#better grab em fast

[entitled-fangirl]

Too needy.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: the reader naturally has to be touching Cregan at all times. He doesn't mind, but her insecurity starts to get the better of her.

Warnings: insecurity, talks of sex

A/n: Based off an ask! I'll proofread later

Masterlist

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He didn't react to her touches as much anymore, for they were constant. 

Winterfell expanded far and wide, and as much as her mind had tried to remember every corridor, she couldn't. 

So she always held on to him to keep from getting lost. 

At least, that was the excuse at first. Now, it was a comfort.

She held his hand, his arm, his cloak, the handle of the sword in his belt, anything that she could when they walked together.

Even now in the courtyard, she held fast to his cloak as he spoke with the stable master on a matter of his horse.

She looked around, her head on a constant swivel but her hand never faltered.

But she began to notice something.

A few that passed by had looked down at the hand that was still at Cregan's cloak and an insecurity was being prodded at.

She had noticed it for weeks now.

Perhaps they believed her to be too needy.

Perhaps they were right. 

The insecurity began to eat at her.

"Well, I thank you for your work regardless," Cregan continued to speak to the stable master, "My horse has never been more reliable. Do tell me what you believe abo-"

She zoned out from there. She was far too engrossed in noticing every little stare that came her way.

She dropped her hand from his cloak and let it fall to her side.

Cregan looked away from the man for only a moment to gaze at her. He looked down at her hand and immediately reached out and grabbed it. He then gave his attention back to the man as if nothing had happened. "Oh, I agree that when-"

She just stared down at their intertwined hands. 

She tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach when he'd lightly squeeze her fingers with his own.

…

The next day, the insecurity came again when at the petitions.

Cregan never sat behind the table as the maester did. He was always in front of it, pacing back and forth or sitting on the wooden surface itself.

Whether it was to be more inviting or more intimidating, no one was sure.

So when she joined him occasionally, he'd set her onto the table. She always figured he did it to comfort her, knowing she hated to be more than two steps away from him.

And when she'd sit there with her feet dangling inches from the ground, Cregan would stay put, not letting himself pace. He'd lean against the hardy table with his big arms crossed and brow furrowed as he paid attention to whatever the next person said. 

He cared greatly for his people, and he cared greatly for his wife.

So often during these times, her hand would be on his arm, or his hand on her leg. It was a pattern they had developed over their time together.

But today was different, for the insecurity was back.

His bicep brushed against her shoulder unconsciously as his body unknowingly inched closer to her by the minute.

"I've gotta herd to care fer," the man petitioned. "And these wolves keep takin' my flock. There's been at least six of em out there snapping at my shepherds."

Cregan hummed in consideration. "Aye, your flock helps to feed Winterfell through the winter often. Tell me what solution you've come here hoping for."

The man rubbed his beard, "Well, I was hoping fer some men to help me hunt the beasts down."

Cregan chewed the inside of his cheek in thought as his shoulder brushed against his wife again.

He turned his head to her, letting his eyes rake over her as they often did. An idea came into his head.

"Alright," he agreed as he looked to the man again. "You'll have 12 men for 9 nights to sort the matter over. I'll pay for their lodging and food."

The man's eyes widened, "Oh, thank you milord. Bless you!"

"But," Cregan quickly countered with a tilted head. "I receive the coat of every wolf dead in those 9 nights."

"Consider it done, milord! Oh, thank you!"

Cregan held a hand up, "'Tis my duties. They'll be yours by the morrow."

The man left with a continued string of thanks as he left. 

"What need have we for more pelts?" She asked quietly.

Cregan's head turned to her and a small smirk pulled at his lips. "You've far too few proper cloaks."

She opened her mouth to make a small petition of her own, but the next person stepped up.

It was an older man with a permanent furrow to his brow. 

She didn't miss the way his eyes wandered over to her, utterly disgusted by the informality of Cregan's petitions.

Cregan noticed it too, and he reached over and rested his hand on her knee. He touch was light. Just a reminder that he stood next to her.

"What might the Starks do for you?" Cregan's voice echoed as he studied him.

The man's request was lost. All she could think about was Cregan's hand on her knee. 

In all truth, she had missed his touch more than she believed she should have. After all, she got it constantly. But as of the last 24 hours, she had tried to draw back from his contact.

So when his thumb brushed softly over the side of her knee, she felt a shiver run down her spine. 

She held her hands back by picking at the skin around her nails. It was a nasty habit she had picked up when she was younger. It often made comebacks when she was nervous or stressed.

Without even looking, Cregan's hand moved from her knee to grab at her hands, breaking them up to keep her from further hurting herself. How he knew without looking, she was unsure. 

But he took one of her hands and pulled it to her knee, placing it down and keeping it there with his much larger palm over the top of it. His fingers played with hers absentmindedly as he negotiated with the man about gods know what.

That nagging feeling returned in her gut as she watched his fingers brush over hers. 

She was so needy that he felt forced to comfort her in the midst of his duties. 

How pathetic.

She managed to pull her hand out from under his despite his quick reaction to try to stop her. However, he didn't grab her hand in time and he knew better than to cause a scene over it. So he pretended not to notice.

When the man was satisfied and left, she began to push herself to the edge of the table to get up. 

Cregan stood in front of her with a hand up, "Where are you going?"

"Just… to sit."

His head tilted down to catch her gaze. "To sit…? Where?"

"The…" she turned to look over her shoulder to the other side of the table. "The chairs."

His eyes squinted at her as he tried to comprehend what she had just told him, as if it was some unthinkable idea that had just been uttered. "Why would you do that?" He finally voiced. His eyes softened, "Do you need a break? We can pause for a while-"

"-No," she quickly interrupted. Her hands reached up to  move to his chest as they usually did, but she stopped halfway and let them drop back down to her lap.

It was beginning to frustrate Cregan. He was no dull man by any means. He had noticed her touches lessening, but he didn't question it at first until she began to retract from him.

"If you need no break then you'll stay here until we are finished," he softly commanded. 

She gave in almost immediately with the nod of her head.

He nodded as well, wishing to seem pleased, but further down he was trying to figure out what had caused her to be so odd as of late. He sighed and gripped her waist, pushing her back up to the table as before. He then turned and motioned for the next person to approach.

Cregan tried to pay attention this time, he really did, but it was harder to now that he had two problems to try to fix at once. And one them was far more important to him. 

He nodded along with the man for a while then tried to test his luck again, reaching over to place his hand on her knee again. But this time, his hand fell to the wood.

He looked over when he felt the coarse wood as began to stare dumbfounded at his hand.

His wife had slowly moved herself from him by about 10 centimeters.

His hand balled up into a fist for a moment before he forced to it relax. He held his other hand up and completely cut off the man speaking. "Forgive me. We're done for a moment. I require some time to collect my thoughts here."

The man jaw went slack for a moment and the maester spoke up. "Lord Stark, it's unwise to pause in the middle of-"

Cregan's glare shut him up.

"Now," Cregan said as he stood to full height. "I shall return momentarily." He stepped over to his wife, "Get up."

His voice held unresolved tension to it and it made her panic. Her shaky hands pushed her to the end of the table and onto her feet. 

Cregan's hand reached out to grab hers then paused, remembering why they were having this miscommunication in the first place and it only frustrated him more when he pulled his hand back. "Go on," he motioned to the door and quickly followed behind her. 

Just hearing the northern man's heavy footsteps close behind them would make even the bravest man falter. 

The moment the side door closed behind them, he grabbed her bicep and spun her around to him. "What are you doing?" He growled.

She couldn't make words come from her mouth, so she only shrugged a bit and gave a pitiful expression.

"Don't. You will speak to me and tell me what has caused all of this. Whatever this is," he huffed. "I don't know what it is, but I know that I hate it."

Her voice came out more broken than she intended, "I didn't mean to anger you."

Her words cause Cregan to release her bicep and take a step back from her. He runs a hand over his goatee. He tried to hide the anger from his voice this time, "I imagine you didn't. However, in no instance should you believe that pulling away from me wouldn't make me frustrated. I like having you near me. Have I not said that enough?"

"You have-"

"-You don't want my hands on you," he finished with a horrified look brewing in his eyes. "That is… fair. That is all we must say then."

"No, no, please don't!" She pleased.

He threw his hands up and let his emotions run free again, "Then what would you have me do? You want my touch but the second I give it to you, you shy away from me. I attempt to comfort your worries and you push my hand away." With each sentence, he gets closer. "Do you truly believe me so incompetent as your husband that I have not noticed your touches have become less and less on my skin? Did you think I would not notice the thing I look forward to the most suddenly disappear?"

He stops and the two just stare at one another. 

"I crave it," he whispered.

Hot tears pricked up against her eyes, threatening to fall. She sniffled in an attempt to hold everything in.

Cregan wills his hand out to brush against her cheek. "Why have you stopped?"

She finds herself leaning into his hand, and there’s no denying that she didn't yearn for his touch as well. "…the people…"

He tries to follow along, but a frown tugs at his lips. "I still don't understand."

She opened her mouth the speak, but a soft sob breaks through and she steps back from him.

He closed the gap once again, this time grabbing her face with both hands in an attempt to calm her. "Shh, stop that. My anger is through. I just wish to help you.:

She held back the rising sobs to speak with a shaky voice, "I'm far too… needy… to be your Lady."

HIs jaw goes slack as pure confusion washes over him. He took a moment to regain himself before speaking. "I swear to you that you are not." He forces her head up to catch his eye. "Do you hear me?" She nodded, but he tilted his head, "I need to hear you say it."

That forced a few more tears down her cheek.

"I have to hear you say it," he almost pleaded. "Tell me that you're perfect for me."

A hesitation came over her, but she pushed through at the sight of his gaze. "I…. "

He waited with bated breath. "You're what? Say it."

"I'm perfect for you."

A broad smile came over him. "Now I want you to believe that, yeah?" He pulled her in and gave her a searing kiss that made her lose her train of thought. "We are returning, and you will do anything that makes you better."

"Is that not improper?"

He scoffed, "I do not care if you were straddling me as you've done in our bed. If you're comfortable, then I am doing my duty to you."

She blushed deeply and playfully hit his arm. "I would not do that."

"I know that." He kissed her forehead and moved from her. "Shall we?" He asked with an extended arm.

She took it happily.

He leaned down as the door opened, "If that hadn't worked, I'd have hoped you would cave tonight when you truly crave my touch."

She entered the hall with a face darker than Lannister red.

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A/n 2: I'm updating my taglist, so if I somehow missed anyone that wants on it, lmk!

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver, @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom, @dozcan123

[x-brik-x]

I'm seeing a lot of people say that punk fashion is expensive and inaccessible, which is very wrong. here is a list of some ways you can make punk fashion easier, cheaper and more accessible for you, since that's... kinda the whole point.

others are encouraged to add onto this!! (just don't recommend corporations like amazon. not cool.)

1. patches!! you don't need to buy them. DIY patches are not ugly or boring. in fact, they are encouraged here!! DIY, in my opinion, is always the best thing to do when it is an option and is safe to do so.

2. speaking of DIY, spikes!! you can make them!!

cut the top and bottom off of an empty can. cut down the middle of the cylinder and flatten it, so it's just a flat rectangle of metal.

cut out a shape that is kind of a third of a circle, but around 3/4 of the curved edge is taken up by triangle shapes. (I'm not very good at describing, so here's a badly drawn picture)

roll it into a cone, leaving the 4 triangles sticking out at the bottom. this bit is optional, but you can fill it with hot glue to make it more sturdy, just be careful touching the hot metal. I tend to hold the cone by one of the triangles with a bit of fabric wrapped around my fingers for this bit. cut 4 small holes in your fabric in this kind of shape:

and put the spiky bits of triangle through the holes. fold the triangles in on themselves to secure the spike in place. boom. spike obtained. this is one I made and attached to a little piece of fabric to test this method out:

3. battle vests!! (like the base jackets). the best places to buy these are charity shops and second hand websites in my opinion, but if anyone else knows any better options, please reblog with those!!

a good trick I find works well on eBay is to filter search results to your country (or state? can you do that in the US? idk) so that a: fast delivery because local, and b: all the sellers of everything that shows up are in YOUR TIME ZONE.

why is this important? when people sell something for really cheap, it goes FAST. check eBay at like, 2am or something. all the scalpers in your area are asleep. grab the cheap stuff while they can't.

4. sewing!! want patches, but can't sew for whatever reason? I've heard of a lot of people with joint conditions like arthritis complain about the inaccessibility of patch stuff, and that does sound extremely annoying, however:

safety pins!! while they are still a little fiddly, they're much less work so you don't have to fiddle about for long. if you can, you could even ask a friend to help, since it doesn't take long at all I'm sure someone will be willing to help out!! (I know I would, but that's just me, and I love this kind of thing). safety pins on clothes are also widely considered to be a symbol of solidarity, so if anything, you're adding some extra love and meaning to your patch pants/battle jacket.

if that's still too fiddly, fabric glue is always an option. unfortunately this means you won't be able to remove/reposition patches, at least without leaving a massive patch of residue, but if you're ok with that then fabric glue is probably your best bet.

for people who prefer sewing: as for where to get the thread, I've heard a lot of people recommending dental floss, as it's apparently much cheaper and works just as well. I haven't tried this myself so can't confirm that, but I thought I'd share it regardless.

5. where to get fabric!! old clothes. rip em up. you don't need any kind of fancy fabric from the craft store. my patches are made of old jeans that I grew out of.

don't have any old clothes and you don't want to waste any good ones? I'm not sure about other countries, but in the UK, as long as you're not on private property (trespassing), dumpster diving is perfectly legal.

I definitely ;) do NOT encourage ;) trespassing rich people's land ;) to steal from their dumpsters ;)

or tbh it doesn't matter too much how rich the person is, since it's all going to landfill anyway. if it's in the bin, it's free game, but you didn't hear that from me. ;)

please add onto this where you can!! and if I missed something or got anything wrong, add that on too!!

[cevansbrat0007]

Hey, I do not think I have asked this before, but if I have please ignore it. I have seen on social media where the wife will ask the bf, or husband to leave the room, so they can get changed. I was wondering what would Ari, and, or Andy's response to this be?

Guessing Games

Summary: Ari doesn't like being kicked out of your bedroom. Also be sure to check out Guessing Games: A Fast Car Interlude.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Implied Future Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Discussions of Body Image, Manhandling, Discussions of Lingerie, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: I think someone actually asked me this a while ago. Maybe. I vaguely remember my answer. However, instead of rehashing that, this is how I think that would go - with a twist! Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Wisps of steam curl around you as you step out of the shower. Snagging a nearby towel, you take your time drying off before reaching for your favorite body butter, leisurely applying it all over your thirsty skin. Once you’re finished, you carefully don your robe and make your way into your bedroom. 

Of course you’re not the least bit surprised to find your bounty hunter laying on your bed, eyes closed, with one brawny arm tucked behind his head. To the average person it would appear that he was sleeping. But you knew better. 

Last night you’d promised to take a day trip with him to a classic car show that was happening a couple towns over. And, ever the early riser, your man was itching to get on the road. Which meant he was trying to keep a handle on his patience so that he didn’t accidentally piss you off while trying to hurry you along.

The last thing he needed was to be stuck in a car while you pouted for two hours. Having experienced it once before, it was definitely not his idea of a good time. 

“You were in there so long I was beginning to worry you might’a drowned.” Although his tone is deceptively light, there’s no missing the hint of impatience. 

“The hot water felt extra good this morning. Besides, it's not gonna take me long to get dressed.”

“Eh,” he sighs, adjusting his position so that he’s now sitting up in bed, his big body resting against your numerous decorative pillows. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you make a beeline for your closet. You’d already picked out your outfit the night before, which made things a hell of a lot easier. Grabbing one of your more colorful sundresses off the rack, you hold it up to yourself in the mirror.

“Well, that’s certainly a pretty little number.” Ari muses, sitting up a little straighter so that he can get a better look at your dress. “Christ, I already know if I bring you to the show wearing that, every fella in a ten mile is gonna forget all about those damned cars.”

His words make your cheeks heat. Even though you were pretty sure he was exaggerating just a tad, it still made you feel good. But just in case…

“Um…” Turning to face him, you once again hold the garment up to your chest. “Do you think I should maybe wear something else then?”

“Hell no.” He growls, tossing a pillow into the air and catching it with ease. “Let ‘em look. I don’t give a fuck about you showing off those gorgeous legs – as long as you remember you’re coming home with me.”

“Now how could I possibly go and forget a little detail like that, sugar?” You giggle, blowing him a tiny kiss which he then pretends to catch. As gruff and rough-and-tumble as your man could be at times, he also had no problem making you melt.

It was just part of his irresistible charm.

“You’d better not, baby. Otherwise I won’t be held responsible for what happens if I’m forced to throw you over my shoulder and carry you back to my truck.” He gives you a hard look before reaching for his phone, letting you know he’s not kidding.

It might sound crazy, but the longer you two were together, the more you’d begun to realize that there was a small part of you that got off on riling him up. Not all the time, mind you…

But you’d also learned that sometimes pricking your bounty hunter’s temper was well worth whatever punishment would ultimately come your way.  

Clearing your throat, you attempt to refocus on the task at hand. You needed to get dressed rather quickly so that you could spend a little extra time in the bathroom putting on your face. Even though you planned to go for a more natural look today, you still wanted to give yourself enough time to be satisfied with the results. 

However, before you did all that, there was one more thing you had to take care of. And you were better off doing so without the benefit of an audience.  

“Alright, Beast.” You hum, gingerly draping your dress across the end of your bed. “How about you give me a little privacy so I can go ahead and get changed?” 

During your latest social media deep dive, you’d come across videos of women asking their significant others to leave the room while they changed their clothes. Many of the reactions had ranged anywhere from confusion to concern. Although there had been a few who seemed not to care one way or the other. 

And while you were pretty sure that Ari would fall into the first category, there was a part of you that wanted to see for yourself. So what better time to try it than on a day where you already planned on teasing him for the next few hours anyway?

“Huh?” He sets the device on his chest so that he can give you his full attention. 

“Ari.” You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. “I need you to step out so I can get dressed.”

“Oh. Right.” Your man grunts dismissively before swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. “Guess I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

‘Wow.’ You think, cocking your head in surprise as you watch him give a brief stretch. You honestly hadn’t expected it to be that easy. Sometimes this man really was something else.

“Wait a minute – hold on.” Ari rumbles, dragging a hand through his shaggy locks. “How come I gotta go?” The roughness of his tone alone is enough to make you want to clench your thighs together.  

“Because I wanna put on my clothes.” You reply innocently, as if it should be obvious.

“And why the hell would I need to step out for that?” The tell-tale tick of his jaw and flare of his nostrils lets you know that he’s not happy.

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “Maybe because I’m not really in the mood for an audience right now?”

“Baby. Swear to God.” He groans, briefly closing his eyes long enough to count to ten. “I have seen every inch of your body more times than I can count. And let me be the first to tell you, it has been the honor of a lifetime.” “I…um…okay.” You hadn’t really been expecting him to say that.

“Which is exactly why you don’t need to hide from me.” Your man continues, gifting you with a dazzling smile. “I love your curves, Bird. Love explorin’ every sweet, soft inch of ‘em every chance I get.” 

“Beast…” 

“I mean, how many men can really say that they’ve actually gone and found the woman of their dreams?” 

The sheer adoration in his eyes is enough to make your heart skip a beat. Unable to hold his gaze, you choose to look away as you work to swallow the lump in your throat. While you weren’t entirely sure what you’d done to deserve someone as wonderful as Ari, you had no plans on letting him go.

Come hell or high water.

“Seriously. No matter how you shake it, I’m a lucky man.” He gently lobs a pillow at you, making you squeal. “And I plan to keep saying it until the day I die.” 

“Jeeze.” You sniff, dashing away a quick tear with your thumb. “You, uh, really know how to boost a girl’s confidence.”

“I only care about my girl and her confidence.” Comes his gruff response. “That’s it. Everyone else can kindly fuck off.”

“Duly noted, handsome.” You tell him, suddenly feeling bashful. “But I, um…” Tamping down a giggle, you try to choose your words carefully. “I’m not kicking you out because I’m ashamed or anything. I’m kicking you out because I bought you a present…for later.” You toss the pillow back at him. It hits square in the chest before falling to the floor. “And I’m not ready for you to see it just yet.” 

“Oh, is that right?” A wolfish grin spreads across his features as understanding dawns. “Go on and lemme see. Give me a little somethin’ to look forward to.”

“I just said it’s a surprise.” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“If I guess right, will you let me see?” Ari tries again, not bothering to hide his excitement as he launches himself off the bed. 

This man loved watching you walk around wearing nothing but lingerie, almost as much as he loved peeling it off of you.

“No, Ari.” You can’t hold back your laugh as you take a step back. 

“Is it red?” You’re forced to bat away his eager hands when they reach for the belt of your robe. “Maybe with a little ribbon and some silk?”

“None of your business!” You squeak.

“It’s my surprise. Meaning it’s meant for me.” Grabbing your hips, he pulls you flush against his hard chest. “Which definitely, most certainly, makes it my business.“ He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

God, he was such an incorrigible menace.

“Be a good boy and go downstairs so I can finish getting ready or we’ll be late getting to the show.” You tell him, squirming in his hold. 

“What about something tight, black, and lacey?” His voice dips an octave as his hands to the globes of your ass, giving them a proprietary squeeze. “I’m thinkin’ with a set of thigh highs and garters. You know - like the ones you wouldn’t let me buy at that shop back in Crendlewood.”

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and see — stop that, damn you!” You cry when Ari begins nibbling along the column of your throat in between teasing kisses, making you giggle. 

“C’mon now, darlin’.” He rasps, his thick fingers digging into your tender flesh. “We both know I’m not gonna last that long.”

“I believe in you.”  

Undeterred, your stubborn bounty hunter decides to change his approach. Abandoning your neck, his advances move lower, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps as he does.

“It’s your fault I already have such a hard time keeping my hands to myself.” He tells you as he nuzzles his nose against the thin fabric of your robe, his warm breath making your nipples pebble. “You can’t just tease me like that without giving me a taste.”

A sharp nip of teeth has you rising on your toes, unintentionally giving him better access to his intended target. Followed by your strangled moan when you feel him release his grip on your ass so that he can undo the ties of your robe - finally revealing your nude body to his heated gaze. 

“Fucking beautiful.” He snarls reverently, making your core spasm. “And all mine.”

“Yes, yours.” You agree, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Later.”

“Now.”

“Beast.” You breathe, doing your best to ignore the slick coating your thighs. “Later.”

Grumbling under his breath, Ari levels you with a glare as he takes a step back. You didn’t have to ask to know that he was currently weighing his options.

On one hand, he really did want to go to the car show – almost as much as he wanted to unwrap you his surprise. At the same time, he also hated whenever you made him wait for a taste of you. It always made him so damned impatient.  

“Fine.” He grunts, his face looking like he just swallowed something supremely unpleasant. “I’ll go. But you gotta give me a hint first.”

“I do?” You reply, sounding both amused and exasperated.

“‘Fraid so. You either give me that or no deal.” Ari crosses his arms over his broad chest, making it clear that he’s not moving until you give him what he wants. 

“Fine.” You parrot, before spinning on your heel to retreat to your closet. “You stay put. I’ll be right back.” 

Tossing a quick glance over your shoulder to make sure he’s not looking, you pull out the gift bag you’d hidden under a pile of blankets. Digging through the tissue paper, it actually takes you a few seconds to find what you’re looking for. Clutching the item in your hand, you return to stand in front of your bounty hunter before handing it over, pressing it into his palm.

It’s a pale pink garter. That came with a matching colored bustier and g-string. A fact that your man would no doubt appreciate later. 

“Well shit, Duchess.” Ari groans, staring down at the lacey scrap of fabric in his hand. “I think I might’ve just changed my mind about this whole darn trip–”

“Nope!” You swiftly interrupt, snatching back the garter. “A deal is a deal, cowboy. Now, out you go.” 

“But what if we–”

“I will meet you in the living room.” Ignoring his protests, you waste no time shooing him out of your bedroom before brazenly shutting the door in his now-pouting face. “Go watch TV or something until I’m ready.”

“This isn’t fair.” Your grumpy bounty grouses, banging his fist against the wall. 

“I promise to make it up to you later.” You tease, allowing your robe to fall to the floor as you begin putting on your jewelry. “I might even let you take a few pictures if you ask nicely.”

“Damn it, baby!” Ari hisses as he finally heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time while he debates the best way to go about dealing with his increasingly uncomfortable hard-on. 

It was going to be a long fucking day, especially now that he’d gotten a glimpse of what you planned to wear underneath that flimsy little sundress. Opening your freezer, he wonders if it’s too early to consider icing his balls. Perhaps he’d be better off waiting until after your road trip. 

“God, I am so fucked.” He mumbles as he fishes out a half-frozen bottle of water before twisting off the cap and taking a sip. “And all because my girl has the nerve to look so goddamn pretty in pink.”

END

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[inlovewithgreta]

omg have you seen the new criminal minds season??? i just wanted to request a

grey haired!emily prentiss x reader, based on like the newer seasons, it could be fluffy or smut

Dirty Minded - Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Summary: Dirty minds lead to dirty activities.

Warnings: praise, age gap, fingering (emily!receiving), blindfolds, oral sex (r!receiving), feathers, orgasm delay, pet names, not proofread..

Word Count: 2k

Taglist: @celasteria @shslbunnylover @bellatrixsbrat @maybe-a-humanbean

© Do not copy, repost, or modify any of my works.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"Time to get wet, baby," your lover said. You took hold of her outstretched hand, and slipped into the shower with her.

Your skin instantly soothes as you stand underneath the shower head that cascaded your body with hot, steamy water. You instantly relaxed with a quiet hum.

A shiver erupted in your body when Emily's slightly colder hand touched the bare skin above the upper swell of your breast.

"Now how exactly does a beautiful woman with a mind as filthy as yours ever get clean?" You chuckle at her wandering hands.

"No idea," she lied. "Maybe you could help me with that?" She tilted her head to the side as she smirked down at you.

You gasped when a hand slid between your thighs and cupped your pussy.

"But if not," she retreated her hand as fast as she put it there. "I could always just help myself," she shrugged, placing that same hand over her large breast.

You kiss her ferociously, pulling her tightly against your wet body. Emily chuckled into the kiss at your sudden eagerness. The older woman pushed you against the wall, sending a chill down your spine at the sudden coolness.

"Em..." you mumbled as her lips left yours to kiss along your jawline and nibble sweetly at your ear.

"I do need to get clean though," she whispers, before pulling away and wiggling her lavender scented body wash in your face.

"Let me wash you," you eagerly grabbed the body wash from her, with a giddy smile spread across your face.

"As you wish, Princess."

You rubbed your hands together, before lathering the soap onto Emily's milky white skin. Hands roamed over her lustrous hips, but your eyes still landed on her hair.

It was a darker grey from the wetness, and God did it look good on her. It was one of the things she was most insecure about, but your constant love and affection, all the praising words and hair playing was enough to win her over.

Your hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush to your own body, and down to grab firmly at her generously built ass.

"How's this?" you asked, adoring the way her cheeks grew crimson. Whether it was from the heat or your ministrations, she looked beautiful.

"It's a good start, but..." she trailed off, biting her lower lip. Her hands find home across your chest, holding each breast with a firm grip. "If this is the type of shower we're having, you need to go lower," she stated with a smirk.

Your hands moved across her curves easily as you slickly made your way to her inner thighs. Fingers trailed lightly across the wet skin before drawing featherlight circles around her clit.

"So demanding..." you teased.

"You know you like it." Emily pressed her lips against yours, the first being gentle and light, yet she kept coming back for more. Each kiss grew rougher and sloppier as you remained playing with her.

She breathes a deep moan into your mouth as your hand easily slides around her button, adding pressure to her bundle of nerves as her tongue fights with yours for dominance.

She twines one leg around you, giving you better access and pulling you closer. The water was cascading heavily down your back, and you felt as if it was soaking into your skin from the heat of her body pressed tightly against yours.

"I'm...so...close," she announced between sloppy, wet, kisses.

Your digits only moved faster, allowing the older woman to feel how badly you wanted her to come undone. Her breathing was heavy as her forehead leaned against yours to catch some much needed air.

"Don't stop, baby..." she whispered. Emily was never one to beg, but when it came to intimate moments like this, she was too focused on her upcoming orgasm to care.

With one last circle of your fingers, Emily came with shaky legs. Her hands held a death grip onto your wet skin, holding herself upright as her legs become wobbly.

She was panting heavily, and your eyes couldn't help but adore the way her silver hair clung to her wet chest, stopping just at the upper-swell of her large breasts.

"I need you so bad.." she finally admitted after catching her breath, fingers kneading at your waist.

"Then take me," you bit your lip, before giving her one last peck onto her swollen lips.

Emily reached behind you to turn the water off, your eyes knitting in confusion. You had only assumed she would take you here, but your grey-haired lover had other plans.

She was slower to get out of the shower, ensuring her legs wouldn't give out on her as she wrapped herself up in a towel.

"I never said where or how I would take you, baby," she smirked devilishly. She held her hand out for you, which you happily took as you both eagerly dried yourselves off.

Clothes were long forgotten on the tile floors as Emily led you to your shared bedroom, only to roughly push you down onto the mattress, but not hard enough to hurt you.

You gasped at her sudden boldness, holding yourself up on your elbows as you watched her every move.

Your heart thumped in your chest as you watched her saunter over to the closet. The same closet that held all of the older woman's toys. Toys that she liked to use not only on herself, but mainly on you.

Your toes wiggled as you waited in anticipation, both excitement and lust coursing through your veins. You can hear rustling in the other room and you were eager to know why.

When Emily emerges, she has her hands held behind her back, hiding whatever it is she took from the closet.

"Are you ready for me, Princess?" She asked, sauntering towards you with an extra sway in hips.

"You know I'm always ready for you, Em."

Your cheeks flushed when she brought her hands from behind her back. One by one you saw a blindfold in one hand and a very large feather clutched in the other.

"Good," she said plainly. "Because now it's my turn to have fun with you." Emily made her way to the bed, easily straddling you, setting the feather down briefly to hold the blindfold in front of your face.

She only stopped her movements to await your consent, and with the eager nod of your head, her smirk grew wider as she pulled the silk blindfold over your eyes.

Emily firmly pushed you down by your chest, your back fully pushing against the mattress as you shivered in anticipation while you waited.

And waited.

"Em—" you gasped at the first delicate touch of the feather. With your eyesight gone, your other senses grew stronger.

You have no sight, quiet moans filled the room, and the touch of the feather gliding down your chest was electrifying.

"You like this, baby? I know it's been a while since we've played with either of these..." Her voice was deep, hungry, and you could only imagine how penetrating her gaze was on your quivering body.

"Ahh— yes! It's so good.." you wiggled your body from the ticklish touch of the feather.

You could just picture Emily above you. Naked. Partially wet. Grey hair framing her face as it slowly dried around her beautifully sculpted face.

You whined when the feather suddenly disappeared from your skin, only to be taken by warm lips. Her mouth followed the same trail the feather did.

You sucked in a sharp breath as her lips dipped lower...and lower..until finally she reached where you needed her most. Her tongue flicked over your sensitive clit, moving expertly in slow, languid circles.

You writhed, Emily having to hold you down by your thighs to keep you still as her mouth worked wonders on your cunt.

Your moans filled the room, occasionally being mixed with small hums from your lover as she devoured your pussy.

But as you felt yourself getting close, Emily suddenly pulled away, leaving you naked, panting, and whining from the loss of contact as you felt your release fade away.

"Em, please..." you whined, bucking your hips in hopes of her coming back.

"I can't let you come that quickly." She placed a sensual kiss on your thigh. "I don't want this to end just yet..."

"Em..." you groaned, trying, and failing, to rub your thighs together.

"Tell me what you want, then."

Unable to stand not being able to see the gorgeous being between your legs, you rip the blindfold from your face.

"I want you to eat my pussy while I can see your beautiful face and run my fingers through your hair. God, your hair drives me crazy," you sheepishly admitted.

"Does it now?" She teased your cunt once more with her thumb.

"Em— no more teasing!" You rested yourself back onto your elbows to get a better view of her. "Finish what you started, I can't wait anymore."

Emily let out a low chuckle at your stern behavior and impatience. Your eyes met hers, wide and filled with lust as she spread your legs farther to dive back into your pussy.

Fingers curled into slowly drying grey locks, holding the woman close by the back of her head as her tongue danced across your folds before she began sucking on your bundle of nerves once again.

Emily can feel you instantly quiver as your free hand tangled into the sheets while she expertly ate your pussy as if she was starving.

"Don't stop.." you begged, not tearing your gaze away from your lover who was gazing right back at you through her lashes.

As her mouth moved over your cunt, you caught sight of her hand leaving one of your thighs to dip between her own legs. Fingers slowly moved at her entrance before picking up speed.

Her moans soon mixed with yours. Emily's back arched ever so slightly, raising her ass further into the air and her face deeper between your thighs.

"Yes, Em, just like that— I'm so close!" You were a panting mess as you chased your release. And Emily was racing just behind you.

Your moans synchronized, both of you getting lost in the pleasure, and in the moment, everything seemed to fade away. The outside world was nonexistent. All you knew was pleasure.

With one last flick with her tongue and a hard suck to your clit, you came undone, thighs closing the gap between Emily's head to keep her in place as you rode out your high.

"Fuck, Em!" Your back arched off the bed as she lapped at your hole, letting out a series of moans of her own as she reached her own climax.

When Emily finally pulled back, a familiar smirk spread across her face as she licked her lips. You hummed as you admired your lover, messy grey hair, flushed milky skin, dilated pupils, and a very wet chin.

"Christ, come here," you beckoned her up by holding your hand out to her.

Emily nearly pounced on you, immediately straddling your hips. Her hands found yours, enveloping them in a tight hold with her fingers interlacing yours. Lips crashed in a much needed kiss, and a deep moan forcing its way into Emily's mouth as you tasted yourself along her dominant tongue.

"We're going to need to take an actual shower, baby," she said after breaking the kiss to collapse onto the bed next to you.

Her arms immediately wrapped around you, and you couldn't help but hum contently. She pulled you close, holding you possessively while your fingers immediately went to play with her silvery hair.

"I don't think I'm done with you just yet," you smirked at your lover with a newfound fire in your eyes.

"Oh?" she lifted a high brow. "What did you have in mind?" Emily asked, cheekily lowering her hand to firmly grasp your ass.

"Well...." you drew out, slowly removing your fingers from her hair to slide down her body to wrap your hand around a large tit. "It's easier if I just show you..."

You lean forward to kiss Emily fiercely and passionately on the mouth, teeth grazing over her plump bottom lip before biting down.

Her moans of pleasure soon filled the room, echoing off the walls long into the night as you showed her exactly what you had planned to do to her.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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[gogobootz1]

An American in London

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: One of Benedict's old schoolmates enlists his help with wooing his American penpal, but when Benedict (literally) runs into her travel companion, things take a turn

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: blood (nosebleed)

"Why, exactly, have you dragged me here?" Benedict bemoaned, looking around the nearly empty hotel bar. There were plenty of better places to drink in the city.

"Because tomorrow morning we are meeting my hopefully lovely pen pal here," came the arrogant voice of one of Benedict's old school friends. Charles had made no effort to continue their friendship into adulthood until earlier that day.

"We?" Benedict asked, skeptically as they sat.

"Yes, we," Charles nodded, motioning for drinks to be brought over. "You are to help me impress the girl and play chaperone."

Benedict squinted at him, "Why would I do that?"

"Do you have anything better to do?" Charles shrugged. Benedict blinked at him for a minute. The truth was, after dropping out of the academy, he did not. He had actually been rather bored as of late.

"Fine," he swallowed bitterly.

"Excellent!" Charles sprang up from his seat, "I'll be by Bridgerton house at ten tomorrow to pick you up."

"Where are you going?" Benedict asked as the man began walking off.

"I have an appointment," Charles called back, and Benedict rolled his eyes. He polished off his drink before putting some money on the table. Of course, Charles had left that to him. He made quickly for the side exit and frustratedly shoved the door open.

A pained cry drew his attention as he stepped out, and he found a young woman with her hand clapped over her nose. All previous annoyance seeped from him instantly. Guilt and shame flooded into its place as he rushed to check on you.

“Are you quite alright miss?”

“Not quite,” the muffled American accent caught him off guard.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he rushed out, eyes full of earnest regret. He grabbed the handkerchief from the pocket over his chest and reached toward your face with it. You reared back, hand still firmly covering your nose, though he swore he could see deep crimson starting to leak out.

“Will you let me have a look?”

“Oh, no,” you firmly shook her head, laughing without any humor, “I have had enough embarrassment for one night. I will not end my evening by bleeding on some random English gentleman.”

You began walking in the opposite direction, but he was quick to follow.

“Please, allow me to make amends, I feel at fault for-“

“You are at fault!” You stopped in your tracks to fix him with a glare.

He blinked back at you, “Well, yes, but I-“

“Unless you’d like to ram a door into your own nose, I’ve seen more than enough of you tonight, thank you,” you snapped, turning to leave. Before you could, you felt a drip of blood fall from your hand onto your dress. You let out a frustrated groan and turned back toward the stranger, snatching his still-outstretched handkerchief. 

Working fast, you wiped your bloody palm, then your face. All the while, the concerned gentleman looked on in worry. Once you’d wiped the excess, you held the cloth up to your nose to catch any more.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself,” He nervously straightened his jacket.

“Perhaps not,” you shook your head, “if you introduce yourself we might just meet again, and you should pray for that not to happen.”

You might’ve laughed at his expression if your nose didn’t ache like hell. “Goodnight!” You said with faux cheer, as you left him standing in confusion.

“Goodnight?” You hardly registered his weak reply.

----------------------------

Benedict woke up on the floor after being violently tugged off the small sofa in his room. He'd been so absorbed with his sketch he hadn't even made it to bed last night.

"Come on then, Bridgerton," Charles' voice taunted from above him, "up and at 'em."

Benedict rolled his eyes as he pushed himself off of the floor, catching sight of the prior night's labors as he stood. A pair of intense eyes stared back at him, and since you'd kept the rest of your face closely covered, a swath of ruby replaced everything below the bridge of your nose. He tried to casually cover the piece before Charles could butt in and ask about it.

"I thought we agreed upon ten," Benedict told the man, stifling a yawn.

"It is ten," Charles snapped, and Benedict winced.

"A moment, then," he requested.

Charles rolled his eyes, "Make it fast, Bridgerton." Benedict rushed to dress in fresh clothing and fix his hair as quickly as possible. Being late would be an early point against him in making both England and Charles seem appealing. Not that those were easy tasks to begin with.

Luckily, he managed a quick turnaround, and a carriage waited outside for them. The grey sky, however, promised rain, yet another factor working against him.

Thanks to a hefty tip to the driver, the men were no more than five minutes late.

"Remind me of her name again," Benedict asked as the two exited the carriage.

Charles glared at him, "I swear to God if you-"

"Just tell me her name," they breezed through the door to the cafe within the hotel.

"Sarah," Charles said, scanning the room, "Sarah!"

A young woman had raced over, and likely would have embraced Charles had she not been held back by the elbow. The woman who prevented the social faux pas was instantly familiar to Benedict when he met the same pair of fierce eyes he'd stayed up too late sketching. Then took the time to examine the rest of your pretty face, though it was marred by a bruised nose. He had to hold back a wince at his own accidental handiwork.

When Charles elbowed him in the ribs, he tuned back into the conversation. Charles not-so-subtly nodded towards Sarah.

"Very fine to meet you, Sarah," he said, hoping he'd assessed the situation correctly. Pleased laughter from the lady told him he had.

"And you," she nodded, "I'd like you both to meet my dearest friend." Sarah introduced you, nudging you forward a bit.

You smiled reluctantly, "Nice to meet you, gentlemen." When you locked eyes again, your smile grew wider yet more mocking. Charles dipped his hat, but Benedict bowed to kiss your hand. Doing everything possible to enter your good graces couldn't hurt.

"Might I ask how you injured your nose?" Charles ventured. Benedict tensed and he saw your jaw clench.

Sarah, however, laughed good-naturedly, "Oh, you'll laugh at this Charles," she turned to you, "go on."

"Silly me, I walked right into a door," you said, tone bordering on teasing. To anyone else, it might’ve come off as humorously self-deprecating. Anyone else might’ve thought you clumsy or perhaps a little ditsy, but Benedict knew better. Benedict could see the threat behind your eyes.

"Well, that's not funny," Charles admonished Sarah, "I'm sorry you're hurt." Sarah seemed surprised but mildly impressed. You, too, seemed content with his answer. One point for Charles.

"Are you in much pain?" Benedict asked, hoping the answer would be no.

You blinked at him, mischief sparkling in your eyes. "Only when I breath," you nodded, deadly serious, but he saw the way your mouth fought a grin.

"That's awful," Charles said, sympathetically. "You couldn't find some medicine or some powder to cover the bruise?" He asked that to Sarah, and Benedict saw your expression shift. One point against Charles.

"I wear my wounds with pride," you challenged. Benedict was once again reminded that your wound was his fault while Charles seemed to struggle for a reply.

"Shall we sit?" Your well-mannered question seemed to Benedict to be the first victory of inevitably multiple challenges to Charles. He wondered if that was your purpose in accompanying Sarah from the States- to determine if Charles was up to snuff.

The four of you were nearly finished enjoying tea and scones when you pulled out the handkerchief you'd taken last night. It was pink, presumably from you trying to wash out the blood. Benedict choked on his sip of tea as you wiped the crumbs from your lips with it.

"When did you buy that?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, I'm only borrowing it until I get the favor I'm owed," Benedict gulped at that. You weren't kidding last night when you said he should hope to never run into you again. Though he did have trouble agreeing at the moment, and somehow, even still.

Sarah easily dismissed your comment and reengaged Charles in conversation. Benedict's attention remained on you, however, and you cheekily tilted your head at him.

Your eyes remained locked with his before you started speaking, "Perhaps you two would like to take a stroll of the hotel gardens before we leave for whatever plans you've made for the day."

Charles nodded at this, "An excellent idea." He walked around the table to offer Sarah a hand. When the two were out of hearing range, Benedict turned back to you.

"Will this favor earn me your forgiveness?" He asked, "Because I really do feel terribly about-"

"Stop," you said, "It's fine. Sarah had no problem believing I still have sea legs and tripped into a door."

Benedict's shoulders drooped as he breathed in relief. "But are you in pain? I couldn't tell if you were serious earlier."

Your expression became softer, "Only a little." He was relieved by that answer. "But I wasn't kidding about the favor," you reminded, sternly.

He froze, "And what favor do you require?"

"I'd like a full report of Charles' background, personality, what he does in his free time," you listed off, "anything of the like."

The questioning glance he gave you encouraged you to elaborate.

"Look," you said with a huff. "Sarah's mom is over the moon about this. Marrying her daughter off to an English lord will boost her social status by leaps and bounds. Her father, however, is not so convinced. Mr. Du Pont has always been kind to me, so when he asked me to assess this potential marriage, I gave him my word."

Benedict nodded, "And you'd like me to inform you on Charles, so you can inform Mr. Du Pont on Charles."

"Exactly," you said simply.

"That's rather funny, you know, Charles asked me to help woo Sarah and convince her he's worth a permanent trip across the Atlantic," he said, and you raised a brow.

"Are you trying to repent for hitting Charles in the face with a door?"

Benedict blinked, "What would you do if I said yes?"

"Help me," you snarled.

He raised his hands defensively, "All right! How am I meant to do that?"

"Have pertinent information sent to my hotel suite," you shrugged.

"Fine," Benedict assented after a minute.

"What's fine?" Sarah asked, having just returned with Charles. Her tinkling voice took him by surprise, and he laughed nervously.

"These biscuits," he said, standing, "they're very fine, I may even take some to go." Benedict stuffed two of the shortbread biscuits into his pocket and regretted it soon after. He regretted it even more after catching Charles' nasty glare at him.

Taking a sharp breath, he turned to offer you his arm, "Shall we?"

You politely took his arm, repressing your laughter. As Sarah and Charles walked on ahead, you leaned in, "Save one for me." Benedict lightly snorted before catching himself, but you seemed pleased at his laughter.

----------------------------

As weeks began to pass, notes from Benedict began to pile up. They were originally only about Charles, but as you started sending replies, the notes grew more conversational.

Sarah certainly only grew more besotted with time, and you were beginning to worry she'd rubbed off on you. The more time you spent with Benedict by way of monitoring Sarah and Charles, the more you found him positively charming.

His good looks were apparent from the beginning and made the door incident all the worse for you, but you'd recently grown fond of his personality.

Last week's art gallery found you admiring him while he spoke passionately of the use of light in one of the paintings you'd come across. You'd only snapped out of it was he asked your thoughts on the piece. The most you could muster up was that you absolutely agreed.

As the two of you chaperoned countless walks and lunches, you conversed about any and everything. Benedict told you of his artwork and promised to eventually show you some of it after you asked a few times. You told him of your own passions, and how they were often trampled by society's expectations. He confessed that since both his older and one of his younger brothers had been recently married, his mother had been nagging him about finding someone.

"I think it's important to be comfortable alone," you'd told him on one particularly breezy walk. "You shouldn't make do with someone else's life when you can't be content with your own."

"Come again?"

"I only mean it's unfair to put certain expectations on a spouse," you shrugged, "No one is who anyone else wants them to be, and trying to force people to be what they are not leads to unhappy marriages."

"In that case, I'm glad no one expects a thing from me," Benedict said.

You laughed a little, "I don't think people expect much of me either. At least we won't let anyone down."

"Setting the bar low," he nodded, smiling, "I like it." Your laughter drew a smile to his face.

----------------------------

A few months had gone by, and Benedict was overjoyed when Charles proposed to Sarah. He was happy for the two of them, sure, but mostly, he was glad your stay had been extended. You'd become such a fixture in his life that he struggled to imagine a time after your visit.

Your return tickets were canceled. Instead, Sarah's parents had booked their spots on a ship sailing over to England. They wanted to plan their daughter's wedding and see her well-adjusted in her new homeland.

"What will your first report to Mr. Du Pont entail, then?" Benedict asked you. The two of you had been tasked with greeting Sarah's parents upon their arrival, and you sat opposite each other in a carriage.

"What makes you think this will be my first report?" You raised a brow at him.

"You've been exchanging letters across the Atlantic about Charles? He's nowhere near interesting enough for that," Benedict told you, inspiring a grin.

"They're mostly about mine and Sarah's time here. She's not great at staying in touch- yet another reason they sent me along," you said. "But you're right, I have yet to form a full opinion on Charles. I go back and forth, but I trust your judgment."

Benedict's eyes widened at the admission as you pulled up to your destination. He exited the carriage first to helpfully offer you his hand. To his displeasure, you pulled away all too soon when you saw the Du Ponts.

Mrs. Du Pont cheerfully called your name as you rushed excitedly towards them. Benedict smiled as he watched you greet the older couple. They were clearly quite fond of you.

It took a minute before they registered his presence.

"Where is Sarah? And who is this gentleman?" Mrs. Du Pont asked you, trying to lower her voice for the latter question.

You perked up, "This is Mr. Benedict Bridgerton." You grabbed his forearm and pulled him closer to the conversation. "He's a friend of Charles. They've both been showing us the best of England!"

"So this is Benedict!" Mr. Du Pont said happily, "I've read a lot about you."

Benedict shot you a questioning look as he shook the older man's hand, "You have?"

"Oh yes," the man nodded despite you shaking your head at him. When Benedict turned to you again, you stopped and let an angelic smile grace your face. His smirk told you you'd been caught. Oh well, if he asked, you'd simply tell the truth. He was by far the most interesting part of Great Britain.

----------------------------

Wedding preparations had been running smoothly, and soon enough Benedict was out with a group of high society men to celebrate the impending nuptials.

The men were a few drinks deep when Charles made a toast, "Soon, lads, I will no longer be a free man, so you best believe I will enjoy it while it lasts."

Benedict was not sure he appreciated that sentiment, but let it pass as his other companions gave cries of, "Here, here!"

Drinking eventually turned to debauchery, and Benedict soon felt crowded at the table slowly attracting more women of the night. He excused himself to find another drink. Upon his return, however, he found Charles happily skipping off with one of them.

"Charles?!"

The man's attention turned to him, "Don't wait up, Bridgerton!" Charles laughed, and Benedict felt his face drop.

"Don't tell me..."

"Oh lighten up mate," Charles shrugged, "it's not like it counts."

Benedict blinked as his old school friend sauntered off with the woman. Every time he drank with men of the ton, it became more apparent that Violet Bridgerton's parenting methods were not widespread.

----------------------------

When he woke up in the hotel suite the next morning, Benedict spent a few blissful moments without the memory of the prior night. When he did remember, he tried to brush it off as a drunken illusion. Only, logic won out in the end. He hadn't drunk that much, and he had very clearly seen the scene with his own eyes.

Why did Charles have to go and make a mess of things? Everything had been going swimmingly. Now, just because the man couldn't keep it in his pants, countless hours of wedding planning would go down the drain. Sarah would be inconsolable, her parents would be furious, and they'd all be going back home. You'd be going back home. Shit.

He agonized over the situation, pacing the floor for an hour before Charles waltzed in.

"Are you only now getting back?" Benedict asked him, taking in the disheveled clothing Charles had been wearing the night prior.

"What can I say? I certainly enjoyed myself," Charles said smugly. He walked off, presumably to freshen up, but Benedict called after him.

"Charles?" The man turned, "You wouldn't... engage in that sort of behavior as a married man?"

Charles chuckled a bit, "Bridgerton, prostitutes don't count," that was concerning, "That sort of revelry was a one-time thing." That was... a bit better? Benedict let out a miserable groan.

----------------------------

Your bright eyes at the wedding rehearsal made him briefly forget his troubles. Once you were both in the proper position, Benedict didn't bother to pay attention. In fact, he pretty much just stared at you from across the altar. You looked good up there. He liked seeing you at the altar. He liked being across from you at the altar.

He was in trouble.

You whispered to him as he escorted you back down the aisle when the faux-service was over. Being best-man did afford him some benefits. "Guess what?"

"What?" He smiled down at you.

"The Du Ponts are thinking of staying indefinitely," you said, secretively, "they bought a house here. They've invited me to stay with them."

"Oh," he said, sense suddenly knocked back into him.

"It's looking like I might be in your hair a while longer."

Benedict quite nearly told you to stay in his hair as long as you cared to but felt it might be too forward. He also felt you'd make a lice joke at his expense. Your sharp sense of humor was one of the many things he found charming about you and one of the many reasons he did not want to let you go.

But if Charles and Sarah were getting married, you were staying. The Du Ponts were staying.

Just how bad was some debauchery at a stag party, really? In the grand scheme of things?

"Oh, how was the gentlemen's party?" You asked, excitedly, "I hope none of you behaved too poorly."

A nervous laugh bubbled from his mouth, "No. No, just the usual level of poor behavior." Fuck.

"Glad to hear it," you nodded. "Was Charles drunk out of his mind?" You laughed a bit.

"Quite possibly," Benedict said, smiling uncomfortably. The man was definitely out of his mind. Whether it could be attributed to the drink Benedict wasn't sure.

"Well, thanks for keeping an eye on him," you said, giving his arm a squeeze.

He was in big trouble.

----------------------------

On the morning of the wedding, Benedict was jittery. In a hallway of the church, he kept nervously adjusting his collar. A steady pair of hands pulled his away, and he looked up to find you fixing his collar.

"Stop touching it," you told him as you worked, "it looks good."

"Right," he breathed stiffly.

"And try not to look like you're attending a funeral," you reminded him, smirking. "Oh! I have something for you," you pulled the handkerchief he'd given you when you first met out of a small bag. Pressing it into his hand, you smiled up at him, "favor complete. Consider us even."

He could only nod at you as you began to retreat.

"I'm off to help Sarah. See you soon!"

Benedict gazed after you, guilt creeping in.

"I'm relieved she's kept such a close eye on Sarah," Mr. Du Pont suddenly appeared beside him, "but I should've expected it. The two have been like sisters ever since..."

"Since?' Benedict asked him curiously while straightening his bow tie.

"Well, we took her in some years back when her family passed," the older man explained.

As much as Benedict thought he'd gotten to know you, it seemed you'd yet to feel comfortable enough to tell him that, "I hadn't known."

"No," Du Pont shook his head, "she doesn't like to talk about it. Hates having to bear people's pity."

That, Benedict could understand. He had found that to be one of the worst parts of the aftermath of his father's death.

"But it's been a pleasure to have her in our family. I'm only happy it's expanding! Hopefully, she'll have nieces and nephews soon," Sarah's father looked around before leaning in a bit, "I'm hoping for lots of grandchildren. I'll be perfectly happy when both my girls have good, loyal husbands at their side. It seems we're almost there!" With a pat on Benedict's shoulder, Mr. Du Pont walked off, "I'll see you in there."

Benedict nodded absently. Oh. He had mucked things up. He had really, really mucked things up.

Benedict paled a little. In his bid to keep you by his side as long as possible he'd neglected all other considerations. Including the life and happiness of your sister in all but blood. This wedding was very real and very imminent. And despite the time he dreamt it was the two of you getting married, his feelings were not nearly the most important of those involved.

Sarah was about to marry a man who had cheated on her only two nights prior.

But Charles had said it was a one-time thing. A last hooray before settling down. He'd said that prostitutes do not count anyway and- oh.

Benedict sharply inhaled when he realized his own foolishness. How had he not seen this? The bars they'd visited in the past months were all down the street from the one they'd entered two nights ago- the one next to the brothel. Each time he would excuse himself to retire to his home, Charles had stayed.

A fool, indeed. He'd been so enamored and distracted with you that his spy work on your behalf was entirely lackluster. Worse yet, when he did find pertinent information out, he had lied.

He had to make it right.

Benedict raised his fist to knock on the door of the room Sarah had taken over. Before he could, it swung open. You smiled at him, a little confused.

"You know you're only supposed to escort me down the aisle," you joked, "You don't have to start this far back."

He shook his head grimly, and your face fell. "I need to talk to you," he looked up to find Sarah behind you, "both of you."

You stepped aside and let Benedict in, nervous at his shift in attitude.

"You cannot marry him," Benedict had summoned all of his nerve to say the words and looked Sarah square in the eye when he did so. She deserved that much. She deserved the truth.

"What?" Sarah asked skeptically. She was already in her wedding gown. She had no idea what was happening.

"Benedict, what are you talking about?" Your question was quieter, but you were deadly serious. As soon as he said it you knew something was wrong, and he was right in bringing it to Sarah.

He swallowed when he looked into your eyes, "I lied to you." You felt like he'd just slammed a door in your face again. "Charles did behave poorly the other night. In fact, I think he's been behaving poorly for months and I've been too blind to see it."

"What? He was drinking?" Sarah asked, "I knew that would happen."

"No," Benedict shook his head, "He was with- with other women."

And with that, Sarah was out the door. You, however, could not bring yourself to follow. You were frozen to the floor, looking at the man you'd trusted with glassy eyes.

"You lied to me," you whispered.

"I'm sorry."

You shook your head, laughing a little. The sound was sad, "I guess I broke my own rule." His eyes pleaded with you, but it was far from enough, "I expected too much from you. You couldn't help but let me down." His heart sank.

Finally, you turned to race after Sarah. Benedict was hot on your trail, "Please-"

"Oh, this is not over," you called over your shoulder, "but we have more pressing matters to deal with."

You stopped dead in your tracks after rounding a corner. It was so abrupt that Benedict could not slow his own pace enough not to bump into you. You both stumbled a bit but recovered in time to see Sarah slap Charles in the face. She then marched out of the church with her head held high.

Mrs. Du Pont followed her straight away. And Charles rushed after them both. Mr. Du Pont stopped only to briefly speak to you, "Would you both be so kind as to handle-"

"Consider it done," Benedict said. You sent him a sidelong glance before begrudgingly nodding at the man who had taken you in. Mr. Du Pont left to chase after his wife and daughter, leaving you and Benedict to dismiss guests and try to cancel vendors.

----------------------------

A long and tiresome day of working to undo weeks of wedding planning and avoiding the sad blue eyes that followed your every move ended in your hotel's garden. More specifically, eating the wedding cake that could not be returned in the hotel garden. You had very generously given most of it to the hotel staff. But you saved the top tier for yourself.

Draped across a bench, you stabbed into it with a fork. As you did, the charming figurine of Sarah and Charles fell from its place. You did not hesitate to grab the miniature and toss it into some shrubs.

"Rather harsh, don't you think?" A familiar voice drew your attention. You huffed when you saw who it was.

Benedict Bridgerton slowly made his way over to your bench. He gestured towards your legs, silently asking you to make room for him on the bench. When you didn't move, he simply sat himself parallel to you on the gravel floor.

"I am sorry," he said after some silence, looking straight ahead.

"I know," you nodded, not yet looking at him, "I suppose I am too."

"Whatever for?" Benedict's surprise broke the quietness of the moment, and he gazed at you questioningly.

You shrugged, still not looking at him, "I should have known better than to think you'd prioritize me over him. Charles is your friend."

"Maybe," he spat defensively, "but you're-" He cut himself off.

"What am I? To you?" You asked, now looking intently into his eyes, trying to discern his thoughts.

Benedict inhaled a large breath before telling you the God's honest truth, "When I realized what Charles was doing, I also realized that you would leave England with Sarah almost as soon as you found out. And I wanted you to stay." He paused, " I want you to stay."

Your lips parted as if to say something in return, but he barreled on, "I behaved selfishly, and I am a beast for it, but you were always my priority. Do not dream of thinking otherwise."

You swung your legs off of the bench and leaned forward towards him. Stabbing a bite of cake with your fork, you stuck it out to him in a gesture of peace. He cautiously ate the cake from your fork, waiting for you to say something. You took another bite before you did.

"A ship sets sail tomorrow," you said lightly, "back across the Atlantic." And with it, his hopes would sink. "I secured three tickets on it this morning."

Benedict blinked. That didn't add up right. "Is Mr. Du Pont stay-"

You quickly shook your head, and things started to click in place for him.

"Mrs. Du Pont?"

Your smirk started to grow.

"Sarah?"

"Now you're being deliberately obtuse," you mocked.

He grinned up at you, "Then...?"

"The Du Ponts need someone to mind their new manor in the English countryside. Who better than their favorite non-daughter?" You shrugged happily.

"Will you not get lonely in such a large estate out in the country?" Benedict asked teasingly.

You smiled playfully at him, "Then I should hope someone will be kind enough to call on me." Benedict looked rather self-satisfied at that. "I should only hope they clean up before they do."

His confusion was answered when you took a handful of cake and smeared it down the left side of his face. He stuck his tongue in his cheek to try not to laugh. It was well-played and deserved.

"Now we're even," you whispered close to his face before standing and walking away.

"Jokes on you," he shouted after you, "it tastes better like this!" Your laughter filled the night air, and he was happy to have made such sweet amends.

--------------------------------------------------------

I love Benedict sooo much!!! I wrote this super quick after watching the new season, so sorry if anything didn't make sense

Thanks for reading <3

(also sorry for any historical inaccuracies or whatever but this is Bridgerton we're talking about )

[cherry-pop-elf]

Birthday Boys

It’s Fred and George’s birthday, and you wanted to give them something very special. It’s hard to give them something like that, but you are married to them for a reason. As if they would ever settle for someone boring, now would they?

Warnings: 18+, Double Penetration (A and V), teasing, breeding, overstimulation, dirty talk, birthday suits ((hehe)) lipstick kink(?) and of course Fred Lives. Because I said so ((George still missing an ear tho! Bleh-!))

“Well what’s this?” George would blink, as a paper airplane would land itself on his desk. Fred would raise a brow, as he set down the ink he had grabbed for his younger twin. It’s April First. The ever busiest day of the year, and their birthday as well. That meant they were swamped with work, and just trying to finish the day. The shop may be closed, now, but damn they were still drowning.

“Don’t just stare at it, open it up-!” Fred would bonk the younger twin, with his wand, making him fix at his hair. He would give a grumble, as he unfolded the neat little parchment. By the hand writing alone, he knew it was from you. What was written made him a bit flushed in the cheeks. Always was the more emotional of the two, so Fred was quick to look over his shoulder. Reading along.

To my special Birthday Boys. You two have been working so hard all day. Such a wonderful occasion deserves a present, doesn’t it? I better expect you to leave paper work for later, and hurry up to our bedroom. It gets rather chilly being all alone. I don’t want your present to get cold either. Not when I worked so hard to wrap it all up so nicely in purples and oranges. If you don’t want it, I’ll be more than happy to make use of it all myself. Sincerely yours~!

Never had they side alone aparated so fast in their life. Gave you quite the startle, to suddenly see them. You should have figured they wouldn’t waste time, but boy they move fast. Even after all these years together, it catches you by surprise. Though, this time they were the ones with wide eyes this time around.

There you were, in the middle of the bed, dressed to the nines. A array of orange, and purple, fabric against your skin. Stockings of lace. Done up so pretty to mimic that of a fire work, with little dots all around. The fingerless arm length gloves had to be, as to help bring focus to how bare the rest of you were. Nothing else to your skin, but your own birthday suit. Besides so heavy makeup, because you knew they loved it when it got all ruined. What really sold it was the bows all over you. Around your thighs, wrists, neck, just for the comical effect of a birthday present. Hey, it’s April Fools. Gotta get silly.

“H-“ Before you could get a single syllable out, they were on you. Like starving dogs. Clothes were flying, and your body was quick to be sandwiched between the two men. Your neck attacked in kisses, and their ever rough hands trailing your skin. Tracing all the invisible lines they had tracked on you.

“Guess you like the surprise-?” You joked, as you were leaning yourself against Fred. While George was enjoying your front. Sucking plenty of hickies on your skin, while Fred was enjoying playing with your nipples. Had you squeak, and flush, as he was enjoying the happily given toy.

“Taking that as a yes-“ You sighed, as you were just a meal for the wolves. Wolves that always had your flavor of flesh in mind. It just felt so good to be so desired. To be wanted so badly, it could hurt. Especially after such an exhausting day, they needed to get that pent up steam out.

“Been thinking about you all day long-“ George would sigh, as he stole your lips into his own. Happily allowing your lipstick to stain his own, while your hips rubbed onto the building hard on in Fred’s lap. Just a tangle of wild limbs, and you couldn’t have loved anything more.

“Come on, save some for me. Give em here-“ And you would be stolen by Fred next. Making sure he got his lips stained all the same. George didn’t complain, as he would let the lipstick residue trail over your exposured chest. Designing you, as Fred let his tongue do any talking he had left.

You enjoyed the sensual, and slow, pace. Made you fall into the mood far easier. But, you knew why they were being so gentle. Gentle starts always ended with you drooling and utterly delirious. They were going to destroy you, to your core, and that had you so hopeful.

“Just look at you.” They breathed, in unison, as you were just a doll in their hands. Your body leaning into Fred’s, with his legs spread to make sure you were comfortable. Meanwhile George was above you, on his knees, and taking in the sight. Just starving for you, while Fred was busy with the bedside table. Making sure to grab some lube, as you realized what you signed up for.

“Don’t say I never treat you.” That had them laugh, at your comment. Sweet little feathery kisses were given to your face, and neck, while the line was passed to each other. Slicking themselves up, before using the residue to make sure you were nice and comfortable. A thank you, for such a wonderful present.

“Wrapped up in such a pretty bow.” Fred sighed, as he stuck two fingers inside of you. That had you bite your lip, before the mimicking motion from George made it slip out. Fred was in your ass, and George was in your core. Able to copy each other’s movements in perfect unison. Some call it disturbing, you call it heaven.

“Damn, wet as hell. Don’t even need lube. We’re so excited to get to be our gift, weren’t you? Isn’t that sweet Fred-?” “Oh the ever sweetest George. We love it when you get excited. Gets us excited.” They echoed each other, while making sure to lather as much as they could. Knowing you would need it, and still remembering to put your needs first. Just gentle motions, as they made sure to cover as much as two fingers could. Teasing away at your sensitive spots, just to make you squirm.

“I can’t wait any more.” “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” And like that, the fingers were removed. You whined at it, which made them smirk. Now, you were feeling them pressed against you. They planned to go in, at the exact same time. It made your heart race. To imagine, being stuffed so quickly.

“How about we-“ But they broke through the tight barrier, and your mind was mush. Not so much from pain, just the over whelming sensation of being so full. To feel your insides grow so tight, as your muscles were being pulled yet pushed at the same time. Was a fluttery experience. Somehow so light, yet couldn’t be heavier.

“Fuck fuck fuck-“ You heard Fred whisper into your ear, while your blurry eyes could make out that George was hardly able to keep his own open. Biting into his stained lip, as to not whimper too early. To last, but damn. You knew he was fighting for his life.

Once they were both fully inside, the three of you just stayed that way. A mixture of wanting to make sure you were adjusted, and them not wanting to end the game so soon. How embarrassing that would be. Least that meant you were being pampered. With heavy breathing, and wet kisses on your skin. A means to help you relax, and it worked.

“Lucky me, I get to be the first one to pump you full. Isn’t that nice of Fred? To let me be the one to pump your little womb full?” That had your face burn. Yeah, you three were trying, but none of you exactly went into to much details on how such a thing would plan out. Given Magic was involved, with everything, isn’t a dumb guess to think these two will somehow knock you up at the same time. Just made you all the more flushed, as Fred would rub over your stomach.

“Don’t worry. When he’s done with you, we will switch. I can’t just waste it all in your ass. I love that cute thing, but I love you being full of out kids more.” Fred moaned, as he finally moved his hips. Just in time with George’s. The feeling of two at once, in different holes. Truly a fuzzy experience.

Your hands found George’s shoulders, while Fred grabbed your legs. Keeping you spread as wide as they could, as they rocked their hips into you. Such perfect calculations to make sure your mind stayed in that blissful fuzz. Was leaving you with your nails into Georges skin.

“Come on, love. You gotta moan louder for me. I’m missing an ear over here. Give me some noise-!” George cackled, as Fred took that as a que to pick up the pace. Your head was rolling itself back, and leaned on Fred’s shoulder. Giving George exactly what he wanted, after all. Louder moans, whimpers, gasps, and plenty of smacking flesh to fill in between.

“So cock drunk, and the night hardly started.” Fred teases, as he bit into your shoulder. Needing to steady himself, but the feeling was too much. George would have agreed, if it were vocal. They were getting sloppy with their movements, and you wouldn’t last long either. Especially since George was now planting sloppy kisses against your lips. Leaving you two a jumble mess of spit and moans.

Hearing their desperate breaths, and whimpers of trying to hold on, it was what brought you over the edge. By proxy, your tightening grip in your body had them gasp. Their hips stuttering, as they came inside of you. Throbbing, and having a shake in their system.

Riding it out was such a warm feeling. Felt like everything was on fire, in all the best ways. Already so exhausted, and ready to just sleep, but….They weren’t making any April fools joke with you. Just as your eyes closed, they moved.

You have a squeak, before a breathy moan, as they pulled out. Left such a mess between all your legs, before you were flipped around. Your hands now on Fred’s chest, and ass presented to George. Out right lining up again.

“Perk-A-Boo~!” Fred teases, as he poked your nose. Just as you wiggled it, they thrusted right back into you. The stimulation of being restuffed was mind melting. Right after your high, and with so much already running down your legs. The sounds of all made were so loud, and wet. Was utterly thrilling.

Fred was happy to drink in your moans, hogging as many kisses as he could. Meanwhile George was happily feeling over your hips. Letting those hard working hands trace the lipstick marks shared between them both.

“Don’t do poor Georgie like that, come on. You gotta moan a little louder. His hearing isn’t so good.” Fred would tease, as he forced your chin up. Trying to amplify your desperate sounds. It was all too much. You were going to reach your peak again, with tears running down your face. Smearing away the remains of your makeup.

“Just hang on a little more. I want to make sure I get nice and deep in there.” Fred comforted, as George planted kisses down your back. Making sure your skin was covered in whatever remained of their lips.

Everything was so blurry, but you knew this. You came again, and your insides were coated once more. The ringing in your ears were dancing with the shakey moans of your lovers. So happy, and satisfied, with wrecking you so much.

When you came back to reality, you realized the lingerie you wore was gone. Seems they made sure to give you a sponge bath, before they were knocked out. You between them, as they snuggled you.

Fred behind you, as he held your stomach. Ever a man that loved feeling your ass against him. Meanwhile George was infront of you, tangling your legs together, as he snuck his arms just above Fred’s. His face under your chin, so he could listen to your heart beat.

“Happy birthday, you two.” You whispered, as you made sure they both were kissed on their heads. Freckled smiles crossed their lips, as they snuggled closer. Fred, enjoying his nose in your neck, while George gave you a squeeze. Maybe you should gift wrap yourself more often.

[signedkoko]

(separate) lucifer and striker with an s/o who fell from the heavens headcanons!! the more closer they get, the more they realize their s/o was one of the angels on the council but didn’t condone the extermination — of which, they were casted down to hell.

Lucifer | Striker X Reader [Romantic]

In which they know you are a fallen angel, but not the extent to which you protected hell. Reader is genderneutral.

Lucifer could sense your presence quite fast

But only because you weren't an exterminator—no, you were something far stronger

It pained him to see a new angel cast down, the first since he was, bloodied and caught in the fiery pit you'd have to call home

He understood you must have been an angel that came along after him, though, because he didn't recognize you

Either way, Lucifer offered you a place to stay and let you adjust to life in hell through his lens—a safe house where demons couldn't bother you as much

Of course, he also wanted to make sure the news of your existence didn't get out

He could only imagine the kinds of people who might want to get their hands on a fresh angel

Even though he was cast down himself, Lucifer is very flattered that you know him and that you speak so highly of him

You quickly worm your way into his heart, and he loves talking to you a lot about his past and all the things he kept buried within him

Even down here, you still seemed happy, although a tad uneasy

He won't pressure you for your backstory too much, but with his knowledge of heaven he is able to gather that you were at least a mid-ranking angel on the council

Your position exactly, he wasn't sure

He only found out after he spoke about his daughter's plan with the hotel

" Thats a wonderful idea! They may cast me down for demanding an end to extermination, but I won't let them ruin your daughters redemption plans. "

You dropped it so casually that he almost missed it, swooning at how supportive of Charlie you were

Actually chokes

Please give him a moment to catch his breath because, wait, really?

That explains a lot, at least

Of course, heaven would cast down the most beautiful of angels just for being kind to even the most damned beings

That same anger within him roars back to life, both for you being shut down and for how he, too, was treated in heaven

He'd make sure your life was far better here, no matter what it took

Being a fallen angel is already an extremely worrisome background for Striker, especially following his hate for royalty

Not that a fallen angel is royalty, but the power dynamic is hard for him to get over, as guilty as he feels now for holding it against you

When you first met, he saved you from another bounty hunter

Saved is the wrong word

He stole you so he could get a prize himself

But it all backfired when you were just so kind and curious, and offering you up to some terrible people didn't feel like the right move

Striker told himself he'd hold onto you until he knew the true value of an angel, but that may have just been him stalling for time

Either way, your charm worked wonders, and now he was stuck with the most attention-grabbing partner in all of hell

Oh well, he knew he could protect you

While he was curious about your life in heaven, Striker was extremely used to not asking questions about others past

But the more he knew, the more he wanted to know

Every few months, you'd tell a story that revealed a new interesting piece of information, things that made him wonder what you had to have done to be so harshly cast down

It all made sense when he puzzled it together one afternoon, when you were particularly fond of your past memories

" I hope Em isn't in trouble too. "

" Why so? "

" Well, she also thought killing demons was pretty bad... "

" Of course, hun. "

As usual he nods along with you before he freezes and jumps out of his chair

" Hol on now, what? "

Striker is able to puzzle things together fast, and he's not sure if he's more pissed at the angels above you or if he's surprised you felt that way

He'd always assumed no angels thought good of demons, but this changed things

Next extermination, he wants to have a hand at capturing one of those winged fuckers and seeing if he can force some more out of them

Author's Note - DEVIL FINALLY I GOT TO UR REQ!!! More Striker content, love to see it- and ofc Lucifer, who I know is about to be eaten up by every person in this god forsaken community. Thank you for requesting 🖤

[ew-selfish-art]

Dpxdc (sounds like a bad joke) AU: A Cat, an Amazon and an underage Dead kid walk into a bar...

Selina Kyle was on official Catwoman business on the Coast of Greece, though of course she told her currently on (off again on again) boyfriend Bruce that it was just a girls weekend away. A particular jewel came to mind and it needed to be hers, ancient Obsidian carved with symbols of power (and yes, one of the symbols happened to be a cat.)

Selina knew she was getting close to the artifact when Diana Prince showed up. The no-good goody-two-shoes museum curator seemed to have a will of iron, and each time they crossed paths, the tall beauty had some passing remark about Bruce (which was really starting to get under Selina's skin) and the fact that they were just friends. Who does this chick even think she is? Just because she can speak fluent Greek, knows Selina's boyfriend's favorite bedtime story to read his kids, and has an ass that just won't quit doesn't mean she's better than her!

Selina is going to (remind herself frequently that women in competition is just a factor of the misogynistic capitalistic society they live in) do her best to keep under the radar, steal the artifact fast, and then make Bruce propose to her.

But then this weird scrawny kid shows up and asks if she's seen something of his. Selina is on the street, sitting at a table outside the local cafe conveniently located across the street from the auction house holding the artifact, when he approaches. He looks like he could be one of Bruce's kids, made distinct by his very nervous demeanor and shrunken shoulder's attempting to make him look smaller. Briefly, he tells her about a piece of black glass that has a few drawings of his on it, about the size of his palm, and may or may not have some lingering ability to... he doesn't finish his sentence.

Diana was walking across the street to go into the auction house... but to Selina's chagrin, the tall could-be-a-model crosses and approaches them instead. Her eyes are settled on the young man, and he's nervously asking her something in Greek. (How did a kid with a midwestern accent speak fluent greek?) Diana explains that he must have gotten a replica of the item showing in the Auction house somehow, and the kid looks like he's eaten a sour lemon all of a sudden.

A projectile comes hurdling at them a mere moment after the kid's cold breath becomes visible in the hot greek sun- Diana braces the impact for them both, her golden bracers revealed from under her sensible work blouse sleeves.

"Oh! You're Wonder Woman!" The kid gleefully exclaims, which makes Diana and Selina both die a little inside, before adding: "Hey, no worries about this guy, I got 'em. But could you grab that chunk of obsidian for me? It's mine and I'm seriously in hot water for having broken my cro- er- for losing it in the first place. Thanks!"

He suddenly bloomed into white hair and green eyes, a dark suit appearing from nowhere, and flew towards the threat. Wonder Woman didn't spare a single word on Selina and chased after him into combat.

Selina sipped on her coffee and, upon finishing it- casually got up, went to the auction house, and stole the Obsidian. Finders Keepers.

It was the late afternoon when Diana walked into the Bar right behind Selina with the teen at her side. He looked nervous but was eye-ing the bottles on the wall as much as he was trying to look intimidating to her. Diana looked annoyed at best, and not just with Selina.

"I think we should have a little chat, sound good to you Kitten? Princess, did you want to stay to talk too?" Selina's famous cat like grin on full display.

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 16

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: Mature (some explicit mentions, tense situations, mentions of child starvation)

A/N: this chapter wouldn’t exist without @the-scandalorian and @bageldaddy , period. Literally walking me through it line by line, I could say a lot of really gushy things about them but I’ll refrain…just know, you two, that I could kiss you directly on the mouth. And will, when we meet someday. ❤️

—

A blanket hung to keep her in the shade, the sound of June’s babbling lifts into the air to join the soft give of roots snapping beneath the soil as you pull carrots from the garden. The distant splintering of dried out boards giving way occasionally cracks through the background, Joel grabbing another piece of rotted wood at the base of the shed and tearing it clean off, tossing it over with the rest he’s collected.

Brushing a drip of sweat away from your temple with your dirt-dried hand, you make a face at the gritty path you’ve left behind. 

“You wanna go for a swim?” you coo over at June, her cheeks plumping into a corresponding wet grin when you smile at her. 

Her bottom teeth coming in, drool pools around the carrot she’s gumming and slides down over her chubby grip, the edge of it glistening in her mouth. 

You make faces at her, her dark eyes fixed on your face in bright delight until her attention catches something behind you, and you turn when she starts to crawl towards it. 

“How are my girls doing?”

His shirt ringed with sweat and molded to his body, Joel blocks out the sun when you look up at him. His hand rakes through his dark curls, pushing the wet strands away from his forehead as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, the pulse in his throat thrumming fast under his flushed skin. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he lifts it to swipe it over his face and your eyes flash down, where even his torso looks wet: the dark hair that collects in a swirl around his belly button to lead down matted and damp. 

He watches with amusement as June crawls over to his boot with unsteady movements, her face set with determination. 

“Hey, baby girl.” His tiredness transforms into something softer when he greets her, his eyes crinkling deeply around the edges. A dimple catching under his beard, he bends to scoop her up from the ground, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I think I got enough over there to do somethin’ with. Definitely enough to board up that broken window in her room this afternoon.”

The glass broke while you were cleaning it: old age and the elements and a warped frame all contributing, and with the mosquitos being thick at night, she’d been sleeping in your room for the time being. 

“I can fix that shelf in the pantry with one of ‘em,” he continues, “and if anything else, save the rest for burnin’ in the winter.”

A rotted shelf in the pantry breaking in half, the chair in the living room finally losing a leg, an area of the deck now off limits: exposed to the elements and after withstanding years of neglect, the cabin was having trouble standing up to the constant wear of its new inhabitants. Joel had been fixing things as they happened, but with a limited supply of resources, the plan to stay infinitely that you both made months ago was starting to fray. 

The garden was going better than you could have expected, but the rest…the rest worried you. Running out of material to cut up and make do with, June’s clothing situation was beyond scarce. With the repetitive washing that everything had to stand up against, it was always fast to fall apart. Lucky that it was summer and so hot that she didn’t really need much, you had started to piece together things for the winter but there was only so much thread you could pull out of things, only so much you could fix and repurpose. 

Joel felt the pinch too, in his own way. Voicing his frustration, he’d tell you how he would repair things if only he had the right materials, recounting to you the actual issue and the thought process behind fixing it. Even reminiscing about the hardware store days of past, he’d mentioned more than once the one right by his house that he liked to visit, the one with free popcorn for Sarah while he browsed. 

With every item that broke and with every growth milestone that June reached, you could feel the encroaching pressure to make a choice: leave this place for the dangerous unknown, or stay and attempt to survive the dangers of isolation. 

Either was a gamble, and so undecided, you kept fixing what you could, with what you had. 

You eye the shed, your eyebrow lifting as you study the now sizable hole in the side. 

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about how we don’t really need the shed for anything, so if we need more wood, we can just chop the whole thing down. Right?”

You stand and he nods, using his forearm to swipe at more sweat that’s gathered along his hairline. Streaks of dirt and dust are smeared along the bare skin, and when June reaches out to grab at his face, he catches her hand and gives it a kiss. 

You admire them for a moment: the taut muscle in his forearm underneath her bottom, the collection of gray hairs gathered at the edge of his jaw that she grabs at, his wayward curls that match her own. They smile at each other, her face diving into his chest just above the collar of his shirt, and he laughs, gently tickling her back. 

When he catches you watching him, you think you’d see a faint blush creep over his cheeks if they weren’t flushed from the heat already. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, turning to lead them down to the water. 

You’re still smiling as he lays her out on the bank to get her undressed, watching his thick fingers brush against her cheeks just to chuckle at the way she chases them with an open mouth. Standing up with a soft groan, he strips down to his underwear.

Bare chested and tanned in front of you, his body is formidable without his clothing. Marred with the scars of survival and so familiar to you by now, he appears even bigger in comparison when he lifts June up. His large hand completely covers her dimpled bottom as they prepare to wade in, and his back facing you, your eyes run appreciatively down the broad slope. 

Feeling your gaze, he smirks, and a glimmer of the confident, teasing Joel that’s been coaxed out of hiding peeks from beneath the surface. “See somethin’ you like?”

“There is something about when you hold her,” you admit. “You look so…big and strong.”

Rising on your tiptoes, you tuck your face into his neck to hide from the slight embarrassment you feel. Finding his sweat salt skin with your mouth, you give him a kiss and he hums in appreciation, the vibration of it felt against your lips when you give him another one. 

“You really like it, huh.” More a smug statement than a question, his expression matches his tone when you pull back to look at him. 

“I do,” you murmur, nosing along the edge of his jaw. “It makes me wanna have all your babies.”

Drunk on the heat of the afternoon sun and on your affection for him, you smile lazily up at him and he grins right back, winding his arm around your waist to keep you close. 

“S’that right,” he murmurs, low and gravely. His voice slips through you and your pulse picks up, his humid breath ghosting across your lips. “All of ‘em, huh?”

You nod, and with hooded eyes, he grins. 

“Don’t jinx us now, honey. Can’t be sayin’ that kinda stuff.”

His dark eyes make a slow, heated circuit down to your collarbones and back up, and arousal hooks behind your belly button fast and sharp. 

Dragging his gaze from you, he turns his attention to June. “Besides, I think this squirrely girl is all we can handle right now, anyway.”

His shoulders swathed in sunlight, Joel wades in as you strip to join them. The water is crisp and cool against your skin when you slip in, and you submerge yourself for a moment before resurfacing closer to them. 

Joel holds June around her back as he lets her float on the surface, water from her kicking legs flying up to cover his bare chest.

“You gonna be a swimmer? You gonna be a fish, baby?”

It’s easy to forget that the outside world exists when there is nothing but bird song and cicadas and the rippling water around you. No infection, no death, no fight for survival. Just Joel carefully scooping water to pour over June’s head, his soothing voice telling her to hold her breath as he ducks them under the surface, his practiced movements carefully transferring her into a one armed hold when you swim closer.

Tilting your chin up, you offer your wet mouth to him for a kiss. 

His body is firm and warm against yours, your hand reaching to cup the curve of his jaw to deepen the press of your mouths together and the kiss pulls you in just like the current that wraps and molds your body close to his. Slipping your arms around his neck, you savor his taste until June lets out a soft cry. 

Her wet fist rubbing at her eye, you reach to take her in for her afternoon nap.  Emerging from the water, you feel the awakened heat in his gaze trained on your body all the way up to the cabin. 

June is fast asleep in your room when he lays you out on the bed in the room next door, squeezing your bodies together on the twin-sized narrowness. His broad shoulders flex and shift under your knees, his river damp curls sliding through your hold as he licks you open, and when you arch into the wet heat of his mouth with a silent cry, he swallows everything you give him with a rumbled groan. 

His skin is dry and smooth against yours when he fits his solid body between your legs, reaching down to guide himself into a place reserved just for him with slick, filling stretch and he murmurs his secret wants directly into your skin, a push inside you for each one.  

“Wish you could have all my babies. Make you the prettiest momma.” 

He breathes against the valley of your breasts, into the hollow under your ear, and against your mouth, just before he captures it with a kiss. His words dripping with reverence, you keen underneath him, arching your back to force him deeper. 

“I wish I could too,” you softly moan. “I want it.” 

Blatant hunger slips into his movements, harsh, filling punches of his hips bringing you up and over the edge, and your mouths stay together in a humid press until you feel him come, his need spilling thick along the inside of your thigh.

Afterwards, his sated body relaxes on top of yours.

Your fingers collect his curls in a rhythmic, soothing motion, following the timing of your chest rising and falling beneath his cheek. His breath puffs across your skin, and your eyes flutter shut, the heat of the afternoon lulling you to sleep. 

Twitching lightly in his sleep, his hold on you tightens and the corner of your mouth lifts. His weighted body covering yours like a shield, a gentle breeze stirs the stagnant air around you, and a tendril of a thought slips through your sleepy mind.

Heaven. 

–

Your fingers dance along the produce in the pantry, your lips moving silently as you keep count in your head. More food than you could have ever dreamed of when you first broached the plan, the produce now crowds out the canned goods, and shifting in your crouch, you let the sun into the small space, narrowing your eyes in focus.

The back door to the cabin bangs open, startling you, and June launches into a responding cry seconds later, just as Joel rounds the doorway. Before you can stand, he hooks his hand around your elbow, tugging you up. 

“Go to the bedroom. Now.”

“What –”

“Someone’s comin’. I heard 'em’ in the woods. A couple of ‘em at least.”

Stomach bottoming out in immediate panic, you scramble up and head to your bedroom, scooping up June along the way. Bouncing her lightly in your arms to quell her cries, a cold sweat breaks out along your back, and crossing the hallway, you head for the predetermined snug spot in the corner next to the dresser, grabbing your gun from the top drawer. 

“You stay until I tell you it’s safe, okay? Don’t move from this spot. You got your gun? It loaded?”

The serious, frantic edge to his words has you answering him immediately, your back pressing against the wall as you slide down into place. Giving you both one last look to ensure you’re where you need to be, he rounds the corner and disappears from sight, and you have to fight the lurch your body involuntarily makes in an effort to follow him. 

You’ve practiced for this exact scenario multiple times, but it still doesn’t make it any easier. During practice, there is no cold terror at what could happen. During practice, it was easy to go through every movement with calm motions. 

Now,  you try to inhale deep, steady breaths in an attempt to slow down the pounding of your heart, knowing June will sense your unease.

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay. I know, I know. It’s okay.” Your voice comes out low and smooth, your shaking hand betraying your nerves as it rubs circles over her back. 

Straining to hear over her hiccuping whimpers, you try to listen outside the bedroom. 

Nothing, for what seems like ages, and then:

“STOP.” 

Flinching when Joel’s voice breaks through, you shut your eyes tight, reflexively tightening your hold on June’s small body. 

–

“Put your hands up.”

A lone woman emerging from the tree line halts mid step, reluctantly pulling her hand away from the pistol at her hip. 

Weathered and weary looking, she looks almost frail in her slight build and Joel scans her for any more visible weapons. His own gun gripped tight with the butt of it against his shoulder, he slowly advances, his finger resting alongside the trigger.

“What do you want?”

“I was just passing by and I saw your cabin,” she calls out. “Thought I might see if anyone was home.”

“Bullshit. You can’t see this place from the road.”

A beat of weighted silence fills the grassy space between them, and the woman changes her story. 

“Fine. We –”

“We? How many?”

Her eyebrow lifts, along with the corner of her mouth. Avoiding the question, she continues. “We saw your garden. Thought maybe we would help ourselves. Especially now, since it’s just you out here.” Direct and laced with the barest taunt, her tone implies the easy confidence of someone who has the upperhand. 

Reluctantly shifting his gaze from her, he scans the trees, searching. A branch cracks somewhere within the woods, something shifting in the distance, and when he steps in the direction of it, she brings his attention back to her. 

“It looked like you have enough to share.”

“We don’t.”

An instinctual reaction tied to his days as a raider, Joel’s mind digs deep for the old lines he used to say. Lie about your numbers. Lie. 

“Don’t think about tryin’ anything’ either,” he asserts. “Heard you the second you walked onto this land. We got eyes on you from all sides.”

She lets her head fall to the side, frowning in skepticism. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

She takes a step forward, and Joel’s heart pounds in his chest, his face outwardly calm as his finger shifts to rest over the trigger. 

“You got enough ammo to kill us all?” She tests the waters, taking another small step forward, but when Joel trains the barrel of his gun on her and presses forward, she stops. 

“Listen.” Her face steels, hardening. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.  You can let us take what we need and we’ll leave after that, or we can kill you and then take what we need. Your choice.”

His jaw ticks, anger rising in his chest. “You’re not takin’ a goddamn thing. Get the fuck out of here before –”

A faint cry pierces the air, and he freezes, the woman doing the same. Joel’s body goes rigid at the sound of June’s cry, the woman’s eyes widening, and she peers over his shoulder at the cabin. 

June’s cries stutter for a moment before picking up in volume, and he pictures the exact face he knows she’s making. He knows that cry: an upset one that won’t settle any time soon. His heart lurches, an instinctual pull flooding through him to leave and soothe her. 

He pulls up straight instead, adjusting his aim square at the woman’s face.

Her hands quickly raise higher, this time facing outwards in supplication. “Look, I didn’t know.” Gesturing towards the woods, her tone softens. “We have kids too. The food is for them.”

Before Joel can move, a horse emerges from between the trees. And then another, then another. Trying to keep them all in his sight, the group collects in the area in front of him; June’s cries growing louder in their pitch from inside the cabin.

“Please,” one of the riders says. A woman, with a small child seated in front of her in the saddle. “If you have anything –”

“I already said we don’t.”

The coldness in his statement dies as his eyes focus on the kid’s face. While the rest of the group has their eyes on Joel, the child isn’t paying attention to him and his gun. Their eyes are solely fixed around the back of the cabin and have been since they emerged from the woods. On the garden, just beyond. 

“Please,” the rider begs one more time, quieter this time. “Please. We’ll take anything.”

Joel’s eyes linger on the kid’s slight frame, on the sunken rings underneath their eyes. Their face looks haunted, as if resigned to their hunger, and scolding himself for even wavering this long, he’s still thinking when the group's collective gaze shifts to something behind him. 

A door opening, then closing. 

Hearing the crunch of footsteps behind him, he sighs deeply, frustration evident in his disappointed tone.

“Go back inside.”

–

June quieted and left in the cabin, he burns next to you when you come to join him. 

“I heard everything through the window,” you explain. “I figured if you haven’t shot by now, it would be safe to come out.” 

A tension thrumming between your bodies in the air, you ignore the heat of his scolding stare. 

“Kids, Joel.” The word is spoken to him like a plea, and his jaw ticks before you take a look at the group for yourself. 

The first people you’ve seen in over a year. 

Worse for the wear with the sallow features of the starved, they look less…intimidating than you expected them to be. None of them have that shifty, hardened edge that you’d come to recognize in the QZ, nor the menacing, cruel stare of the people you’d met on the road before. They don’t look like how you imagine the other intruder looked either, the one you still see in your nightmares sometimes. 

Instead, they just look…tired. Hungry. The children seem dirty, but cared for. The mothers protect them in their slouched hold, the men remaining frozen under Joel’s command to stay still, his gun trained on the woman closest to him.

You picture the garden you heard them ask for: the basket of carrots still sitting in the sun, the squash vines spilling over the fence. You know they could kill you right here on the spot - but they don’t. They could have come in with guns drawn because you know they have them, but Instead they wait, trying to protect their kids. 

“I’m not gonna say it again, honey,” Joel seethes, measured and low. “Go back inside.”

“We’ll trade you.” 

A voice comes from a woman, clearly the leader of the group with the way they all keep glancing her way in silent deference, waiting. For someone staring down the barrel of a gun, she appears calm, her expression a practiced blank slate. Her age hard to determine due to the dust covering her skin, her voice is clear and measured, like she’s used to negotiating. 

“You don’t look like you have anythin’ to trade,” Joel replies coolly.

Thinking of your dwindling supplies outside of food, you rest your hand on his arm. “What’ve you got?” 

“What do you need?” she replies. 

Joel’s head tilts in warning, his feet shifting to further solidify his stance. “Answer her question.”

Her eyes run down the length of you, taking in your measure for a moment. “Got some liquor if you want it.” She gestures towards a saddle bag with a tilt of her chin, but Joel is already shaking his head. 

“Already got some.”

She quirks her eyebrow up. “Fine. Some medicine?”

“What kind?” you ask. 

“Painkillers. Ibuprofen. Tylenol. Might help with –”

“Already got some of that too,” he cuts her off. 

Sighing, the woman appears to think. Glancing at a man to the left of her, they have a silent conversation for a moment before she looks over at the garden. Staring at it for a moment, she brings her eyes back to you. 

“What about a horse?”

Joel’s jaw tightens in distrust. “Like you’re just gonna give us a horse. How much food do you think you’re gonna get from us?”

She shrugs, ignoring his anger to focus directly on you. “It’s yours, if you give us enough food for all of us. Not just the kids. Respectfully, it looks like you have plenty. Certainly enough for two people and a baby.”

The assumption in her tone and the challenge in mentioning your true numbers makes Joel bristle, but the woman doesn’t back down. If anything, she straightens taller, rising to his unspoken challenge. 

Tough and firm, she waits. 

Leaning towards him, you lower your voice so only he can hear it. “I can give them some of the –” 

He cuts you off with an immediate glare. “We need that food. You know it.”

“Yea, but we don’t need all of it. We have some to spare.”

He stares at you in stern, silent disagreement, and you continue. “I was just in the pantry. We can’t eat it all, Joel. I know what’s in there. Trust me. Those kids need to eat. They can have those carrots that I just picked, and –”

His eyes flit quickly back and forth between the group and your face, not wanting to keep his attention from them for too long. 

“It’s a horse, Joel. A horse.”

He narrows his eyes at you, a war within them. You know he knows the value of what they are offering. Eventually, he relents.

“We ain’t givin’ up our fresh stuff. If we have anything – anything - it’s gonna be the old stuff.”

Thinking of the sallow child in the saddle, you silently challenge him, but he stays resolute in his expression. 

“Fine,” you back down. “The old stuff.”

“Some of the old stuff. Not all of it.”

In agreement, you face the group again. 

“Don’t move,” Joel instructs. Flicking his head in the direction of the cabin, he motions to you. “She can get you some things, and then you need to be on your way.”

“What about the horse?” the woman asks. “One of us has to move if you want it. Where should we tie it up?”

He thinks for a moment, keeping his gun trained on her. Picking a spot a ways away from the cabin, he jerks his chin towards it. 

“Leave ‘em over there.”

–

Two faded floral pillowcases in your grip filled with what you could spare, you approach the group with careful and cautious steps, Joel taking a couple of slow strides to the left to keep you in his sights. 

“Are you okay?” the woman murmurs quietly when you reach her, glancing at Joel. 

Looking at her up close, there is a softness to her that you couldn’t see from far away. Her skin is weathered but still youthful, her long brown hair tied in a loose knot at the nape of her neck and you recognize concern held in her gaze.

You frown, not understanding. 

“That man there,” she tilts her chin at Joel. “He seems like a hard one. Is he keeping you here?”

Right when you’re about to defend him, June cries again, making her displeasure at being left alone again known. 

Leveling you with a look, the woman repeats herself, this time more direct. “I mean it. Are you okay? Do you need us to help you?” 

The implication is all over her face: a hard, threatening man all alone in the woods with a young woman. Holding her captive, forcing himself on her. A grim reality you’d seen plenty of times before, you understand her concern. Still, your response is a cool one, protective in your own right. “I’m fine. He’s just protecting us, like you’re doing with your own people.”

She studies your face for the truth. “He hasn’t hurt you or the baby, has he?”

“Of course not.” You understand her questioning, you do. Softening the edge to your response, you add, “He’s - he’s mine. We’re together. That’s our daughter crying.”

Her body language seems to relax along with her frown and she nods. Taking the sacks from you, she turns to pack them into the saddle bag of the horse next to her. 

“Must have been scary, giving birth out here all alone.”

You huff, a small smile at the edge of your lips to disguise the way the memory makes you swallow hard. “Yea, it wasn’t ideal. We were lucky.”

“I helped her do the same a couple months ago.” The woman tilts her chin at another woman in the back of the group, and for the first time, you notice a small bundle wrapped tight to her chest. Hidden, protected from the elements. “You heal okay?”

“It was…rough, but I’m good now.”

Seeming satisfied in her questioning, she digs around in the pouch for a moment. Fishing out a jar, she hands it to you. 

“I’m not sure how old your daughter is, but…here. Just in case you need it.”

A bottle of infant Tylenol being pressed into your hand, you look up to ask if she’s sure, but she cuts you off. 

“Listen. We’re headed West. Towards Ja –”

“Jackson?” you interrupt, and her eyebrows raise. Joel’s impatience radiating from his position behind you, you ignore it. “Someone came by a couple of months ago and tried to take what we had. Joel took care of it. We found the map in his pocket.”

She smirks. “So he’s real protective of you then.”

“Is it real? Jackson?”

Unsure if you should be prolonging this conversation or even informing them you know the way they’re going, you can’t help the question spilling from your mouth. Curiosity pulled at you for months after you found that map, the destination now even more intriguing after seeing children in the saddle. 

“Far as we know,” she replies, stuffing the bags away. “We heard from someone that it's safe. Safer than a QZ, though that doesn’t say much. They’re trying to keep it quiet, so they aren’t overrun with people, but…” her eyes flick towards the cabin. “It’s supposed to be off the grid. A place for families.”

Joel grits out your name behind you, and keeping the children in the forefront of your mind, you rush to say goodbye, giving her a warning.  

“You can’t stay in the area or he will shoot you. I promise you, he will.” Clear and direct with your words, you think you see something of understanding laced with respect cross her features. Before you can stop yourself, you add in haste, “There is another cabin about two miles from here though. We’ve been in it, and it’s clean and safe for you all to stay the night. You can eat, get some rest.”

Her shrewd gaze takes you in for a moment, and you squeeze the medicine held in your grip, praying you won’t come to regret what you just said. 

The edge of her mouth lifts in a small smile, and you let out a breath just as Joel says your name again, this time in a stern clip.

“Tess,” she says. Acknowledging the way Joel just told her your name, she offers her own. “My name is Tess. And thank you.”

The two of you coming to a silent understanding, you take a step back as she swings up onto the horse next to her, joining a rider already in the saddle. Motioning to the group with her hand, they all start to move. 

“Thanks,” she says to Joel as she passes, but he stays silent.

Leveling her with a frown, he keeps his gun trained on her until they disappear into the trees. 

–

Backing into the cabin to ensure it stays clear,  Joel only lowers his weapon after the door is closed. You follow him cautiously into the bedroom, waiting for him to erupt. 

You can tell he wants to, a tight bundle of anger set between his shoulder blades. His body is stiff as he picks June up to make sure she’s okay, and all the while, he keeps his back to you, as if trying to stay calm in her presence. 

Her safety confirmed, he hands her to you before stalking back out to head straight for the traps and even after checking those, he stays on the front porch with his rifle, waiting. 

Busying yourself with calming June down and eventually feeding her dinner, his anger with you weighs heavily in the space. Peeking every so often at his stern profile through the window, you put June to bed for the night, avoiding him as long as possible. 

Afraid of the disappointment you’ll see on his face, you linger by June’s cradle long after she falls asleep, questioning your decisions over and over again in your mind. 

In the end, you keep coming back to her milk cheeked profile as she sleeps. 

The clothes you piece together for her. The lack of medicine should she get sick. The even worse situation she’d be in if either of you did. The people that came by today, the conflict that was avoided because they were reasonable. 

You were right to give those children food. You know you were. If that had been June in the saddle, you would have done anything to get her food — including making a promise not to come back, especially knowing another child was depending on that source for their survival. 

It required belief in people instead of immediate distrust, and though you couldn’t explain how you knew, you just knew they could be trusted. 

Leaving her to join him on the porch, you’re expecting a calmer discussion with the hours that have passed, but he is still angry. Angrier than you’ve seen him in a long time. 

Part nervous, part sorry, and part wanting to defend yourself, you tuck your arms around your torso and step outside to where his profile greets you. 

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t just let them go, Joel. I couldn’t not give them anything. They were starving.”

He says nothing, keeping his eyes resolutely on the woods in front of him. 

“Please come inside. They aren’t coming back.”

He faces you, his voice cutting. “And how do you know that, huh?” 

You swallow hard, bracing yourself. “I told them about the other cabins. I told them they could stay the night there and get some rest if they needed – “

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His eyes flash in the darkness, his expression twisted with frustration. “We don’ want them to stay close. They need to move on, so we know they aren’t comin’ back for what we have.”

“They aren’t.”

“You think just because they said so, they won’t? You can’t just trust what people tell you. I know it’s been awhile, but I thought you woulda remembered that.”

Hurt cuts through you at his dismissive tone. This version of Joel is one you haven’t seen in a long time, a shadow of the man he was before he met you and it hurts, to be back where you were. To have him look at you the way he is. Blinking back tears, regret starts to seep into your mind, but you fight against it. 

You know he’s just protecting his own, and you are one of those people. His. 

“The woman said they are headed to Jackson.” 

At the mention of the town, he looks back at you. 

“Did you see the kids with them? One of the riders had a baby, around the same size as June. That woman – Tess? She helped deliver it.”

Chastened, he looks down at the ground at your mention of that time. 

“They wouldn’t start trouble with that many kids around. I know it.”

“They gotta feed them kids, don’t they?” He delivers his statement bluntly, looking up to hold eye contact with you. Weariness rings his eyes, his tone no less scolding for it. “You know just as much as I do that you would do anything for June. Anything. Including lyin’ to someone just to turn around and steal what they have.”

The truth in his words hangs heavy in the air between the two of you, and you press on. 

“I gave them ample food. They have no reason to come back. I even put some meat in there –”

At this, he stands, outraged. His jaw ticks as he glares at you for a long moment, eventually letting out a huff of disbelief. 

“Hell, why not some ammo too?”

Shaking his head, he glances away. 

Disappointment pours off his body, his back to you and a tear slips down over your cheek. All the words you practiced saying to him die on your tongue, every good point turning to ash under the heat of his anger. You understand his worry because it’s also your own worry, but…the way the woman looked at you, the way those women held their children, the hope held in the woman’s eyes as she talked about Jackson? 

They weren’t coming back. You knew they weren’t. 

You’d thought he’d at least be happy about the horse, but the thought of another mouth to feed keeps your own closed. 

Sitting back down, he flexes his hold on his rifle, resting it across his lap. His eyes won’t meet yours. 

“I’m gonna stay up and keep watch. Just in case they do decide to come back. You should just…go to bed.”

All of the fight sucked out of you, you nod at his dismissal and turn, going back inside. 

–

His disappointment in you eats at him.

Flares bright as he sits up all night, waiting for their shadowy figures to reappear. Simmers as he hears you soothe June back to sleep after feeding her. Lingers with a fade in his chest as the sun lightens the horizon, inky black turning into pinkish dawn. 

He knows you saw those children and gave without hesitation, thinking of June. He knows that. But he’s also thinking of June. Always. Equal parts impressed and frustrated by the hope that still exists inside you even after you’ve seen what the outside world is still capable of, he doesn’t know how you can still trust. You still give; you’re still kind. 

He appreciates those qualities in you, but to give away your rations and to take a gamble on them not coming back is more than letting your hope win. It’s dangerous, and he wishes you could see that. 

He knows now that this will happen again. Clearly a route marked on that map, it’ll be used in the coming months by other people. The fact that they could see your garden was bad enough, but the fact that it was a group of people was even worse. 

He can defend you against one man, but a group? There are limits to his skills; he knows more than anyone. 

You can’t stay here anymore. 

He fights against the knowledge, the memory of Sarah now woven in with the surroundings. So much more than a place for the three of you to stay hidden from the world, he sees it as a place where the four of you thrived: the ghost of Sarah visiting him freely here, as a welcomed presence. Finally not something he pushed to the darkest, safest corners of his mind as a means to keep her memory away from what the world turned into. 

Even in death, he protected her. 

He knows she’ll follow him wherever he goes, but that doesn’t solve the problem of wanting to be the father he’s got the chance to be with June as he is here — not as who he’d have to be, if you left. 

His palm running along the smooth barrel of the gun, he stares into the dark woods and keeps watch, his weary eyes ringed with the need for sleep. 

Jackson. 

Responsible for your safety and well being, does he take the gamble and bring you there? Does he find another spot hidden deeper in the woods, hoping that one won’t be discovered? One requires faith in the words of other people, the other requires faith only in his own skills. After everything he’s seen and done, he knows which way he wants to lean…but still, he thinks. 

Acknowledging the strength in numbers that you’ve been missing this whole time, a group encountering this place was a liability, but to be part of a group - that was a strength. Resources to help if June should get sick, other people around to take care of her if either of you should. Clothes, shoes, a shelter that isn’t slowing falling apart. 

Those were just the basics of human necessity, but other things worm their way into his mind. The things not needed to live, but needed to thrive. Socialization, a community. An image of  Sarah on the soccer field projects against the dark field in front of him; all grin and bright eyes at sleepovers, running around the park he used to bring her to when she wanted to play with her friends. 

Any QZ that he’s been in was never the suburb full of children that he raised Sarah in, but at least there were other kids. Other people. A means to provide more than what you could, here. And with Jackson being a place being off the grid…there was a possibility it was better than a QZ. The world-worn cynic in him knew it was a long shot, but still.

He pictures your shadowed face in the darkness, as you argued with him. The earnestness in your eyes, the words you used to try to make him understand your reasoning behind trusting them. He was too mad then to listen, but now…he understands why. 

Not only your belief in those people, but your belief in general. Understands that you’ve always needed to believe in something, in order for any of this to work. 

“No matter what, you keep finding something to fight for.” 

He said that to you in bed one night, speaking of you and June, and he thinks about how you’ve always believed it in the same thing your own way: your something to fight for was a future still possible. 

One that you’ve shown him to be true.

Rising stiff limbed from his position on the porch, it’s almost light when he wanders back into the silent cabin. 

He tries to be quiet in the kitchen as he digs through the drawer for the map, and finding it, places it on the counter. 

Making his way to the bedroom, he crawls into the space behind your curved spine and tucks himself around it, holding you close. 

In your sleep, you reach for him and grasping your hand in his, he fits the bridge of his nose into the soft nape of your neck and closes his eyes. 

[myballsyourballs]

Bakugo, Todoroki, and Midoriya with recovery girls grandson? They get injured and we kiss them to make em feel better. (:

a healthy recovery!

bakugo, todoroki and midoriya (seperate) x m! reader

genre: fluffy drabbles

notes: i enjoyed writing this! thanks for the req

masterlist | make a request

bakugo !

"Bakugo, seriously. Just let me--"

"Fuck off! I'm not letting your gross lips kiss me!" Bakugo is blushing furiously, limping around with a surprising amount of speed given his sprained ankle.

"Stop acting like such a child!"

"FUCK YOU!"

You quickly dart around the bed he's hiding behind, grabbing him by the nape of his neck and smashing your lips against his cheek. You activate your quirk quickly, and then pull back just as fast. "See, that wasn't so bad!"

Bakugo doesn't answer. In fact, he looks like he didn't even register your words. His face is completely red, but his features are contorted into the most furious scowl you've seen on him yet.

"Woah, okay... look, I'm just doing my job, okay? Please don't--"

"Bye."

Bakugo stomps off on his now healed ankle, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Once the door is slammed behind him, you swear you hear him mutter a "holy fucking shit holy shit oh my god holy shit"

...Nah, you're probably imagining things.

todoroki !

"You... have to kiss me?" Todoroki frowns at the burn on his arm.

"Yes. As I said, I'm Recovery Girl's grandson."

"She... has a grandson?"

"...Yes," you furrow your brows, watching as Todoroki stares at you with a perplexed yet intrigued expression. "Please just let me kiss you now."

He nods, and leans in with his eyes closed and lips puckered. Aiming for your lips.

"Woah, now!" quickly, you place a hand on his mouth. He opens his eyes, startled. "Take me out to dinner first. I meant on your cheek. Or your hand, or something."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

You feel kinda bad. The poor guy averts his eyes completely, the tips of his ears red and his head lowered. He raises his hand towards you, and you quickly grasp it and kiss him on the back of his hand.

Mesmerised, Todoroki watches as his burn slowly recedes until his skin is smooth and free of blemishes. "...Thank you."

"Not a problem!"

Silence, for a moment. You wonder why he hasn't left yet.

"Can I take you out to dinner?"

midoriya !

"Is your quirk an exact replica of Recovery Girl's?"

"Mine doesn't make you as tired."

"Really? How does that work? Does it use your stamina instead of the stamina of person you're healing? Or does it drain something else from someone? Let's say, their thirst? Maybe hunger? What about--"

"Midoriya," you sigh. He stops muttering. "I'm here to heal you. I'm happy to answer your questions, but you are getting blood all over the floor."

He looks down.

There's... a bit of a puddle. Not a big one, but still... a puddle.

"Give me your hand," you murmur, holding out your own hand. He obliges, blushing heavily when you gently grasp his. Bringing it up to your mouth, you kiss Midoriya's hand softly -- the large cut on his arm fading into pale, freckled skin.

"Perfect," you drop his hand. "Are you feeling better?"

He nods enthusiastically, inspecting his arm with interest. Midoriya watches intently as you walk over to the cupboards and grab a towel to mop up the mess on the floor. He stays silent for a minute or two, just watching quietly. Once you finish, he speaks once more.

"...Can I ask you questions now?"

[kitsuga]

Accidents Happen. {Mammon x Reader/MC}

Description: 

A fic in which Mammon sucks MC into another attempt to make money and have to run from Lucifer; accidental confessions are involved

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Tags: fluff, accidental confessions, mammon and his money making schemes again..., reader is mc in this one!, wrote this based on base game mammon not nightbringer, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, mammon x reader/mc, obey me! x reader/mc, obey me!/obm/om, mammon

Word Count: 1,212

A/N: Written on: June 26, 2021 

Hes so CUTE I had to write this, there was no stopping my hand 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Calm down, calm down—we have enough photos for everybody!”  

“Mammon, we’ve got another one asking if we have any of ‘Lucifer sneezing’. Why are they so specific?” 

“It’s funny, and he’s vulnerable; the perfect photo!” 

“Do you... have one?” 

“Nope! Tell ‘em to think bigger!” 

Mammon lost MC in the crowd again as succubus and demon both surrounded him, looking to get their hands on exclusive photos of his brothers. He was all smiles, laying his charm on thick to get as much money as he could out of all the suckers—30,000 grimm for a photo of Satan asleep on a garden bench? 500,000 grimm for a photo of Asmo in a face mask? These people were fools and he was ready for the bountiful gold harvest. 

Luckily, MC agreed to help him. They said they were only in it so long as they got a cut of the profits, but Mammon knew better; they were always the person he turned to for shenanigans because they were the only one willing to jump head-first into anything with him. He scanned the crowd for them again, his smile growing even wider when he caught sight of them smiling with another demon, a devilish glint in their eyes as they exchanged a photo for cash.  

All was going well—they were almost out of photos and they had made an absolute killing; Mammon even had a card reader for his D.D.D. where that direct deposit tasted so sweet. Even better—not a brother of his in sight! No Lucifer, not even a Diavolo! He looked over at MC who gave him a knowing smirk and a thumbs up. Mammon felt as though he were surrounded by the sun, the comfort of finally winning wrapping around him like a blanket—it didn’t last long. 

With a crowd this big, it was sure to draw attention sometime; despite its size and the large amount of people pushing and shoving to get to the center, Mammon could still pick out the ever-authoritative Lucifer among them all. His fever dream snapped and started crumbling within seconds; he called out to MC. 

“Shops closed! Thanks fer comin’! Time to book it, MC!” 

Hopping off of his makeshift pedestal, MC met up with him; he grabbed their wrist and started to hightail it out of the crowd, pushing, shoving, squeezing through people as he told them off when they complained. He could hear people behind the two of them complain more about being shoved and others squealing over the appearance of Lucifer. For a split second, Mammon considered staying within the confines of the crowd, just running in circles between people to keep the distance between the two of them and the ball of fury that was on his way—it was a short-lived plan as he realized Lucifer was starting to disperse the crowd; what was he supposed to do? What was he going to do? He nervously called out to MC. 

“Hey uh, got any ideas?” 

They clicked their tongue and flipped the script, grabbing onto his wrist and pulling him along instead. 

“Follow me and keep your head down!”  

They lead him in a zig-zag motion through the people before bursting out of the crowd straight into an alleyway where they ran as fast as they could. They made their way through various streets, alleys, anywhere they thought they could get away from Lucifer; whenever they thought they were far enough, they ducked into one last alleyway and hid behind some stray boxes and trash cans. They both collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily and lounging as though they were about to fall over completely and pass out at any moment. Once they both caught most of their breath, they finally looked at one another and started in a fit of giggles, steadily growing to a stomach-aching laughter. MC started to settle down first, wiping away a few stray tears while Mammon worked on slowing down back to giggles. 

“You know,” MC started, pausing to take a few breaths, “Lucifer’s going to make us give all that money back.” 

“Yeah,” Mammon could hardly get out through his laughter. 

“We’ll probably be punished severely.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ll just blame it on you.” 

“Hey!” Mammon pointed an accusatory finger in their direction. “You were in on it too! Don’t leave me hangin’ like that!” 

“Every person for themselves,” they stuck their tongue out and bit it, a smirk on their lips. 

Mammon glared at them, though it wouldn’t be for long since their smile turned to a shit-eating grin and he couldn’t help but reciprocate. They moved closer to him, tapping his chest with a fire in their eyes. 

“Besides, he won’t know about the money on Goldie if we don’t tell him!” 

Mammon’s smile grew from ear to ear, a warmth growing in his chest like a ripple with each tap of their finger. He didn’t realize they had moved so close, but he felt so warm and comfortable, he couldn’t help but look at them with a soft, loving look in his eyes. He spoke before he could think. 

“See? This is why I fell in love with ya, MC.” 

Their widened eyes staring back at him snapped him out of his love drunk gaze. He could feel his face heat up along with his chest this time, his eyebrows drawing together in false anger in an attempt to backtrack what he had said. His eyes darted around, looking everywhere except into MC’s, biting his tongue a lot as he tried to stammer through a few words, a few excuses, none of which were successful. He kept trying to turn his face away from them, but they simply followed his gaze, an evil smirk following his eyes around. 

“Quit it, will ya?” He closed his eyes and turned his face away again, “Forget it.” 

“Oh, come on Mammon, tell me what you said.” 

“I said nothin’!” 

“Something about falling in love with me?” 

“No!”  

Mammon stopped his back and forth arguing with them after they put a hand over his, leaning in dangerously close to his face. MC pushed his sunglasses up, taking a good look at him; he swallowed hard and found it almost impossible to look into their eyes, but pushed himself to do so anyways, even when they leaned all the way in and gave his lips a gentle kiss. 

Starstruck, lovestruck, whatever kind of struck he was, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t close his eyes, he couldn’t kiss back, he just sat there with wide eyes and his face as dark as it could go. MC didn’t stay long, pulling away with an innocent smile this time, reaching up to grab his chin gently and shake his face back and forth. 

“Well, you’ll have to love me later. Right now, I think we gotta get going.” 

They stood quickly and pulled him to his feet, taking off without him, laughing at him whenever he called out for them to wait. He sighed, both exasperated and in longing, and watched them as they went; maybe he’d take this money of his and take them out to a nice dinner for once. 

“Mammon...” A booming voice came from right behind him. 

Or... maybe not. 

[sant-riley]

Domestic Simon Riley? 👀 -🪴

[With you] [Simon 'Ghost' Riley domestic headcanons]

(Romantic Ghost x Reader)

Summary: Simon is your disconcerning boyfriend, to most people it seems as if he'd be incapable of gentle touches and affection, you know better though.

More info: You're apart of 141, no one knows you two are dating, you are younger than him and are shorter than him in this.

Warnings: usage of the word Girl once but it is more geared towards fem! (This is so fucking self indulgent im sorry) possibly ooc for Ghost (idc tbh) , do these even count as domestic? Idk ive never dated someone, nothing else that I know of but do let me know if there is anything that needs to be tagged!

Ghost is so painfully subtle in public with the way he treats you, he'll never outwardly do anything romantic but his actions and how he looks at you while he does it makes people pause.

In your own quarters or homes though, its different.

He's extremely attentive to you, your wants, your needs, your dislikes, he knows it all, he classifies it as important as missions. Simon didn't have a good father growing up, he didn't get to see what a good husband was supposed to be like, he's learning from the bottom up and he takes it seriously.

You'll never have to ask him to make breakfast, he's always up before you and has it cooked on the table with your drink.

Knows exactly when it's the time you wake up, and if he's able he'll go wake you up personally, brushing your hair out of your face and gently running his fingers through to detangle it from your sleeping.

Despite how cute you are sleeping in just his large hoodie, he won't let you sleep in, y'all got stuff to do.

He'll pick you up and bring you down to the table, pressing a kiss to your temple, if that doesn't wake you up (you usually will look up for a real kiss), he isn't afraid to grab your face in one hand and just, smoosh your face, he knows you hate it but it's gonna wake you up bc you're trying to slap his hand away.

He sits across from you, but reaches out one arm across the table with his palm facing up so you can grab it whenever, he likes it when you play with his hands.

Don't get me started on Simon and washing dishes, he always takes over washing duty and let's you dry ‘em. But every other time, he's gonna let his hands stay wet and will tell you to “think fast” and flick water over you (if you truly hate it, he'll stop though)

you know that saying of peeling oranges? He's the biggest proof that there is somewhere out there that will do it for you without question. Doesn't matter what it is, if you don't prefer driving, he has no complaints about driving you everywhere, if you don't like washing your hair? Just tell him what products and what order you use them in, just sit there and relax.

If you wear makeup and you're too tired to take it off yourself, he'll do it for you and it makes me emotional.

In your shared bathroom, he sets you on top the counter and uses one hand to gently grab your chin, taking the remover and firmly rubbing off your eyeshadow/eyeliner/blush/etc, afterwards he'll murmer a “that's my girl.” (He loves you with or without makeup, but he loves you for you, doesn't matter which you choose to do that day or any day)

He covers the corners of the meeting tables when you bend down to grab at the pen you dropped, it's just second nature for him to protect you from hurting yourself. He's yanked you from the street, picked you up just with one arm to make sure you don't walk into something gross on the street, gotten in front of strangers who try and get in your face for something. His body completely covers your own, and he always has weapons on his person, he isn't afraid to resort to maiming someone for you, you're his number one priority.

Simon loves having you sleep on top of him, he finds the weight a good reminder that you're there, you're not going anywhere if you do, he'll notice right away. If you get up to go to the kitchen, he'll sleepily follow you and just stare at you for an uncomfortable amount of time til you realize he's there. He'll make fun of you too “You should know ‘m right here, what kind of soldier isn't aware-” “Simon, I'm literally in just a bra and boxers right now.”

He demands your attention, this is one he'll do on bass in front of others bc technically he can get a with it. You're next to a recruit he doesn't like? Suddenly there's papers on a recent mission he needs your signature on, or he needs you for special 141 training reasons (he wants you to come with him to the dining hall, he's hungry and he doesn't want to go alone)

Dude stands right up against your back, in every scenario. His chest is probably an inch away from your back. He's playfully called your shadow by Price and the rest of the guys.

He grabs your hips alot, usually just to rest his hands there, occasionally rubbing small circles into the flesh, humming.

Simon will try and subtly leave as well if you leave the room, he gives it 10 minutes before he makes his way out to find wherever you wandered off too 

Price finds it fucking hilarious, he'll look down at his watch and mentally countdown to when Simon makes his escape. Simon can fool most people but not John, the way Ghost will tap his foot and roll his shoulders are tell tale signs that he's had enough of being there.

He'll dance if you want him to, though he simply sways with you in his arms, if you're of a specific culture, he'll try his best to learn it but no promises, while he is fast learner and perfects everything he does, he's a big man, he's not that graceful.

Without thinking if he sees you're cold, he's stripping off his jacket to give it to you, he doesn't ask, he just moves behind you to drape it over your shoulders.

He'll take off his mask with you, and let you trace the scars that litter his face, let you trace his features too, he's fallen asleep to you doing it and he doesn't know how much you cried silently when he did.

Simon practices new jokes on you, to get your opinion of them until he can tell the others, the louder you groan the better the joke is in his eyes.

Soap asks why you don't even react anymore and you just sigh. You are tired.

When he's especially annoyed and done with the day, he just shoves his head into your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you in a death grip while he takes deep breaths, in the least weird possible, your scent and body so close to him helps him destress.

One thing he makes a huge point to do is to clean your guns for you, yes you should do it yourself but ever since y'all have gotten together, he's taken it upon himself.

He's scared, more scared than anything that something will go wrong when you're both not on the same mission, this is just a way he can ensure your gun will fire correctly and efficiently, that you can defend yourself when he isn't there.

Speaking of weapons, he gives you one of his personal knives for you to keep, he'll ask for it back only to sharpen it, everything has to stay in its best shape.

Likes when you drape yourself over him when he's sitting, alas he is just a man so he likes to feel your chest against his back.

Pulls you into his lap if you walk by, he'll let you get up if you truly want to but he'll position you to sit sideways and will rub your legs as he watches whatever is on the TV.

For anyone who has arthritis, Ghost will take the time to rub your ointments into your hands, he knows what weather makes then worse and keeps his own tube of it onhand so he's prepared.

He's always buying you things, he knows that it's not necessary but for him, it sees it as ‘if for some reason I fail at something else, at least I can provide this’ someone hug him he's fighting for his life.

Stocks up on every single essential you can ever need, your comfort food and snacks? Always on base and always at your flat, if you two are walking around the shoppes and he sees you eyeball anything, bet your ass he's going online to order it for you immediately, and when it shows up, he just shrugs. He doesn't see it as a big deal, it's just money. Which is very cute but also a ps5 is NOT cheap sir, you can't just-

[ponyosmom35]

don't ever talk to her like that again

Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Liability chapter ten!

synopsis: Ghost forgets to come by and get his wound checked and the reader confronts him in front of 141, who make fun of him. he goes to her and catches a soldier yelling at her.

warnings: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, cursing, angsty ghost

Liability masterlist:

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

The next day was busy, she worked at least 16 hours, hopping between the soldiers, tending to their wounds. All of them were kind except for one. James was the young man whom she saved with Ghost the day prior. For whatever reason he seemed to dislike her. He made comments the entire day that had been slowly upsetting her. She tried not to think about it, and even asked to switch with another medic. She didn’t want him going around to others and telling them that she was an awful caretaker. 

Things settled down around 5 pm, most of the soldiers were fast asleep. She sits dwon for the first time that day after 12 hours of work and runs her hand over her hair. Her legs were on fire, as was her neck and her back. Yet you could never tell just but looking at her. She looks down at her files and goes over them all. She updated the treatment they’d received that day. She picks up the last file, noticing that it was the partially filled-out page she had for Ghost. She was unable to find his file without knowing his name. She huffs as she remembers that she’d told him to come visit her today. She leaves the files on her desk and walks through the dining hall, she spots him sitting at a crowded table with 141 and many others. Deciding to take a break she grabs a plate and sits down next to Soap and across from Ghost. 

“ankle biter! My god it's great to see you” Soap exclaims 

“Good to see you too suds” she says pushing his shoulder, the table chuckles at her cute nickname for him.

“How you been today? Haven’t seen you take a break once” Price comments “Yeah its been busy, everyone seems to be settled now” she nods

“You’ve done such a great job here, Ghost briefed me last night. You’re a real asset kid, thanks for the hard work, hope you know its appreciated” 

“Thank you, captain, that means a lot” she nods happily, as her cheeks turn pink

“Any of em giving you a hard time?” Gaz asks “sometimes we can be stubborn after gettin hurt”

“Just one, he’s fine though, doesn’t bother me”

“Who is it?” Ghost asks roughly, his intense gaze on her. Everyone turns to him in surprise, as he hasn’t said a word the whole time. 

“Doesn’t matter, but I am curious why you haven’t stopped by today, I need to check your stitches” she says crossing her arms, eyebrows raised as she waits for his explanation. The boys exchange glances, smirks on their faces as they await his response. 

“I’m good, don’t need anything else” 

“You are on the brink of an infection, I need to clean it out again”

“It’s fine-”

“If I don’t see you in my office before lights out I’ll drag you in there myself” she warns, pointing her fork at him. 

“Better not test her mate, I hear gingers are crazy” Soap murmurs 

“Shut up Johnny” Ghost snaps 

“You have three hours Ghost, don’t push me” she half-jokes “alright boys, I better get back to it, enjoy your dinner”

“You barely ate!” Price comments 

“No time, I’ll grab something later” she smiles before leaving the table.

After she’s out of earshot the men erupt into laughter, slamming their hands on the table as they cackle. Ghost sits there with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed at Soap.

“she got your ass LT” 

“I’ve never seen a bird talk to you that way, my god I love that woman” Gaz exclaims as he wipes his tears 

“She’s got you good doesn’t she eh Ghost?” Price asks slamming his hand on Ghost’s back. 

“What makes you say that?” he questions angrily, causing them to laugh loudly once more.

“You’re killing me LT, I can’t stand it” Soap says wiping the tears in his eyes

“Let me put it to you this way mate, I’ve never seen anyone speak to you like that and walk away unharmed. You didn’t even say a word! Never would’ve thought a bird would hold you by the balls like that, I’m glad to see it though” Gaz says sincerely, Ghost shakes his head and stands up holding his empty plate. Soap and Gaz continue to giggle and he glares at them intensely, both shut up and cover their mouths to hide their laughs.

“Fucking idiots” he comments

Ghost walks over to the food and makes a plate of food, he grabs a napkin and silverware before walking to the medical bay. He could hear a loud voice yelling and frowns. He walks closer to the source and sets the food down. 

“You fucking bitch! You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, get me a new doctor!” a voice yells

“James, I know it hurts but I have to clean it out, you don’t want an infection trust me” he hears her voice explaining calmly. Ghost stays outside, knowing that she could handle herself. He knew she’d be upset if he came in and defended her. Though every part of him was itching to rip that kid’s throat out. 

“No I don’t fucking trust you! You’d rather bounce on Ghost’s dick than actually do your job!” he yells

His eyes widen at that comment and he can’t control the rage that fills his body. Ghost storms into the room, his heavy footsteps causing them to turn and look at him. 

“Ghost-” James starts, in the blink of an eye he’s standing above the wounded soldier gripping his collar and holding him up. His heart rate spikes on the machine and he ignores it. 

“You fucking insignificant bastard, how dare you speak to a woman like that?!” he demands 

“Ghost it’s fine-” she starts 

“If I hear you speak to her like that ever again I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me? I don’t give a fuck if you’re in a hospital bed, only makes it easier” he threatens 

“okay man!” James says with tears in his eyes

“This woman saved your life! You’d be rotting six feet under if it weren’t for her. Show her some goddamn respect!”

“I’m sorry!” he cries out

“You will be once I’m done with you” Ghost drops him on his back forcefully. She places a hand on his forearm, instantly catching his attention at the touch. 

“Come on, lets clean you up” she says pulling him out of the room “someone will help you soon James, hang tight” 

She leads Ghost into a spare room and closes the door behind her. He doesn’t say a word as he breathes heavily, his hands clenched as he tried to keep himself from going back and finishing the kid off. 

“Can you take off your jacket?” she asks, her voice gentle. He looks up at her, her eyes were red and she was visibly exhausted. He does as told and unzips the thick fleece provided by the force. He reveals the tight black tee shirt he’d worn underneath and she inhales a sharp breath quietly as she stares at the way his muscles pop from the shirt. This was the second time she’d seen his bare arm, and she was still in shock. Fuck he was so sexy.

“besides what just happened, Have you been keeping yourself on light duty?” she asks, seemingly trying to move past the incident that just took place. 

“Yes”

“Oh at least you followed one of my instructions” she comments sarcastically 

“Are you okay?” he asks as she begins to slowly unwrap his wounds 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“James-”

“James is a dick but you could’ve really hurt him” she says disapprovingly. 

“He can’t talk to you like that”

“Unfortunately that’s a part of the job Ghost, angry soldiers need someone to blame, often times the person in front of them trying to help”

“Still gives him no right” he grunts, she begins to clean out his wounds gently as she sighs. He says inherently apologizing for the way he treated her when she tried to help him months back.

“Then he would’ve blamed me for that too, made the rumors worse” 

“If you want me to apoligize its not going to happen” he responds 

“I don’t expect you to apoligize, I actually think it was really sweet what you did for me. Nobody’s ever defended me like that before” she muses 

“Never?” 

“No”

“You let me know if he opens his mouth again, I’ll make sure those are the last words that rat bastard ever speaks” he says, watching as her face lightens and she laughs. The sound is like music to his ears, the tense feeling in his stomach dissipating. 

“I think you’ve scarred him straight” 

“Fucker” he murmurs under his breath. 

“I’m a big girl ghost, I can handle my own” she says 

“I know you can, but I didn’t ask you to” he responds causing her to snort. “What would you have said to him?” 

“I probably would’ve warned him not to threaten the person trying to help him, sound familiar?” she asks, he laughs and nods his head. 

“very” 

“Okay you’re all set” she says, fixing his sleeve “do you want anything for the pain?”

“No” he says, standing to his feet, his large stature once more towering over her. 

He moves to the door and opens it, gesturing for her to walk in front of him. She smiles and walks into the common room, noticing a plate of food on the table. She frowns and walks over to it. “I wonder whose this is” 

“I brought it for you” he comments, watching as she looks up at him in surprise “probably cold now”

“That was really sweet, thank you” she says taking a seat as she picks at it. 

“Thank you for…” he trails off gesturing to his arm

“Anytime” she nods, watching as he turns to walk away, her eyes widen and she stands calling after him. Ghost turns, staring down at her in confusion. 

“So I know you go by Ghost but I need your real name so I can update your file” she says, his body tenses and he glares down at her, she notices and shifts uncomfortably “Its protocol, legally I can’t keep using a blank form” 

His mind races as he thinks of a way to get out of this situation. She seems to notice his distress and shakes her head. 

“You know what, I’ll talk to Price and figure it out, no problem” she says, watching as he sighs in relief. 

“Have a good night Ghost” she smiles before walking away.

-

Later that night she walks into her room, fresh out of the shower. She opens her door and notices it catching on something. She frowns and opens it all the way, noticing a file on the ground. She picks it up and opens it. At the top it read ‘Lieutenant Simon Riley’. Her heart swells as she nearly drops the file on the ground. A large smile spreads across her face as her cheeks turn pink. Simon, his name was Simon. He trusted her enough to reveal his name. 

She spends an hour filling out his medical report, unable to keep the smile off of her face. As she finishes she sets the file on her bedside table and crawls under her covers. She lays on her back, staring up at the ceiling with a smile. Her heart racing at the thought of him. Simon Riley had her wrapped around his big ass fingers. 

a/n: giggling and kicking my feet rn! I am losing my mind at this, ugh how sweet.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Hell House | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, unwanted sexual advances toward reader (nothing crazy, just uncomfortable flirtation)

Word Count: 6125

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

After leaving John and the Daevas behind, you and the boys began heading to Texas to investigate a potential case.

Sam slept in the front seat of the car as Dean cruised down Interstate 35. He looked at you suspiciously, smirking in the rearview mirror.

“What?” you whispered.

“Watch this,” Dean told you, grabbing a plastic spoon from the backseat next to you and put it in Sam’s mouth. Snickering, he took a picture with his phone before turning the music up loud. You rolled your eyes and laughed as Sam jerked up waving his arms and trying to spit the spoon out.

“Ha ha, very funny,” the younger Winchester said un-amusedly.

Dean gave what you could only describe as a giggle. You thought it was adorable. “Sorry, not a lot of scenery here in East Texas; kinda gotta make your own.”

“Man, we're not kids anymore, Dean. We're not going to start that crap up again,” Sam stated.

“Start what up?” you asked.

“Prank stuff. It's stupid, and it always escalates,” Sam explained to you.

Dean mocked, “Aw, what's the matter Sammy, scared you're going to get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?” replied Dean.

“Alright, just remember you started it.”

“Ah ha, bring it on baldy.”

“Guys, I am not going to mediate or participate in a prank war,” you jumped in.

“Nobody asked you to, sweetheart,” Dean flippantly responded. “But don’t be surprised if you get caught in the crossfire.”

“Dean—!”

“Where are we anyway?” Sam cut you off.

“A few hours outside of Richardson. Gimme the lowdown again?” Dean asked.

“About a month or two ago, this group of kids goes poking around in this local haunted house.”

“Haunted by what?” you asked.

“Apparently, a pretty misogynistic spirit,” he answered.

“Oh, great,” you grumbled.

Sam laughed. “Legend goes, it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters. Anyway, this group of kids see this dead girl hanging in the cellar.”

You scoffed. “Oh, even better.”

“Anybody ID the corpse?” asked Dean.

“Well, that's the thing. By the time the cops got there the body was gone. So cops are saying the kids were just yanking chains.”

“Maybe the cops are right,” the older brother suggested.

“Maybe, but I read a couple of the kids' firsthand accounts. They seemed pretty sincere,” Sam shrugged.

“Where’d you find those?” you asked.

The brunet hesitated, seeming a little embarrassed. “Well, I knew we were going to be passing through Texas. So, um, last night, I surfed some local… paranormal websites. And I found one.”

“And what's it called?” Dean prompted.

“HellHoundsLair.com.”

“Lemme guess, streaming live out of Mom's basement.”

Sam grinned. “Yeah, probably."

“Yeah. Most of those websites wouldn't know a ghost if it bit 'em in the persqueeter,” Dean quipped.

“Look, we let Dad take off. Which was a mistake, by the way. And now we don't know where the hell he is, so in the meantime, we gotta find ourselves something to hunt. There's no harm checking this thing out.”

“Agreed. But not on the mistake part— I’m not getting involved in that argument,” you said.

“Good call,” Dean responded. “So where do we find these kids?”

“Same place you always find kids in a town like this,” Sam said. He directed his brother to a fast food outlet called “Rodeo Drive.”

You interviewed all of the kids who had been involved in the incident, and the only detail they could agree on in their story was that a teen named Craig had been the one to introduce them to the house.

***

The next day, you went to the record stop Craig worked at and posed as interviewers trying to get his side of the story on a paranormal feature you were writing. Sam had asked him about the house he’d taken his friends to. 

“You mean the Hell House?” the teen answered.

“That’s the one,” answered Dean.

“I didn't think there was anything to the story,” Craig shrugged.

“Why don't you tell us the story,” Sam told him.

Craig quieted his voice and looked around for eavesdroppers. “Well, supposedly back in the '30s this farmer, Mordechai Murdoch, used to live in this house with his six daughters. It was during the Depression, his crops were failing, he didn't have enough money to feed his own children. So I guess that's when he went off the deep end.”

“How?” you questioned.

“Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quick, rather than starve to death. So he attacked them. They screamed, begged for him to stop but he just strung 'em up, one after the other. And when he was all finished, he just turned around and hung himself. Now they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside.”

‘Oh, that’s just great.’

“Where'd you hear all this?” Dean questioned.

“My cousin Dana told me. I don't know where she heard it from. Ya gotta realize, I— I didn't believe this for a second.”

“But now you do,” the younger brother finished for him.

“I don't know what the hell to think, man. You guys, I— I'll tell you exactly what I told the police, ok? That girl was real. And she was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to God, I don't wanna go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?”

***

You and the boys headed to the Hell House. It was more like a dilapidated shack at this point; it looked like it had been made with wooden boards that were probably rotting and hollowed out by termites. The path up to the house was muddy, and the house itself was in the middle of nowhere surrounded by woods. Add “woods” on top of “misogynistic ghost,” and you were thoroughly worried about this hunt.

“Can't say I blame the kid,” Sam commented, taking in the appearance of the house.

“Yeah, so much for curb appeal,” quipped Dean. “You gonna be okay, sweetheart? You look like you’re gonna hurl.”

You looked up at Dean. “Well, misogynistic ghosts that kill any girl who goes inside don’t exactly tickle my fancy.”

Dean’s tone became a little more sincere, but still filled with his typical sarcastic charm. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine. I’m a big girl; I can handle myself. Just uneasy, that’s all.”

“Hey, (Y/N)?” Sam asked. “I realized something back in Chicago.”

“What’s that?” you asked while you ducked under the police tape blocking the door. 

“You never told us where you’re from. You know we’re from Lawrence, so, what’s your story?”

“Honestly, Sammy, I have no idea,” you responded. “My parents never told me. I don’t have a copy of my birth certificate either. If it weren’t for my mom using my middle name when she was mad at me, I wouldn’t even know what it was. Don’t know my social security number, either. I’m not even confident the government has record of my existence.”

“Huh,” replied Sam. “How’d your mom even have time for a kid if she’s been hunting since you were born?”

You took out your flashlight and continued looking around while you talked to Sam. “That’s the thing, she didn’t. My mom was never really a mom to me, and she certainly wasn’t to my little brother. Even though he was only two years younger than me, I kind of had to fill the role of ‘mom’,” you explained.

Sam looked at you sadly. “I’m sorry.”

“Meh, it’s whatever,” you shrugged. “You got something?”

Dean was looking around with his EMF meter. It was beeping, but not making sounds indicative of a usual reading. “Ye-ah,” he sounded unsure. “The EMF’s no good.”

“Why?” Sam questioned.

Dean looked at the power lines just outside the house. “I think that thing's still got a little juice in it. It's screwing with all the readings.”

“Yeah that'd do it,” Sam sighed.

“Looks like old man Murdock was a bit of a tagger here in his time, though,” Dean stated, looking at the symbols covering the walls.

“And after his time too. That reverse cross has been used by Satanists for centuries, but this sigil of sulfur didn't show up in San Francisco until the '60s,” Sam informed.

You and Dean stared at Sam for a moment before the older brother quipped, “That is exactly why you never get laid.”

You patted Sam’s shoulder. “I think it’s cool,” you assured him. 

He returned your smile. “Thanks, (Y/N).”

Dean moved to another wall with a cross with a dot in the middle. The bottom piece of the cross looked almost like a fishhook. “Hey, what about this one? You guys seen this one before?”

Sam shook his head, but you felt a sense of vague recognition, too. “Somewhere, I think.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean said.

Sam rubbed the symbol. “It's paint. Seems pretty fresh too.”

Dean sighed. “I don't know, Sam. You know I hate to agree with authority figures of any kind, but... the cops may be right about this one.”

A sudden noise had you on high alert. You and Dean flanked one side of the door, guns drawn, and Sam took the other. Dean nodded, and the three of you burst through only to be met with blinding lights in your eyes.

“Oh, cut. It's just a coupla humans,” a nasally male voice said. 

The two men before you both donned backpacks and baggy cargo pants. They were around your height and seemed like complete involuntarily-celibate nerds to you.

“What are you guys doing here?” the same guy asked. He held an electrical device in one hand while the other man held a video camera.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean’s gruff reply came.

“Uh, we belong here; we're professionals?” the man said matter-of-factly.

You scoffed. “Professional what?”

The man eyed you up and down before answering, and you fought the cringe crawling up your spine. “Paranormal Investigators.” He handed you a business card. “There you go, take a look at that, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you gritted through your teeth.

Dean took the card from you, saying, “Easy, tiger.” He read it and muttered, “Oh, you gotta be kidding me.”

“Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spengler? Hellhoundslair.com. You guys run that website,” Sam noted.

The man who had been looking you up and down who’d identified himself as Ed nodded proudly.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, we're huge fans,” Dean grinned.

“And ahh, we know who you guys are too,” Ed said confidently.

You shot a sideways glance to Dean. “Oh yeah?”

“Amateurs.”

You and Dean immediately lost interest.

Ed continued, “Looking for ghosts and cheap thrills.”

“Yep. So if you guys don't mind, we're trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here,” Harry finished.

“Really? What have you got so far?” you asked.

“Harry, why dontcha tell 'em about EMF?”

Sam played dumb, too. “EMF?” You could tell he was fighting a smile.

“Electromagnetic field? Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector. Like this bad boy right here.” Harry gestured to the machine Ed was holding, who turned it on.

“Whoa. Whoa. It's 2.8mg,” Harry noted.

“2.8. It's hot in here,” Ed grinned.

Dean whistled in mock admiration. “So you guys ever really seen a ghost before, or…?”

“Once. We were, uh— We were investigating this old house and we saw a vase fall right off the table—” 

“By itself,” Harry finished.

“Well, we, we we we didn't actually see it, we heard it. And something like that… it, uh… it changes you,” Ed said solemnly.

“Yeah. I think I get the picture. We should go, let them get back to work,” Dean broke their stupor. “C’mon, (Y/N).”

He led you and his brother out of the room with the two guys in it. Dean stood behind you protectively.

“What?” you asked him as he led you out of the house.

“Didn’t like how he was looking at you,” he grumbled before seeming to realize what he had just admitted. “And… uh, misogynistic ghosts, and all.”

A smile spread across your face. “Thanks.”

***

You and the boys headed to a diner for some cheap burgers and beer before you decided to hit the road. You couldn’t find any missing persons matching the description of the Jane Doe that had been in the house, nor could Sam find anything on a Mordechai Murdoch. The real man had existed under a different name. You ruled the case a bust, and just wanted to relax a little before leaving town. 

“How’s that thing on your leg healing?” Dean asked you, referencing the deep gashes you’d received in Chicago.

“Meh, it’s okay,” you shrugged, taking a sip of your beer. “It’s way better than it was a few days ago.”

“Good,” he nodded before clearing his throat. “So? Sammy, you got anything?” 

His brother was scrolling the internet in search of a new case when something caught his attention. “Dude.”

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison.

“The Hell House.”

***

Emergency vehicles and officials hurried about, interviewing witnesses and wheeling out a stretcher with a body bag on it. The sinking feeling you got from the Hell House returned to your stomach as you and the boys approached it.

“What happened?” Dean asked a bystander.

“A couple of cops say a girl hung herself in the house,” explained the bystander. “She was a straight A student with a full ride to UT, too. It just don't make sense.” He walked away from the two of you.

“I don’t understand,” you started. “How could we’ve missed something?”

“I don’t know,” Sam shook his head. 

“Back to the drawing board, I guess,” Dean sighed.

You waited for the emergency vehicles to clear out and allow you and the boys the ability to get another look at the house. Two cops remained guarding it, though, to which Sam commented, “I guess the cops don't want anyone else screwing around in there.”

You and the brothers were crouched in the bushes, trying to plan how to get in the house. You then heard whispers that caught your attention, and turned to see Ed and Harry clunkily approaching with cumbersome backpacks and gadgets covering them from head to toe.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean grumbled. “I got an idea.” 

You shot him a confused look while he stood a little taller and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Who ya gonna call!”

You almost burst out in giggles at his stupid reference. 

“Hey, you!” one of the cops called and took off running in the direction of Ed and Harry. The two guys turned and sprinted away. Well, sprinted as much as they could with their heavy packs.

You and the boys rushed into the abandoned house, passing each other weapons from the duffel bag. Dean was transfixed by the symbol on the wall. “Where have I seen that symbol before? It's killing me!”

“Yeah, me too, but we don’t have much time,” you urged him, slapping a shotgun in his hand and pulling him further into the home. You headed down to the basement and took in your dust-covered surroundings. You could feel your allergy beginning to get aggravated while you looked around.

“Hey, Sam. I dare you to take a swig of this,” Dean grinned, holding up a jar he found on one of the shelves.

“What the hell would I do that for?” scoffed the younger brother.

“...I double dare you.”

Sam just shook his head and continued walking.

You flinched and grabbed Dean’s arm at a sound coming from within a cabinet. Dean looked to you and back at the cabinet before the two of you took either side of the cabinet’s doors. At Dean’s nod, you threw the door open. Rats inside it squeaked and scurried away from the light of Sam’s flashlight. 

“Arghh!” Dean yelped. “I hate rats.”

Sam scoffed. “You'd rather it was a ghost?”

Dean considered, but nodded. “Yes!” Dean suddenly looked up at something above your head, and you shrieked at the sight of an ax nearly hitting you squarely on your forehead. Dean yanked you away just in time and shielded you with his body protectively. He shot at the ghost of the tall farmer wearing a colorless straw hat that wasn’t at all deterred by the rocksalt. He shot once more, but it was still there. And then the final time, Mordechai disappeared.

“What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rock salt?” Sam questioned frantically.

“I don’t know! Come on, come on!” Dean urged you and his brother. 

You ran toward the stairs, and Mordechai smashed his ax down through the shelves right next to your head. You raised your gun at him and shot multiple times, praying it would work. Nothing worked, and you narrowly missed another swing of the ghost’s ax before you fled.

“(Y/N), let’s go!” Sam called, running ahead of you. You and the boys sprinted out of the door of the house, only to be met with flashlights and a camera in your face.

“Get that damn thing outta my face,” Dean commanded before hurrying away again. You and the boys left the Hell House in the dust. 

“You okay?” Dean asked you when you returned to the car.

You tried to catch your breath, slumping into the backseat. “Holy shit,” you muttered. “I think so. You?”

He nodded. “Fine.”

“But Dean.”

“Hm.”

“You’re sweet, but I don’t need you to protect me. I can hold my own,” you told him.

Dean scoffed. “It’s a misogynistic ghost, (Y/N). I’m obviously gonna be a little concerned.”

You smiled fondly, but held your position. “I know. Just… I can handle it. You don’t have to worry about me.”

He just grunted in response.

***

The next day, you and the boys were hanging out in their motel room. You and Sam were at your laptops researching while Dean sat on his bed scribbling in a notepad.

“What the hell is this symbol? It's buggin' the hell outta me. This whole damn job's buggin' me. What was with those slit wrists? I thought the legend says he hung himself.”

“That’s what you’ve been scribbling all this time?” You looked up from your laptop. “That symbol?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered. “But seriously, what the hell is going on here?”

Sam jumped in, saying, “And the ax too. I mean, ghosts are usually pretty strict, right? Following the same patterns over and over?”

“But this mook keeps changing,” Dean added.

“Exactly. I'm telling ya, the way the story goes... wait a minute.”

“What?”

“Someone added a new post to the Hell Hound site. Listen to this. 'They say Mordechai Murdock was really a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an ax before slitting his own wrists. Now he's imprisoned in the house for eternity.”

“What the fuck?” you questioned, sliding Sam’s laptop over to yourself. “How the hell is he changing?”

“I don't know,” Dean broke in, “but I think I might have just figured out where it all started.”

***

Your next stop was the music store Craig worked at.

“Hey Craig? Remember us?” Dean asked the teen who was organizing records.

“Guys, look I'm really not in the mood to answer any of your questions ok?” Craig answered.

“Oh, don't worry. We're just here to buy an album, that's all.” Dean flipped through a stack of records, and you looked over his shoulder. You suddenly realized where he was going with this. He picked up a Blue Oyster Cult album, and you nodded in acknowledgment as you put together the symbol had been the logo for the band.

“You know, I couldn't figure out what that symbol was, and then, I realized that it doesn't mean anything. It's the logo for the Blue Oyster Cult,” Dean said, putting the album on the counter across from Craig. “Tell me Craig, you, uh, you into BOC? Or just scaring the hell outta people? Now why 'n't you tell us about that house. Without lying through your ass this time.”

Craig sighed. “Alright, um. My cousin Dana was on break from TCU. Ah, I guess we were just bored, looking for something to do. So I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be funny if we made it look like it was haunted. So we painted symbols on the walls; some from some albums, some from some of Dana's theology textbooks. Then, we found out this guy Murdock used to live there so we— we made up some story to go along with that. So they told people, who told other people. And then these two guys put it on their stupid website. Everything just took on a life of its own. I mean I, I thought it was funny at first but... now that girl's dead! It was just a joke, you know. I mean, none of it was real, we made the whole thing up. I swear!”

You knew he hadn’t meant any harm. “Okay. Thank you.”

You and the boys left an emotional Craig standing at the counter. 

“If none of it was real how the hell do you explain Mordechai?” Dean asked.

“I have no idea,” you responded.

***

The next morning, you and the boys headed out to get some breakfast and coffee. Sam was shifting uncomfortably every few seconds in his seat. “What’s your deal, dude?” you asked.

His response was a grimace before he explained he thought Mordechai might be a Tulpa. “Okay, so there was this incident in Tibet in 1915. Group of monks visualized a golem in their head. They meditated on it so hard they brought the thing to life. Outta thin air.”

“So?” Dean said.

“That was twenty monks. Imagine what ten thousand web surfers could do. I mean, Craig starts the story about Mordechai, then it spreads, goes online. Now there are countless people all believing in the bastard,” Sam replied.

“Now wait a second. Are you trying to tell me that just because people believe in Mordechai, he's real?”

Sam shifted again. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“People believe in Santa Claus— how come I'm not getting hooked up every Christmas?” Dean remarked.

“ ‘Cause we’re bad people,” you remarked. Dean seemed convinced by your answer.

“And because of this.” Sam turned his phone to you and Dean to show you a photo of a symbol on one of the walls of the Hell House. “That's a Tibetan spirit sigil. On the wall of the house. Craig said they were painting symbols from a theology textbook. I bet they painted this; not even knowing what it was. Now, that sigil has been used for centuries, concentrating meditative thoughts like a magnifying glass. So people are on the HellHounds website, staring at the symbol, thinking about Mordechai… I mean I don't know, but it might be enough to bring a Tulpa to life.”

You shrugged. “That would explain why the bastard keeps changing.”

“Right, as the legend changes, people think different things, so Mordechai himself changes. Like a game of telephone. That would also explain why the rock salt didn't work.” Sam shifted at least five separate times in his chair as he spoke. 

“Yeah, because he's not a traditional spirit,” the older brother continued. “Okay. So why don't we just, uh, get this spirit sigil thingie off the wall and off the website?”

“Well, it's not that simple. You see, once Tulpas are created they take on a life of their own,” Sam explained.

“Great. So if he really is a thought form, how the hell are we supposed to kill an idea?”

“Well, it's not gonna be easy with these guys helping us. Check out their homepage.”

Sam showed you and Dean footage from two days ago. “Since they've posted the video, their number of hits have quadrupled in the last day alone.”

“Great,” you muttered. “But I have an idea. C’mon.” You got up from the table and began heading away.

“Where we going?” Dean questioned.

“To find a copy store.”

Sam got up and began to follow you. “Man, I think I'm allergic to our soap or something.”

Dean laughed and walked after you.

“You did this?!” Sam called.

The only response he got was a laugh from his brother. 

“You're a friggin jerk!”

“Oh yeah!” Dean pumped a fist in the air.

***

After you hit the copy store to carry out your idea, you and the boys found Ed and Harry’s trailer park residence and rapped against the door loudly.

“Who is it?” Harry’s voice called.

“Come on out here guys, we hear you in there,” Dean called back. When the door opened, Dean looked over the two men’s shoulders. “Ah, would you look at that! Action figures in their original packaging— what a shock.”

You snickered,but nudged him. “Be polite.”

“Guys, we need to talk,” Sam said. 

“Yeah, um, sorry guys. We're ahhh, a little bit busy right now,” Ed responded. “But pretty lady, if you’d like to stay—”

Dean cut him off, gruffly saying, “Okay, well, we'll make it quick. We need you to shut down your website.”

Ed laughed. “Man, you know, these guys got us busted the other night, spent the night in a holding cell—”

“I had to pee in that cell urinal. In front of people. And I get stage fright,” the other goon chimed in.

“Why should we trust you guys?”

“Look, guys. We all know what we saw that night; what's in the house. But now, thanks to your website, there are thousands of people hearing about Mordechai,” the brunet explained.

“That's right. Which means people are gonna keep showing up at the Hell House, running into him in person, somebody could get hurt,” Dean continued.

“Ed, maybe he's got a point, maybe—”

Ed cut his friend off. “Nope.”

“No,” Harry said despite his position moments earlier.

“We have an obligation to our fans, to the truth,” Ed stated.

“Well I have an obligation to kick both your little asses right now—” Dean’s face hardened, and you could see Ed and Harry nearly shit themselves.

You pulled his arm back. “Just forget about it,” you told him. “You could bitch slap ‘em both, I could tell them that thing about Mordechai, but they’re still not gonna listen. Let’s just go.” You turned away.

“Whoa! Whoa!” the guys called after you. “What’d you say about...?”

“Hang on a second here,” Harry said. “What thing about Mordechai, you guys?”

“Don’t tell ‘em, (Y/N),” Sam said.

“But if they agree to shut the website down, Sam—”

“They're not going to do it, you said so yourself,” Dean chimed in.

“No wait. Wait. Don't listen to him ok? We'll do it. We'll do it,” Ed said, stepping closer to you.

You sighed. “Look, it is a really big deal, alright. And it wasn't easy to dig up. So only if we have your word that you'll shut everything down.”

“Totally,” Ed nodded.

Dean handed over some paperwork you’d doctored at the copy shop reluctantly. “It's a death certificate. From the '30s. We got it at the library. Now according to the coroner, the actual cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

“That's right, he didn't hang or cut himself,” added Dean.

Ed’s eyebrows shot up. “He shot himself?”

“Yep. With a .45 pistol. To this day, they say he's terrified of them,” you said.

Dean continued explaining. “Matter of fact, they say if you shoot him with a .45, loaded with these special wrought-iron rounds, it'll kill the son of a bitch.”

Ed and Harry snickered gleefully. Harry spun around and bolted back to the trailer. Ed followed more slowly. 

Once they were out of earshot, you held up crossed fingers to the boys. “Here’s hoping.”

***

You and the boys were waiting for Ed and Harry to put out the bogus story you’d given them at a diner later that evening. You sat in the booth between Sam and the wall, and looked over at his laptop while he reloaded the page repeatedly. Dean sat across from you and his brother, pulling the cord of a plaque on the wall of a fisherman holding a big fish. The fisherman’s mouth moved up and down when Dean pulled the cord. 

You pulled it again to stop it. “If you pull that damn cord one more time, I’ll kill you.”

Dean sent you a challenging look and pulled the cord again. You pulled it again in response.

“Come on, sweetheart, you need more laughter in your life. You know, you're way too tense.”

“What! I do laugh!” you pouted.

“Not as much as this guy.” He pulled the cord again.

You pulled it to stop it for a final time. “Don’t try me.”

Dean sighed. “They post it yet?”

Sam turned the laptop around to Dean. “We've learned from reputable sources that Mordechai Murdock has a fatal fear of firearms. Alright. How long do we wait?”

“Long enough for the new story to spread,” replied Sam, “and the legend to change. I figure by nightfall, iron rounds will work on the sucker.” Sam lifted his beer and you and Dean lifted yours as well. The three of you tapped them together.

“Sweet,” Dean said. He took a long swig of his beer and Sam grinned. The older of the two tried to put his beer down, but it was stuck to his beer.

Sam cracked up, as did you, and Dean stared at his brother incredulous. “You didn't.”

Sam continued to laugh and held up his tube of super glue. “Oh, I did!”

Dean shook his hand trying to get the beer off and turned his aggravation to you. “You knew about this?”

You felt guilty, but said, “Hey, I told you, I’m Switzerland in this prank war.”

“Oh, it’s on, sweetheart.”

“Dean! I didn’t even do anything! I’m Switzerland! Look, I’ll even help you get it off your hand, okay? Stop pouting.”

Dean grunted, “Fine.”

***

Dean bought the laughing fisherman from the diner and brought it to the woods beyond the Hell House later that night. You wrapped the cord around a rock to weigh the pulley mechanism down to lure the cops away from the house.

You entered the house on alert with your gun drawn, Dean trailing just behind you. “I barely have any skin left on my palm,” he said snarkily.

“So you think Mordechai's home?” you asked as you entered another room.

“I don't know,” Sam answered.

“Me either,” a voice said from behind you.

You wheeled around and pointed your gun at the source of the sound. 

“Whoa! Whoa!” Ed said.

“What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?” you yelled.

“We're just trying to get a book and movie deal, ok?” Harry said.

“Motherfucker—” You were cut off by the sound of knives being sharpened coming from the basement. Your guard immediately went back up. 

“Oh crap,” Ed said. “Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll protect you.”

“Oh, get off me, dickhead.” You shrugged his hand off your shoulders. 

He crowded way too closely behind you and followed you and the brothers to the basement door. 

“Ah guys, you wanna— you wanna open that door for us?” Ed grinned uncomfortably.

“Why don't you?” Dean turned to him, shooting daggers at him.

Mordechai burst through the door at that moment, holding an ax and screaming. You and the boys began emptying your gun chambers into his stomach, but the guns had no effect on him. You then swept the other rooms in search of Ed and Harry.

“What the fuck, didn’t you guys post that bullshit story we gave you?” you asked them when you found them.

“Of course we did,” Ed scoffed.

Sam and Dean appeared behind you.

“But then our server crashed,” Harry explained.

“So it didn't take?” Dean asked rhetorically.

The two men exchanged looks and murmured to themselves.

“So these, these guns don't work.” Dean laughed coldly and raked a hand through his hair. “Great. Sam, any ideas?”

“We are getting outta here,” Harry said. “Come on, Ed.”

Harry and Ed ran past you and Dean to the other room. You noticed Mordechai’s apparition following them before you heard two girlish screeches coming from their direction.

“Hey! Come and get it, you ugly son of a bitch,” you told the ghost.

“Gladly,” Ed said, not realizing you were talking to Mordechai.

You grabbed the hilt of the ax as he tried to take a swing at you, pushing against him with all your might. You were then pinned against the wall, the ax across your throat and constricting your airway, 

“Get out of here, now!” you told Ed and Harry. They sprinted out of the door as you struggled against Mordechai, who lifted you up in the air by the ax.

“Guys! Help!” you screamed.

Moments later, Dean appeared. He held up a spray bottle and lit it, making a plume of fire appear.

“Get out of here, now!” Dean told you. You ran past him. You met Sam in another room, clutching your throat.

“You okay?” Sam asked you. He stooped to get eye-level with you.

“Yeah,” you choked out. “Peachy.”

Dean sped into the room next to you. “Mordechai can't leave the house, we can't kill him— We improvise,” he said. He held up his lighter, flicked it, and threw it back into the room behind you. It burst into flames, and you ran after the boys outside.

“That's your solution? Burn the whole damn place to the ground?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Well, nobody will go in anymore. I mean, look, Mordechai can't haunt a house if there's no house to haunt. It's fast and dirty, but it works,” Dean replied simply.

“Well, add arsonists to our rap sheet,” you said. 

“What if the legend changes again and Mordechai is allowed to leave the house?” questioned Sam.

“Then we'll just have to come back,” Dean shrugged. 

You turned back to the house and watched it burn.

“Kinda makes you wonder. Of all the things we hunted, how many existed just cuz people believed in them,” said Sam. You looked back to him, amazed at how he could be profound in the midst of your situation.

***

You and the boys made one last pit stop by Harry and Ed’s trailer park before you were planning to head out of town. The two guys in question came over to your picnic table carrying grocery bags.

“I was thinking that Mordechai has a really super high attack bonus,” Ed said. “Man, I got the munchies right now.” He turned to the boys. “Gentlemen. And m’lady.”

You cringed. 

“Should we tell 'em.” Harry could barely contain his gloating.

“Hey, might as well, you know, they're going to read about it in the trades,” Ed smirked.

“So this morning we got a phone call from a very important Hollywood producer.”

“Oh yeah, wrong number?” Dean snorted.

“No, smart-ass. He read all about the Hell House on our website and wants to option the motion picture rights. Maybe even have us write it.”

They put grocery bags into their completely overloaded car. 

“And create the RPG,” Harry added.

“The what?” Dean asked.

“Role playing game,” came Ed’s simple reply. “A little lingo for you. Anyhoo, ah, excuse us, we're off to la-la land.”

“Well, congratulations guys. That sounds really great,” Sam nodded.

“Yeah. That's awesome, best of luck to you,” you said.

“Oh yeah, luck. That has nothing to do with it. It's about talent. Sheer unabashed talent,” Ed grinned. “And you…” he sauntered up to you. “...Call me. You could have a bright future in film.”

You forced a smile at him.

“Later, baby,” he grinned. He got in the car next to his buddy and sped away.

“I have a confession to make,” Sam said as the three of you watched them drive off.

“What's that,” prompted Dean.

“I, uh… I was the one that called them and told them I was a producer.”

You and Dean laughed. “Yeah, well, I'm the one who put the dead fish in their back seat,” the latter snickered.

“And I may have been the one to put the cops on ‘em about the Murdoch house fire. And the fact that they don’t have a license plate on that car. Or on their camper.”

Dean and Sam burst out laughing at you. You joined in with them.

“Truce?” The brunet turned to his brother.

“Yeah, truce,” he answered. “At least for the next hundred miles.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @more-espresso-less-depresso-og @mysticmyth

a lot of my tags are broken which makes me very sad. if you see that i've misspelled your tag, please let me know! and make sure you have my post notifs on so a broken tag doesn't stop you from seeing the next chapter!!

[bellabean24]

OlderSugarDaddy!Shanks who actually despises daddy kinks and told you that the first time your two fucked

OlderSugarDaddy!Shanks who rather be called ‘Sir’ then daddy

OlderSugarDaddy!Shanks you fucks you better then any other man your age

OlderSugarDaddy!Shanks who spends HOURS in between your legs eating you out for his pleasure only

Your legs are wrapped around his head your hips buck up each time Shanks tongue glides against your sensitive overstimulated clit, “Please, sir. I can’t take it anymore” your whines and beg left on heard as Shanks sucks your clit and fucks three of his thick fingers deep into you cunt, “Shh baby you’re doing so well your can give em one more yea?” His voice soft as he mumbles against your clit. Your orgasm is fast approaching when his fingers in that sweet spot only he knows how to get to. “Oh fuck Shanks, sir I’m coming” your body shakes as you cum for the 7th time tonight, whines and whimpers leaving your mouth as your cunt clenches Shanks fingers “One more sweetheart I promise this will be the last one.” It was in fact not the last one

OlderSugarDaddy!Shanks who loves to fuck your mouth with his think veiny cock

OlderSugarDaddy!Shanks who has albums of the two of your fucking, either pictures with his dick in your mouth or cum somewhere on your body of videos of him fucking you

OlderSugarDaddy!Shanks who doesn’t really masturbate unless he is so horny to the point he can’t wait till you get home from your Uni classes so he would pull out his phone and look at the album of you two together

Shanks has his phone in his left hand as his right hand pulls down his pants and underwear, his eyes look over the many pictures and videos to choose from. He settles for the most recent video he took of you two, your on the floor getting your face fucked by his cock drool seeping from the corners on your mouth, your gagging fills the quiet room as Shanks turns the volume of his phone up, his right hand grabs his cock squeezing it before swiping his thumb across his tip gathering precum and rubbing it along his cock. Shank lets out a hiss as he starts to work his hand up and down his hard cock “Fuck Y/N,” he moans to himself watching the phone screen as look up at the camera. Shanks continues his movements on his cock his release approaching. He switches off the video choosing to record himself jacking off to send it to you, “Oh fuck Sweetheart I miss your warm mouth around my cock,” he groans, his hand squeezing and moving up and down as he speaks to you like your in the room, “Want you suck my dick as I come down your pretty throat, f-fuck,” Shanks moves his hand faster as his cum shoots out his tip warm white cum covers his hand and stomach your name falling from his lips, “Fuck Y/N come home soon and come clean up my mess,” he chuckles before he ends the video, sending it to you with a heart and I love you attached to it

OlderSugarDaddy!Shanks who you yell at once you get home from Uni about the video he decided to send you

OlderSugarDaddy!Shanks who laughs it off as you puff your cheeks out in anger

OlderSugarDaddy!Shanks who fucks you against the wall in the hallway towards your room whispering sweet nothings into your ear

OlderSugarDaddy!Shanks who gives the best aftercare he runs you a bath washes your body then drys you off and puts your Pjs on, then he brings you a snack and water and of course he offers you a massage but you got to get naked for it 🤷🏽‍♀️

OlderSugarDaddy!Shanks M.List

©Bella2024

[munson-blurbs]

eddie/wedding/tequila 🍻

Drunk Eddie is my favorite Eddie to write hehehe 💚

Warnings: alcohol consumption, Eddie is absolutely plastered, allusion to smut

WC: 989

Join my 2k followers celebration!

--

The band plays the final note of The Police’s “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic” and begins the opening chords of “Truly Madly Deeply.”

“Okay, let’s slow things down for all the lovebirds out there,” the lead singer croons into the mic. “Grab your sweetheart and bring ‘em onto the dance floor.”

You make your way over to your table and extend your hand. “May I have this dance?” you ask sweetly, frowning when the metalhead shakes his head. A lock of his curly brown hair comes loose from the bun at the nape of his neck. “Why not?”

“I’d love to,” Eddie slurs, taking another sip of his drink, “but ‘m married to the love of my life. I only wan’ dance with her.”

Stifling a giggle, you sit in the chair next to him and rub his back. “I know that. Because I’m your wife, Eddie.” You motion to the diamond on your ring finger and the silver band on his. “We’ve been married for two years.”

“No fuckin’ way!” he exclaims. “That’s awesome. ‘Cause you’re, like, s’fucking beautiful.” He gasps. “Holy shit, my wife is beautiful!”

The scent of tequila wafts from his breath, and you crinkle your nose. “Eds, how many shots did you and Robin do?”

Eddie whines and throws his head back. “Don’t make me do math at a party!” He rests his head on your shoulder and grabs your hand, placing it atop his scalp. “Can you give me scratches?”

You oblige, kissing just above his ear. “C’mon, puppy dog,” you tease. “Let’s get you back to the hotel room.” Starting to help him up, you spot Steve making his rounds, bow tie undone and face flushed from dancing. You send up a silent prayer that Eddie won’t attract his attention, but it must get intercepted. 

“Harrington!” your husband calls out. Multiple guests turn to face you; it is a Harrington wedding, afterall. “Get over here, big boy!” He stumbles towards the groom and claps a ringed hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, buddy,” Steve says with a chuckle. “Y’havin’ a good time?”

“The best.” Eddie is fully leaning on his friend now, and you mouth Sorry in Steve’s direction. “Dude, my wife is so hot.”

You bury your head in your hands; your cheeks are burning with embarrassment. “Let’s go, Eddie,” you insist, grateful that Steve appears unfazed by the comment. 

“Stevie, you ever been in love?” Eddie asks, suddenly serious. His eyes are glassy and half-lidded; it’s only a matter of time before he falls asleep. 

Steve looks around at the hotel ballroom, eyebrows raised. “Uh, yeah. I just got married, like, three hours ago. You were a groomsman.”

“Shit, yeah!” Eddie sounds as though he’s receiving brand-new information. “Congrats, man. Anyway,” he presses on, ignoring you tugging on his sleeve, “I jus’ want you to know that I, Eddie Munson, am also in love. With this girl right here.” He flails his free arm around until he finds your waist and pulls you into him. 

“Well, I’m, uh, happy to hear that,” Steve manages, and you shoot him another apologetic glance before dragging Eddie to the elevator and into the hotel room. You can’t turn the key fast enough. 

Eddie flops onto the bed, still fully dressed in his tuxedo and shoes. You take a moment to appreciate the silence before he pipes up:

“We gotta beat Steve.”

Despite your better judgment, you respond with an incredulous, “what?”

“We gotta beat Steve,” Eddie repeats. “We got married, but now he’s married, too. So we’re not winning anymore.” He pouts for a millisecond before sitting up suddenly, steadying himself on the sheets. “We should have a baby!”

You burst out laughing. “Babe, I love you. But I am not bringing new life into this world just so you can win some imaginary competition against Steve.”

“Fine,” Eddie slumps down, defeated. 

You figure that will be the end of the discussion, but you should know better at this point. You’re rifling through your suitcase for a pair of pajamas when you hear the mini fridge door open. 

“What are you doing now?” you hiss. 

“‘M wooing you so you’ll have my baby,” he hiccups, pulling out a small bottle of Patrón and unscrewing the cap. “I call this one the ‘wraparound.’” Eddie proceeds to drag the bottle around his head, spilling tequila everywhere. “Oopsie daisy!” He cackles like it’s the funniest thing in the world. 

You pluck the half-empty bottle from his grasp and set it on the nightstand. “Eddie, get out of those clothes and Go. To. Bed.” you say through gritted teeth. 

Eddie snorts. “If you wanna see me naked, you gotta take me out to dinner first.” But he obliges, sleeping as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you snuggle in next to him. He rarely drinks beyond an occasional post-work beer, so you’re glad he let loose tonight. You just wish you didn’t have to babysit him. 

Eddie stirs, wrapping a tattooed arm around your waist. “My sexy lil’ wife,” he mumbles. “Prettiest girl ‘ve ever seen.” He nestles into the crook of your neck. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too, Eds,” you tell him, brushing the stray hair from his face and kissing his forehead. “Get some rest, okay?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “Big day tomorrow. Gotta make a baby so we can beat Harrington.”

“Yeah, okay,” you reply tersely, rolling your eyes. 

But the next morning, after a cup of black coffee and two Advil, Eddie’s ushering you back into bed. 

“I was serious about that baby, sweetheart,” he muses. “And not because of a contest with Steve.” 

You smile, bringing your lips to his soft, plush ones. “Really?”

“Really,” he affirms, climbing on top of you and peppering your face with kisses. “But if there was a contest, we would totally be the superior couple.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

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