentine’s celebrations were effectively pretty much over the moment we’d got onto the dance floor.  As soon as we’d tired ourselves out dancing we ran out the restaurant without another word and straight back home.  And once we’d got home, well, it was straight to the bedroom.  Now, let it not be said that Remy LeBeau takes his time to wine and dine and romance his woman.  Let it not be said that he strings things out and woos a femme in the appropriate way.  Remy LeBeau is debonaire, calm, suave.  That is, unless he’s been dancing with Rogue in a slinky dress.  Then, all sense of propriety is robbed from him completely.  As soon as we’d slammed the bedroom door shut we were at it.  What can I say, we were hot for each other like a warm day in Hell.

            And once I’d unwrapped my Valentine’s present, it turned out I’d been in for a little surprise as well.  Yup – underneath that slinky green dress, Rogue – who’s usually the no-nonsense, practical type in her dress-sense – had kitted herself out in the most expensively exquisite French underwear: black lace bra, panties, suspenders, silk stockings, garter, the whole damn works.

            “Mon Dieu,” was all I could manage to splutter.

            “You like?” she’d replied, doing a coy little twirl and flashing a hint of derriere at me like only the best of those Parisian girls can do.

            “Like?” I’d repeated, giving her several eyefuls up and down. “Chere, you look simply…delectable.” So sue me, it was the only word I could find to describe her.  She looked so damn fine I could’ve eaten her.

            “Great,” she’d grinned, standing straighter again. “Now can you get these damn things offa me?  These suspenders are chafin’ like no one’s business.”

            I’d only been too happy to oblige her.

            An old rerun of Buffy is now on, but I’d be willing to forego a whole season of Buffy for mon amant belle.  She chuckles, dodging my lips so that the kiss I’d planned for her neck lands somewhere on her upper arm.

            “Lemme guess – it wasn’t the dancin’,” she says, eyes sparkling as she looks over at me slyly. “You’re thinkin’ of the underwear, aren’t yah?”

            “How’d you guess?” I answer, before leaning in to make another attempt to kiss her throat.

            “Remy, you think Ah don’t know yah?  Men are perverts.  Y’all like seein’ women dressed up in horrible underwear that makes ‘em feel uncomfortable.”

            “You didn’ look uncomfortable to me, chere,” I murmur, finally scoring a bullseye in the kissing department. “You looked like Gambit coulda eaten y’ right up.”

            “Hmmm.” She agrees on that point, her eyes suddenly wistful.  Probably because Gambit did eat her up once he’d got rid of those lacy black panties, heh heh.

            “An’ Gambit’s crazy for silk stockings,” I continue, taking advantage of the distraction to plant more kisses along her neck and shoulder. “Did he ever tell you dat?  You should dress up more, Anna, chere, we could make t’ings real fun.”

            “What, ain’t spandex good enough for yah?” she replies, her tone half-accusing, half-cajoling.  She’s allowing me to kiss her anyways, which is always a good sign.

            “Personally, Gambit prefers de leather,” I reply.

            “Ah bet he does,” she levels at me, knitting her brows and frowning.  On the one hand she’s annoyed that I’m trying it on with her again; on the other hand she’s enjoying it, so she’s having a hard time telling me where to lay off.  Speaking of hard…

            “Dammit, Cajun!” she swivels round, glaring at me. “What is it with you this mornin’?  You on viagra or somethin’??”

            I return her scathing look, somewhat offended. “Chere, does dis Cajun look like he needs viagra t’you?”

            “Hmph.” She pouts, before biting savagely into her toast.  Dieu, I could think of other places where that sweet little mouth of hers could be put to better use, but I know that if I tell her so it’ll be bad news for yours truly.

            “What?” I ask innocently, trying to put away the lewd thoughts currently running round my head and not entirely succeeding.

            “You may be Valle Soleada’s resident love machine, Remy LeBeau, but Ah ain’t your bitch, an’ Ah ain’t gonna be putting out for yah whenever yah want me to, y’hear?” she answers heatedly.

            “But I wasn’ even suggestin’…”

            “Yes, you were!”

            “No I wasn’!”

            “Oh really?!  Well that li’l friend o’ yours down south was sayin’ somethin’ else entirely!”

            I burst into laughter.  I can’t help it.  She looks so mad and sexy it’s hilarious.  And just what the hell are we arguing for?  Trust her to make an issue out of something so harmless.

            “Oh, so it’s funny now, is it?” she grumbles, not even allowing herself to join in with me.  I sober up quickly and put my arms back round her, sensing that this is more than just a little banter gone wrong.

            “I didn’ know I was Valle Soleada’s ‘resident love machine’,” I tease, cuddling into her neutrally, trying to signal to her that the white flag’s been raised.

            “You should hear what the gals in this town say about you,” she mutters darkly, still scowling.

            “What?” I ask, nuzzling my nose against her perfumy hair, but resisting the tactical error of kissing her.  I can’t help but ask.  Come on, a guy likes to know when he’s appreciated.

            “Just about what every gal thinks ‘bout you,” she replies, punching the remote and switching back to the Powerpuff Girls.  It’s on the rolling credits, but she still stares at the TV anyway.  That should’ve broadcasted to me loud and clear that she really was mad.

            “What, dat I’m an overbearing bastard?”

            “No.” She’s trying to sound patient, but the word comes out from between gritted teeth.

            “Rogue, are you jealous?” I can’t resist poking at her.

            “Hah!” Her voice is heavily lined with sarcasm. “What, like you were jealous when Joseph an’ Ah were together as friends, so much so that yah knocked the livin’ daylights outta him fer no reason whatsoever?”

            “No reason?!” I splutter.  See what I mean ‘bout femmes being clever?  My darling girlfriend’s just gone and turned everything round on me in a single sentence. “De guy was hangin’ outside your bedroom window like de regular peepin’ Tom!”

            “It was totally innocent, and you know it!” she seethes.

            “Yeah, now I know – I didn’ know den,” I mutter. “An’ besides, I wasn’ about t’ lose ma chere to a long-haired pretty boy.  Even if he was one of de only guys dat ever treated you wit’ respect.” I pause. “Not even Remy could do dat proper.” I finish on something of a sigh.  I haven’t thought about Joseph in a long time.  He was probably the only guy I was ever truly afraid of losing Rogue to.  What made the whole thing even worse was that he’d treated her with all the love and respect that she’d deserved, whereas me – who’d told her countless times he loved her like he’d loved no other woman – I couldn’t even bring myself to show her that love.  I was a fool.  Even when we’d told each other how we felt, I couldn’t stop playing the field.  I couldn’t stop hurting her.

            She sees the woebegone look on my face, swivels round and places her hands gently on my face.

            “Remy darlin’, it’s all in the past,” she murmurs. “Ah’m sorry, Ah shouldn’ have brought it up.”

            “I was an idiot back den, chere,” I mutter, not without a hint of a sulk in my features. “He deserved you more n’ I did.”

            “Ah loved you,” she says, touching her nose against my own. “An’ besides, Ah didn’t exactly treat you too kindly either.”

            We both know what she’s referring to when she says this, the words ever so delicately put.  For the moment we let the memories linger between us – painful memories, bittersweet.  But we say nothing – everything that has needed to be said about this shared memory has been said.  After a moment, she smiles sadly, presses her forehead against mine, kisses my lips chastely.  Our past has been nothing if not torrid; and at times, it has been both brutal and hurtful.  I suppose the people you love are always the ones that are easiest to hurt.  And Rogue and I, having had an inability to commit for so long, whether physically or emotionally, have hurt one another almost as violently as we have loved one another.  There were even times when I think we would have killed one another in order to express both the pain and the passion we have put each other through.  But it’s over now.  At last, we’re the way we always wanted to be – together.  It’s a privilege we know we can’t take for granted.  And now she kisses me as if to say she understands – it’s her way of saying sorry.

            She pulls away, giving me one last little peck for good measure.  The mood is still subdued; the room is quiet. 

            “So,” she begins after a short moment of silence, gently rubbing my chest, her voice nothing more than a notch above a whisper. “Y’all wanna know what the gals round here really say ‘bout you?”

            A small grin plays across my face as I wrap my arms snugly round her waist again.

            “Gambit t’inks he already knows what you’re gonna say, Roguey,” I reply in the same tone of voice, all quiet and softly-like, thinking we’re going to destroy the closeness we share otherwise.  “But you go ahead an’ indulge me anyways, chere.”

            “Well,” she begins innocently, “They think you got the most beautiful, gorgeous, cute, sexy…” She pauses momentarily as if to find another adjective, grinning broadly, “…an’ patient girlfriend they’ve evah seen, an’ they all wish they were her, b’cause…”

            “Because you got me in the sack,” I finish for her in mock exasperation, sighing theatrically. “I know, I know!  Y’know, sometimes it’s real hard playin’ de Casanova part.  De ladies don’ give y’ a moment’s peace.”

            She giggles, giving me a playful slap on the shoulder. “An’ you’d know all ‘bout that, of course,” she remarks, eyebrows knitting.

            “Chere, you know I only have eyes for a certain green-eyed, brown-haired Mississippi river rat wit’ de world’s cutest skunk-stripe in her hair, right?” I reply, brushing a few white strands of her hair back over her ear and letting my fingers linger there a moment. “Y’know, de one wit’ de cutest tush dis side of Mason-Dixie, and dat sexy li’l mole on her…”

            “Only Mason-Dixie?!” she echoes in feigned indignation, eyes wide.

            “Okay, I take it back – howzabout de galaxy?”

            “Sugah, we been a lot further than just this galaxy,” she pouts playfully. “Are you really sayin’ that Lilandra has a cuter butt than Ah do?”

            “…De universe…?”

            “An’ speakin’ of moles, you’re one t’ talk!”

            “Heh heh.” I chuckle at that one.  The whole ‘mole issue’ has landed me in some very –uh- interesting situations in the past. “You’re such a tease, p’tit.”

            “So are you,” she pouts.  It’s such a cute pout that I have to kiss it.  She mutters ‘what the hell’ and caves in.  I swear, life for us is like some crazy, deranged roller coaster.  First we’re at it, then we’re not, then we’re at it again.  Damn this girl!  She’s only the most irresistible thing I’ve ever seen.  Trouble is, she knows it.  Like I said – she’s a like torturer with his bloody implements.  Lucky for her I have a masochistic streak in me, heh heh.

            It was as things were starting to get interesting that ...

*And that's where I stopped writing! Anyone wanna finish it? You're welcome to! 😂*

[dawsmark]

The Hot Box -- Chapter 1

I’m sooo horny right now. 

The Wizards were getting their asses kicked. There was no need to watch the basketball game any further.  So, dick hard as a rock, I reached for the phone and called Deanna. 

It’s been a while since I’d seen her.  The last time I had, I had her pinned against the wall inside of Room 419 of the Sheraton Blue, her legs wrapped around my waist.  She had asked for us to see each other exclusively, but as fine as she was, a sex goddess on so many levels, I just couldn’t yet commit. 

Further, I needed to ask her about something.  

Something I found out earlier this week.

The phone rang six times before she  answered. “Hello?”  

“Hey, knockout,” I whispered. She took in a breath.  I chuckled inside.  “What’re you up to?”

“Nothing.”  She sounded like a sweet bird.

“Nothing, huh?  Same here.”  The fierce autumn wind rattled my window.  “I was thinking maybe, you know, if I could come—" 

“Yes.  All over me.”

Damn that was quick.

I laughed out loud.  She did too. 

“See you in a bit,” I said, and hung up.

I sprang from the couch, and headed straight for the shower. I stripped down in front of the mirror and was a little shocked at how solid my muscles were looking.  For the past eight weeks, I had been training for the Maryland Physique Pro and the diet I was on was finally working its magic.  Last checked, my bodyfat was around twelve percent, but according to some, I needed to come down another four if I wanted to place, another six if I wanted to win.  Everyone said this one was going to be mine, that I was robbed at the last show, and I couldn’t agree with them more. 

Politics.

Having done this for the past three years, I’ve become numb to it.  That, and the scrutiny.  To the average person on the street, I’m a stud. But on stage, with dozens of other guys who think they’re studs too, eyes are like hawks.  Judges really zero in on your flaws: from the way you stand, to the shape of the teardrop in your quads, to the separation between your pecs. 

For a long time, it was hard being told you ain’t shit, you don’t measure up.  They’d say you need more balance in your back (like, what the fuck?) or you need to come in with more conditioning (what the hell does that mean?).  You just want to go down to the judges' table and flip that motherfucker over. 

So why do I do this?  Why did I put myself under such scrutiny?

Because I loved this shit.  If I get it right, the little details that others don’t see, I’d be perfect. 

I mean, I already got the perfect dick, why not the body to go with it?

Yeah…

My dick.

There it was.  Long. Thick. Straight as a sword. With a mind and face of its own, waiting to dive into Deanna’s hot box.  

I kept my hands away, because the last thing I wanted was to be drained senseless before actually feeling warm woman skin.   As quick as I could, I stepped under a cold shower.

Beads of ice water hit my body like bullets, subsiding the beast within, and turning the water to temperature to hot, I was able to lather, wipe and scrub soap all over me in lascivious-free peace.

Ten minutes later and feeling steam-fresh, I strutted to my bedroom like Ric Flair. 

Crazy Ric Flair. 

My daddy put me on to him when I was little.  If you want to be the man, you got to beat the man.  I’m a high-flying, limousine-riding, diamond-wearing son-of-a-gun!  Wooo!

I slipped into some sweatpants, no underwear, hoping to give Deanna a treat.  I love the way her eyes slides down to the bulge while I’m trying to have a conversation with her; Me standing there acting like, what’re you looking at?

I put on my shirt and kicks, grabbed my phone and keys and headed out the door.

Life sure was good.

Last week, Allison.  Week before, Lindsey.  This week, Deanna.

“Heyyy, Kevin,” as soon as I got out the door.  It was Ms. Howard sashaying from across the street. The leaves flew up from the pavement and swirled around her as she came.  I couldn’t get to my truck fast enough. She caught me just before I could put the vehicle into drive. 

“Hey, Ms. Howard, how you doing?”

“Hm.  Why you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some sort of a disease?”

Ms. Howard was fifty-plus, my aunt’s age, with long Jamaican locs and strands of gray around the ears.  Her earrings were large and plastic in the shape of African dancers.  She made mad bank working for Lockheed Martin but couldn’t keep a man for shit.  Her husband, a downtown tort lawyer, left her a long time ago. 

It was obvious she wanted me to give her the D, but I wasn’t doing it.  Nope.  No way.  Nada. 

She darted her eyes over my upper body, “Wanted to know if you’d like to come to my barbecue this weekend.  My grandson’s football team made it to States so we’re gonna party.  He’d love to see you again.”

I hated that li’l nigga.  I believe he stole one of my rings that time I had him over my house, trying to be a mentor and shit.                                                                     

“Me?  Why?”

“’You know why.  How often does a young man get to actually be around a pro football player.”

“I only did two seasons.”

“Two more than anybody I know.  And him either.  You could’ve been a benchwarmer for all he cares.”

And I thought, Really?  Because last time I remember, he called me a scrub, kept throwing my stats up in my face, and kept comparing me to Devin Jones, one of the best D-backs in the league.

“Um…let me get back to you.” 

“Get back?”  She playfully gave me side eye.  “Uh-huh…”

“Don’t do that, Ms. Howard.  Please don’t do that, I know what you’re thinking.”

“What I’m thinking?”

“That I’m too good for y’all.”

“I ain’t say nothing.”

“You don’t have to say nothing.”

“Well…Are you? Big-time football player too important to hang out with us colored folks anymore?”

“Come on now, Ms. Howard.  You know I like that corn bread, sweet potato pie and ribs you be making.”

“Yeah, right.  Never no time for us.  Where you off to this time?  To see one of your little white girls?”

“Now, now, Ms. Howard, you know it’s not like that.  Look, I got to go.”

She sucked her teeth. “Gone then,” and let me get on my way.  But not before she reached out to touch my bicep I had hanging in the window.  She gave it a delicate squeeze.  My eyes followed her hand and then lifted back to her with a silent, What are you doing?  Sensing she went too far, her hand slid off.

She said, “You better come.  If you don’t, I’m coming over here and drag you over.”

“I hear you,” I said, and drove off, giving her the peace sign.

She called after me, “Saturday. 5 o’clock.”

I beeped the horn.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I saw her sashay back to her side of the street.  I then turned on some music and looked to the bleak October sky.

…I wasn’t going to her raggedy cookout.

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

So i read the minsung poly fic.

And as per usual the Angst and your writing in itself, is perfect as ever but i have to say, i do feel a bit uncomfortable with this sort of poly.

At first i was so excited to read poly minsungx Reader but thats when i thought they were in an actual three way relationship (god i would love An angst fic with threeway minsung)

Maybe at some point we do get actual poly minsung where they Maybe share a home or everyone has their own home...

Anyway... minho and jisung not being interested in each other and just sharing y/n seems as if she was a dog lol. Her not being allowed to decide when to see her boyfriend, but having to switch homes each week as if she has no home herself (like a dog) and her just accepting that on sundays she is being transported to the other partner, like a little toy.... it was actually a bit disturbing haha.

But that has nothing to do with your work. Just the situation itself.

It was not my cup of tea, this sort of poly, but as per usual your writing and angst were perfect as ever

I wanted to portray from the beginning that Minho and Jisung might have both wanted this… but they didn’t actually WANT it. They didn’t share a house because they didn’t want to see one or the other being close with reader, it would be easier (while still hard though) to just assume what they were doing without having to see or hear it.

I would have loved for reader to be strong and be like “ya know what, frick this, it ain’t worth it”, but that wouldn’t have been angsty and I wouldn’t have been able to end on a cliffhanger as I usually do.

This kind of relationship was new for the reader, which is why she didn’t really see anything wrong with being switched between houses every weekend. Of course, neither of the guys actually liked the setup after about a week (which I didn’t go into depth about since it was from readers POV), but once that initial excitement of being able to “share” reader with his best friend wore off, Minho was just done with it.

The only reason he let it go on longer was because he saw that reader was happy, but that just wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted to be happy, and he wanted reader solely for himself, but by then, Jisung was feeling the same way.

Minho had been with reader so long that it just felt fair that he could make the decisions in the relationship, that he could decide whether reader stays with Jisung or not. I really wanted reader to feel kind of helpless in the situation because at that point, she clearly loves them both, but she’s given this ultimatum of if she picks one she can’t have the other. There’s so much more for her to consider than just the relationship, she has to think of their friendship too, which weighs heavily on her, and to add to the angst factor, it only furthers that helpless feeling because she knows that no matter what she chooses, their friendship will be strained and she’s not really winning in the long run.

I appreciate your feedback though, I’ve seen a lot of cute poly minsung fics, and I love reading them. It’s hard though to create an angsty atmosphere is they all love each other and they’re all happy 😅😅😅

[missrosiesworld]

The Space Between Us

This short story is a three-part story following my OC, Amara Silva, as she confronts the painful reality of her relationship with Joey Wheeler. Buried emotions and unspoken fears come to a breaking point, forcing Amara to question if love alone is enough. This story explores themes of insecurity, longing, and the struggle to be seen, but above all, it’s about two hearts trying to find their way back to each other. I hope you enjoy the journey. 💛

The air in Joey’s modest apartment was thick, weighed down by tension that had been simmering for weeks, if not months. The small living room, usually filled with the warmth of Joey’s laughter or the playful banter between him and Amara, felt colder tonight despite the soft glow of the lamp in the corner. 

Amara stood near the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her caramel skin glowing faintly under the dim light. The soft sway of her bohemian-chic outfit—a golden crocheted crop top with fringe details and a pair of dark, high-waisted shorts—was at odds with the turmoil inside her. A patterned duster with warm earth tones draped loosely around her shoulders, its ends trailing slightly as she shifted, her body tense with emotion. Her lilac curls, styled half-up and half-down, framed her face, bouncing slightly as she shook her head in disbelief. Her sage-green eyes, usually so full of warmth and affection, now shimmered with unshed tears, glistening with hurt and frustration.

Joey stood in the middle of the room, his hands shoved into his pockets, his golden-brown eyes fixed on his sneakers, as though the scuffed soles and worn laces might provide some sort of answer he couldn’t find anywhere else. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt with a blue stripe across the chest, the fabric clinging slightly to his frame from the lingering heat of the day. His faded blue jeans hung comfortably on his frame, slightly creased from sitting earlier, but now they felt stiff, almost constricting under the weight of the conversation. His sneakers, slightly worn from running around the city, scuffed against the floor as he shifted his weight, his posture tense, his usual confidence replaced with unease.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me hanging again?” Amara’s voice pierced through the tense silence, trembling with emotion. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her knuckles brushing against the fringed hem of her crocheted crop top as if grounding herself. Her sage eyes burned, shimmering with frustration, hurt, and barely restrained tears. “The second Mai calls, you drop everything. Every single time, Joey. What about me? Do I even matter?”

Joey looked up at her sharply, the guilt flashing in his golden-brown eyes like a fleeting storm. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to apologize, like he understood the gravity of her words. But just as quickly, that guilt hardened into defensiveness, his jaw tightening as his brows furrowed.

“Amara, it ain’t like that!” His voice came out louder than he intended, rough around the edges. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he struggled to explain. “She needed me—”

“She always needs you!” Amara interrupted, her voice rising as the dam holding back her emotions finally started to crack. She took a step forward, the movement sharp, almost defiant, her gold bangles jingling faintly with the force of it. “And you’re always there for her! Every time, no matter what!” Her chest rose and fell rapidly as her breath hitched, the weight of her feelings pressing down on her like a tidal wave. “What about me, Joey? I need you too! I’ve needed you, but you’re never here when it counts because you’re too busy running to her!”

“That’s not fair!” Joey shot back, his voice growing louder to match hers, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He took a step toward her, his sneakers scuffing against the floor as his hands flew out of his pockets, gesturing wildly. “Mai’s been through a lot, alright? She doesn’t have anyone else!”

Amara sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes widening as the sting of his words hit her square in the chest. For a moment, she was too stunned to speak, the sheer audacity of what he had just said leaving her breathless. But then, the hurt morphed into something else—something sharper, angrier.

“And I haven’t?” Her voice cracked on the last word, trembling as tears threatened to spill. She took another shaky step forward, the movement causing her lilac curls to sway, the soft strands bouncing with the force of her emotions. It was almost poetic—the way her hair, usually so full of life, moved freely while she felt like she was falling apart inside. “I’ve been through hell too, Joey.” Her voice softened for a moment, heavy with the pain of her memories, before rising again, sharp as glass. “But I don’t get to call you up whenever I feel like it and expect you to drop everything for me. I don’t get that luxury, do I? Because I’m not her.”

Joey blinked, visibly recoiling at the bitterness in her tone. “That’s not true, Amara!” he snapped, his voice rough and desperate as his hands flew up in exasperation. His body was tense, his frustration evident in every jerky movement. “You’re makin’ this into somethin’ it ain’t!”

Amara let out a bitter laugh, a sound so cold, so unlike her usual warmth, that it made Joey flinch. “Really?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She tilted her head slightly, her curls bouncing as her sage-green eyes locked onto his with anger and heartbreak. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’m just a placeholder. A stand-in for someone you actually care about. Someone you’ve always cared about.”

Joey’s eyes widened, and he instinctively reached out, his fingers brushing the air near her wrist but stopping just short, as if he wasn’t sure if he still had the right to touch her. “Amara, that ain’t true! You mean somethin’ to me—”

“Do I?” Her voice cracked again, softer this time, but no less devastating. This wasn’t anger anymore. This was raw, unfiltered pain.

A single tear slid down her cheek, glistening like a shard of broken glass in the dim light. But she didn’t bother wiping it away. She didn’t care if he saw her cry. Let him see the damage he had done. Let him feel it.

“Because I’ve stood by you through everything, Joey,” she said, her voice trembling as more tears threatened to fall. “When Mai left, I was there. When you doubted yourself, I was the one who told you how incredible you are. I was the one who believed in you when you didn’t believe in yourself. But none of that seems to matter the second she shows up.”

Joey opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. He ran a hand through his disheveled blonde hair, his frustration mounting as he tried to find something—anything—to say that would make this right.

Amara’s voice softened, but the weight of her pain clung to every word. Her hands gripped the fabric of her flowing duster, fingers curling into the soft material as if grounding herself against the storm building inside her. “Do you even love me, Joey?” Her voice wavered, raw and vulnerable, a quiet tremor lacing her words. “Or am I just… convenient?”

Joey’s breath hitched at the question, something in his chest tightening painfully. His jaw clenched, the muscles twitching as he stared at her, the air between them heavy with something unspoken—something neither of them had been ready to face until now. His fists clenched at his sides, frustration mounting as emotions swirled inside him, tangled and confusing. He loved her—God, he did—but the fear of losing her, of messing it all up, had twisted his feelings into knots he didn’t know how to untangle.

But instead of saying that, instead of giving voice to the truth burning in his throat, he blurted out something sharp, something defensive, something he didn’t mean.

“You’re bein’ ridiculous, Amara.” His voice came out harsher than he intended, rough with frustration. “What do you want me to say? That I shoulda ignored Mai? That I shoulda just let her deal with everything alone?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

Amara flinched as if he had struck her. The color drained from her face, her sage eyes widening, the pain flickering through them so tangible it sent a sharp pang of guilt straight through his chest. Her breath caught, shoulders stiffening, but she recovered quickly, her expression shifting into something unreadable—something cold, closed off.

The hurt in her gaze deepened, but she refused to cry again, refused to let the lump in her throat win. Instead, she took a trembling step back, as if physically recoiling from him, as if putting distance between them might shield her from the way his words had cut her open.

“No, Joey.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of a breaking heart. Her arms wrapped around herself, as if trying to hold in the ache threatening to swallow her whole. “I want you to care about me the way you care about her.” A bitter, hollow laugh escaped her lips, shaking her head in disbelief. “But you can’t, can you?”

Joey exhaled sharply, running both hands through his messy blonde hair, fingers tugging at the strands in frustration. The weight of her words pressed down on him, suffocating, drowning, but he didn’t know how to stop it, how to fix it.

So instead of saying what he should have said—I love you, Amara. I’m scared of how much I love you—he let the panic, the frustration, the fear take over.

“I can’t do that, Amara!”

The words snapped from his lips, sharp and final, like a slammed door.

And just like that, the last piece of her heart shattered.

Amara froze, the weight of his response slamming into her like a sudden, unforgiving wave. The air seemed to shift, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on her chest as her breath caught in her throat. Her lips parted slightly, her sage-green eyes widening, searching Joey’s face for some kind of explanation—some sign that she had misheard him. But there was nothing. No immediate reassurance. No desperate attempt to take it back.

Her delicate gold earrings, which usually caught the light when she laughed, now glinted dully as she turned her head slightly, her expression unreadable except for the pain flickering behind her eyes. Her lashes fluttered, blinking away the disbelief, her mind scrambling to make sense of what she had just heard.

Her voice, when it finally came, was barely a whisper—fragile, trembling with heartbreak. “You… can’t care about me?”

Joey’s eyes widened, the color draining from his face as the full impact of his words hit him like a punch to the gut. “No,” he rushed out, panic creeping into his voice, his hands coming up as if trying to physically pull the words back. “That’s not what I meant! I just—”

But Amara was already stepping back, retreating as if she had touched a flame and been burned. Her arms crossed over her chest, instinctively protecting herself, shielding her heart from any more damage.

The light fabric of her duster shifted as she moved, the colors—a mixture of warm sunset hues—suddenly feeling ironic, as if the warmth she had once felt in this space had faded completely, swallowed by the cold distance now between them.

“That’s exactly what it sounded like, Joey.” Her voice was hushed, yet somehow it carried the full weight of her devastation. The raw emotion in her words sent another wave of guilt crashing over him. “I’ve stood by you, loved you, and you’re telling me you can’t care about me?”

Joey shook his head desperately, stepping forward, his movements jerky, almost frantic. “No, Amara, you don’t understand!” His voice was rising now, bordering on desperate. “I care about you more than anyone! That’s why… that’s why this is so hard for me!”

Her curls bounced as she shook her head, her sage eyes now brimming with unshed tears. She let out a soft, shaky laugh—one with no joy, no warmth—just a bitter edge that made Joey’s chest tighten. “You care about me more than anyone,” she repeated, voice breaking, “but I’m still not enough? You can’t even say it outright, can you? You can’t tell me that I’m more than just an afterthought to you.”

Joey clenched his fists at his sides, frustration bleeding into his voice. “That’s not what I’m saying!” His voice cracked, his emotions unraveling at the seams. “I’m trying to tell you that you mean more to me than—”

“Than what?” she interrupted sharply, her voice rising to meet his. “Than Mai? Because it sure doesn’t feel like it, Joey. You can’t even put me first for once. And now you’re saying you can’t?”

Her words cut deeper than he ever thought possible, carving straight through his chest. Joey staggered back a step, his breath uneven, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t know if he had the right anymore.

“Amara, please,” he rasped, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. He reached out, fingers hovering near her wrist, aching to pull her back. “You’re twisting this—”

“I’m not twisting anything!” she cried, her voice raw, trembling with pain that she couldn’t hold back any longer. Her gold bangles jingled faintly as she threw her hands up, her entire body trembling. “I hear you loud and clear, Joey. You can’t care about me. You don’t want to. And honestly?” Her voice dropped lower, breaking completely, her next words shattering what little resolve she had left.

“I’m done begging you to.”

The tears that had threatened to spill finally did, and she turned quickly, grabbing her brown leather bag from the couch with trembling hands. As she moved toward the door, she paused, her back to him, her voice low and filled with heartbreak. 

“I thought I was enough for you. I thought you’d see me the way I see you. I guess I was wrong.”

Joey stood frozen, his hands falling to his sides as she opened the door. “Amara, wait—” he started, but his voice faltered as she walked out, the sound of the door clicking shut behind her reverberating in the now-empty room.

Joey’s apartment had never felt so silent.

[chernayawidow]

OMG OMG YES YES YES!!! I’ve been so excited for this one!!! I’m preparing for a cliff hanger though… LETS GET TO IT!!

“He was very proud of his grill.” — In typical male fashion, the real test is how well he can use it though!

“Let those uppity fucks complain. Bet’cha they won’t have the balls to say shit to my face if I go across the street for a little visit.” — He’s got that a point there! Ain’t nobody gonna have the guts to make complaints to his face.

“He sometimes couldn’t gauge things like this when it came to what he could handle, versus what your normal human body could.” — I love that you’ve added this little detail in, because this is something that does cross my mind when it comes to these two. He really does have to be mindful that his endurance isn’t universal.

“You’ve got some nerve. I don’t talk shit about the stash of Twix bars in your nightstand, do I?” — Oh is he really coming for the choccy stash? That’s a punishable offence!

“Please. Your purple vibrator isn’t exactly a fucking mystery to me,” — THIS HAS ME WHEEZING LMFAOOOOO!! I wonder if Ben was offended when he first found out about her vibrator 🤣🤣

“Might wanna keep it away from the chocolate though. That could get messy…unless you want it to be.” — AIN’T NO WAY HE JUST SAID THAT!! 😭

“You were happy. Maybe for the first time in your life.” — That’s so fricken cute 😭💖

“Before you slathered some onto your hands, you realized they were no longer red, and they didn’t even sting anymore.” — And thus it begins… 😏

““What the hell happened?” he asked, though he bent down to help you up.” — Your super foetus is giving her temporary powers, no biggie!

“Ben shook his head. “We really need to broaden your palate.”” — Okay you prissy lil’ rich boy 😂

“True,” he smirked. “You’re already a pain in the ass as it is.” — Oh shush Benjamin you know you LOVE it!

““Shit,” he muttered, and released you to run back to the grill.” — The imagine of him running out to the grill is so funny to me.

“And to test the strength in your hands, by bending one of Ben’s metal wrenches like it was a useless paper straw.” — Shiiiiiit so she STRONG strong! Bending wrenches and shit, is that how Ben finds out? Is he just gonna find one of his wrenches and be like what the fuck happened here? 😂

“Unless he was somehow giving you transfusions without you knowing, there was only one other possibility you could think of for Ben’s DNA to somehow be in your system…” — Heheheh, Pookie is preggo 🫣

“And you sat down on the closed toilet. Hard. Enough to dislodge a decorative dish that was perched on a shelf behind you.” — Oh shit girl, this bubba has you clumsy as hell already 🤣

“Even though you felt the sting of your lie tingling unpleasantly down your spine.” — Well you don’t wanna go and get his hopes up if you’re not certain, so it’s a lie for the greater good.

“You’re eleven weeks pregnant,” — Jesus, almost three months!!

“The super strength is probably temporary. A side effect of the fetus’s genetics. But, it’s also advantageous for you,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “This makes it much more likely that you’ll survive the birth.” — Holy shit I didn’t even think about that side of it… and it makes me wonder if she or Ben have considered that aspect of having a baby.

“The last straw was when you walked into the dresser while glancing back at him. You hissed and shook out your sandle-clad foot.” — Poor Pookie, the baby isn’t even out of the womb and it’s causing havoc 🤣

““What’s the matter with you?” Ben asked. He was never one to beat around the bush.” — Straight to the point, I like it!

““Well this time, I’m told it’s also temporary…for the next seven months or so,” you said with a playful smile.” — That’s one hell of a pregnancy reveal 🤣

“Never once had you seen this man tear up. He turned his face away, but you still caught the edges of his emotion.” — He’s getting his dream 🥹

“Maybe he’d just have to keep knocking you up, he thought. So you’d always be this strong.” — Don’t threaten me with a good time!

““Too bad you’re already knocked up, or that could’ve been a great way to bring in our second kid,” he remarked.” — This is some delicious content, and it’s hitting all the right spots for me 😮‍💨🤌

My oh my I love love LOVE this!! The way that she broke the news to Ben was honestly really fitting for them and their relationship. And his reaction? That was so so cute! The way he even teared up about it melted my heart!! The snippet for the next part, however, now has me worried… 😅 but I’m so keen to read it!!!

Strong as Blood - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: After you accidentally break through a solid wood table, you know there’s something wrong with you. You begin to have your suspicions, but can you keep it from Ben long enough to find out? 

(In other words: This is the story of how you and Ben discover that you’re pregnant.)

AN: This two-part fic can be read as stand-alone, but it’s really a bonus sequel to Break Me Down!

Here’s the chronological reading order for the series:

Break Me Down

Love Actually

Checkerboard

Strong As Blood

Word Count: 4,500 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Angst, fluff, and a smutty ending. 

Part 1: “Probably Temporary”

Make no mistake. Ben was still a terrible cook.

He’d sort of gotten the hang of the grill though, even if he technically wasn’t supposed to be smoking meat on the apartment’s second-floor balcony. 

You peeked out at your boyfriend through the sliding glass door to make sure he was still doing okay. He caught you though, and shot you a wink.

He was very proud of his grill. 

We’re so gonna get in trouble with the homeowner’s association, you thought, but you couldn’t help a smile. You obliged him when he beckoned you over, and you slid the door open. 

“Almost done? I think our neighbors are going to complain again,” you said with a laugh. Ben rolled his eyes.

“It’s a bit of smoke, not a fucking forest fire,” he groused. “Let those uppity fucks complain. Bet’cha they won’t have the balls to say shit to my face if I go across the street for a little visit.” 

You soothed him with a hand along his shoulder. It also gave you an excuse to check on his progress. You considered this episode to be a success, considering the balcony wasn’t up in flames this time. And the steaks actually looked good. Not brittle pieces of charcoal, but not raw and bleeding either.  

“I think those are done,” you advised. Ben followed your gaze and nodded. He used his bare hands to turn the foil-wrapped potatoes, just because he could. 

“Why don’t you take ‘em in while I finish up these potatoes,” he said. “How’s the rest coming?”

“Good. I’m about to take the casserole out of the oven,” you said with a nod. Meanwhile, he placed the steaks in a glass dish that been sitting near the open grill. He handed it to you, but you almost dropped the steaks when the hot glass burned your hands. 

You hissed in pain, while Ben caught the dish with both hands. His brows furrowed, first in surprise, then in thinly veiled concern when he looked over at you. He reached out for your shoulder. 

“Damn,” he said. “Didn’t seem that hot…you okay?”

You looked up from your stinging hands and sighed at him in exasperation, but you couldn’t get that mad at him. He sometimes couldn’t gauge things like this when it came to what he could handle, versus what your normal human body could. 

“Yeah. I’ll just break out the aloe. First, let me get some oven mitts,” you replied, but your answering smile retained some good humor. Ben quirked an apologetic smile of his own. He decided to follow you into the kitchen, taking the steaks in himself. 

You grabbed your favorite green oven mitts and carefully took out the veggie casserole. It smelled delicious, but Ben still peered at it over your shoulder when you placed it on the counter. 

“Don’t you look my casserole sideways,” you quipped. “You need to eat more veggies.”

He leveled you with a dry look. “You saying I’m getting out of shape?”

“God forbid,” you gasped, playfully jabbing at his firm abs with a mitt-covered hand. “I’m just saying, your super metabolism is compensating for a lot of booze and Taco Bell.”

Ben rose a brow at your cheekiness. He drew closer behind you, trapping you against the counter with one hand braced on the edge, and the other sliding up your jean-clad hip. 

“You’ve got some nerve. I don’t talk shit about the stash of Twix bars in your nightstand, do I?” he remarked. He nipped at your ear, making you flinch and giggle. His beard was also tickling your neck. 

“You’re peeping in my nightstand now? How dare you,” you teased. He snorted in response. 

“Please. Your purple vibrator isn’t exactly a fucking mystery to me,” he retorted. You felt his smirk growing against your neck. “Might wanna keep it away from the chocolate though. That could get messy…unless you want it to be.” 

Your body shook with the effort of containing your laughter. He was so fucking gross.

“Don’t you need to check on the potatoes?” you asked. “I don’t want to have to pressure wash the balcony again.”

Ben made a sound of agreement, but was sure to swat you on the ass before he went. You jolted, but you just shook your head with a blush and a smile. 

It had been over a year since you and Ben had moved in together. Already you’d had your first fight as a true couple, your first Christmas, and so many other challenges, large and small, that had all come to solidify one thing for you.

You were happy. Maybe for the first time in your life. 

It just came with some…small caveats, you reflected, as you reached into the fridge to find the jar of aloe vera. Before you slathered some onto your hands, you realized they were no longer red, and they didn’t even sting anymore.

“What the hell?” you muttered. You put back the jar and rested a hand on your hip. 

Well, maybe you hadn’t burned yourself as bad as you thought. 

With that oddity still in your mind, you pulled on your oven mitts again and took up the casserole with the intention of bringing it to the dining table. Admittedly, you were a bit distracted. You didn’t remember about the raised ledge in the doorway to the dining room until it was too late.

You tripped, and though you managed to make it to the table, you gasped when you broke right through the wood. 

The table just seemed to give up when you hit it, cracking in half, and sending you tumbling to the floor with hot casserole heaped on top. You were still stunned when Ben tore back inside. His green eyes were wide, his brows furrowed as he took in the state of you on the floor with the broken table.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, though he bent down to help you up. He checked you for injuries, but both of you found nothing. 

“I’m okay,” you said, a bit shakily. “I tripped, that’s all.”

Ben’s brows raised as he looked from you to the shards of the table. He knocked on the wood surface. 

“Cheap piece of shit. Where’d you get this thing?” he asked. 

You flickered at a smile and admitted, “IKEA.”

Ben shook his head. “We really need to broaden your palate.”

You insisted you were all right. But he insisted, without words, on checking you over again. His hands brushed down your shoulders and arms, your hands and neck.

He held your face in his hands, and he let out a deep sigh. You just smiled up at him, though inside, you were hiding a bit of worry yourself. 

That table hadn’t been cheap. It was solid pine wood. 

But Ben seemed to believe you. He also seemed a bit exasperated. 

“I should just layer you up in goddamn bubble wrap. The way you find ways to break yourself is beyond me,” he muttered. Your lips pursed. 

“I resent that—”

“I’m sure you fucking do.”

“Besides,” you said, a smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth. “What a pain in the ass would it be to unwrap me?” 

Ben huffed, even as his hands traveled down to wrap around your waist and pull you in close. 

“True,” he smirked. “You’re already a pain in the ass as it is.” 

You opened your mouth to mount an indignant protest, but he shut you up the only surefire way he knew how. His kiss was swift, deep, and left you humming into his mouth in surprise. 

But you soon pulled back, brushing a thumb along his chin. “We’ve got to clean up this mess. And…did you get the potatoes?”

Ben thought for a moment, but then his mouth firmed into a line. 

“Shit,” he muttered, and released you to run back to the grill. 

That night, you stood barefooted in your nightgown and took a moment alone in the bathroom to breathe. And to think. And to test the strength in your hands, by bending one of Ben’s metal wrenches like it was a useless paper straw. 

Okay, now you were panicking a bit. 

What the fuck? you thought. You had only ever experienced super strength when you were on V24 (which you had not taken, let alone the permanent stuff). 

But…if you thought about it, there had been one other time when you had felt this strong. And it had been when you were in the hospital, almost two years ago, after Vought Tower collapsed. You’d needed a surgery you might not have lived through. It was Ben’s actions that had saved you…after he donated his blood.

Unless he was somehow giving you transfusions without you knowing, there was only one other possibility you could think of for Ben’s DNA to somehow be in your system…

Holy shit, you thought. And you sat down on the closed toilet. Hard. Enough to dislodge a decorative dish that was perched on a shelf behind you. You gasped, but weren’t able to catch it before it hit the ground loudly. You winced and picked it up, even as you heard Ben’s steps approaching the bathroom. 

“You okay?” he asked predictably, through the closed door.

“Fine!” you said, your voice too high. You cleared your throat and tried to normalize your voice. “I’m fine, just dropped something.”

“Christ. You going for a record today?” he remarked. 

You rolled your eyes. 

A few minutes later, you finished in the bathroom and tried to act as normal as possible as you slid into bed next to your boyfriend. He was watching TV, but he glanced over at you. You knew he was silently assessing you, seeing if you were really okay. 

You gave him a smile and leaned over for a goodnight kiss. You attempted to be chaste, but he deepened it. He slid an arm around your waist and tilted his head, slipping his tongue between the seam of your lips. 

You welcomed him at first…but a tremor of warning flashed in your mind, along with the persistent thought that had followed you from the bathroom.

Should I tell him? 

You didn’t know why your inclination was to hold it in. There very well could be something wrong with you. But if your suspicions were true, then you wanted confirmation first. 

“What’s the matter?” Ben asked. He’d pulled back, sensing your distraction. You came back to yourself.

“Nothing, just tired,” you said, stroking his chest over his shirt. 

Ben looked into your eyes, his face more or less stoic. You saw the way he was trying to get a read on you though, like he didn’t quite believe you. You couldn’t blame him, but you could be very convincing when you needed to be.

He eventually nodded, letting you turn away from him to slip under the covers. Even though you felt the sting of your lie tingling unpleasantly down your spine. 

You met Dr. Tonya Baker at her office in the Supe Affairs building. She’d been Vought’s top scientist, up until last year. After Stan Edgar’s death and the company’s collapse, the CIA recruited Dr. Baker. 

You didn’t like her. Nor did you trust her, exactly, but she had assisted Dr. Vogelbaum when Becca Butcher came to him with a unique problem. Now, Dr. Baker was the only one left with the knowledge and resources to advise you.

And she was able to confirm your suspicions. She came back with lab results while you sat up on an examining table. 

“You’re eleven weeks pregnant,” she informed you. 

Even though you’d been somewhat expecting it, suspicion and knowing were very different things. You took in a shaking breath, and through your shock, you were smiling. Happy, and even relieved.

Until Dr. Baker spoke again. 

“The super strength is probably temporary. A side effect of the fetus’s genetics. But, it’s also advantageous for you,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “This makes it much more likely that you’ll survive the birth.”

Your breath ceased at that thought, not to mention her clinical delivery. 

“Always with that delightful bedside manner, Doctor,” you quipped. All of a sudden, you were feeling lightheaded. 

Or maybe you were just freaking the fuck out. 

When you got home that evening after work, Ben watched you. 

He knew something was off with you the second you walked through the door, pale and pensive. Still, you flashed him a greeting and a smile that didn’t reach your eyes on your way to the bedroom. 

So he followed you. And the fact that you didn’t even notice, even flinched when he dropped a hand on your shoulder, told him that you were more than just distracted. The last straw was when you walked into the dresser while glancing back at him. You hissed and shook out your sandle-clad foot. 

Now, you were injury prone at the best of times, but this was a bit much, Ben thought. 

“Geez, I didn’t even hear you,” you said, trying at a chuckle. “Normally you thud around in those combat boots like an elephant. We’re lucky no one lives below us—”

“What’s the matter with you?” Ben asked. He was never one to beat around the bush. 

Your eyes widened a fraction; unease crept down your spine, but you gave him a quirk of your brow. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You fucking heard me,” he said. His gaze was hunter green, serious, and focused down on you.

“I’m fine, Ben—”

“No,” he snapped. “There’s something off with you.” 

You bit your lower lip. It seemed your boyfriend knew you better than you thought. You’d had a plan though. You had wanted to wait until you had a moment to shake off your anxiety and focus on the good when you sat him down this evening.

But you should’ve known better. Ben was remarkably impatient, even when he didn’t know what he was in for. 

And he got tired of waiting for your answer. 

He changed tactics, reaching for your arms. His grip was firm, but gentle in brushing his thumbs back and forth across your skin. His mouth was in a line, and you caught the concern hiding under his furrowed brows. 

“What’s so bad you can’t tell me?” he asked. 

You looked up into his eyes. Despite yourself, you had to smile. I’m not playing fair, you realized. 

“Okay, come ‘ere,” you said. You took his hand and led him to sit with you on the bed. Pulling his hand between both of yours into your lap, you sighed and thought about how you were going to say this. 

After a moment, you got a burst of inspiration. You held up a waiting finger to him and went into the closet to pull out one of your 25-pound hand weights. It might as well have weighed a pound, for how light it felt. You brought it back to the bed, and Ben stared back at you quizzically. 

“So…I didn’t get that table from IKEA,” you confessed. “It was solid wood, and I really did break straight through it.”

He rose a brow. “All right…”

You then showed him your newfound strength, by breaking the hand weight in half with your bare hands. His eyes widened, making you giggle a bit. You deposited both metal heads into his hands. He considered them, then you. His brows were knitting together even tighter. 

“What the hell—”

“Remember when you donated blood for me, when I was laid up in the hospital a couple years ago?” you asked. “I got your super strength for a day or two afterwards.”

Ben nodded. You had been a bit more than laid up, but semantics, he guessed. He was getting more confused by the moment. 

“Well this time, I’m told it’s also temporary…for the next seven months or so,” you said with a playful smile. 

Ben considered your words. He turned them back and forth in his head… 

Finally, his gaze flicked from yours to the broken weights in his hands. And he tossed them to the floor with a heavy thud on the hard wood. 

You giggled in earnest when he reached for your face with both hands. His eyes searched yours for any hint of a joke, his jaw tight and working. 

“Are you fucking with me right now?” he asked. His voice was a hint unsteady. You smiled bright and covered his hands with your own as the beginnings of tears stung in your eyes. 

“Not this time,” you said. “Ben, I’m pregnant.” 

It took him a moment to register your words. You saw the moment it all finally set in, with new realization etching into his features.

Never once had you seen this man tear up. He turned his face away, but you still caught the edges of his emotion. 

You reached for his bearded cheek, turning him back to you. His eyes were red and starting to shine, even though he was fighting it. A muscle in his jaw clenched, and then eased.

After a beat, his hands moved down from your face to brush down your arms, down your sides and around your frame. He pulled you into his lap, for which you went willingly into his arms. And your tears fell in earnest when he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You knew what this meant to him, but you still couldn’t help but prod at him.

“Are you happy?” you teased, rubbing his back. Ben huffed and brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes. 

“What do you think?” he countered.  

Your hand moved down to slip under his shirt, gliding over the taut muscles in his back as they responded to your touch. You met him with a small smirk. 

“Show me,” you challenged. 

His lips quirked; that was all the encouragement he needed. Ben’s hands moved to tangle in your hair and squeeze the curve of your waist, bringing you flush against him when he kissed you. You inhaled deeply. Your nails dragged up his back, applying some pressure that made his shoulders twitch. 

You didn’t know what your newfound strength felt like to him, but for Ben, you felt solid in a way you hadn’t before. He could let go of some of his self-control and knead your hips with a force beyond bruising.

He could veer away from your lips and raze down your neck, and give your shoulder a love bite that would’ve drawn blood. Now it didn’t even break your skin. It did, however, earn him a pleased gasp. 

Maybe he’d just have to keep knocking you up, he thought. So you’d always be this strong.  

You started rucking up his shirt first, and had to push him back to even get it off him. After that, all bets were off.

It was a mad scramble to shed each other’s clothes, with Ben not being able to get away with his usual manhandling. Your smile grew, as you now had the strength to literally push back and make him work a bit harder for it.  

He smirked up at you when you managed to take him by surprise and push him back onto the bed. You’d successfully bared him for your gaze, but you still had your bra and panties on as you climbed over him and straddled his lap. 

Ben held himself up with a hand on the bed as the other slid around your waist and hooked you in. You took his face in your hands and gave him the full force of your passion.

Your lips claimed his in a devouring kiss, teeth clicking and tongues dueling for dominance. And you ground down your clothed core against his rising length, earning his groan of appreciation into your mouth.

With a flick of his wrist, your bra strap snapped off in the back. You huffed, knowing he’d probably broken the clasp.

Ah well, I’m about to need new ones soon enough.

The thought made you smile against his lips. You let him pull the bra down your arms and wherever he decided to fling it off to. You thought he might start traveling down between your breasts, as was a favorite path of his to map out.

But then, in one smooth motion Ben had you flipped over onto your back. He grinned at your yelp of surprise, but he didn’t give you a chance to recover. He latched onto your neck again, this time on the other side as he scraped his beard and teeth across your skin.

Meanwhile, you moaned encouragements in his ear while his heavy hand squeezed one of your breasts, rolled a thumb over a pert nipple. 

You trailed your hands down his chest, soothing over golden tan skin and freckles and sculpted muscle until you reached his hard length. You earned a straining grunt from your man as you teased the sensitive flesh, a thumb circling over its weeping head. 

Ben grabbed your wrist and gave you a warning look. “Can’t let me fucking concentrate, huh?”

You just grinned and took his hand instead. You dragged it down your body until you guided his fingers into your underwear, between your wet folds. 

“Ben, I need you,” you said. But your need was already in your eyes. Your skin was on fire wherever he touched, and deep inside, where you burned for him most. 

Ben felt it in your iron grip on his hand, now almost as strong as his own. Your legs curled up his thighs to wrap around his hips, teasing him with the soft promise between your inner thighs. So how could he do anything else but give you what you wanted? 

He teased between your folds with his fingers first. Gathering some of your wetness, he circled over your clit firmly. You whimpered as your back arched in response. 

“Gonna sing for me, baby doll?” he teased. Your breathing became more labored as his fingers continued to play with you, but you managed to offer a small smirk. 

“You gonna make me?” you asked. “Think you need to bring out the big guns for that one.”

Ben chuckled. As usual, you were being a little shit. 

So he brought you to the edge of your release, just with his fingers. You were starting to squeeze them tight with your inner walls, your moans getting more urgent. But he withdrew his digits at the last moment, leaving you panting and confused.

“What…”

He smirked down at you and wrapped his slick fingers around his cock, stroking himself a few times. You watched him with expectant, hungry eyes.  

“You want the big guns, I’ll fucking give ‘em to you,” he said. It made you huff, but you had to smile as he returned to you. He hooked his fingers on the hem of your panties and slowly, torturous, he pulled them down your legs.

Those same hands then traveled back up, gliding across your skin with purpose. Your breath shallowed in anticipation.

He eventually gripped your hips, pushing your thighs up a bit farther, and you lined his cock to your entrance. Your heels dug into his ass and added a bit of force when he pushed inside you. And your moans tangled together along with your bodies.

You fairly pulsed inside, and he felt it in your inner walls wrapped so fucking tight around him. His forehead briefly fell to your shoulder. Even though you were panting for breath, you still soothed him, carding your fingers through his hair. 

Normally he’d be going off at a relentless clip by now. But Ben started slow, rolling his hips back and forth into yours at a steady rhythm that managed to take your breath away and make your toes curl.

His name fell from your lips, reverent and pleased. You felt every part of him as he plunged inside you, and it was incredibly fucking hot.  

He took a moment to meet your eyes. He gave you a grin that softened the hard edges that so often lined his face in times like this. And you realized then what was happening.

Ben didn’t do slow. Not for long anyway. But it seemed like he’d taken your challenge to heart. In fact, you had a feeling he was showing you what he couldn’t quite put into words. 

When he reached a hand to part your folds and circle two insistent finger pads around your clit, you couldn’t help but grip his arms tight enough to bruise him. Your mouth opened on a keening moan.

Combined with his deep strokes starting to brush all the right spots inside you, it had you squeezing on him from the inside as you came hard, and made it known in his ear.

“Fuck—” Ben’s brows furrowed as your release finally triggered his own. And his voice joined yours, muffling in the pillow under your head. You shuddered as he spilled deep inside you. 

Your arms came around his back and held him to you for a moment afterwards, just stroking his back, his shoulders, his neck, whatever you could reach while you both caught your breath.

Eventually, Ben’s lips found your neck. You felt the shape of his smile grow there. 

“Too bad you’re already knocked up, or that could’ve been a great way to bring in our second kid,” he remarked.

This time, it took a second for his words to click together in your mind. As soon as they did, you uttered a laugh that shook both of your frames. You swatted his ass in reproach. He smirked down at you.

“I can't with you,” you said. Though you were still giggling. “You’re just gonna have to wait for the first one to come out of the oven.” 

Ben’s smirk evened out into a grin, his face almost boyish in his glee.

“Well, what can I say, baby? You’re a damn good cook.”  

AN: 😂 Well then. What did you think of how she broke the news? And Ben's reaction to finding out he's finally going to be a dad? 🥹

But of course, it's not going to be all sunshine and roses in Part 2. The reader and Ben reveal the good news to her family, and as we all know, he's hoping for a son...

Next Time:

“Hey,” she said. “You know how much I care about you, right?”

“And where’s this going?” you quipped. But you turned around and gave your little sister a half-smile. You knew what she was about to say.

“So what are you going to do about that?” she asked, gesturing to your man in the kitchen. “Mr. Macho wants his prized stud. What happens if he doesn’t get him?”

You sighed. “Ben’s wanted this for a long time. He’s got an idea in his head of what it’s going to be like, and…we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92

[wanderinglotus7]

WHAT A YEAR….

Crazy crazy crazy. Man, I can’t believe we are 6 months deep in 2023. Where did time go? First of all happy anniversary to me lol. It’s been a full year and I’m still working for Adelante (BIDMC). No lie, I’m kind of surprised I haven’t exited out of the door haha. Last week during my supervision, I went over my One year Performance Review with my supervisor. This review involves me sharing my responses to two questions and the first question is “What are you most proud of from this year?”. I wrote down four accomplishments, but my number one answer is that I made it a year. I had my supervisor complex. I was straight up. The team is lucky that I didn’t leave already. Since I started last June, I’ve seen so many social workers, especially BIPOC SWs, leave (deuces). Seeing people come & go at a rapid pace doesn’t instill a sense of confidence or security as a new social worker in this field. Sometimes I felt like I made the wrong decision in saying “Yes”. Yet, I know deep down this is the path God called me to walk down, but again, I didn’t envision myself working in a big medical system like BIDMC.

I do my best to reframe the situation because those that have left were called towards greater. They are making moves they believe are in their best interest. I would do the same thing. I don’t want to stay somewhere I feel like instead of flourishing I feel like I’m unsupported or feeling unfulfilled. I say BURNOUT!!!!! I say MISERY!! I might even say DEFEATED! As for me, I don’t have serious plans of leaving Adelante anytime soon. In reality, if I wanted to leave I don’t have a clear picture of where I would want to go next. Second, my current position is providing me the financial stability that I need right now. Third, I want to my LICSW before I leave because that would be the next career changer I need to be able to live the comfortable life I desire for myself and my future family. I feel like I enlisted into the military hahaha. Accepting this position, I promised at least three years of my professional life to BIDMC. Or the better organization would be the Center for Violence Prevention & Recovery.

Talking about CVPR the program received a 10% budget cut. So we have enough money to maintain current staff as well as hire one person for the “Oncall/Acute Response” social worker. However, we continue to dance in circles and trying to figure out what CVPR services/program is gonna look like moving forward. I silently roll my eyes. I continue to say what I need to say…not sure if people are actually listening or not. Either way, no job is gonna kill my joy and no job ain’t gonna drain my spirit. THATS FACTS!!!! Saying all this is why I’m temporarily giving CVPR two of my work days (I’m not giving up my remote day). Plus, I can’t keep neglecting my primary role which is being a social worker-clinician for my Adelante clients. FYI; Adelante ain’t got no money (tragic), but we are still kicking. By the grace of God we are still kicking.

In the other areas of my life I feel like they are somewhat balanced. I placed a pause on the whole dating because I’m encountering nothing but trash. I’m not a garbage collector. I want the best for me. And I deserve exactly that. So far I have no ill words to say about my new therapist. I do find myself sometimes holding back a bit even though I’m a total open book. IDK. I guess I don’t want to feel like I’m getting trapped in a vicious cycle of bitterness. What my new therapist has done for me so far is confirm that in the past months I’ve been grieving. More grieving the “What Ifs” of my life along with the grief of my Grandma Shirley (R.I.P.). I really do miss my grandma. She really was my heart & soul. And it saddens me that my future children will never get to meet her and experience the same love she gave to me while she was here on Earth. That’s why we have memories right. They will get to know her because I will always keep her spirit, her light, her legacy through my memories. Me sharing her story with others.

This leads me to my true calling which is being a storyteller. Last weekend, I had the blessed opportunity to focus on my writing. I was dripping in creativity and inspiration. I didn’t quite wrote anything new necessarily, but took the time to revisit and revise a few poems I’ve already written. I could be being bias, but I noticed a growth or maturity with my writing style. Rather a growth in the messages I’m trying to convey in my poems. I’m happy that I’m listening to myself and intentionally focusing my energy towards a passion of mine that brings me peace. I’m slowly working myself towards getting Purple Hearts published (sold) on Amazon (ooof). Everything is a process and I’m not gonna rush thru the process. Also, I can’t let excuses distract me from my passion either. I might post one or two poems that I revised (not sure). Let’s see.

To be continued….

[imhereformr]

Prompt 3 for flora x helia please!!

#3: Confessing before being separated for an uncertain period of time

Flora kicked off, pushing the swing back and letting it go until what little momentum she’d provided ended. She stayed on the swing, watching the house across the street, until her mother called for lunch close to an hour later. She dragged herself to the table and ate her sandwich silently while her sister and mother prattled on about something or other. How they could find the heart for such meaningless chatter was beyond her, not when the world was falling apart.

He was two years older than her – eighteen to her sixteen – but he didn’t treat her like a child the way everyone else seemed to. He was tall, with dark hair and stormy eyes that made her feel like she was living in a dream. His family had moved in across from hers when she was three; they’d grown up together. She’d been in love with him for as long as she could remember. He was smart and creative and calm and kind. He always knew how to make her smile. And a week ago, Helia had been drafted.

The only reason she’d found out was that she was outside yesterday, watering the garden and watching her sister play while her mother prepared supper, when he’d gotten home in full uniform. Flora had dropped the watering can when she’d seen him. She must have also made some noise because Helia looked over at her. The words blurred in her mind as he explained that he had just been to the military office and was set to ship out tomorrow – much earlier than he’d thought he would. Flora had barely managed to keep it together the time he walked back to his house. The minute his door closed, she ran into her own home and up the stairs, barely containing her tears.

So there she sat, shoving bits of sandwich into her mouth without much thought, staring blankly out of the window. Across the street, Helia hugged his grandparents goodbye and got into the waiting cab. He had invited her to the goodbye lunch his family was having before he reported for duty, but she couldn't bear the idea of saying goodbye to him, so she hadn't gone.

It was only as the cab pulled away that she realised what a mistake that had been. She had to say goodbye to him.

Flora dropped the rest of the sandwich and bolted up to her room. The wooden chair knocked over as she jumped up and her mother scolded her for it, but she paid mind to neither. She grabbed the phone off the hook and called for a cab. While she waited, she threw on her best day dress and touched up her hair.

“Flora, honey? Did you call for a taxi?” Her mother’s voice called up the stairs some few minutes later.

As a last-minute thought, Flora grabbed the picture of herself and her sister from the frame on her desk. She cut her sister out. Then she grabbed her pen and stationery set, and her wallet where she hopefully had enough spare change to pay for the cab before she ran out the door.

“Where are you going?” Her mother called after her, but Flora was too far and too rushed to answer.

It was only when the driver asked where she was going that she realised she had no clue where Helia had gone. Defeated, she apologised to the man. Tears pooled in her eyes as she went to exit. “Draft day?” he asked, his deep voice swimming with compassion.

“You ain’t the first heartbroken woman I’ve driven to say goodbye today” he explained at her questioning expression. “I know where you have to go.”

They drove in silence. Flora took the time to write a letter. If she didn’t get there in time to say goodbye; to say the words she’d longed to tell him for years, she would ask someone where she could write him. She couldn’t lose him without him knowing how she felt.

Mercifully, she had enough for the cab. Even more merciful was that, after running through the crowd a bit, she saw him. He was preparing to board the train, but turned towards her when she called out to him. He dropped his bag and ran over to her, a sad smile on his lips. “I didn’t think I was going to get to see you” he told her.

Flora returned his sad smile. His beautiful long, dark hair had been cut short, accentuating the sharpness of his features. A shame; she had loved his hair. Still, he was the most beautiful person she’d ever laid eyes on.

“I’m sorry, I... Here” she replied, holding out the envelope. She’d written him the most beautiful confession she could with what little time she had and shoved it into the envelope alongside the picture of her – formerly of her and her sister. Helia looked at it and took the envelope from her hands. He turned it over in his hands, smiling at the little heart she’d drawn beside his name.

She had planned to just tell him, blurt out the words I love you but she lost her nerve when he looked at her. Flora debated saying goodbye and walking away, but then he did something she hadn’t considered in any of the scenarios that had played out in her mind. She stayed fixed in place watching in horror as Helia opened the envelope and pulled out her letter. He smiled at the photo and replaced it in the envelope before turning his attention to the words she’d written.

How mortifying she thought as she watched with bated breath. Helia’s striking eyes moved over her words, brows furrowing at some parts. Besides the occasional furrow, his expression was unreadable. When he finally looked at her, Flora begged for the ground to swallow her whole. He looked at her so softly, so delicately that she knew... she knew.

He didn’t feel the same.

And she’d just made a fool of herself.

She should’ve kept her stupid feelings to herself. Of course he didn’t reciprocate. Helia was smart, creative, mature, and she was... just a girl; there was nothing remarkable about her – nothing to capture such a magnificent man.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, his voice barely audible in the crowded station. Helia stepped closer to her. Flora’s breath caught in her throat as he reached for her hand. She felt his skin on hers, his thumb caress the top of her hand; saw his eyes flicker down to their entwined hands and back up to hers, but it took her brain much longer than it should have to register what was happening.

“I-I...Y-you...”

“Love you, yes. I have for...”

She moved closer as her brain finally caught up, though it still felt like it was in a fog; like she was in a dream. Oh, please don’t let this be a dream she begged of the universe and every god that had ever been or would be. She would die if this was nothing more than a dream; if she woke to learn that he had never loved her like she longed for him to.

“...years” he finished, his voice barely above a whisper as she got closer. She could feel his warmth as his hand dropped hers and his arms wrapped around her. So many days and nights, she’d dreamed of his arms around her and now that they were there... he was leaving. The realisation hit her suddenly and she couldn’t help the tears that sprung to her eyes. After years of longing and dreaming, he was hers just in time for her to lose him.

“Oh, my Flora. Please don’t cry” he whispered, reaching up to wipe the tears that had started to slide down her cheeks. “Let me remember you with that beautiful smile. I so love your smile.”

And because she wanted nothing more than to make him happy, she found a way to smile. She told herself that he would be back sooner than she expected; that they could be together. They would go to the drive in movies and kiss like all the lovers did. He would be her date to senior prom and then they’d go out for burgers afterwards. They’d take walks by the lake and he’d listen to her ramble on about some plant or other, and then they would sit and have a picnic. He would draw for her – maybe he would draw her. They would be so in love. They would be happy.

They just had to get past the war first.

“I love you, Helia” she told him, leaning in so that only he would hear. Those words for his ears only; it was their little secret. One that she would keep close to her heart when he was away; that he could replay in his mind when he missed home – missed her - too much.

“I love you too.”

They stayed like that: foreheads resting against each other and whispering confessions of love until somewhere behind him, a man yelled at the recruits that it was time to board the train. She held back the tears this time. Helia deserved to leave with the happy memory – god knew he would need it. He started to step away, but she held him back. She wasn’t leaving it like this.

Flora pushed up onto her toes. She used her free hand – the one that wasn’t holding his – to wrap around his shoulders and pull him into her. Warmth like she'd never known flooded her body as their lips met sending her mind reeling in the most breathtaking of spins. His kiss was everything she’d dreamed of and more. If she could force this moment to last forever, she would.

But sooner than she’d like, the moment was over and he had to go. With a promise to write as much as he could, Helia started to step away again. This time, there was nothing she could do but let him go.

“I’ll be here” she promised. A sad smile touched his lips, and she returned it with the most loving and optimistic one she could. Flora watched, refusing to break until he was out of sight, as the man she loved walked onto the train that would bring him to terrors she couldn’t begin to imagine.

“I’ll be here” she repeated to no one in particular as the train took off, taking her heart with it.