#but they were so overbearing and stifling

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter VII

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.669 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I'm sorry for introducing a side character so extensively, but I promise y'all, I swear to God it will all make sense in the future. I've been having a blast reading your comments and seeing what you think of the story. Thank you so so so much, from the bottom of my heart. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading!

Morning has a way of making everything seem lighter in retrospect.

Sleep was always a safe place for you. When you were in pain, when you were ruined, when you wished for death, you fell asleep. And when you woke up, with the sun hitting your face as reality sunk in, you weren’t so hopeless anymore.

But you startle awake that morning, nearly falling off the bed with JJ still half on top of you, having barely even slept, and you feel no metaphorical light strike you.

No clarity.

No introspection.

You feel worse.

All night long, you fell asleep and startled awake — You dreamt of stumbling up to the front door of the Cameron house to realize you were wearing nothing but the blue skirt, and woke up. You dreamt of running down the beach with JJ chasing you, persecuting you, and woke up. You dreamt of standing frozen in the kitchen at the Wreck while Kie tore your clothes off of you as everyone laughed and woke up.

It was 3:54 when you took a sleeping pill.

It was 4:09 when you woke up again.

Since then you'd drifted back and forth between a dreamless sleep riddled by the feeling of suddenly falling, and waking up, groggy and unable to move on the stifling heat of your bedroom.

You don’t feel much better when you finally open your eyes at 6:40. The sun seems to be in the room with you, scalding you, as it bleeds in through the window screen that shakes even as no wind comes through it. JJ’s skin is glued to yours, his hair sticking to your chest, his hands still gripping you as you try to move away.

He mumbles slightly, eyes peeking open in the overwhelming brightness. – Mornin’. – His fingers drift up your spine, around your waist, up to your chest. A kiss landing on the crook of your neck as he sits up next to you. – I don’t think I’ve ever slept this good in my life.

You try not to scoff at the irony as you rub the sleep you didn’t even have off your eyes. – Yeah. – He smiles against your skin, soft, warm, overbearing. – God, why is it so hot in here?

– Dunno, something to do with your presence, maybe.

A laugh falls from your lips, sharper than it should be. – Cute, JJ. Thanks a lot.

You’d be glad for the breath he lets out against your shoulder, but it doesn’t do much to help the heat, especially when he’s holding you so close, so tight, it's like being glued to a sentient heater.

The imprint of his hands seeps through the sweat on your skin. — Rough, calloused. Like sandpaper on silk, your skin seems to fray at his touch.

The wooden floorboards are hot beneath your feet as you try to stand, but JJ pulls you back, tugging at your arm until you're an inch short of falling over. – Where you going, baby? Let's sleep a little more.

– I wanna get ready.

– For what? It’s not like you’re working today. – The words linger around you, not cruel, but still sharp. – C’mon, baby. Relax.

– I’m starving. D’you want anything?

– You?

– Bye, JJ.

His laughter bounces off the walls as you walk down the hall, picking up the string of clothes he’s left behind.

You look over your shoulder on instinct. John’s door is still wide open, empty of him. If Sarah’s sleeping patterns are to be taken into account, and he truly did sleep there, neither of them are gonna wake up before midday.

So why do you feel like you’re being watched?

Worse than watched, judged.

The walls hover close, ceiling lower than you remember. The air is heavy around you, an overwhelming silence swallowing you whole even as you hear the creaks and cracks of the Chateau make themselves heard. You hesitate before stepping into the living room, eyes immediately falling over the armchair on the corner, where your dad used to sit.

Deep burgundy suede, copper buttons on the arms, probably the most expensive thing in this house. His bag still sits next to it, a worn honey-leather crossbody purse he’s had for longer than you've been alive. A gift from John's mother. You have to lift it everytime you clean the place, and it gets heavier every time, as if the piece of both of them that still lingers inside is growing.

Your breathing hitches.

You don’t know when your heartbeat picked up, why it did. But you avert your eyes like the sight had burned you, and rush to the kitchen quicker than dignity should allow.

You reach for the fridge door, thankful for the cold air that blows against you as you throw on JJ’s shirt to cover yourself. But that quick gladness doesn’t last: The fridge is almost empty, a half-done jar of peanut butter and some wonder bread you definitely didn’t buy the only things that don’t look spoiled, or just straight up empty. Your groceries never lasted long, no matter how much you try to stretch them.

The job interview still doesn’t seem appealing as Rafe’s weird words echo in your mind, but you don’t have the luxury to throw yourself on a job search you know won’t be fruitful, not now when half your bills are still to be paid.

You reach in, taking the bread, and open the little drawer, hoping for some cheese, tomatoes, anything. But your hope for semi-fresh produce vanishes as you feel JJ against you, his arms suddenly snaking around your waist. The bread falls from your hands. – Ooh, jumpy! – He giggles, leaning over you, his chin resting at the crook of your neck.

– Are you trying to give me a heart-attack?!

– You can’t bend over with an ass like yours and expect me not to do that. – His hands trail up your sides, under the shirt, his shirt, humming as he presses his hips against yours. – You look so hot like that, wearing my shirt.

A disgruntled chuckle falls from your lips as you look behind you, over your shoulder and his. – And you’d look really hot if you were wearing one.

– No need to lie to yourself, I know you like to see me naked. – He pulls you back, closing the fridge door with a kick as he leans down to kiss you. His hands find yours, pulling them to his chest. He trails them down his abs, until the strings of his shorts brush against your fingers. – D’you wanna take it off of me, baby?

– JJ, what are you doing?

– You. – He laughs, hands drifting down to your thighs. He takes a handful of flesh wherever he can squeeze, hissing under his breath as he presses on closer. – C’mon, beautiful. Aren’t you gonna give me a good morning?

– I’d have a better morning if you guys ever left anything for me to eat in this house.

– What? You hungry? I’ve got something you can put in your mouth.

– I think I’ll pass. – You turn around, but JJ grabs your waist before you can even step to the door. He’s close, much closer than what he should be, breath clinging heavy to your skin, blue eyes raking over your chest as he pushes you against the counter. – JJ, stop it.

– I don’t want to. – He growls, stepping closer, pulling at you, until his hips are against yours, thrusting so lightly you think he must not realize it. – You’re walking around like that, with nothing but my shirt— He groans, movements growing faster, more intentional. – driving me insane. And I can’t even do anything about it?

You push at his chest, trying to wriggle out from under him, but JJ’s grip is unwavering. – I’m not playing around, JJ, I’m not—

– Just a little, baby, please. Just— He’s pulling down his shorts, breath stuttering, head falling back as soon as skin touches skin. – Fuck. Fuck, that feels so good.

– JJ—

– Please, baby. Please. I promise I’ll make it quick. – You feel him pushing into you, hands holding your hips in a vice grip as he sinks in, head falling to the crook of your neck. – You feel so fucking good around me. Fuck—

You’re frozen in place, watching him use you, have at you like a toy, as if your words didn’t mean anything. He’s fucking himself into you, babbling, stuttering, rolling his eyes, almost as if he’s possessed. – How’d you do this to me? – The words fall from his lips as if he’s speaking to himself, his eyes closed, mouth pressed against your skin. – I can’t—fuck, I can’t stop.

His pace has grown faster, sloppier, dick sliding in and out so fast you can barely brace against him, nails digging into his shoulders, still unmoving.

You hear something in the distance, the familiar rumble of an engine, a sound you’d heard a thousand times before.

John.

You wake up from your daze in a heartbeat, already pushing JJ away. – The car. John’s coming JJ, get off of me!

He doesn’t listen, your protests falling on deaf ears as he moans into your shoulder, still moving like a bitch in heat. – Jus— Just a little more, please. Please it feels so– Fuck! Fuck, right there! – His hips move wildly, and even as you shove him with all your strength, it's to no avail. You can hear the car getting closer, wheels moving on the soft lakebank mud, but JJ doesn’t stop. He gets louder. More restless, begging and pleading, his pace stuttering as his stomach contracts. – Don’t stop, fuck don’t stop I’m almost there! I— Fuck, fuck! Right there, baby! FUCK–

You shut him up just as he cums, shuddering and shaking over you as you push your hands onto his mouth, dick still twitching as you finally manage to get him away. You hear his back knocking against the opposite counter just as the car door slams closed, and you’re running to the bathroom, JJ pulling up his shorts behind you, still frozen in place.

You’ve never locked a door so fast, shame burning beneath your skin as you hear your brother’s steps on the porch, the squeak of the front door banging closed against the frame as he shuts it behind him.

JJ greets him with a stutter. – Hi—hey bro, what are you doing here this early? I thought you were gonna stay at Sarah’s.

– Rafe Cameron.

– What?

– Sarah and I were sleeping and then this psycho walks into the room. – You don’t know if JJ’s too stunned to respond, or if he’s not actually listening, but even you do a double take. – We weren’t even doing anything. And he just bursts through the door like the kool-aid man and starts laughing.

– Laughing?

– Yeah! Laughing! Fucking cackling. He laughed so hard, her dad came to check what was going on. – You hear impact. John probably threw something, you can hear the frustration in his sigh. – I had to sneak out the window so he wouldn’t catch me there. And you know what’s worse?

– There's worse?

– Yeah! Rafe told me to check on my sister. – Your breath is caught. – He actually fucking talked about her! Said her name! Like they’re friends or whatever. Can you fucking believe that?!

You dig your nails into your hands.

Please don’t say anything stupid. Please don’t say anything stupid. – Rafe’s a fucking junkie, bro. He was probably out of his mind. – Thank you. – But he acts really weird about her, if you ask me.

Your nails dig deeper.

Nobody asked you anything, JJ. – What do you mean?

You're not listening anymore.

There's no way in hell you're about to let JJ fucking Maybank buy you three more months of confinement. Your brother and you have it bad enough as it is without him throwing wood into that fire.

You throw the shirt off of you, burying it deep into the laundry basket, and wrap yourself with your towel.

– I don’t know man, but don’t you think it's kinda weird that he would—

– John? You home? – The conversation dies right then as you step in, and your brother jumps to his feet, looking over to the hall at you, like you're a specter. – That’s early.

He barely looks at you at first, still caught up in his own frustration. You tighten the towel around your body, tucking in the corner like it's the most natural thing in the world. Your hands shake slightly as they drop back to your side. – I thought you slept at Sarah's.

John exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. – Yeah. I did. – Something burns in his eyes. – And then your buddy Rafe laughed me off the building.

– Rafe? – You hum. – What'd you mean ‘laughed you off the building'?

John scoffs. – He was high as shit. Talking in circles. Then— He pauses, his jaw flexing. – Then he brought you up.

Your stomach clenches, but you don’t let it show. You barely blink. – Me?

John's looking at you now. Really looking. – Yeah. Said your name. Told me to check on you.

The air shifts. JJ’s foot scuffs against the floor, he's looking at you too, something else in his gaze you can't quite catch from the corner of your eyes.

You feign confusion. – That's weird.

John doesn’t respond right away. He’s watching you too closely, like he’s trying to catch something in the way your face moves, in the way your fingers curl around the edge of your towel.

– When the fuck did Rafe start talking about you?

He says it slow, almost careful. But you know that tone. It’s the one he gets when he already suspects the answer.

You force a shrug, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. – I don’t know, John. Doesn’t he hate you? Was probably trynna get into your head or something.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just keeps looking at you like he’s waiting for something to crack.

He thinks you're made of glass, he always did. But he doesn't treat you like you’re fragile, he treats you like you’re all shards and sharp edges. Like he’ll cut himself on you if he gets too close.

– Why are you getting ready so early? – That tone again. Casual enough, just shy of friendly. But his eyes are like knives, and you just happen to be the one he's holding at knifepoint. – You were fired.

You can feel your expression darken. JJ's already looking at you as your eyes drift between him and your brother. – Kie told you, huh?

– Yeah, she did. – He sways on his feet as he stands. Drunk off his own self-righteousness. – And she's right to. We all know damn right you wouldn't tell me. Because it's not like I'm your brother! It's not like I worry about you!

– It happened YESTERDAY. I just got fired, and you just walked in! Was I supposed to bring it up now? Over what? The breakfast we don't have?! The pile of bills that we still have to pay?!

He's looking at you, his heart probably racing just as much as yours. – Do you think this shit is easy?! – You continue. – It's hard enough to lose the job I've had for three fucking years, John! But telling you?! Having to disappoint you like this when we don't even know if we're gonna eat tomorrow?

He’s silent now.

You are too. —All the things you have to say flutter away as your mind sends you spinning— He whispers your name under his breath, reaching. Grasping. But you don’t want him to. You recoil before he can get to you, like a scared cat curling up in the corner.

And his hand drops.

As if the rejection had sent a shock through him, one as painful as what you’re feeling now. – Don't do this to me right now. – He’s pleading, but it doesn't sound like it. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, all you see is ache. It pains you to see him like this. But it doesn’t last long. Just as soon as that worry washed over him, anger swallowed it whole. – You always do this shit. You always do that. You fuck up and you shut down and you blame it on me!

– I'm not!

– Yes you are! You are! And you always do! It's not my fault you lost your job!

– I’m not saying it is, John! I’m just trying to—

– To what?! Huh? What is it?!

You let go of your breath, of your hope for this conversation, of any possibility of mending whatever it is that's wrong with you and John right now. The heels of your palms burn against the hollow of your eyes as you press your hands into them. – Forget it. – Your stomach turns, your throat is burning, you want it to end. – Forget it, John.

Your feet move before your mind does, you barely see the house moving around you as you scurry away. The door of your room falls shut behind you, but your thoughts remain in that kitchen, like your conscience couldn't bear to leave this the way it was.

Deal with it. You tell yourself. If they don't want to listen you shouldn’t even talk. But there is so much to say.

It wasn't you who got fired, you think as you take your clothes from the dresser and rush into the bathroom, it was Kie who did it to you.

The cold water jars you, like a glacier on your burning skin, but you continue the argument in your head as you scrub your skin raw trying to get JJ's hands off of you, thinking of everything you should have said.

The towel is still damp from your last shower as you pat yourself dry, but you can't get over the way your brother still looked at you like a criminal, as if the one time you got yourself into trouble was enough to outweigh every other stupid mistake he made.

The mirror seems like an alternative reality. You look into it and you see someone who’s alive. Bags under the eyes, reddened lips, messy hair. — If you look deep enough you can see breath in those lungs, shoulders that move up and down steadily, a chest that heaves. — But you feel like death, warmed over. An animal carcass that someone threw in the microwave, just to bring the color back to the corpse.

You reach under the sink for your makeup bag, and rifle through the little items you’ve managed to swipe from drugstores along the years.

Your mother would’ve been very disappointed in you. She was all about beauty, it's the only thing you remember about the woman: her, bent over the sink, touching up a cherry-red lipstick with the precision of a pre-raphaelite painter.

She never liked to kiss you. Took too much work to get her lips like that. Too bad for you, she wouldn’t be caught dead without it.

You wonder if she was wearing it right now. If she woke up, if she still refuses to kiss, even though that’s the basis on which her entire life was built upon.

Maybe she’s dead.

Maybe that's why you never heard from her.

If they did bury her, you at least hope they got her makeup right.

You fish a tube from the deepest corner of your bag, your only one. It's not as pretty as hers was, but you put it on just like she did, thinking of her, laying on a coroner’s table, being painted up like a doll.

Concealer. Foundation. You look like a doll. Painted plastic, a fake glimmer in your eye.

The blush comes later, closer to your undereyes, just where she put it. Then the lashes. She'd bat them to anyone who'd have her. A born flirt, your father would say.

The only thing he would say about her.

A stone weighs down on your chest.

Resentment.

Solid, calcified, heavy. If you move too fast you might feel it rattling inside your ribcage. But you look prettier than you did in a while.

You almost feel like her.

You take one last look in the mirror before stepping out, and she's looking back at you, raised brow, unimpressed, the way she always looked at you—it’s the version of you that can handle this, the one who won’t crumble at the first sign of trouble. It’s armor. A little cracked, maybe, but it’ll hold.

She would hold. You never could.

The house is quiet now, holding its breath with you when you step outside. John’s still in the kitchen, seething, you don’t hear him, but you feel him there, the weight of his anger pressing against the walls.

JJ is still there. He’s outside, sitting on the steps. He’s not looking at you, not at first. Just staring out at the river, his jaw clenched tight.

He only turns when you step out.

His eyes drop, flicking over you like he’s trying to figure out what’s different. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t.

– That was cruel. – He says, and his voice is rougher than before, like he’s been thinking too hard, breathing too shallow. – What you said to him. You shouldn't— He feels guilty.

You nod, barely.

He looks away again, back to the water. – Figures.

It’s not fair. You know that. You also know that staying here, standing in front of him, means letting him say whatever it is he’s trying not to say. And you don’t have the stomach for it.

So you step off the porch. The weight in your chest shifts, sharp and insistent.

JJ doesn’t stop you.

But he does call after you, just before you reach the end.

– Don’t do that. – he says, lower, slower. Suddenly, it's like he’s talking to a child. – We were getting along so well. Don't ignore me now.

You pause.

He lets out a breath, almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. – I'm late, – His eyes widen. – For an interview, JJ. I have to be there at 10. Someone’s gotta pay the bills.

– Don't.

– Why? Is he gonna do it? – JJ sucks his teeth, looking down, it's all the answer you need. – Don't you wanna eat something other than bread and beer? Actual food? I know I do.

– Baby,

– Don't call me that. – You nod to the door behind you. – We were already poor enough when I was working. I don’t wanna think of how it could be otherwise.

JJ is quiet. You can almost hear him thinking. – Do you want me to drive you?

There’s nothing you want less. – I’m fine. I’ll see you later.

– Wait, wait. Wait a minute. – He looks over his shoulder, and pulls at your hand, standing closer. – Give me a kiss.

– JJ, stop it.

– He won't see. – His hand lands on the small of your back, heat bleeding through your shirt as he pulls you in, tighter and tighter until you can’t avoid his lips.

His mouth is warm, familiar. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess the way he fits against you, like he already knows exactly how you’ll respond.

But you don’t.

You stay still, lips barely parting under his. The pressure of his hand at your back keeps you anchored, locked in place, and when he deepens the kiss—his lips moving slow, deliberate—you don’t fight it. You just let it happen, waiting for it to be over.

JJ doesn’t notice.

You feel it when he exhales through his nose, when his fingers press just a little harder into your spine, like he’s chasing something he isn’t getting. But he doesn’t pull back, not until he’s ready, until he's had his fill, and when he finally does, he sighs against your lips, almost satisfied, but not quite.

He lingers, his nose still brushing yours, but then he shifts back slightly, studying your face.

– That’s all I get? – His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s trying to decide whether to be hurt. – Don’t leave me wanting like that, baby.

– I gotta go.

He says nothing. Just glances over his shoulder and swallows. His hand stays on you for another second, two. And he moves as if he’ll pull away, but he doesn’t.

– JJ.

Your voice is steady, but the weight in your chest hasn’t budged. If anything, it’s worse now, heavier.

JJ watches you, expression unreadable, before tipping his head back with a soft chuckle.

– Damn. – He drags a hand down his face, shaking his head. – You make a guy work for it, huh?

You don’t respond. Take a step back, hands still on his shoulders.

– Come back soon, okay? – He whispers, you nod, and he goes on. – I'll see you later, right?

It isn’t a question. It’s a statement, like he already knows the answer.

And maybe he does.

You don’t give him a reply. You just keep walking, the weight in your chest sinking deeper, spreading through your ribs.

You never thought you’d be afraid of the Cameron house.

Rafe wasn’t really wrong when he joked about your house being haunted, but there’s something about his that is actually frightening. Maybe it’s the sheer size of it, the too-perfect symmetry of the windows staring down at you from over the white balconies like a set of watchful eyes. Or maybe it’s the fact that you know what happens inside. Either way, you stand there for a moment, frozen on the pavement, your phone open to Rafe’s messages, and curse the day your broke-ass parents decided to have a kid.

You spent the last of your money printing out a copy of your resume—hastily written on Google Docs during the bus ride. You’d embellished as much as your conscience allowed, but you had no illusions; landing a job at the Camerons’ was out of the question unless you managed to impress the head chef: Kareem Nawaz.

You were surprised to realize you sort of knew him. Kareem had run a bar at Figure Eight just around the time you were hired at the Wreck. Everybody on the island seemed to turn to it in awe, the single taste of something even tangentially cosmopolitan to ever grace the Outer Banks—fancy drinks, fancy music, fancy food. But the bar didn’t last long. As you’d heard from Anthony, Kareem and the other owner had come to blows over finances. Eventually, the lawsuit got so expensive they had to shut the place down.

You think of driving past the still-empty structure as you step around the perfect lawn, heading toward the staff entrance in the back. You knock once, then a second time, a little softer.

Your clothes are less than perfect. You think of what Rafe said, a shiver running up your spine. Your mother would’ve told you to wear that skirt. Maybe you should have.

Maybe that was the only thing that could work you this miracle.

You barely have time to steady yourself before the door swings open.

– Oh, uhm, hey. I’m here for the private chef position. – The man standing in the doorway eyes you down—not obviously, but just long enough that you notice. A brief flicker of appraisal, the kind that would go unnoticed if you weren’t already on edge. He leans against the frame, the sleeves of his coat pushed up just enough to show off the dark ink decorating his forearms. – I talked to someone on the phone.

– Yeah, I know. That was me. I'm Kareem. Kareem Nawaz, the head chef.

He extends a hand. Big, manicured, intricately tattooed, and you meet him halfway, a firm handshake in which his hand lingers for a minute.

– I'm…

– I remember your name. – He cuts in, but his tone is warm, friendly. You don’t even mind. He steps aside, holding the door open wider, inviting you in. – I looked you up. Routledge, right? You worked at the Wreck?

– Yes, sir. I was a roast chef for three years.

You extend the resume to him, watching his gaze shift between the paper and you. He doesn’t rush.

You don’t know what to make of him. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a thick beard and a man bun. The millennial chef stereotype. And yet, something about him doesn’t quite fit the label. He’s too put-together, too composed.

Kareem is not the struggling type. You can tell he has money, significant money, in the way he talks and moves so comfortably, as if he's so deeply aware that the world is his that he doesn't even think about it.

You wait for resentment to bloom in your chest, a distaste, a mistrust, but nothing comes. You look at him, and it’s like you've known each other for years. He smiles—broad, easy, sweet—and yet you still can’t tell what’s going on behind his eyes.

– So I hear. – You freeze. – I gave your last boss a call. Regretted it, too. He did everything he could to convince me not to hire you.

Your hands twitch at your sides, but you force yourself to stay still, to keep your gaze fixed.

– Mr. Carrera never had a high opinion of me.

– And yet he kept you on for three years. Why do you think that is?

– Cheap labor? A fondness for torturing people? – Kareem laughs, crossing his arms as he leans back against the marble counter, watching you with something like amusement. – He’s a famous sadist.

– Oh, I know that. – His smile falters, just for a second, twisting at the edges. It’s quick—blink and you’d miss it—but it’s enough. The first hint of something other than friendliness. – Mr. Cameron is fond of him, don’t ask me why. The bastard makes a point to come into my kitchen and tell me how to do my job every time he’s here.

You put on your sympathetic voice. – How rude.

He chuckles, flashing straight white teeth.

– You don’t need to kiss ass, Ms. Routledge. If Michael Carrera doesn’t like you, then I’m sure we can be great friends.

You tilt your head, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling like a little girl.

– I do enjoy friendship…

– …But what you need is a job?

– I'm not rejecting the offer, but… yeah.

He smiles and glances down at your resume again.

– Here’s the deal. Three years at a professional kitchen, in the single kinda decent restaurant in this place—that’s a lot. You've worked at diners, mom&pop businesses, bakeries… You got a lot of color in your resume. That's great. But you’re what, nineteen?

– Something like that.

– You never even went to culinary school.

– No, sir.

– That’s kind of a problem.

You take a slow breath. His expression is neutral, but his eyes linger—just a beat longer than they should.

– Well, I know. I know without an education, I’m not anyone's ideal choice. But maybe, in the absence of a diploma to tell you that I’m able, you might accept another sort of proof?

He raises his brows, his mouth parting just slightly.

– Another sort..?

– Yeah.

Something in the air shifts.

His posture changes— he straightens, brushing a hand over the tattoos on his forearm, like he’s suddenly aware of them. His eyes hold yours for a moment, long enough that you feel it in your stomach, that same feeling you get when you’ve stepped a little too close to the edge of a ledge.

His voice is low when he speaks, taking a step closer. – Alright, I'll bite. – He says, voice even, unreadable. – What kind of proof?

– Well, you tell me. I can do it all.

– All?

The way he says it feels careful. You can tell he’s watching you, weighing the moment, as if waiting for you to clarify. But you don’t—not right away. That’s the gift your mother left you: suggestion. You let the silence stretch for just long enough to see the way his fingers tighten slightly over his forearm, a flicker of something in his eyes before he blinks it away.

You shrug. – Yeah. – You hum. – It really depends on what you need help with. I've been a roast chef, I can help with lunch. Or maybe the desert is the problem, that's where the bakery gig comes in handy. Pick a dish. If I wanna work here with you, I gotta learn how to follow your lead, right?

He hums, smile growing. You feel yourself mirror it without even realizing. – You wanna cook for me?

– Well, yeah. – He exhales a soft chuckle, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he tilts his head. – I'm a proactive kind of girl. That's my greatest trait.

– I bet it is. – Kareem lets out a breath through his nose, his lips pressing together in something like amusement, though there’s a slowness to it. – You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?

– I try.

You’re aware of his gaze still on you as he finally shifts, setting your resume down on the counter and turning toward the stainless steel fridge.

– Alright, chef. Lunch for today is beef tenderloin with a red wine reduction sauce. Truffle mash potatoes, cornbread with honey butter, some roasted vegetables with herbs and panna cotta for dessert.

– Did you get started with cornbread?

He looks at his watch with a smile. – Not yet.

– Well, in that case. I can do the cornbread and, at the same time, something simple but tasty for us to lunch on. And later, if you’re convinced, I will do the rest.

A hearty laugh escapes him, you feel it buzz against your skin. – You weren’t playing about the proactive thing, were you?

– No sir. I'm a woman of my word.

– Hardly a woman. – He teases.

– I will ignore that comment. And what are you anyways? 27? Not exactly my idea of an old man.

– I am thirty one years old!

– In what? Dog years?

– Really funny. – His tone drips with sarcasm, but he can’t shake off the smile as you gather the ingredients for the cornbread.

– That's another thing you might look forward to. If you decide to hire me, of course.

– Hate to say it, but your fate's really hanging on how good that us-lunch is gonna be. – He pauses, smiling again. – Actually, I don’t hate to say it at all. What are you making?

– That's a surprise. Shouldn't you be getting started on that panna cotta?

– Bossy. – He bumps your shoulder, still grinning. It's starting to unnerve you.

You nod, stepping forward to scan the kitchen, already mapping out what you need.

But before you can open the fridge, Kareem moves in front. He reaches for the sink, fills a glass with water, and sets it down beside you.

– You’re shaking, y'know?

You freeze for half a second.

– I’m not.

– Sure you aren’t.

His tone is casual, almost teasing, but there’s something in the way he leans just slightly into your space as he says it. Close enough that, when you glance up, he’s already looking at you.

It’s brief. A flicker of a moment. But there’s something in the way his gaze lingers, the way his fingers drum once against the counter before he pulls away, giving you back your space.

– Clock’s ticking, chef.

You take a deep breath, fingers brushing against the countertop as you gather the ingredients for the cornbread. There’s a slight tremor in your hands, but you ignore it. You can’t afford to let nerves get the best of you—not now. The kitchen is big, the appliances gleaming, and Kareem’s presence fills the space in a way you’re not entirely sure how to handle.

But you can cook. You know that much.

It’s easy enough to find your way around the ingredients. Head chefs are all about the methodical nature of storing, and you can see his pattern as you go from the fridge, to the pantry, and back to the counter

You begin with the dry ingredients—cornmeal, flour, sugar, baking powder. There’s something almost meditative about it, the repetition of pouring and measuring, the steady rhythm that lulls you into focus. You’re already thinking ahead, the steps laid out in your mind as you mix. You add the salt, the baking powder, the sugar. The cornbread is a good start. It’s simple, but comforting—a dish that feels like a hug with every bite.

That tells you enough about him. Obviously, Kareem’s the one picking out the meals. A man like Ward Cameron is exactly the person to just hand off that responsibility entirely while he focuses on the “important things”. Beef tenderloin is posh enough to fit the Cameron’s style, especially with a wine reduction. But cornbread? That’s a chef’s nostalgia speaking.

And you’ll be damned if you can’t milk that for all it's got.

There’s a hum in the air, the soft buzz of your thoughts, as you pour the buttermilk into the bowl, watching the swirl of white in the yellow mix. Your mind drifts back to Kareem, trying to figure out his preferences.

He’s not a city boy, despite the desperate attempt to seem like one. Whenever he laughs or gets too distracted you can hear the subtle drawl on a country accent in his voice. His build hardly hints at someone unfamiliar with manual labour. You’re not a betting woman, but if you were, you’d bet he was raised on a farm. — So fancy food isn’t the right choice. He’s earnest, wholesome, and though he hides it well enough under the truffle oil and the herbs and the wine thing that are clearly not what he would prefer, his menu tells you he enjoys simplicity, but that he often has to dress it up.

What he wants is a homey fare.

Something that’s comforting, without being heavy, Something hearty. Tasty. The sort of thing that makes you drool as it cooks and fills every expectation when it's in your mouth: Chicken, mash, a salad that isn’t quite a salad just to put some color on the plate. Something a mother would make. A good mother— That’s easy enough.

You add the egg, the melted butter, and fold everything together with quick, practiced movements. No hesitation. It's easier now that you know what you’re gonna do next. You pour the batter into a cast-iron skillet, sizzling as it hits the hot surface enough to make you pause, your heart catching in your chest. The cornbread will bake up crisp on the outside and soft on the inside, just like it should. That’s the easy part. The hard part’s still to come.

As the cornbread begins to bake, you move onto your chicken. You need to get the oil hot—just the right temperature so that the chicken fries up golden brown, the skin crispy and seasoned perfectly. You take a moment to mix in the seasonings: paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, cayenne. Press it into the flour mixture, making sure it coats evenly. You feel the nervousness creep in again as you set the pieces into the hot oil. It crackles, the sound sharp and satisfying.

You glance over your shoulder, but Kareem is still a little too far away to read his expression.

Focus.

The chicken fries, sizzling as it turns a golden brown. You turn the pieces carefully, making sure they cook evenly, the skin getting crisp and crackly. There’s a slight smell of garlic and paprika in the air—rich and savory—and for a moment, the tension that’s been building in your chest starts to lift, if only a little. You move in a kind of rhythm now, your hands steady, your mind occupied with each step.

You turn to the potatoes. You throw them into a pot, fill it with water, and set it to boil. You don’t need to watch it. It’ll take care of itself for now, just like the cornbread. You wash spinach, the leaves fresh and bright, and start on the sauté. A quick toss in hot olive oil with garlic—simple, but good. The spinach wilts quickly, its deep green turning darker as it cooks. You squeeze a little lemon juice over it, just enough to add a pop of brightness.

You’re acutely aware of Kareem’s presence behind you. You can feel his eyes on you, even when you don’t turn to look. His movements are almost too quiet, too calculated as he focuses on the panna cotta, but then, you hear a soft chuckle. You glance over and catch him looking at you—just a split second before he turns back to his work. He’s not hiding it. He’s watching you.

You try to ignore it, but it’s hard. Every so often, you catch him peeking over the top of the counter, eyes twinkling with something that could be amusement—or maybe just curiosity. He watches you handle the chicken, his gaze never straying too far, like he’s waiting for you to slip up. His voice breaks the silence between you when he speaks, low and teasing.

– You sure you know what you’re doing?

You keep your hands steady as you flip a piece of chicken, not looking up. – What, you think I can’t handle some fried chicken?

– No, no. I’m just curious, – he says, his voice carrying a hint of a grin. You feel it in the air as he stays close enough to catch the scent of garlic and paprika. – The real question is: are you really going to make this whole meal from scratch?

You roll your eyes, though the corners of your mouth twitch. – Didn’t I tell you I was a proactive type of person?

His laugh is soft, almost like he’s enjoying the game of it all. – I’m starting to think I might have underestimated you, chef.

You focus on the chicken, trying to ignore the way his presence feels just a little too heavy in the kitchen. When you set the pieces on the paper towels, you catch his eyes again, this time his grin widening as he leans against the counter. He seems unbothered by the quiet, the way you’re keeping your space while working. The kitchen is like a stage, and right now, you’re not sure whether you’re the performer or the director.

As the chicken finishes up, you check the potatoes. They’re soft and ready to mash, so you turn off the heat and start mashing them, adding butter, cream, and salt to get them to the right consistency. The spinach is done now, wilted and coated with a light sheen of oil and lemon juice. You set the chicken, the spinach, and the potatoes together, and glance over at Kareem again. He’s watching you now, his eyes following every move you make. There’s something amused in the way his lips curl as he turns back to the panna cotta.

– Well, – you say, trying to sound casual, like your whole life doesn’t depend on this. – lunch is almost ready.

He takes a step forward, his gaze moving over your work. – Smells damn good, – he says with a nod, his approval heavy in the air. You feel the cold whiff of realization Pandora must have felt after the box was finally open —Surrounded by the darkness you harvested, the only thing left for you is hope, the cruelest of all feelings.

You finally pull the cornbread from the oven, the golden crust hot and ready. You cut a piece, drizzling honey butter over the top. You glance at Kareem, who’s standing just a little too close, his grin still there, like he’s enjoying the whole scene.

– You didn’t think I’d pull it off, did you? – you ask, keeping your voice light, but you know he’s been watching, testing you.

– I might’ve had my doubts, – he admits, glancing at the food, – but I’m starting to think you might just be what this kitchen needs.

You set the plate in front of him, your heart racing a little. You’ve survived. For now.

You watch as Kareem picks up his fork, inspecting the plate like he’s about to face some kind of culinary battle. The corners of his mouth twitch in a playful smirk as he takes a bite of the chicken, his eyes immediately lighting up. He chews slowly, savoring each mouthful, before his gaze shifts to the potatoes. He dips his fork in, taking a scoop with as much care as a connoisseur tasting fine wine.

– Damn, – he says, half to himself, almost in disbelief. – You really did know what you were doing, huh?

You feel a smile tug at your lips, but you don’t let it show too much. – Told you.

His eyes lock with yours as he takes another bite, clearly relishing the moment. – I thought I was just gonna get something...good, but this? – He shakes his head, clearly impressed. – This is something else.

Your chest coils at the praise, heavy, even through the gladness. Yturn to grab the panna cotta, trying to keep your composure. – It’s just food.

– Oh, don’t play humble now, – he teases, voice laced with admiration. – This is art.

You’re not sure if it’s the joke or the way his tone softens just a little, but there’s a small flush creeping up your neck. You focus on serving the dessert, trying to keep your cool. When you turn back, he’s already looking at you like he’s trying to figure out what makes you tick.

– You know, if this was a competition, – he says with a grin, – I’d say you’ve got a pretty solid shot at winning.

You set the panna cotta down, feeling your hands fail you. – You're saying this isn’t a competition?

He takes another bite, face lighting up once again. – Well, I don’t really feel like doing any more interviews.

You wait for the punchline, but instead he just takes another bite, his eyes never leaving yours, a hint of something more behind the humor. The kitchen feels different now, charged, like the food isn’t the only thing that’s being tested.

You chuckle, trying to play it cool, even as you feel yourself trembling. – I do have a shot, then?

Kareem shrugs, but there’s a gleam in his eye as he leans back against the counter, holding the plate as if it was made of solid gold. – I think, you have a job.

You blink, heart skipping a beat. His words hang in the air, playful yet serious, like they’ve both been wrapped in a layer of something unspoken. For a second, all you can do is stand there, staring at him, trying to process whether he’s joking or actually offering something more.

And then the rush of emotions hits you like a wave.

Before you can stop yourself, you practically leap towards him, your arms wrapping around him in a spontaneous hug. It’s a mix of excitement, relief, and something else that you can’t quite put a name to.

– Oh my god, thank you! Thank you so much! – you practically squeal, hugging him tighter than you probably should.

Kareem lets out a startled laugh, but there’s no resistance in his body as he gently pats your back. – You’re welcome, you’re welcome.

You pull back, your face flushing in embarrassment. – Uh, I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know what came over me. That was… uh, I mean… you know, too much.

Kareem grins, a mischievous spark in his eyes. – Don’t apologize. You’ve got energy. I like it.

You wince, still a little flustered but feeling slightly better at his easy-going response. – Well, I’m glad you’re not my old boss. He would’ve fired me on the spot.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your awkwardness. – You can hug me whenever you want if you keep cooking like this. That’s a trade-off I’m willing to make.

You stare at him, your heart still racing a little from the interaction, but there's something else beneath it, something lighter.

– Alright, well, next time I’ll just hand you a plate of burnt toast and see if you still want to hug me then.

Kareem laughs loudly, shaking his head. – I’m not that picky.

Your chest tightens, but it’s not out of nervousness. It’s excitement, maybe even anticipation. You force yourself to focus, taking a deep breath. – Well, I do have a few more tricks up my sleeve. So, if you’re lucky…

– Oh, I’m lucky alright, – he says, his tone low and serious. His gaze flicks to your lips for just a moment, then back up to your eyes, his smile still lingering. – I think I’ve hit the jackpot.

Your breath catches, and for a second its like the whole kitchen quiets, the buzz of the conversation fading as your mind tries to catch up with what just happened. But just as quickly, Kareem’s grin widens, and he’s back to normal, as if nothing happened.

You're not sure it did, now.

– Seriously, though. You’re definitely the kind of person I want in this kitchen. You’ve got a future in this.

The weight of his words is still heavy, but you let out a laugh, easing the tension a little. – Guess we’ll see, won’t we?

– Oh, we will. – Kareem raises his eyebrows, clearly amused. – Well sit down and eat already, did you put poison on the food or something?

– Who knows, maybe mr. Carrera sent me down here to kill you.

Kareem raises an eyebrow. – Sounds like something he would do.

You laugh, shaking your head. – No poison, I promise. But hey, if it were, I’d say I’d be going down with you. Can’t let you go alone.

He chuckles, taking another bite of his food. – And who's gonna finish the pana cotta when I'm dead?

– Well, when you're out of the way I'm probably be busy basking in all that glory. – You take a sip of the water he poured you, but when you look up, Kareem takes a deep breath, his face suddenly worried. – Oh God. Did I overdo it with the joke, that was a little...

– No, no. That’s not what that is. It's just this thing you should know. – Your face falls. – It’s not that horrible…

– So it is.

– I can’t hire you without telling you. I mean, you're already hired. But I should tell you. – He plays around with the food for a moment. – The job is good. The pay is good, better than what you’re gonna get slaving away at some place like the Wreck.

– So, what's the catch?

He looks over his shoulder, and after assessing if you truly were alone or not, he finally says – The employers. – It seems to weigh on him. The way he says it is almost grievous. – There's not a month that goes by without someone being fired for something stupid.

– Jesus Christ.

– Yeah. I mean, Ward is a hard-ass. He complains a lot, he talks big game, but he's fair most of the time. Sarah and Louisa, his daughters, they're fine too, sometimes they whine, but they're mostly okay. It's his wife and his son you gotta worry about.

You mull on that for a moment, staring at your plate. – Why is that?

Kareem huffs. – Rafe and Rose, they'll find issues with the slightest things if they're pissed, sometimes, even when they're not. I've heard them screaming at staff for no reason, making people cry. Just— He looks deeper at you, almost pensive. – just don't get in their way.

– Is that what happened to the last person in the job? They got "in the way"?

The question slips out before you can stop it, and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you notice a subtle shift in Kareem’s demeanor. His wavers just slightly, pausing mid-bite. For a split second, his eyes flicker over to the door again.

Before you can backpedal, Kareem clears his throat and leans back slightly in his chair, a more measured tone entering his voice. – The last guy, I don’t even know. Randomly fired, like out of nowhere. He’d been working here for a while, but one day, bam. Gone.

He glances over his shoulder, looking like he's weighing whether to continue. There's a brief hesitation, and you notice his jaw tighten just slightly. – Don’t really know the full story, but I heard it was… – He stops himself just as he’s about to finish the sentence.

You feel the sudden weight of the moment, but just as you’re about to press him further, the door swings open, and you both look up in surprise.

Rafe walks in, his presence filling the room immediately. There’s something unmistakable about the way he carries himself—like he’s constantly aware of the effect he has on people. His eyes scan the room quickly, lingering just a little too long on Kareem, before drifting over to you.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic

[mallahanmoxie]

i do get why people express frustration and dissatisfaction with the way philomel acts wrt to nasar but i gotta say i love a lady who hates herself yet can't help but strive to survive

[nereidprinc3ss]

andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five.

series masterlist

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list. 

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying. 

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist. 

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him. 

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up. 

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now. 

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you. 

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone. 

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself. 

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much. 

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy. 

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine. 

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol. 

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is. 

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her. 

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall. 

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance. 

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that. 

But god, does he think about you like that. 

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee. 

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand. 

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought. 

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?” 

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her. 

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse. 

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom. 

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again. 

But. 

That’s all contingent. 

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same. 

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies. 

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him. 

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him. 

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back. 

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out. 

Not again. 

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can. 

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is. 

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too. 

He sends you a text—the third message in a row. 

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years. 

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you. 

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Between Fear and Trust

Summary - Grappling with the potential harm to her unborn child and the overwhelming anxiety of her protective husband, their love and trust are tested in a fragile dance of reassurance and emotional turmoil.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - Pregnancy anxiety, injury

Word count - 2032

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Jacaerys Velaryon was a protective man, often to the point where his vigilance bordered on excessive. His concern, though rooted in love, sometimes felt stifling.

"I don't think you should be doing that," Jace said, his voice gentle but firm. I sighed softly, setting down the needlepoint in my hands before turning to face him.

"And what harm could possibly come from needlework?" I asked.

As he approached, I gestured to the fabric spread out on the table, the intricate design slowly coming to life.

"Look, it's Vermax," I said, pointing at the olive green and pale orange dragon that was beginning to take shape on the black tunic. 

The dragon's fierce eyes and outstretched wings were just starting to emerge from the fabric. I felt a swell of pride as I watched his eyes follow the delicate work.

Jace's expression softened into a tender smile as he looked at the half-finished dragon, and then back at me. The sight of my enthusiastic face, so absorbed in the craft, caused a wave of affection to surge through him. His gaze lingered on me, a mixture of admiration and concern.

"You're straining yourself," he said softly, his tone a blend of warmth and insistence. 

He stepped closer and gently helped me to my feet, his hands moving with a practised tenderness. His fingers brushed lightly against my swollen belly, and he began to rub it in soothing, circular motions. 

"Jace, you must cease this," I said with a gentle smile, placing my hand over his. His frown deepened, and I could see the concern etched into his features. "You're becoming overbearing."

He swallowed hard, his eyes searching mine. "I only want to keep you safe, to keep our child safe," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he cupped my face in his hand.

"I can't walk through these halls without feeling like I'm doing something wrong," I confessed, my voice tinged with frustration. "I care deeply for this babe too, but your constant worry... it frightens me."

Jace exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. When he pulled back, his frown remained, but there was a softness in his gaze.

"I don't mean to cause you distress," he said quietly, his voice laced with regret. I nodded, understanding his intentions even if they sometimes overwhelmed me.

After a moment of silence, I shifted slightly "I could use some tea though," I said, trying to lighten the mood. Before the words were fully out of my mouth, Jace was already moving to stand.

"I'll get it for you," he said quickly, his voice filled with determination but I reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm to stop him.

"No, Jace. I think I can manage to fetch some tea," I said, my tone gentle yet firm. 

His hesitation was palpable, a visible battle between his desire to protect me and the recognition that I needed this small act of independence. His eyes flickered with concern as he looked at me, and I could see how difficult it was for him to let go.

"It's just tea," I added softly, attempting to soothe his worries. 

Finally, with a reluctant nod, he stepped back. "Just be careful," he murmured, his voice almost pleading as he watched me.

I gave him a reassuring smile, appreciating his concession. "I will," I promised, as I turned and made my way across the room.

As I reached the door, I glanced back over my shoulder, my thoughts drifting to a happier distraction. 

"Perhaps we could visit Vermax when I return," I suggested, my voice carrying a hopeful lilt. "I miss him dearly."

I heard Jace's quiet laughter from behind me, a sound that was both tender and indulgent. 

I knew it would take a great deal of convincing for him to agree to let me see the dragon again, especially considering my condition. But the thought of visiting Vermax seemed to lighten the mood, if only slightly.

Jace's voice followed me, a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You'll have to charm me into it, I suppose" he called out with a fond chuckle. 

I smiled to myself as I stepped into the hallway, the soft glow of the sconces casting a warm light on the stone walls.

The castle's usual grandeur was eerily muted, the soft thud of my footsteps on the cold, echoing stone a lonely sound in the vast, empty hallway. Each step seemed to reverberate with an ominous, hollow note.

The familiar surroundings, normally comforting, now felt like a path strewn with obstacles as I descended the grand staircase. 

The slight twist in my ankle was so sudden, so unexpected, that I barely had time to react before I felt myself falling. One moment I was moving cautiously, and the next, I felt my body lurch uncontrollably.

I tumbled down the last few steps, the world around me spinning in a blur of stone and panic. 

The impact was jarring, pain radiating through my body as I came to a stop on the cold floor. My ears rang, a sharp, disorienting sound that drowned out everything else. 

A thin, red line of blood trickled from the gash on my forehead, warm and sticky against my skin but all I could think about was the deep, gnawing fear that gripped my heart.

Anxiety clawed at me as I lay there, my breaths coming in short, frantic gasps. My hands flew instinctively to my swollen stomach, pressing down as if to protect the life within me.

"Please, please be okay," I whispered, the words trembling on my lips as I tried to steady my racing thoughts. 

I needed to get up, to find Jace, to reassure myself that everything was alright but I couldn't move. I was paralyzed by fear, by the pain that coursed through me, and by the overwhelming dread of what might have just happened.

"My lady," a voice gasped, cutting through the haze of my fear. 

I blinked, trying to focus on the figure rushing toward me. The armour clanked loudly in the quiet hallway, the sound harsh against the silence.

"Ser Erryk," I mumbled weakly, recognizing the Queensguard as he knelt beside me, his expression stricken with concern.

"My lady, are you hurt?" he asked urgently, his eyes scanning me for injuries. His hands hovered, unsure of where to touch, or how to help. 

I could see the panic in his eyes, the same panic I felt bubbling inside me.

"My... my head," I whispered, feeling the warmth of the blood trickling down my forehead. "And my ankle... but the babe..." My voice broke, and tears welled up in my eyes. "Ser Erryk, please, I need to get to Jace."

Without hesitation, Ser Erryk scooped me into his arms, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. 

The movement sent a jolt of pain through my ankle, and I winced, clutching my belly protectively as he began carrying me back to my chambers.

The journey was a blur of worry and pain, every step echoing my pounding heartbeat. The closer we got to the room, the more I felt the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me. 

By the time we reached the door, I was trembling, my mind a whirlwind of fear and guilt.

As Ser Erryk pushed the door open with his shoulder, Jace shot up from his seat, his face instantly pale with alarm when he saw me cradled in Ser Erryk's arms, blood smeared on my forehead.

"What happened?" Jace's voice was sharp, edged with panic as he rushed to my side, his hands immediately reaching for me. He looked between Ser Erryk and me, desperation in his eyes. 

"What happened?" he repeated, his voice breaking.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. The tears I had been holding back burst forth, and I began to sob uncontrollably. 

"I'm so sorry, Jace," I cried, my voice trembling with guilt. "I fell—I shouldn't have gone—I'm so sorry." The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, my apologies intertwining with my sobs.

Ser Erryk quickly explained, his voice steady but grave. "She lost her footing on the stairs, my prince. It was an accident." 

His words were meant to soothe, but they did little to ease the storm of emotions that swirled within me.

Jace's eyes softened with anguish as he knelt beside the bed where Ser Erryk gently laid me down. He cupped my face with trembling hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streamed down my cheeks.

"Shh, it's alright," Jace murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"You're alright, and that's all that matters." His fingers were gentle as they stroked my hair, trying to calm me, but I could see the fear in his eyes, the same fear that was consuming me.

"I was just so scared," I choked out, my hands still clutching my belly as if to reassure myself that our child was safe. "I should have listened to you... I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "None of this is your fault." He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering against the cut there as if he could kiss away the pain.

But the guilt still gnawed at me. "I just wanted to walk... to feel normal," I whispered, the words heavy with regret. "But I've made everything worse."

Jace shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

"You didn't do anything wrong. I just want you and our child to be safe. That's all that matters to me." His voice cracked as he spoke, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close as if to shield me from everything that had happened.

I buried my face in his chest, my tears soaking into his tunic as he rocked me gently. His heartbeat was strong and steady against my ear, a constant reminder that I wasn't alone, that we were in this together.

"I'll take care of you," Jace whispered his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

"We'll call for a maester," he continued, his tone steady and reassuring. "Everything will be alright." His gaze shifted to Ser Erryk, who stood nearby, concern etched into his features. 

With a nod of understanding, Ser Erryk left the chamber to fulfil Jace's unspoken command, the door closing softly behind him.

But as the door clicked shut, a fresh wave of anxiety washed over me. I pulled away from Jace's embrace, my hands trembling as I looked up at him, fear gripping my heart. 

"Jace... what if I've done something?" The words came out in a shaky whisper, my voice barely holding together as I voiced the deepest of my fears.

His expression softened immediately, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of my tears as he searched my eyes for the pain that haunted me.

"My love," he said, his voice tender but firm, "you've done nothing wrong." His words were like a lifeline, pulling me back from the abyss of my worries. 

"We must trust that the gods have good intentions for us. We've been blessed with this child, and we will see them into this world together."

Despite his reassurances, doubt lingered in my heart. "But what if—"

"Shh," Jace interrupted gently, pressing a finger to my lips. "No 'what ifs,'" he murmured, his gaze unwavering. "We cannot let fear dictate our lives. Whatever happens, we will face it together, as we always have."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, and I closed my eyes, letting his words sink in. The warmth of his breath against my skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the strength in his embrace all worked to calm the storm within me. 

Slowly, I began to breathe easier, the frantic pace of my thoughts slowing to match the rhythm of his heart.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice a gentle echo in the quiet room. "And I always will be."

As the moments passed, the tension in my body began to ease, replaced by a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright. 

A/n - Inspired by that one scene of Meredith falling down the stairs in Grey's.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Idk where this thought came from, but Reader getting super frustrated with yandere Batfam basically kidnapping them that they somehow manage to sucker punch one of Batfam 🥊

-🪼

Yandere! Batfamily x reader

You were done. Done with the family’s overbearing antics, their endless “rules for your safety,” and their infuriating tendency to make decisions for you. Being locked up in Wayne Manor felt less like protection and more like a glorified cage.

So, when Jason smugly blocked the door yet again, arms crossed and grin wide, you saw red.

“Move.” Your voice was sharp, but it lacked the bite you hoped for.

Jason chuckled, his grin widening as he leaned against the frame. “Or what, little bird? You’ll yell at me? Give me your best shot, kid.”

Challenge accepted. You wound up your fist, determination blazing in your eyes, and swung with everything you had.

Your fist connected with Jason’s jaw in what could only be described as… a very enthusiastic tap. It was a miracle you didn’t hurt yourself more than him. Jason blinked, his head barely tilting, more from surprise than force.

The room went silent. For a moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—you’d managed to shock them into submission. Then, all at once, they reacted.

Jason froze, staring at you like you’d grown wings. Slowly, a smirk spread across his face, but his eyes were soft, as though you’d just handed him a precious gift. “Did you… Did you just punch me?”

Bruce, who’d been sitting nearby, set his coffee down with an exaggerated slowness. His piercing gaze softened marginally, though the corners of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile.

Dick leaned against the couch, biting his lip to suppress a laugh. “That was—wow. Fierce, [Name]. Really fierce.”

Damian, ever the critic, scoffed. “That was not a punch. It was a tap. An overly enthusiastic one at best. Todd, do not inflate their ego over such a pathetic display.”

But even Damian’s sharp words carried a glimmer of amusement, his usual disdain tempered by what could only be described as fondness.

Jason rubbed his jaw theatrically. “Gotta admit, you’ve got guts. Almost felt that one.”

“Shut up!” you snapped, fists clenched at your sides. Your face was burning, though you weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment or frustration. Probably both. “I’m serious! Let me go, or I’ll—”

“Do it again?” Tim cut in, snickering.

The Batfamily was practically internally cooing at you now, their expressions a mix of pride and adoration, like you were an angry kitten puffing up at a lion.

Bruce finally stepped forward, placing a steady hand on your shoulder. “We get it,” he said, his deep voice surprisingly gentle. “You’re frustrated. But you’re not going anywhere.”

“And next time,” Jason added, flashing you a cheeky grin, “maybe put some weight into it.”

Your glare was met with more stifled laughs, and you stormed off, muttering under your breath. You may not have landed a solid punch, but at least you’d made an impact—one that had them smothering you in even more attention than before.

Great. Just great.

(A/n: CONGRATULATIONS!! you just received more suffocating hugs from the batfamily!!🥰)

[redfoxwritesstuff]

CW: Smut, blood, knots, ruts Rating: Adult Summary: Alastor and his Doe have weathered the passing of the seasons, though he has failed to define their relationship and she's been too afraid to ask. Now, Alastor's Rut is upon him and it's time for her to return the favor. Follow up to Antler Play

“Alastor?” you called out as you stepped into your shared bedroom, fluffy doe tail flicking in worry.

Alastor had failed to join you for pastries over coffee. It was terribly unlike him and you feared you had done something to upset him. The relationship between you two was something strange. You shared a room, slept in his presence and yet you still were not totally sure what you were to the buck. 

He had been acting strange the last few weeks, scenting you when none were around. The musk of him clung to you, as if you needed any additional way for him to show his claim over you. 

Yet, you didn’t know what that claim was or what it meant for your heart. 

The door slammed shut behind you. Fear jumped through your system, forcing a squeak from your throat as you turned, looking at the door shrouded in shadows. They were too dark, too deep for the amount of dim light that was in the room. 

He was in here, somewhere. You knew that. You could smell him. The crackle of his power danced over your skin. 

“Cher,” his voice came from the radio sitting on the fireplace mantle, the speakers lighting up the way his smile did when he was more radio demon than deer as he spoke. “Remember how I helped you?”

“Alastor?” You turned, heart pounding in your chest as you looked for him. 

“I’m here,” his voice came directly over your shoulder as his arm wound around your waist, lifting you from your feet. 

His presence was overbearing as he carried you toward the bed, only to set your feet down on the carpet. Facing him, you couldn’t stifle the gasp. 

The antlers atop his head were heavy, wide and branched. Dark shadows clung to them, dripping from the tines. Bitter musk was thick in the air, making your mouth water even outside of your season. 

You were a sexual being, in life and in death. While you learned your seasons made you made with desire, you were not immune to it outside of that time like Alastor seemed to be. 

Trembling legs took you a few steps back from the advancing buck, eyes black as coal swallowed bright red radio dials that looked back at you. 

It all made sense. The last few months, Alastor had been more affectionate. He scented you more. He hovered more. He watched over you more. You thought something had changed between you. Perhaps he loved you, but.. he had entered his season.

His libido was awakening as his body prepared itself for his rut. He was a buck, but the way he looked at you made it feel very much like he was a wolf, ready to devour you. 

“Do you remember how I helped you last year?” Static was loud in your ears, but at least this time the words came from the man you had fallen in love with.

“Yes,” you whispered, heart pounding so heard in your chest that you were sure he could hear it. 

“Will you return the favor?” Alastor’s bright red eyes ran slowly down your body, taking in each curve as he did so in a way he never had before.

“y-yes,” excitement ran through you, shooting down your spine as the large buck reached out for you. 

“My doe,” his voice rumbled through the static, coming from all around you as he wrapped his arms around you.

Your feet dangled for a moment before you threw them around his waist. As he walked as if nothing out of the ordinary at all, shadows and tentacles ripped at your clothes. Stitching on the seams gave way. The fabric ripped- clothes fell from you in tatters.

Your body reacted instantly to the feel of him, to the feel of the static running over bare skin. The rich smell of forest and buck was all you could smell. Fire ignited in you, growing hotter with each deep lungful of him you pulled in. 

Everything was happening so fast. As Alastor laid you on the bed, you realized he was naked. Never had you seen him bare and yet his clothes melted into the shadows without you even noticing. The bulbus head of his cock pressed into your waiting opening as he climbed over you, pushing your legs up and apart. 

“You’re already ready for me,” Alastor said, though his voice came from all around as he thrust forward, length parting your walls in one smoothe stroke. 

He throbbed inside you as his hips met yours. Or perhaps it was your wet cunt that was throbbing? You were not sure anymore as you arched into him. Gruff groans reverberated through his chest as he pulled from you, only to slam back into your wet cunt. 

“Fuck,” you moan as his cock nudges your cervix, hot thick length spreading your core easily. 

Each thrust came hot on the heels of another. Alastor set a brutal, violent pace as he reached down, grabbing your legs in his large hands. He pulled your thighs up, higher and higher, as he thrust into you. As your knees sank, so close to framing your breasts, Alastor groaned again. 

Red radio dial eyes never left you as he thrust, hard and powerful, into your tight cunt, spread so open for him. Tentacles grabbed your legs, freeing his hands to hold your waist, pulling your core down to meet his hips in each painful blow. 

It hurt to be taken by the Radio Demon but the pain felt so good, you couldn’t help the moans, prayers made up only of his name dropping from your lips. He shifted back, pulling your body down the bed a few inches just as the top of your head grazed the headboard. 

He had fucked you up the bed. Reaching up, you braced yourself against the headboard. Alastor’s long arms made it easy for him to reach up, doing the same. The wood cracked as he used it for leverage, allowing him to thrust into you harder still. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, fingers tangling in the bedsheets as he fucked into you again and again. 

His grip on you was painful as he shifted, angling your hips and forcing your back into an arch. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your stomach, pushing out slightly with each thrust. 

Desperate for anything, you dug your nails into his arms. You clung to where his skin shifted from the black stains of blood spilled that he could never wash away to the soft tan of his skin and the light covering of fur over it. 

Sharp claws dug into your thighs. His hips slammed into yours, harder and harder, making you burn inside. You could feel every delicious impact, pulling breathless moans from your lips.

The pebbled buds of your nipples ran against the soft fur of his chest as he fucked into you, trying to reach as deeply as possible with each and very thrust. 

“I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll feel my cock in your pretty little cunt forever Dear” Alastor growled out, voice coming from the radio speakers as well as the man over you, “and after we’re done, I’m going to fuck you again, and again, until you can’t take anymore, just to make sure you’re so full of my cum, nothing else will fit”

“Alastor,” you whined, voice airy as you struggled against the force of his cock pounding through your insides, driving you closer and closer to your orgasm. Heat built inside you, being pulled forth by the pheromones wafting off of him. 

“You’re going to feel my cum inside you as you sit for breakfast around all of those pathetic sinners. You’re going to smell of me. Everyone’s going to know you are mine.” Alastor snarled through his promises, claws sinking so deep into your thighs that you could feel the trickle of blood running up your legs. 

“When I’m done with you,” his voice flipped, coming from him and the speaker, changing nearly every other syllable. “you’re going to suck me clean before I fuck you again”

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling your head back as he continued to fuck into you. He couldn’t decide if he wanted our neck under his teeth or if he wanted your eyes on him as he forced you to cum on his cock. Did he want to taste you or see you as he marked you his?

“What?” You gasped out, losing track of where you ended and Alastor began. 

“All you’ll be able to do is think of the way my cock fills you,” he promised, dark words pushing you closer to the edge. “The taste of my seed on your tongue. The sound of my voice in your ears. The feeling of my teeth in your neck. My hands on your skin. My claws gripping your hips.” 

“Please, Alastor,” you begged for him, not knowing how to ask for what you needed. Never had you imagined him saying such things to you. 

“Thoughts of me will devour your mind,” he swore and you were so sure he was right, “until you return to me, begging me to take you again.” 

“Oh, fuck!” you cried out as his tongue ran over your neck. 

“You will dream of me. When you touch your pretty little cunt, you’ll wish it was my hands. You’ll wish it was my cock. I will ruin you.” 

You drug his face to yours, needing his kiss. It was the first kiss shared between you. What sweetness there was in it quickly dissolved into the fiery passion of mating. Sucking on his tongue desperately, you moaned and whined, needing him in all your holes. 

You wanted nothing more than his full possession as you submit, your body pliant just for him as he continued his lust filled rambles, “You’re going to cum so much for me aren’t you pet, gonna drag my cum deep inside you while your little cunt begs for my seed”

Leaning forward, his lips found your neck. Folding over you, each thrust had more power yet. You wrapped your arms around him. The strong muscles of his lean back flexed and bunched under your touch. Your orgasm washed over you with sudden, drowning waves of pleasure. Accompanying your sudden orgasm was the grunting bleats coming from your lover. 

His cock swelled inside you, pushing deeper and deeper with each thrust. The tip nestled against your cervix. Tears ran down your face as your opening was pushed wider with each thrust into you. 

Teeth sank into your neck, grounding him in the coppery taste of your blood and you in the searing pain ripping through your body. It distracted you from the pain in your opening as his cock swelled; the base growing larger and larger as he rutted it inside you. 

“Mine,” he growled as his body stilled, cock locked inside you as he shot rope after rope of hot cum into your fluttering cunt, painting your cervix with it. “Mine,” he rutted against you, hips rocking as he tried to push his cock deeper.

He stilled, lips placing soft kisses on bloodstained skin. Tall ears were pulled back, displaying the heavy antlers that clattered against the wall on occasion. Soft bleats filled your ears as your cunt continued to strain around his cock. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your skin, “I seem to be stuck.” 

“W-what?” you gasped as he tried to pull his cock from you and failed, his base far too swollen to slip out of your hole. 

Soft caresses smoothed your naked skin as he waited, peppering kisses along the bloodstained skin. He wrapped you up in his arms, dragging you to his chest as he rolled onto his side. 

“Mine,” he rumbled, rubbing the side of his head against the top of your head, ensuring he pushed more of the musky scent of him onto you.

“What does that mean?” you whispered, unsure if Alastor was in any condition to answer you truthfully. 

“My doe,” he said, running his hand down your back as his still hard cock, trapped inside of you with the large bulbous knot twitched inside you. “No other bucks will touch you.” 

“While we’re in season?” you braved asking, hoping that his rut was enough like your season to allow for a moment of clarity post orgasm. 

“Forever,” Alastor said, again scenting you. He ran his hooves up and down your shin, spreading the toes and smearing more of his scent onto you. 

“Mine,” Alastor said as he held you close.

“Mine.” 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[sgt-tombstone]

When Johnny asked Simon to come home with him on leave, he had never expected… this.

Johnny’s flat in Glasgow was a tiny thing, barely large enough to fit one, much less two massive soldiers. They made it work well enough, as long as neither of them minded being constantly wrapped up in each other, always within reach, and neither of them did. Their last mission had gone to hell in a heartbeat, and the 141 were lucky to be alive; Price had sent them all home on mandated medical leave, and Simon and Johnny were taking full advantage of the time off base to reacquaint themselves with each other being present and tangible and alive.

That didn’t change the fact, though, that his flat was only slightly larger than a postage stamp, which was fine for a few days, but he had sensed Simon getting antsy, feeling caged in, and had suggested visiting his parents for a couple of days, if only to get out of the house. It wouldn’t be any less oppressive—the MacTavish family was massive and overbearing on the best of days—but it would offer some reprieve from the near-constant contact and the stifling city.

Which was how Johnny found himself staring down at his lieutenant, his partner, curled up on his back on his parents’ couch, fast asleep, a green dinosaur stuffed animal clutched against his chest.

It didn’t look particularly comfortable; Simon was too tall, his legs too long, to be able to stretch out completely, so his knees were hiked up, his socked feet flat against the cushioned armrest. His neck was at an odd angle, resulting in his chin nearly touching his own shoulder, his unmasked cheek squished slightly where it was pressed against the leather. And the stuffed animal…

Johnny had bought it as a gift for one of his nephews, a toddling bairn who had struggled with nightmares, and the shopkeep who sold it to him had assured him that the little beads in the dinosaur’s tummy would provide enough weight to be a comfort without being dangerous. Evidently, his nephew had taken one look at Simon Riley and decided that the scarred soldier needed it more than he did.

Both of Simon’s arms were wrapped around the soft toy, squishing it against his chest, rising and falling with every slow, deep breath. He looked at peace in a way that Johnny hadn’t seen him look in a long time. They had spent the day surrounded by fussing family members and babbling children, their attentions split between warm homemade meals and whatever trinkets had caught the toddlers’ interest. Johnny would’ve felt bad; he was long used to his family’s antics, had grown up surrounded by siblings and cousins and extended relatives. But Simon had taken to it like a duck to water, effortlessly shifting focus from one person to another, treating each with equal sincerity and devotion, the same way he did in the field. It had been a delight to watch, especially when his mam and sisters had taken advantage of Simon’s distraction to shoot Johnny knowing glances.

“Gonna stand there all night, sergeant?”

Johnny startled, not enough to move, but enough to send his heart rate skyrocketing. He recovered quickly though, too well trained to do anything else. Simon hadn’t moved, hadn’t even opened his eyes, and it would’ve unnerved him if he hadn’t spent the last two years cementing himself as a permanent fixture in Simon’s life and, therefore, becoming incredibly used to his partner’s uncanny sense of perception. Even, apparently, while asleep.

“Just wonderin’ if Gaz’d ever believe me if I told him, sir.”

“Take a picture,” Simon grumbled, his voice deep with sleep. “It’ll last longer.”

Johnny snorted a quiet laugh, already imagining the look on his fellow sergeant’s face. He didn’t pull his phone out, though, just like Simon knew he wouldn’t. These moments were for the two of them alone, raw and bare and soft.

“Let’s go to bed, love,” he whispered, reaching out to run his hand through Simon’s hair. It was tangled from the grasping of tiny, fisted fingers throughout the day (Johnny’s nephews had never seen blond hair before and, as such, had been absolutely enraptured by Simon’s head of golden hair), and he didn’t mention the way Simon pushed into his hand, seeking touch and warmth like a cat. He also didn’t mention the way Simon continued to hug the stuffed animal to his chest as he unfurled his long legs, stretching slightly, his knees popping, before drawing himself up to his usual towering height. His eyes were half-lidded with sleep, soft in a way he rarely allowed himself to be, the green dinosaur tucked safely in his arms as he followed Johnny upstairs.

In a week, they will be back on base, back to their tactical gear and their sidearms and their razor-sharp focus. They will be shipped out to some foreign soil, either sweltering heat or numbing cold, either dry deserts or soaking rainforests, and blood will be spilled, probably their own, definitely their enemy’s. They will once again be hardened soldiers, products of war, and there will be no room for such softness. Which was why Johnny reveled in the way Simon curled around him now, in a bed two sizes too small for two muscular men, a warm blanket blocking out the worst of the Scottish chill, a green weighted dinosaur stuffed animal clutched in two massive arms against an equally massive chest.

He tucked his nose against the nape of his partner’s neck, one arm thrown over Simon’s hip, and drifted off to the quiet sound of breathing, of comfort, of peace.

[lazysoulwriter]

Shield of Love - Pedro Pascal.

The early morning sunlight peeked through the blinds, casting soft golden patterns across the hardwood floor. You were curled up on the couch, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. Pedro walked into the room with two cups of coffee, his presence always grounding, always warm. He smiled as he handed you one, but there was something slightly hesitant in his expression.

It wasn’t new, this subtle tension. Lately, he had become a little more overbearing, always holding your hand in public, shooting warning glances at any man who so much as smiled in your direction. You adored Pedro—he was your rock, your comfort—but it had started to feel stifling. You knew he meant well, but it was time to address it.

“Pedro,” you started softly, placing your coffee down on the table. He glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly.

“What’s wrong, cariño?”

You hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “I’ve noticed how… protective you’ve been lately. I mean, you’re always protective, but it feels different now. Almost like you don’t trust something—or someone.”

His face flushed immediately, his dark eyes darting away from yours. He sat down beside you, his knee brushing yours. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered, the tips of his ears turning red.

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing look. “Pedro, I’m not upset. I just… Is it jealousy? Or are you worried about something I don’t know about?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. “It’s not jealousy,” he mumbled. “It’s just… you’re younger than me. Not by a lot, I know, but enough that it makes me—” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Enough that it makes you what?” you pressed gently.

“Worried,” he admitted quietly. “Worried that people will judge you, or us. That someone will think they can take advantage of you. You’re my baby, and I just—I want to protect you from everything.”

Your heart softened at his confession, and you reached out to take his hand. “Pedro, I don’t need you to shield me from the world. I chose you, and I’ll keep choosing you, no matter what anyone else thinks.”

He looked at you then, his eyes glassy and full of vulnerability. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to make you feel suffocated. I just love you so much, and sometimes I don’t know how to handle it.”

You leaned forward, brushing a kiss against his lips. “I love you too. But you don’t have to handle it alone. We’re a team, remember?”

He smiled at that, his usual confidence returning as he pulled you into his arms. “A team,” he echoed. “And I promise, I’ll ease up. But don’t think for a second that I’m not going to keep calling you my baby. Because you are.”

You laughed, burying your face in his chest. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

In that moment, all the tension melted away, leaving only love and understanding in its place.

[capquinn]

need more dad quinn thoughts but during first time pregnancy🥺 like him being so worried all the time about everything and so so doting

AHHHH so in my head Quinn would absolutely try to be the chill, laid-back partner during your pregnancy because he knows how overwhelming everyone else can be. Your mother is calling daily to ask about doctor appointments. Your sister messaging you regularly asking how you’re feeling; whether you’re experiencing the same obscure symptom she had during her pregnancy. Your best friend’s sending articles and unsolicited advice. Even strangers in the grocery store feel the need to comment. So, Quinn makes it his mission to be your calm in the storm. So that his worry isn’t loud or stifling; but quiet, patient, woven into the background of everything he does.

He wouldn’t hover or make a big deal out of things. He’d just be there, always. Like, when you’re trying to wrangle the groceries into the car, and he casually steps in, saying, “I got it,” without even waiting for you to argue. Or when he notices you’re drinking less water than usual and wordlessly places a cold glass next to you on the couch. He’s not overbearing. He just … knows you.

But there’d be these little moments where his worry would peek through. Like the time you mentioned an ache in your back, something you brushed off as normal, but Quinn was already reaching for his phone. He tried to play it cool, but you caught the way his brows knit together as he scrolled through page after page, reading worst-case scenarios with increasing intensity.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he said eventually, his voice even but his grip on the phone betraying the nervous energy bubbling underneath.

And yet, for the next twenty minutes, his eyes kept flicking to you, watching the way you shifted in your seat, clearly working himself into a quiet panic. It wasn’t until the logical part of his brain kicked in — the part that remembered your doctor’s reassurances, the prenatal books he’d pored over, the countless articles bookmarked on his phone — that he finally relaxed, his shoulders dropping as he set the phone aside. Even then, though, his hand found your knee, his thumb brushing absent circles as if to reassure himself you were perfectly fine.

And then there’s that night.

It’s late, so late, and you’re exhausted — but no matter how tired you are, sleep just won’t come. The baby is kicking, and not those sweet, fluttery movements from earlier in the pregnancy. These are full-on jolts, sharp enough to make you gasp, and every time you drift off, another kick pulls you right back. You’re tossing and turning under the covers, trying to find a position that might offer some relief, but it’s no use.

You’re on your side now, staring at the clock, when you feel Quinn stir beside you. His hand reaches out instinctively, brushing over your hip as he murmurs, half-asleep, “you okay?”

You hesitate for a second, not wanting to bother him, but another kick answers for you, and you let out a frustrated sigh. “I can’t sleep. She won’t stop kicking.”

His eyes open fully then, soft and a little concerned but still carrying that quiet calm that’s just so him.

“You want me to grab you something? Water? A snack?” His voice is low, warm, like he’s trying not to disturb the stillness of the night.

You shake your head, and he shifts closer, his breath warm against the quiet of the room.

“C’mere,” he murmurs softly, his voice low and steady.

He rests his head on your pillow, his nose brushing your shoulder as he presses a kiss there, warm and lingering. His arm slips under the covers, his hand finding your belly with the kind of ease that comes from months of instinct. The touch is gentle, his palm warm against your skin. He doesn’t say much — he knows words won’t stop the kicks — but he starts rubbing slow, soothing circles over your bump, his thumb brushing just below your ribs.

When another sharp kick jolts you, Quinn presses another kiss to your shoulder, his hand still moving in those slow, steady circles, like he could soothe the baby through sheer determination.

“Felt that one,” he mumbles, his lips brushing your skin, voice thick with sleep, almost slurring, but tinged with amusement, because of course your baby’s already got a personality, already making themselves known.

The kicks don’t stop right away but there’s something about him being there, about the quiet steadiness of his touch and the warmth of his hand, that makes it easier to deal with. Like somehow, he’s shouldering some of it just by being there. Your shoulders start to relax, the frustration you’ve been carrying all night melting into something softer. Something sweeter. It’s still not comfortable, but you’re not doing it alone, and that makes it bearable.

After a while, the baby settles, the kicks becoming gentler, more sporadic, and Quinn doesn’t move, doesn’t even consider rolling over, not even when your eyes grow heavy and you start to drift.

In the morning, he doesn’t mention it. He’s still Quinn, easy and unassuming, asking if you want pancakes like he wasn’t up half the night with you. But you catch the way his hand lingers a little longer on your bump when he kisses you goodbye, the way his smile softens when you tell him you finally got some sleep. It’s all there, in the quiet, subtle way he loves — steady and unwavering, just like him.

[crushpunky]

rafe cameron x girlfriend!reader thoughts !!!

met during the events of season three, and grew closer following ward’s death. y/n really inspired him to be a better person and see the best in himself.

at the beginning of their relationship, rafe was very hesitant to show any type of vulnerability or emotion, worried he would come off as “weak” or “overbearing” and scare y/n off. slowly but surely, y/n showed him that he doesn’t have to hide and can express himself however he needs to when he’s with her.

rafe’s love languages are definitely physical touch and gift giving… and he loves to shower y/n in both

y/n’s love languages are definitely quality time and words of affirmation. she loves spending time with rafe doing anything or nothing, as long as they’re together she’s fine with that.

y/n wasn’t nervous about introducing rafe to her family. she loved him so much and was well aware of his own familial issues, but she also knew her family would care for him as much as she did.

on the other hand, she was very nervous about introducing rafe to her cat, kit kat:

“why are you sweating so much? do you need some water?” rafe asked as they pulled into y/n’s driveway. “no, it’s fine. i’m fine.” y/n trailed off. “you’re acting weird, baby," rafe reached across the console, taking y/n’s hand. “i’ve already met your parents, and they’re wonderful people. i don’t—” “no i’m just nervous about you meeting kit kat.” y/n mumbled, avoiding the small smirk that crept on rafe’s lips. “the cat?” rafe stifled a laugh. “don’t laugh, cameron! this is very serious!” y/n groaned, running a hand through her hair nervously. “what if he doesn’t like you, then what?” “you’ll just have to get rid of it i guess.” rafe said with a shrug, causing y/n to gasp. “that is not funny, rafe. and don’t call him ‘it’.” y/n scowled.

while kit kat did in fact like rafe, rafe held some sort of one-sided beef with the small, fluffy gray cat. he was fine with cats, but what he didn’t appreciate was how the cat always stole y/n’s attention…

rafe picks her up every saturday at exactly 9 am (even though he despises getting up anytime before noon on the weekend) to get coffee and stop at her favorite flower shop. the look of “surprise” on her face when he gets her a bouquet always makes his heart melt. because of this, he always made sure the vase in y/n’s windowsill was always filled with fresh flowers.

when rafe made it to 100 days clean, y/n woke him up with a cake she had spent the whole night making and a new lingerie set she had seen him eyeing the last time the two of them went shopping on the mainland. he wasn’t used to this sort of celebration or attention on his accomplishments, but needless to say he was very happy with the surprise.

y/n pushed rafe to reconcile with his sisters, encouraging him to make an effort to apologize to them and tell them about how much he’s changed from this violent, drug addicted young man he used to be.

for christmas, y/n convinced rafe to wear matching sweaters with her to their friends’ christmas get together. never in his life would rafe cameron ever thought to find himself doing something as cheesy as that, but with y/n, it just felt natural. not even topper and kelce’s teasing could shake his commitment to seeing y/n smile at their identical sweaters:

“no fucking way.” topper scoffed. “what’s your problem, thornton?” rafe quirked an eyebrow, wrapping an arm around y/n’s torso. “dude you are so pussy-whipped.” kelce shook his head, taking a sip from his mug. “yeah, yeah, i love my girlfriend, what’s so fuckin wrong about that? hm?” rafe pulled y/n in to kiss the top of her head. “you should see kit kat’s sweater too.” y/n said, going to pull out her phone. “woah, woah, woah. you did not tell me we were matching with the cat—”

rafe was so head over heels for y/n it was crazy. he found himself thinking about her all the time, picturing a future for the two of them together. he had never thought about having a family before, after knowing how fucked up his own was, but with y/n he wanted that. he wanted everything, as long as it was with her.

[blackbleedingrose]

Long Lost Morningstar - Part One

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing(s): Lucifer x daughter! reader x Lilith

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Warnings: Forced child abandonment

Notes: This is my first Hazbin mini fic. This will be a mini series, so there will be a part two but it may take a little while as I tend to get busy with work and school - so please, bare with me.

Words: 880

"No! No! Please!"

It's no surprise Lucifer and Lilith fooled around a bit during their days in the Garden of Eden.

What was surprising was the moment Lilith discovered she was pregnant.

Despite the shock and slight fear of being new parents, Lucifer and Lilith were overjoyed at the news.

When they found out the baby was going to be a girl, the two cried in pure happiness.

Lucifer became adamant, and a little overbearing, about doing everything for Lilith not wanting her to overwork herself or the baby. This did annoy Lilith (being the independent woman she was), but she knew he just wanted to make sure she and the baby were safe.

When Lilith went into labor, Lucifer went into full panic mode (imagine that one scene from The Office)

Lucifer: *freaking out* "OMG! IT'S HAPPENING! DON'T PANIC, HONEY!

Lilith: *calmly packing the hospital bags*

Lucifer may have passed out during the delivery when his curiosity got the best of him and decided to see what was going on down there (I imagine seraphim's or angels born in Heaven aren't born the natural way and instead created through magic).

Lucifer woke up from the sounds of crying and when he came to he saw a tiny body being carried by one of the nurses.

After rejoining Lilith's side (and making sure she was okay while profusely apologizing for passing out) they waited for the nurses to clean up the baby.

The moment the two saw one of the nurses bring over a pink bundle, their hearts filled with unbridled love and joy.

She was so small and had tuffs of blonde hair. She had Lucifer's red cheek circle's and Lilith's eyes.

Lucifer's eyes welled up with tears as he lovingly gazed down at the tiny person in his lover's arms. "She's perfect, Lily".

Lilith agreed with happy tears as she laid a gentle kiss on their daughter's head.

The two named her (Y/N) - (Y/N) Morningstar.

(Y/N) was a lively baby who adopted her father's bubbly and curious personality, as well as his love for ducks.

Her first toy was a duck plushie Lucifer had made himself.

However, despite having everything they could want in the Garden, Heaven, and now their new baby - they wanted something more.

They wanted to share free will with humanity in hopes that Heaven would finally see Lucifer's ideas and change their suffocating rules so (Y/N) could live in a world that wouldn't stifle any of her future dreams.

This lead them to tempt Eve with the apple, causing the unfortunate chain of events that lead to Lucifer and Lilith's trial.

The two were found guilty of bringing evil into humanity and as punishment they would be sent down into Hell.

However, before they sent the family into eternal damnation Heaven decided (Y/N) was innocent as she was only a baby who knew not what her parents had done.

Being a child of a seraphim and one of humanities first human's, they saw potential in her for Heaven's future - so they decided (Y/N) would stay in Heaven while Lucifer and Lilith would go down to Hell.

"Take the child," Sera ordered one of the court angels. "No! No! Please!" Lucifer and Lilith begged with tears falling down their faces as they held (Y/N) closer to them. The court angels forced the wailing (Y/N) out of her crying parents arms.

That was the last time Lucifer and Lilith saw their daugther before being banished to Hell for all eternity.

To keep (Y/N) from discovering her true lineage, Heaven decided that Lucifer's twin brother, Michael, would claim to be her father and raise her as a role model seraphim - one that follows Heaven's rules.

As (Y/N) grew up it became increasingly obvious how much she took after her parents. She had Lucifer's curious and cheerful nature, and Lilith's eyes, long blonde hair, and grace - both her parents beauty present in her features. The perfect combination of the two.

She especially adopted Lucifer's six large wings, only they had a pink under surface and gold tips.

To bypass any questions of her mother, Michael told her that he had created her from stardust with both his and Lilith's likeness - only using Lilith as a reference for a female.

Michael made sure her curious nature didn't go as far as Lucifer's, keeping her busy with her education and where he can keep an eye on her.

To keep her in check he told her about Lucifer and Lilith, but that they were her uncle and aunt who had lost their way and fallen from grace.

When she entered into adulthood, Heaven decided it was time for her to bear more serious responsibilities.

That's how (Y/N) Morningstar Demiurgos became one of Heaven's trial record keepers/recorders (she sometimes sits in trials and writes what's being said for the records).

It was mainly because Michael wanted to her to have a busy office job and away from exploring and getting too curious (he hoped being in trials would satisfy her curiosity, but made sure to keep her from asking too many questions).

And for awhile everything was perfect and in Heaven's favor. . .

. . .Until a certain Princess of Hell came to Heaven with a dream.

[munson-blurbs]

hii 🫶🏻 i've had this idea of the reader and eddie being at a halloween party and her drink getting spiked (roofied or wtv) and like eddie comes to the rescue and takes care of her - enemies to slight lovers pls!! have a good day/night :))

Hi! I changed it a bit so that her drink was spiked with extra booze, but I kept it enemies-to-lovers!

Warnings: underage drinking (everyone is over 18 but under 21), reader's drink gets spiked, drunkenness, brief mention of Eddie dealing, Billy Hargrove needs his own warning tbh, enemies-to-lovers, idiots in love

WC: 2.5k

Thank you so much to @corroded-hellfire @lofaewrites and @manda-panda-monium for their help! Y'all made this fic much stronger, and I am indebted to you.

--

A brief, incomplete list of activities you enjoy: grabbing coffee with a few friends, walks down by Lover’s Lake powered by whatever cassette you’ve jammed into your WalkMan, reading a good book and curling up in the sunlight streaming through your bedroom window.

A brief, incomplete list of activities you despise: Steve Harrington’s house parties.

The bass from the stereo has the entire downstairs shaking, and you wince as you pass by it and make your way to Nancy. She’s the reason why you’ve started coming to these stupid things, and although Steve isn’t as big of a tool as you’d previously thought, it doesn’t make other people more tolerable.

“You having a good time?” Nancy asks now, bouncing along with the music. Her eyes are hazy with booze; her half-filled cup of the jungle juice concoction is clearly far from her first of the evening.

You shrug, hitching your bag close to your shoulder as a beast of a man in a letterman jacket pushes his way through the crowd. “Not really.”

“Cool, awesome!” Nancy chirps, senses compromised by the constant flow of alcohol and the blasting music. 

Steve has his arm around her waist, pressing chaste kisses to her neck. He looks up at you for just a second and frowns. “Where’s your drink?”

You jingle the car keys you’ve had clenched in your fist the whole night, ready to make a getaway as early as you can. “Designated driver. Unless you want José Cuervo behind the wheel tonight,” you raise your brows as you motion to your friend.

Steve shakes his head. “Nance is gonna stay here with me tonight,” he tells you, taking Nancy’s cup from her hand and placing it in yours. “She’s had enough, anyway. So, uh, go crazy.”

Go crazy. It’s tempting to dull the roar of the dozen or so conversations worming their way into your consciousness. And no doubt it’ll be easier to slap a fake smile on your face and even join one of them. But you still have to get home somehow, and the thought of asking either of your overbearing parents for a ride home from a party has your stomach in knots, especially considering you’d told them you were going to the library and sleeping at the Wheeler’s. 

Instead of going crazy, you toss the couple a frustrated eye roll, but they’re both too enmeshed in their puppy love for each other to catch it. Home. You just need to get home, snug in your own bed, away from–

“Hey, Goody Two-Shoes!” Billy Hargrove flings his muscular arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him despite your clear lack of interest. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s bad etiquette to bring down the party vibe?”

 “Get offa me,” you grumble, but his strength easily overpowers yours. 

“What you need,” he continues, stifling a beer-scented belch, “is to fuckin’ loosen up.” He punctuates his statement by placing one beefy hand on each of your shoulders, shaking you back and forth. He stumbles a bit in his drunken state, and you seize the opportunity to step away from him.

The entire encounter makes the drink in your hand even more tempting, and you throw it back without another thought. Your throat burns with the sting of alcohol, and you wince reflexively. Jeez, if this is what Nancy’s been drinking all night, no wonder she’s wasted, you think, grateful that you only had half of the cup.

Eddie Munson arrives when the party is in full swing, lunch box of illicit substances gripped tight in his hands. He hates spending time with these jockstraps outside of school, but parties are a great way to make some extra cash, and rich douchebags like King Steve practically throw the money at him, too drunk and lazy to actually count it out.

He sees you out of the corner of his eye, swaying to the music alongside Billy Hargrove. You’re leaning into him, with his hand around your waist pulling you into him. You laugh loudly, though it doesn’t appear that Billy’s said anything.

What a weird pair, Eddie muses, comparing your usual type-A, pain-in-the-ass, teacher’s pet personality with Billy’s thoughtlessness and indifference. He watches as Billy nonchalantly refills your drink and grabs your backside.

When Billy notices Eddie, he props you against the counter and murmurs something before staggering over to buy something. “What do you have tonight, Munson?”

“The usual,” Eddie replies casually, placing the tin box on the kitchen table and flipping it open. “So, uh, looks like Goody-Two Shoes is having a good time.”

Billy chuckles, twirling a toothpick across his lips. It’s a menacing laugh, and Eddie doesn’t care for the sound of it. “Yeah, she needed a little help, but I took care of it.”

He really doesn’t like that. “What do you mean?”

“Slipped a little extra in her drink when she wasn’t looking,” Billy whispers, flashing Eddie a now-empty mini bottle of tequila. “Shit was pretty strong to begin with, but she’s definitely feeling it now.”

“You spiked her drink?” Eddie’s mouth goes dry, and he snaps the lunch box shut. When Billy just laughs again, Eddie shoves him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Billy holds his hands up in defense. “Hey, man, you can’t blame a guy for doing what he has to do to get laid. Especially when it’s someone as uptight as her.”

Rage pounds in Eddie’s ears, and he barely hears anything after that. He marches towards you, fists clenched. You weren’t his favorite person, and he wasn’t yours–not after what happened in health last year–but he’d be damned if he let you get taken advantage of.

“Hey,” he says softly, tapping your shoulder to grab your attention. “Let me get you home.”

You sloppily shake your head, jungle juice sloshing over the side of the cup. “‘M fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He’s insistent, tone much harsher than his usual carelessness. “You’re absolutely plastered, and I’m taking you home.” He extends his hand, and you reluctantly take it, letting him lead you to his van. Your feet are bricks beneath you, and you giggle involuntarily as you trip over them.

“Munson, what the fuck?” Billy calls out, charging over. His own stride isn’t much more graceful than yours; the Keg Stand Champion having reclaimed his title earlier in the evening. “Get your own girl.” He reaches for your bicep to tug you away, but Eddie’s faster, which only makes the jock’s eyes stonier. “Fucking freak!” he calls out, quickly downing another plastic cup of beer.

Your eyelids begin to close, and slurred words leave your lips. “Whas’ goin’ on? Why’s Billy shhh-so mad?”

Eddie ignores your question, not wanting to slow down and risk Billy catching up to you. Once he’s safely got you in the passenger seat, he starts the ignition and glances at where you’re leaning against the window. “Where to?”

“Home.”

“Right, and, uh…where might that be?”

You shrug, body heavier with sleep by the second. “Dunno.”

“Like an address, or a general direction…anything?” Eddie drums his ringed fingers against the steering wheel. He sighs and throws the van in reverse when you shake your head. “All right, looks like you’re staying at mine.”

He keeps his eyes on the road, stealing a peek at you every minute or so. You’re sleeping, soft snores punctuating the otherwise silent ride. He winces as he goes over a bump and puts his arm out to prevent you from falling against the dashboard. 

Twenty minutes later—it would have been fifteen, but he drove slowly to prevent jostling you too much—he’s pulling up to his trailer. “Welcome to Casa Munson.” He opens his door with a dramatic grunt and shuffles around to your side. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.” If any of the neighbors see him, they’ll assume the worst, but it’s either that or have you sleep in the van. 

The last thing you remember is mumbling about needing a bed and Eddie leading you to his with an offhand comment about not knowing where the stains are from. When you wake the next morning, a jackhammer has replaced your brain and your throat is filled with bile. 

“Ugh, fuck,” you groan, pulling your sheet up over your eyes to shield them from the sun. Except this isn’t the baby pink set your mom bought you from Wal-Mart. These sheets are white and smell like cigarettes, weed, and drugstore cologne. The realization that this isn’t your room has you jolting up in bed despite your body’s protests. “What the hell?”

“Good morning to you, too,” a voice grumbles from below. You look down to see Eddie Munson laying on the floor, a towel rolled below his head in a makeshift pillow. A throw blanket covers from his shoulders to just above his ankles, leaving his sweat sock-clad feet exposed. “There’s some water and pretzels next to you, and I can grab Advil if you need.”

You nod, squeezing your eyelids together at the pain the slight head movement causes. “Yes, please.” He returns with the medicine, and you eagerly swallow it with a gulp of water. A quick assessment assures you that your clothes are still on, but you still have to ask, “did we…”

“Nope. No way. Not even a little.” He takes a seat next to you, offering the pretzel canister. Though your stomach is churning, you need something to absorb the medicine, so you take a handful and carefully munch on them. “But you had quite the offer last night.”

“Wha—?”

“Hargrove spiked your drink to get you in bed,” he explains. His mop of curls is disheveled from tossing and turning, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “And, uh, not to sleep.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” you mutter. A fresh wave of nausea washes over you, and it’s not from the hangover. Your memories are muddled, but you can vaguely piece the night together: Nancy and Steve, the unfinished drink, Billy’s arm around you… “We left before he could do anything, right?”

Eddie nods, stealing the plastic water bottle from your grasp and taking a swig. He swishes it around his mouth before answering. “Got you outta there before he could even cop a feel.”

You grimace at his brazen response. “Well, um, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” You start to stand up, fumbling for your keys in your bag when you remember. “Fuck, my car’s still at Steve’s.”

“I can take you,” Eddie offers, grabbing the jeans he’d haphazardly flung over his desk chair. 

“Nah, s’okay. I can walk.”

“Seriously?” He throws his hands in the air, utterly exasperated with you. “You’d rather walk three miles back to Harrington’s—hungover as shit…looking like that,” he gestures vaguely at your smeared makeup and bloodshot eyes, “than take a ride from me?”

You remain quiet, so he proceeds with his rant. 

“Y’know, when you ditched me last year, I figured you weren’t, like, into me or whatever. But, Christ, what did I do to make you hate my guts?”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “I ditched you?” The thunderous headache makes it difficult to wrack your brain for the memory, but you definitely would recall ditching Eddie Munson. “I never did that.”

“Last April,” he begins, tone clipped and direct, “the night we were supposed to finish our health project—”

“You ditched me.”

He shakes his head. “Uh, no. I invited you to see my band play and then we would finish the project after—which you agreed to—and then you never showed.”

“No, you told me, and I quote, ‘Corroded Coffin has a gig at The Hideout at 8, and we can put the poster together after we play.”

“Exactly!”

“Exactly what?” It hurts to roll your eyes, but you do it anyway just to emphasize the absurdity of the situation. “That wasn’t an invitation; that was just you telling me what time the show starts.”

“What time it starts,” he says slowly, as though explaining it to a child. “If I just wanted to meet up for the project, I would’ve told you what time it ends.” His eyes narrow. “Do you really think I spent all that time doing research with you just to flake when we got to do the creative part?”

The missing pieces shift into the puzzle. You’d been thrown off when Eddie had failed to show that night; you’d genuinely thought the two of you had forged some kind of friendship during your evenings at the Hawkins Library. But when midnight had rolled around, you’d given up altogether, gathered your notes, and made the poster alone. 

“I…I didn’t know…” you muse, mouth drier than it was before you’d drank water. “I thought you forgot, or didn’t care…” You press a tooth into your bottom lip and gnaw at the chapped skin. “Trust me, I never would’ve ditched the guy I—”

You’d tried to cut yourself off before Eddie catches what you’d inadvertently implied, but it’s too late. “The guy you…” he gently goads. When you don’t answer, he sits on the bed next to you and knocks his knee against yours. “Would it help if I told you that you’re the girl I…” He tilts his head and peers at you through his deep brown eyes.

“Me?!” There’s no way he’s serious; you brace yourself for the ‘gotcha’ or some other punchline he’ll inevitably toss your way.

To your surprise, there is none. “What can I say?” he shrugs. “I’m a total sucker for a goody-two shoes.” He stands up again, crossing his arms over his chest and pacing back and forth in the tiny room. “So, since I’m the guy that you…and you’re the girl that I…can I interest you in some of the finest hangover food this town has to offer?”

“Can I brush my teeth first?” You grimace at the tang of last night’s tequila that sticks to your molars. “Unless you also happen to be into girls with wicked morning breath.”

He chuckles, a true and hearty laugh, and it’s one of the most beautiful sounds you’ve ever heard. “Spare toothbrush is in the top drawer,” he says, pointing towards the bathroom. 

Once minty freshness has replaced stale booze, you wash the remnants of your makeup off of your face. You look a bit better; tired and hungover, but better.

Eddie’s dressed in ripped jeans and a faded concert tee, keys clenched in his palm. “Ready?” he asks, leaning against the bedroom doorway.

“Mhm.” You feel his hand ghost the small of your back as he leads you towards the front door, sending shivers of excitement down your spine.

“Hey, by the way?” 

When you turn around, his lips are on yours. It’s soft and sweet, just a bit more than a peck, but you can tell it took every ounce of courage for him to do it. You both take a small step back, swapping shy grins.  

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

You take his empty hand and lace your fingers with his. “Does Corroded Coffin still play at the Hideout?”

“Every Tuesday at 8.”

“I’ll be there.”

--

[nicnak20]

Scars fade eventually:

*Nicholas finds your self harm scars from the past and worries over you- more than you'd like.*

<Mentions of self-harm and trauma>

The fresh summer sun was pressed against the nath of your back. Lying face down on the lawn chair by the pool, You loved it when the sun was out and shinning down- brightening all of the ground in its contour.

Nick, your boyfriend, was out getting dinner to bring back home after a long day at work. The thought of him flushed your cheeks and fluttered your mind, aching to feel his warm careful arms wrapped around you like a cozy cloak. Once your tan was set, you folded your chair back up and went inside the house.

As you admired your tan in the mirror, you noticed your wrists- how little faint jagged lines traced them like stripes. The biggest scar was far up by your forearm; a small little burn mark that was made from an incident a while back. Something too painful to even remember... not wanting to remember it. You just knew how good it felt to make your skin sting with the ice slumping over the salt.

Scanning each little scar, a tear prickled the corner of your eye. A desperate jolt to move the tear down your plump cheek was quickly stifled by your desire for strength- survival rather than let a sneaky little whimper slide from your lungs.

Throwing a hoodie on, You went downstairs turned on the TV to drown out the thoughts that still ping ponged around inside your brain. It always rattled something in you, whenever you looked at those scars. You wanted them hidden- you had gotten over what hurt you the most- they should've disappeared long ago. They would slowly, you hoped. But deep down, the scars would always be this grim reminder of what you did to your body. That's why long sleeves were your friends. Nicholas never knew about the reason- the real reason you flaunted long hoodies in summer weather.

T- shirts only happened when the air was too hot and moist, and the sticky sweat became overbearing for you to handle.

The television distanced itself until it became blurry. Your eyes flooded with tears as your mind stirred up the pain from those scars. You sniffled back tears before shame flooded your face and tightened the air in the living room. It felt like eyes were on you every time you cried, even in the privacy of your own bed.

The room would become black and distant, and every little thing stood taller than you and became scarier and jaded. It sent goosebumps up your spine, while somehow quivering your lip at once. So lost in thought, that sound of the car door slam shook you off guard, moving your fingers to swipe away any resemblance of sorrow from your face.

**********************************

Like a sixth sense, Nicholas could tell something was off. It felt off; odd like something peculiar was lurking somewhere underneath something. It hit him the moment he entered the house, bag of Chinese food dangling from his curved fingers. "Hey baby," he pecked your lips quickly before setting the food down on the table. "Brought back dinner."

A smile ran over your face, taking in the smell of lo mien and beef and broccoli mixing into the scent of the home.

You and Nick were perched on the couch, stuffing noodles and eggrolls into your tummies while watching a movie. A scene had flashed like the flick of a switch; something about that scene- the girl sobbing loudly in the bathroom, hair wet, and a razor sat over to the side of her, like it was waiting to be used. A graphic thought of her using the razor- despite it being there for the purpose of her shaving and accidentally nicking herself, which sparked a last nerve in her- and striding it down her arm like she was peeling a potato or skinning an apple and watching the blood trickle down her arm like tears.

Maybe it would give her the satisfaction she needed, You thought. But instead, it moved your eyes to sting- not tearing them away from the screen once- and flood with tears again. Some dropped into your noodles before you could wipe them away and worst.... Nicholas noticed them.

"Yn?" His voice, quiet and hushed to a degree almost as if he knew better than to stir something up inside you even more.

You stiffened. A swallow got clogged in your throat and you blinked rapidly to dissolve the tears. Turning to him, you forced a bleak dry smile. "I get so emotional during movies..." Nick knew this was true. But a deeper sense hid behind your eyes and Nick wasn't about to ignore it. "Yn... what's wrong?" Careful and tender like a warm fuzzy heat blanketing over you- a safety overcame you.... something you tried to fend off.

Nick placed a hand over your warm cheek. Suddenly, the world felt smaller and the air thicker and harder to breathe. It seemed to swallow you up and bleed you dry of your own caged in air inside your lungs. Taking a deep breath, you spoke. "It's been a hard week... I guess... I'm just overwhelmed with stress a bit." Nick bit his tongue. He still kept a firm hand over your cheek and bored deep into your eyes with gentleness blazing all through his own.

"You can tell me, Yn.... it's okay..." You bit your lip before you snuggled into his side.

"Seeing this scene.... it just makes me.... it brings me back to a painful memory...." Nick listened intently." It's nothing though." Your heartbeat was speeding rapidly, hoping that maybe Nick would forget and continue on through the movie. You both did, but the scene felt darker now along with the air in the room.

**************************

As you were huddled in bed- feeling the warmth of Nick's body beside you, a tense feeling pressed into your chest. Worry peaked in and you started to wonder if Nick would see them one day- the stripes over your wrists and the through the sides of your body.

Nick guided his hand under your nightshirt and let his palm smooth over your delicate skin. As he discovered your sides, he felt it. The jagged subtle stripes that never seemed to have faded, but instead collected into another layer of skin like mis-matched piece of cloth that's been sewed into a frail pair of jeans.

As Nick's fingers traced your scars, you pretended to be asleep- unaware of Nick finding his way around your twisted past. And then you turned over......

Nick felt your wrists- striped and thick with fleshly scars ripped all over them like fringed jeans. "Yn..." his whispers trailed. You knew if you opened your eyes, his would be waiting for yours. And soon enough.... they were. His brown eyes wide with horror from realizing for the first time that you were in pain.... deep sorrow over something that he now desperately needed to know.

Tears trickled the corners of your eyes and then tears dripped down your face and onto the sheets and the pillow. "I'm sorry..." you cried. "I didn't want you to find out- because I wasn't sure.... if you would stay once you saw the scars...."

Nick grabbed your cheek. "I could never...." he said. "but... why?"

Yn shook her head. "A while ago, my brother died- he had gotten into a car accident because of drunk driving. He was drinking at a party we were both at.... and my parents told me that I was responsible because I had offered him the drink.... I didn't know he was going to get in the car- he told me he had a sober driver..."

Nick shushed you gently with a lulling intention. "It's okay.... it'll be okay-"

"I started cutting because they blamed me religiously. They practically disowned me as their daughter.... I was only eighteen when it happened... I cut because it relieves some of the pain.... but it never really goes away."

Nick pressed kisses to your wrists. He held you close to him and kissed your hair. "Yn.... please don't self harm anymore.... I love you too much to see you suffer...." he looked into your eyes. "Please... get some help, Yn.... and I'll be with you every step of the way.... please... don't hurt your pretty skin...."

You finally let yourself sob into Nick's arms. He held you close to him and you breathed into Nick's body- calming your breathing down enough to look up into his eyes. "I love you too, Nick."

"I love you too..." you slowly drifted off into sleep and let the thought of Nicholas swim through your mind- the first happy safe thought you've had that would be with promise of a reality.

[fa1rydr3ams]

“Holiday Family Chaos”

Bakugou Family x Gn! Reader

| cw: swearing, typical bakugou family shenanigans

| a/n: day 8 of ficmas check the ficmas tab on the pixie list for the next update!

| wc: n/a

The Bakugou household was everything you imagined—and more. The warmth of the home was matched only by the sheer chaos that followed Katsuki everywhere he went, and it didn’t take long for you to see where he got it from.

“Katsuki, why didn’t you tell us they were this adorable?!” Mitsuki exclaimed, wrapping you in a tight hug the second you stepped inside the house.

“Don’t suffocate them,” Katsuki grumbled, rolling his eyes as he tugged at the collar of his jacket.

“Shut it, brat,” Mitsuki shot back before pulling back to look at you. “Ignore him. You must be starving—come to the kitchen. Oh! I bet you’ve got stories about what he’s like when he’s not here to terrorize us!”

Before you could respond, Masaru appeared, offering you a kind smile and a warm handshake. “I hope the ride wasn’t too long. Katsuki’s been talking about this visit all week.”

“DAD!” Katsuki’s cheeks turned a bright red, and he shot his father a glare.

You stifled a laugh, glancing at him. “Really? He made it sound like you guys forced him into it.”

“Tch. Whatever.” Katsuki stalked past you, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder as he dropped it unceremoniously onto a table. “Go sit down or something. I’m not gonna babysit you all day.”

Mitsuki huffed, crossing her arms as she shot her son a sharp look. “Katsuki, really? You couldn’t even grab their bag for them? What kind of host are you?”

“They’ve got their own hands,” Katsuki muttered, but his ears burned bright red as he avoided looking at you.

“Unbelievable,” Mitsuki scoffed, stepping forward to take your bag. “Here, honey, let me—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine!” you quickly said, grabbing it back from her. “It’s not that heavy, I promise.”

Mitsuki raised an eyebrow before her gaze slid back to her son. “See? You’re lucky they’re polite. If it were me, I’d have thrown the bag at your head by now.”

Katsuki growled low in his throat, muttering something about “meddling parents” as he stormed off toward the kitchen.

You stifled a laugh, your eyes following him before turning back to Mitsuki. “So, uh… where should I put my stuff?”

“Oh!” Mitsuki’s expression softened instantly, her grin warm and welcoming. “You’ll be in the guest room down the hall. It’s right next to Katsuki’s room, but don’t worry—his snoring won’t keep you up. Though, if he gives you trouble, you let me know. I’ll take care of him.”

“Mom,” Katsuki barked from the kitchen doorway, glaring at her.

“Relax, I’m kidding,” she teased, though her smirk said otherwise. She leaned in a little, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Honestly, though, he should be helping you settle in. If he doesn’t, just yell for me. He still listens to me—even if he pretends not to.”

You chuckled, nodding as you adjusted the strap of your bag. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Mitsuki waved you off with a grin, already heading toward the kitchen. “Now, go set your things down and come back for lunch. I made way too much food, as usual.”

As you made your way to the guest room, you couldn’t help but notice Katsuki’s grumbles trailing through the house. Something about “overbearing moms” and “not a damn kid anymore.” You smiled to yourself, shaking your head. This was going to be an interesting visit.

Lunch was a lively affair, with Mitsuki’s sharp humor and Masaru’s gentle encouragement balancing each other out perfectly. Katsuki, as expected, spent most of the time grumbling into his food, though he softened whenever you laughed at one of Mitsuki’s jokes.

“Honestly, though,” Mitsuki began, turning her attention to you, “how do you deal with him at school? I can barely stand him at home.”

You smirked, glancing at Katsuki, whose scowl deepened. “Oh, it’s not so bad. He’s not as scary as he pretends to be.”

Katsuki froze mid-bite, glaring at you. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him.

Mitsuki cackled, clapping her hands together. “I like this one, Katsuki. They keep you on your toes.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, but the slight twitch of his lips told you he wasn’t as annoyed as he let on.

After lunch, you and Mitsuki tackled the dishes together, chatting easily while Katsuki and Masaru set up the living room for some family card games. Katsuki occasionally peeked into the kitchen, his brows furrowed as if to check on you.

“You’ve really got him wrapped around your finger, you know,” Mitsuki said, glancing at her son through the doorway.

“What?” You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks.

She grinned knowingly. “Oh, come on. He’s never acted like this for anyone else. He’s lucky you’re patient with him—he needs someone who doesn’t put up with his nonsense.”

You smiled softly, glancing at Katsuki again. “Well, he’s worth it.”

Mitsuki chuckled, patting your shoulder. “Good answer. Now, go easy on him during cards. If you beat him too badly, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

You laughed, grabbing a towel to dry your hands before heading into the living room. Katsuki glanced up as you entered, his gaze lingering for a moment before he quickly looked away.

“Ready to lose?” you teased, plopping down next to him on the couch.

“In your dreams,” he shot back, though his smirk lacked its usual bite.

The evening only got more entertaining from there. Mitsuki demanded stories about Katsuki’s school life, leaning into every detail with wide eyes and amused gasps, while Masaru offered you a steady stream of cookies and cocoa.

“Wait, wait—he did what?” Mitsuki howled when you recounted Katsuki losing a bet to Kirishima and having to wear a ridiculous outfit during their last hangout. Katsuki groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Why do you even talk to them?” Katsuki grumbled, glaring at you, though his expression was more flustered than angry.

“Because it’s fun watching you squirm,” you teased, reaching out to poke his arm.

Mitsuki cackled and started shuffling the cards with an air of mischief. “All right, let’s see how this ‘number one hero’ handles a little game of strategy. We’re playing Spades. Partner up!”

You and Katsuki exchanged glances before he sighed. “Fine, but don’t screw this up,” he muttered, his tone tinged with faux irritation.

“Oh, you’re blaming me already?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow. “This’ll be fun.”

The game kicked off with Mitsuki proving herself a ruthless competitor, her playful banter keeping everyone on their toes.

“Katsuki, what the hell was that move?” Mitsuki jeered after he accidentally overbid during a round.

“Shut it, old hag,” Katsuki snapped, but his ears turned red as he glared at his cards.

“Don’t worry, we’ll carry you,” you teased, bumping your knee against his.

The playful atmosphere thickened as the game progressed, filled with Mitsuki’s sharp quips, Masaru’s quiet but clever plays, and Katsuki’s dramatic groans every time you teased him.

By the end of the game, Mitsuki was declared the champion, much to Katsuki’s chagrin.

“Damn it, this is rigged,” he grumbled, crossing his arms as Mitsuki basked in her victory.

“Oh, don’t be such a sore loser, Katsuki,” Mitsuki taunted, ruffling his hair.

Katsuki batted her hand away, muttering under his breath, but his grumpiness softened as your laugh filled the room.

As the night wound down, everyone settled into their spots on the couches and armchairs, the scent of hot cocoa and freshly baked cookies filling the air. Katsuki had finally relaxed a little, sitting close enough that your knees brushed, though he still scowled every time his mom teased him.

Masaru handed you another cookie, smiling warmly. “You fit right in with us, you know.”

Mitsuki grinned as she leaned forward, her tone conspiratorial. “So, you’re sticking around for New Year’s, right? You can’t leave us with just him for that long.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!” Katsuki barked, glaring at her.

But as his hand brushed against yours on the couch and lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, you couldn’t help but smile. He might not say it outright, but you could tell he didn’t mind the idea of you staying one bit.

Okay this is that last bakugou piece but after ficmas I got you guys !!

dividers by @anitalenia !!

[reminiscingtonight]

Secrets

Leah Williamson x Wälti!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

A/NL Pretty sure I wrote this crack!fic a couple weeks back. Totally forgot about it until today

[WOSO Masterlist]

You’ve been in London for close to a month now.

At first you came with the intent to surprise some family, but one day exploring the city turned into two, and two into three, and before you knew it, you had gone an entire week without telling anyone where you were.

It’s not done with malicious intent, but the longer you keep your location a secret, the more shit you know you’re going to be in. Being the youngest in the family, your sister’s nothing if not overbearing. You know she often means well, but sometimes she can be a bit much. 

What settled your decision to not tell her however, well that had to do with the gorgeous blonde you met on your second day here. Her accent and adorable smile made you swoon the minute you met her. You had quite literally fallen for her, having tripped over the blonde woman’s legs when trying to locate a hidden cafe in the city. She offered to buy you a drink in apology and the rest is history. 

Being the overprotective person she is, you know your sister would definitely throw a fit if she found out about your move and new romantic partner.

In the end you’re sort of forced to inform your sister of your presence in her city. 

It all starts with an accidental run-in with an Australian you’re all too familiar with.

You’re so focused trying to read the map on your phone that you aren’t really paying attention to your surroundings. That leads into you running straight into and bouncing off a body as you turn a corner on the street.

Groaning, you open your eyes to see a half concerned, half amused face staring right back at you. “Fancy running into you here of all places. What are you doing in London, (Y/N)?”

You take her offered hand with an embarrassed mutter of thanks. “Just seeing the sights, you know, the usual stuff.”

Caitlin quirks an eyebrow at that, not quite believing you. “Lia never mentioned anything about you visiting.”

You give her something between a grimace and nervous smile. “Uh, that might be because she doesn’t… well she doesn’t actually know I’m here.”

“What?” Caitlin looks shocked, a bit confused at the news. “Why haven’t you-- you’re not in any trouble, are you?”

“Wha-- no! No, of course not. I’m fine.” You brush off her concern with a wave of your hand. Caitlin’s never as stifling as your sister, but still, sometimes the Australian can give your sister a run for her money. It’s endearing sometimes, how much Caitlin cares for your wellbeing as well, but right now her care is the last thing you want.

“Any chance we can keep this run-in between ourselves?”

“Well that might be a bit hard.” Caitlin’s eyes slightly moving over your shoulder has you whipping your head around.

She’s still a ways away, but you can recognize that head of brown hair and familiar gait from anywhere. Lia freezes mid-step when she catches sight of your face, fully intent on making her way to her girlfriend’s side before she sees you.

Her head tilts in a silent question and you whisper out a curse under your breath. 

Caitlin throws an arm around your shoulder, all but pulling you with her.

“(Y/N)! What a lovely surprise.” It’s a statement, but as confused as she is, Lia’s words end up sounding a bit like a question. 

She looks between you and Caitlin, who now has a bit of a sheepish look on her face. You should’ve known better than to ask the Australian to lie to your sister. 

“Or… not?”

“Can I have a hug before you go all ‘big sister’ on me?”

Lia rolls her eyes in amusement but does as you ask, opening her arms for a hug. You’re barreling straight into her the second she does so. 

“Missed you,” you whisper, snuggling against your sister. Sometimes it’s hard being so far away from Lia. The two of you were as close as can be, well as close as two siblings living in different countries can be. Before Lia had set out for Germany and then England, it was rare to find one of you without the other tagging along. You were always quite clingy as a child, often traveling to wherever Lia was playing despite not being interested in football in any shape or form. 

“Missed you too,” she chuckles. 

When the two of you break apart, Lia only needs to take one look at you to know exactly why Caitlin is looking so sheepish. 

“Alright. How long have you been in town?”

Lia could always read you like a book. You sigh, knowing better than to lie to her. “Like… a month. But remember I’m your favorite sister and you love me so you can’t be too mad.” Your words are paired with an innocent smile, eyelashes batting in hopes of convincing Lia not to be too mad at you. 

Lia simply raises an eyebrow at you in response. “What’s her name?”

You blink, mouth dropping open. “I-- What?”

Your sister rolls her eyes, hints of a smile on her lips. “The only reason you’d be this squirrelly with telling me where you’ve been can only be because of a girl. So what’s her name?”

Your lips pinch shut, a pout starting to form. Sometimes it’s not fun having a sister who knows you so well. “I’m not telling you that.”

“Are you serious?”

“She’s a footballer, so maybe you know her. I don’t want to risk you scaring her away.”

“Not all footballers know each other,” Lia snorts. 

Brave words to live by.

Three days later Lia has finally worn down your defenses. With the promise to behave herself, you acquiesce to setting up a double date dinner for you, your girlfriend, and Lia and Caitlin.

You’re wracked with nerves the entire day before dinner. Your girlfriend apologetically informed you in the morning that she had practice and then meetings right up until dinner so you were left all on your lonesome with Lia who is more than happy to torture you the second she returned home from her own practice.

Caitlin drops the two of you off at the front of the restaurant, letting you guys get in some sibling time while she goes to find parking. Having received the [I’m here! ❤️] text from your girlfriend told you that you only had mere seconds of peace before Lia will be all up in your business. 

It seems you’re a little too generous with the amount of peace you thought you’d have, seeing as Lia’s almost instantly pointing at every girl you walk past when you walk into the restaurant. You simply shove her in response, eyes scanning the room for the girl who’s captured your heart.

You’re breathing out a huge sigh of relief when you spot the familiar ponytail near the back of the restaurant. 

“No, not her,” you sigh, dragging Lia away from a girl near the front that she’s five seconds away from pouncing on. 

“So. This is the girl I’ve been telling you about.”

Your girlfriend looks up at the sound of your voice. She sends you a loving smile, but it’s quick to freeze on her face when she notices who’s standing next to you.

Lia has also stiffened at the sight of the blonde sitting in the booth. 

A range of expressions pass through your sister’s face, confusion, shock, exasperation. Eventually she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I stand corrected, she is definitely a footballer I know.”

Your mouth drops open at the revelation. Before you have a chance to say anything Lia’s sliding into the booth, across from where your girlfriend is still sitting frozen.

“Leah,” she snorts in acknowledgement, fixing the blonde with an amused look. 

“You guys know each other?” you gape, finally managing to force some words out. 

“Well your girlfriend happens to be my work wife so yes, I’d say we know each other.”

“Work wife?!” you sputter.

At the same exact time Leah finally snaps back into action. She nudges you harshly, hissing your name in surprise. “Your sister is Wally?! You didn’t think to mention that I play on the same team as you sister?”

You shrug. “Well how was I to know?”

Lia rolls her eyes, an amused smile on her face. “(Y/N) here’s a little too soccer illiterate. Don’t take it personally that she didn’t realize we both play for Arsenal.”

“You play for Arsenal?” you frown, a bit confused now. Of course you know your girlfriend is a gunner, but your sister? 

“Good lord I’m dating an adorable idiot,” Leah groans at the same time Lia kicks at your ankles. 

Yelping, you curl into Leah’s side.

“You cannot be serious. How do you not know that I play for Arsenal? I’ve been here since 2018.”

“Stop it. I think it’s more pertinent for us to discuss the fact that my girlfriend is your work wife,” you huff, arms crossing in jealousy.

Leah’s arms tighten around you as she presses a kiss against the side of your head. “Don’t be jealous,” she chuckles. “There’s only one Wälti I’m attracted to and she just so happens to be sitting right next to me.”

If Lia rolls her eyes any harder they might fall out of her head. 

Thankfully she doesn’t have a chance to make any quips at your expense. Your favorite Australian, ever the late arriver she is, slides into the booth next to Lia.

Upon sitting down, Caitlin instantly clocks Lia’s exasperated expression, your peeved one, and Leah’s embarrassed one.

She blinks slowly, carefully thinking through her words. “What did I miss?”

---

“… Also, not that I mind, but why is Leah here?”

[merlincmgirl]

Domination - Howzer x FReader - NSFW

Summary: You have been teasing him all day, he decides that you're not going to get your own way this time.

Characters: Howzer, some of his men, Eleni, Hera, Cham

Pairing: Howzer x F!Reader

Word Count: 10, 766

Warnings: PinV sex, fingering, dom Howzer, bratting, teasing, very brief spanking, dirty talk, sub space, aftercare

Authour's Note: He's just so pretty, and I just know that he can take a firm hand when needed.

The heat was stifling as the sun beat down on you as you trailed through the markets on Ryloth. It was your first day off in a while and you were browsing the stalls, unsure what you were looking for but you knew something would catch your eye eventually. It did feel strange, your job as a civilian co-ordinator with the GAR, and then the Empire, kept you extremely busy. Especially during the political unrest that was hanging over Ryloth like a potential storm.

From everyone you spoke to, they didn’t understand the continuing presence of the troopers now that the war had ended. They had fought so hard for their independence against the Separatists, and all they wanted was to be able to rule themselves without the presence of clones and outside forces. Cham and Eleni was trying to persuade the Twi’leks to stand down and live in the peace that was hard won. Personally, you didn’t see it ending well, the Empire had been ushered in with the fall of the Jedi and the Republic and everything seemed to have changed overnight. The Empire felt more overbearing and hostile, and if it wasn’t for your friends, your loved ones, you would have left Ryloth and the Empire months ago.

A sharp pain cut through your dark thoughts and you looked down to see one of Hera’s elbows had landed in your stomach as she was racing away from something or someone. You had just enough time to steady her as she stumbled.

“Ohh! Sorry, Ma’am!” Hera apologised, righting herself and throwing a look behind her shoulder.

“Hera! Be more careful” you chided, a small smile on your face as you saw how nervous she looked. “It’s a bit early for you to be getting into trouble, isn’t it?” you remarked, raising an eyebrow at her as you returned to browsing the jewellery on the stall in front of you.

“Trouble? Why would you think that?” Hera frowned, but still tried to side step around you.

Rolling your eyes, you brought her in front of you and shook your head. “Because you look like a tooka that’s about to have a bath. Who did you annoy this time?” you asked, moving just slightly so your body hid hers. If anyone was to come looking for her, then they’d see only you. Glancing at her, you realised she was too easily recognisable and browsed the jackets and shawls that lined the other stall.

“I didn’t do anything! It was Chopper!” Hera complained, crossing her arms in front of her body. It definitely didn’t make her appear as tough as she thought. Especially with her cute little pout.

“What’s that droid done now?” you chuckled, selecting a dark blue shawl and wrapping it around her shoulders. Handing over the money to the blue Twi’lek man running the stall, you helped secure it around her. “Now, that should help you in your escape. But you never told me who’s after you” you reminded pointedly, wrapping an arm around the young girl’s shoulders and leading her to a stall selling a number of holobooks.

“Well, we were just trying to have a bit of fun” Hera huffed, thinking back to the prank that she had pulled.

Unable to help the smile that spread across your face, you wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into your side. “Hera, Chopper’s version of fun is not the same as most people’s” you reminded her, walking through the market with her tucked close to you. Hearing Hera’s giggle, you couldn’t help but feel lighter in her presence. She had such a unique perspective of life that it helped kindle a flicker of hope that everything would work out just as it was meant to be in the end.

“HERA!” a sharp voice cut through the market, and you turned around to see Captain Howzer and a squad of clone troopers heading your way. A number of them was covered in oil, and you could already see how one – Riko if you remembered correctly – was drenched in the stuff from nearly head to toe. So that was what Chopper had done. Probably in an attempt to help Hera get away from whatever mischief she had been causing.

“Ah, Captain, how lovely it is to see you again!” you greeted, stepping in front of her and pushing the young Twi’lek behind you. Hera giggled at seeing the mess and twisted her hands into the jacket.

Howzer and his squad came to a stop and even if you couldn’t see his face, you just knew he would be frowning. “Y/N” he greeted before turning his gaze down and looking at Hera who was hiding behind you. “Hera, we’ve been looking for you” Howzer stated, crossing his arms over his chest and staring her down.

“Hera? She’s been helping me at the market all morning” you frowned, turning to look between the two of them.

“All morning, huh?” he drawled, deep voice sending a pleasant warmth through you. It conjured up memories of that morning, both of you wrapped in blankets. Howzer pressing soft kisses along your shoulders as he chased the sunlight that danced across your skin. “Nice try, I caught her myself setting up the elevator doors to dump pink glitter on whoever walked out” Howzer informed you and you couldn’t help but smile slightly. Girl was clever, if you remembered correctly, Senator Taa’s quarters were on his rounds this morning. She’d probably been trying to get him.

“Pink glitter? That doesn’t sound like Hera” you scoffed, shaking your head and stepping closer to him. Looking behind him at the squad, you noticed a few did indeed have some specks of glitter dotted around their armour.

“Where would I even get that from?” Hera added, rubbing the back of her neck and trying to appear convincing.

“Over there, perhaps?” Dunk suggested, pointed over to a stall that sold crafts supplies, as well as a number of different dyes. The trooper in question had an oil stain splashed across his chest plate, but seemed to have missed the full force of Chopper’s hit.

You all turned to look at the stall and you sighed heavily. “Children! Am I right, Captain? I’m sure Hera didn’t mean to play a prank like that. It’s her way to express herself and explore boundaries” you shrugged, motioning for Hera to run for it when she could.

Howzer removed his helmet, resting it on his hip as he frowned down at you. “Dumping a load of pink glitter on Senator Taa’s head is not expressing herself and exploring boundaries, Y/N. She shouldn’t be sneaking into government facilities to set up pranks. If Taa had found out, Cham and Eleni wouldn’t hear the end of it. There’s only so much I can do to protect her when things like this happen” Howzer reminded, brow furrowing and a look of worry passed his face. He liked the Syndulla family, they had been nothing but kind, noble and loyal since he had joined them fighting for Ryloth during the occupation. He didn’t want them to be caught up in this unrest that was building.

“Captain, you worry too much. I’m sure it’s not the worst thing Taa has been covered in” you grimaced, before turning your attention to his troopers. “Besides, looks like they got hit by something other than glitter” you pointed out, admiring the chaos that Hera and Chopper had created.

“Where is your friend?” Howzer grunted, turning to Hera just as she was about to slip away from the conversation.

“I don’t know, he said that he had to help mother with some of her work” Hera shrugged, lips tilting down into a confused frown.

“What on earth could that droid have done now, Captain?” you wondered, nudging him with your elbow to bring his attention away from the girl.

“He shot oil at us when we stopped them both. Got us all good while Hera managed to escape. We were hoping to catch the pair of them” Riko explained, looking down at himself at all the oil that was covering him.

You smiled up at Howzer, playful intent in your eyes and you knew he recognised it because his jaw clenched slightly.

“Looks to me like Chopper covered you in all that oil, Riko. I don’t think I can see any of that lovely blue at all. Maybe you need to get all that armour off and hit the showers” you suggested, looking up and down the clone trooper. Even with his helmet on, you saw how embarrassed he was at your attention. He looked around at his fellow troopers and his fingers twitched on his blaster before he seemed to straighten himself up.

“Thank you ma’am, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing when we finish the patrol” Riko confirmed, nodding his head to you.

Trying to hide the smirk on your face, you turned back to Captain Howzer, a surprised look on your face. He wasn’t going to fall for it, the amusement underlying your expression was enough to give you away. You were toying with him and enjoying it.

“I’m sure Captain Howzer wouldn’t mind you cleaning up. My place isn’t too far away from here, if you’d prefer, instead of traipsing to the barracks. I’m sure the Captain could spare you for 10 minutes while you showered, couldn’t you Captain?” you asked, smiling serenely at the scarred clone who only huffed.

“No” he replied shortly, making your insides twist in victory at the small slip of composure he normally held when you talked in front of his men. “Thank you for the kind offer ma’am, but we really must be going. It seems Hera has managed to slip away whilst we were talking” Howzer said stiffly, looking behind you where Hera had been a few minutes ago.

Chuckling lightly, you shrugged your shoulders and winked at his troopers.

“Well, she’s a smart girl, she must have seized the opportunity.”

“No doubt.”

“Enjoy the rest of your patrol, Captain!” you called after him, as he shoved his helmet onto his head and lead his men past you. A few sent glances your way and you couldn’t help but wave at them in return. You knew that Howzer would catch the move and get even more annoyed with you.

----------TBB-HOWZER-TBB----------

The night was cool on the arid planet as Howzer walked the corridors to the small gathering that the Syndullas had arranged. This would be his last post of the day before he returned to the barracks with the rest of his men. Or if his cyare was willing, return to her loving arms.

Although he wondered if she would still be in a teasing mood. All day whenever their paths crossed, she would flirt with him, bat her pretty eyelashes at his men, making more than a few stumble or stutter in response. A couple had even returned the flirting good naturedly before giving her a nod and returning to their own responsibilities.

Shaking his head, he couldn’t help the chuckle that worked it’s way up his throat. She had been nothing but full of mischief recently. He knew it was a coping mechanism, a way to deal with the increasing tension on Ryloth. It was all in good fun and it wasn’t anything serious. If anything he loved to see her smile, hear her laugh as she met his eyes and saw the reaction she wanted.

“Ah, Captain! I didn’t think you would be joining us” Eleni greeted, a glass of something in her hand. She wore a pleasant and genuine smile when she saw him. “Would you like a drink?” she offered, nodding over to the drinks table to the side of the room.

“Thanks, but I’m on duty ma’am” Howzer nodded, smiling politely at his friend.

“Ah, you would leave us to the dreary boasts of Senator Taa then?” Eleni teased, raising a perfect eyebrow at him, a smile playing on her lips.

“You do it so much better than me, Eleni. I wasn’t made for politics” Howzer reminded, looking around him at the many, many people schmoozing up to Taa and his people. He felt much more comfortable on a battlefield than attending one of these parties, where political games were played between false compliments and thinly veiled threats.

“That may be so, but it doesn’t make it any more enjoyable. We will speak soon, Captain. I must go rescue Cham, he’s giving me his signal” Eleni chuckled, bidding him farewell before heading over to Cham.

Howzer secured his helmet onto his head and took his position around the perimeter of the room. From where he stood, he had a good line of sight on the door and most of the room. He just hoped that whatever support the Syndullas could drum up for the peaceful unification of their planet, they would do so without many more of these things.

Checking in with his men, glad to hear that they reported the all clear, he settled in for a long night.

That was until he spotted a beautiful woman talking to Cham and Eleni over by the exit to the balcony. He almost swallowed his tongue at seeing the dress his cyare was wearing. It was a lovely red dress, clinging to all the places that she loved the most. A split up the side showed a flash of her thigh and the cut was just enough to show a slight hint of the swell of her breasts. He could feel his codpiece become a lot tighter as he watched his cyare laugh at something that Cham said. She was absolutely beautiful and mesmerising.

“You’re looking beautiful tonight, my dear. Any special reason?” Eleni asked, watching as your eyes kept drifting over to the position where the Captain was on watch. She knew about your relationship, had been the one encouraging it even but she knew that the pair of you must be kept a secret from the Empire. You made a wonderful couple, and she was pleased that both of her friends had found some happiness during this time.

“Apart from your wonderful party? No reason” you chuckled, picking at the delicious fruits that was on offer.

“Has your Captain figured out your plan for this evening?” she wondered, smiling politely at Taa as he passed.

“I think he’s got some idea of what’s going on” you smirked, glancing over your shoulder at him. Even though his bucket was facing forward, you could feel the warm, heavy gaze of Howzer on you. Sliding your hand down your side, you carefully flicked your skirt, flashing him a bit more of your leg in a seemingly innocent move to readjust your clothes.

From your spot next to Eleni, you could see Howzer straighten up and his hands twitch into a fist before they calmed. You couldn’t help but giggle, enjoying teasing your trooper and watching him squirm, trying to keep a straight face in front of his men.

“I’m going to work the room, I’ll see you later” you murmured, sending her a wink before sliding over to the other side of the room. You noticed a shiny standing just opposite where Howzer was standing. Perfect for him to get a good view of the show you hoped to put on for him.

“Oh, hello there! I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Y/N, I’m a civilian co-ordinator here on Ryloth. What’s your name?” you greeted, smiling warmly at the young trooper in front of you.

“Uh… CT-9818, ma’am” the shiny stumbled over his words, surprised to even be approached, never mind addressed. He wondered why a nat-born, a nat-born woman at that, would even be talking to him.

You couldn’t help but scrunch up your nose at that, shaking your head at the way that these men weren’t even treated like normal human beings. Running a hand through your hair, you tried to put a softer smile on your face. “That’s not much of a name, trooper. I’m not one of these nat-borns who believe all you are is a number. What do your brothers call you?” you said, hoping he didn’t think you were prying. You really was genuinely interested in meeting the new trooper.

“It’s erm… Mince… ma’am. My brothers call me Mince” the trooper admitted, and you nodded encouragingly.

“It’s nice to meet you Mince. Were you transferred to Captain Howzer’s unit? Or have you just been hiding?” you inquired, raising an eyebrow teasingly at him. Looking back, you could see Howzer’s bucket tilt towards you.

“Course not, ma’am. I was er… transferred after the creation of the Empire. We were one of the last squads off Kamino” he hurried to explain, straightening up at hearing the teasing voices of his vod come through his internal comm.

He really was a brand new shiny then, straight from Kamino by the sounds of it. Had he been there during the fall of Kamino City? Was he evacuated before the devastation that saw the troopers lose their home? Although you knew that Kamino wasn’t home to many of the vode. It was a place of heartbreak, torture and nightmares for many clones. But it was where they were decanted, where they grew up with their brothers and formed the bond of vode an.

“I was only joking, I’m sure Captain Howzer feels that you are a credit to his unit” you assured, resting a hand on his shoulder. “How are you enjoying Ryloth, Mince?” you asked him politely, tilting your head as you listened to him talk. Every so often you would shift slightly, sticking your hip out and angling your leg so that the folds of your dress draped over your thigh.

On one occasion, you burst out into laughter as Mince told you a story of how his vod, Lapse had been on patrol before he was pounced on by an overly affectionate blurrg. Resting a hand on his chest, you shook your head as you tried to control your giggles. “I can just imagine his face! Next time I see him, I’m not letting him live this down. I hope he offered to buy the blurrg dinner” you chuckled, trying to lower your voice as several people looked over at you both.

Taking the opportunity, you looked towards your Captain, sending him a wink you knew he would catch. Noticing how he puffed out his chest and purposefully looked away, you tried to hold in the snort of amusement at his obvious move. You had gotten to him. Crossing your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts up slightly, you heard a thud from Howzer’s direction but didn’t turn around to look. Already in your mind, you could picture your Captain losing his parade’s rest and falling back against the wall behind him.

“Looks like Mince has bitten off more than he can chew, right Captain?” came the voice through his bucket. He glanced across the room to where Mince was positioned, spotting you standing close to him and talking to him quietly. He could see the mischief that was filling your eyes as you looked up and caught sight of him. Damn you! He knew you were making it hard for him on purpose. What he wouldn’t give just to sweep you into his arms, be the one you spoke to all night, be allowed to whisper all the sweet words he had to keep to himself into your skin as he worked his way down your body.

“Do you think someone should go rescue him?” Soni murmured in awe, watching the way your dress fell around you.

Howzer clenched his jaw.

“Why would he need rescuing?” Blaze scoffed, amused at how his younger brother was becoming flustered from talking to the pretty civilian officer that worked as a go between for the Empire and the Twi’leks resistance.

His eye twitched.

“From the Captain or her?” Suture, his medic, drawled. And if Howzer could, he’d shoot the medic a glare that would put him in the medbay. But he was wise enough to know not to piss off the medics, and that Suture was more than likely entertained at having to watch him sweat while his cyare was teasing him.

“Kriff, Mince! Your heart is going so fast I’d think you were running drills!” Drax chuckled, hearing the returning splutter from Mince. Thankfully it wasn’t picked up by his voice recorder!

Now that was an idea! Send his men to run drills every time they so much as looked in your direction. Especially while you were wearing something like this. He could just imagine how his brothers were enjoying the sight of seeing his cyare outside of uniform.

When you turned to send him a wink, he let out a small growl that was thankfully not picked up by his bucket. His little tease. You were enjoying this, he realised. A lot. Too much even, if that mischievous spark in your eye was any indication. He loved seeing you like this, so full of joy and happiness. He felt himself twitch behind his codpiece at your actions. Kriff, how could you make him hard so quickly, just by flashing that teasing look and a bit of leg. A beautiful, leg at that. He could remember how they felt wrapped around his waist this morning. He couldn’t wait until he could drag you back into bed.

Kriff!

He was so done for. What did Hera like to say to him? That was it! Head over heels in love with his pretty little civvie. She was right. As usual. He did love her, more than anything. And that was why he wasn’t reacting. She wanted to tease him, wind him up into a tight ball of tension and lust before he finally reacted. Well, that was the exact opposite of what he was going to do. His pretty little civvie couldn’t always get what she wanted.

“-zer? Captain Howzer?” a familiar voice called from his side.

He blinked, swiftly turning around to find Cham and Eleni addressing him. He gave them a formal salute before nodding at them respectfully.

“Is everything alright, Captain? You seemed a little distracted” Eleni inquired slyly, raising an eyebrow at him.

Once again Howzer was thankful for his bucket, it hid the blush that was rapidly growing on his face. “Yes ma’am, I was… er listening… to the, er, check ins?” he replied, wanting to kick himself at how unsure he sounded.

Cham shot a pointed look at his wife and smiled. “Forgive us for disturbing you then, Captain. We were just inquiring about how you are this evening? Enjoying the party?” Cham asked, struggling to hide his amusement at the enamoured Captain. He hadn’t missed the looks between the two, it reminded him of Eleni and himself.

“Oh, yes sir. It’s riveting” Howzer drawled, relaxing a little in their company. They were hardly going to report him for complaining about guard duty for an intolerable Senator and his entourage.

“Another hour to go, Captain, and then we’ll be free. Hopefully Hera will be in bed by the time we return home. She was disappointed that she wouldn’t be attending tonight” Eleni chuckled, leaning into Cham and rolling her eyes.

“Couldn’t prank anyone else?” Howzer snorted, shaking his head at the young Twi’lek. It was a joy to have Hera around, she was always making things interesting for him and keeping him on his toes. It helped that she seemed to always drag his cyare in tow.

“Not tonight, no” Cham sighed, although there was amusement and mischief in his eyes. “We can’t apologise enough for this morning Captain. Her and Chopper have been appropriately punished. Did your squad manage to get the glitter and oil off?” Cham wondered, glancing at the few troopers surrounding the perimeters.

“Just about, although Riko wasn’t too pleased to find glitter in his air filters. He keeps puffing out glitter every so often” Howzer admitted, lips pulling into an amused smile that, although hidden by his bucket, was clear in his voice.

Eleni and Cham couldn’t hide their laughter, already imagining the clone troopers colourful curses when that happened. She was the daughter of rebels for a reason.

Their conversation was interrupted when you walked towards them, a wide smile on your face seeing them all together and happy. But you were beginning to feel tired and all you wanted was for your trooper to hold you in his arms.

“Cham, Eleni, I’m really sorry but I might head home-” you called to them, noticing how Howzer was closer to you than your friends. Having an idea on how to get you both out of this, you surveyed the ground in front of you. It was just the right material. Making sure you looked slightly dazed, you allowed the toe of your heel to catch on the floor and you stumbled. As expected, Howzer quickly stepped forward to catch you, arms wrapping around your waist and holding you to him. You would have been able to feel his warm breath fanning across your face if his helmet was off.

“Ohh! I’m so sorry Captain!” you hurried to apologise, feeling how one hand kept an arm around your waist to keep you steady, the other holding your hand and squeezing it.

“It’s fine, are you okay?” he frowned, scanning your form to see if you were injured in anyway.

“My dear, are you alright?” Eleni asked at the same time, a teasing look in her eye as she looked you over. She hadn’t missed the flush in your cheeks as Howzer pressed you against his armoured body.

“I’ll be fine, thank you, I’m just not feeling too good at the moment. I’m going to try and have an early night” you told them, still not stepping out of Howzer’s hold. You would let him play the role of the caring knight in shiny armour if it meant you could have him touch you in public.

Cham nodded, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Of course! You’re looking a little flushed, my friend” Cham noted, feigning concern. He had spotted the devious look that spread across your face as you walked over, he had seen it many times on Hera’s face to know a ploy was afoot when he saw it.

Turning to the Captain, who was still holding you close, he clapped him on the shoulder. “Captain, would you be able to escort our friend home?” Cham requested, looking at him hopefully.

“Err… I’m still on duty” Howzer reminded, looking between you and the resistance fighters. Why did he feel like he was being lured into a trap? Had you planned this whole night out with Cham and Eleni? Were they your accomplices? He shouldn’t even be surprised.

“Please Captain, I’m sure your squad can manage until the end of the party” Eleni pleaded, gripping onto your hand. When Howzer looked back at his men, obviously reporting the issue with them, she sent you a wink and you had to smother the smile that was trying to break across your face.

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that. I’m sure Captain Howzer is needed here more than I need him” you protested, shaking your head. You felt his hand tighten on your hip, and could feel his warning look even through his helmet. Perhaps that one had been less than subtle.

“No, you need him more. I insist! I would hate for anything to happen to you on your walk back” Eleni nodded, rubbing your arm soothingly. You would have to compliment her on her acting skills. If anyone was looking in, they would be convinced that she held genuine concern for you.

“Would you walk me home, Captain?” you asked him quietly, biting your lip and looking at him hopefully.

“Of course. It would be my pleasure” he rumbled, allowing you to say your goodbyes while he passed command to his second. Blaze would be able to handle the rest of the posting until the shift finished. If anything happened, Blaze would comm him.

As you left the room where the gathering was being held, you straightened up and leaned into him more. It felt good to have this moment alone with him. Your time together was sporadic, depending on his work shifts and yours, and whether he could sneak out of the barracks to your room.

“I think we’re alone now, Captain. Take it off.”

Howzer couldn’t help but roll his eyes, but quickly gave in, taking off his bucket and attaching it to his belt. “Better?” he asked you, watching as your eyes roamed his face, a blush working it’s way across your cheeks.

You couldn’t help it, just the sight of his beautiful face was enough for you to feel warm. The way he looked at you, big brown eyes full of love and adoration had your stomach doing somersaults. His scarred chin and cheek just added to his ruggish look. “Much better” you breathed, seeing his features soften slightly at your answer.

Instead of answering, he offered you his arm to continue escorting you back home.

“Thank you for walking me home, Captain” you smiled, hooking your arm with his. “I think I enjoyed too much wine tonight” you told him, leaning into his warmth. Even with his armour on, you admired the strength of his muscle underneath your hand.

“You certainly seemed to be having fun” he commented, enjoying the way your hand fit into the crook of his elbow. One of the few spots in which he could feel you through the gap in the plastoid. “How are you feeling now?” he asked, checking you over once more in case you really were feeling ill. He was confident you had been teasing him, but it was better to check.

“I’m okay, just these stupid shoes. They’re beginning to pinch” you winced, eager to kick them off.

“I might be able to help with that” he murmured, lip quirking into a smirk before he shoved you into a secluded turn off the corridor you were walking down.

“Howzer!” you gasped, steadying yourself against the wall. You listened to see if anyone had seen him, hearing nothing, you scowled at your trooper. “A bit of warning would have been nice” you reminded, raising an eyebrow.

“It pays not to give your enemy forewarning” Howzer replied, before dropping to his knees right in front of you. His knee plates clattered against the metal vents on the floor and he carefully took off his gloves, tucking them into his belt. Looking up at you with darkened eyes, he couldn’t help but let out a little groan. You looked beautiful.

“I… uh… I didn’t think we were enemies” you breathed, thoughts becoming a little harder to hold onto as he slowly pulled away your skirt, revealing the shape of your legs to him. You loved when he took his gloves off slowly, already imagining the feel of his calloused hands running across your skin. He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your knee before placing another slightly higher.

“We aren’t. This dress you’re wearing however, is keeping me from what I really want” he groaned, sliding his hands up your thighs, reaching the line of your underwear. Teasingly, he ran his fingers under the hem, threatening to pull them down.

“Howzer… people… they co-could see” you panted, running your hand through his hair and tugging him closer to you. His huffed breath fluttered against your core and you wanted him to stop teasing you and finally give in.

“Didn’t think you’d mind, cyare. After the way you’ve been behaving all day, thought you’d like them to see how good you look like this” he drawled, grazing his teeth across the meat of your thighs.

“Only teasing baby” you huffed, rocking forward into him but he just pulled away.

“I’m not going to fuck you here” Howzer told you, making your heart sink in disappointment. You really wanted to feel him, enjoy the result of your teasing. But it seemed the Captain had other plans. “Besides, we need to get these off you cyar’ika. Get you feeling comfy” he smirked, pulling your shoes off you and attaching them to his belt.

Unable to help it, you gaped at him, not even aware that he had been fiddling with your shoes enough to loosen them off your feet. Sneaky little womp rat!

“Come on, get moving” he instructed, pushing himself back up onto his feet.

You pouted, unable to help it as you tilted your head up to his. “Not even a kiss?” you whined, trying to entice him to give in.

“You want a kiss, mesh’la?” he whispered, stepping closer to you until your back was pressed against the wall once more. His armour was cool against you, the feeling seeping through your dress and making you gasp. Feeling a bit dizzy at him, you nodded.

“Alright I’ll give you a kiss” he growled, hand coming up to grip your jaw in a tight hold before he pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was rough, catching you off guard and Howzer used it to his advantage as his tongue swept into your mouth, running along your own. As you moaned against him, hips coming up to buck against his, he pulled away. The kiss over just as quickly as it began.

Your breaths came out in pants as you blinked up at him in shock, thoughts getting hazy. “Now get moving” he instructed, tugging you forward and landing a hard smack on your ass as you passed him.

You yelped, heat rushing through you at that. It seemed that you had pushed your Captain too far with your teasing and he was preparing to do his own. Rubbing your ass cheek, you led the way back to your apartment, glad that nobody was in the corridors. You didn’t think you would be able to hide the blush spread over your face and the slight dazed look.

Just as soon as you had shut the door behind you, Howzer was pressing you back against the metal door, his armour sending a chill racing down your spine as your nipples hardened beneath the material of your dress. You liked the way he pinned you against the door, dark eyes focused on yours.

“You’ve done enough teasing for one day, so you’re going to listen for once, cyare” he told you firmly, one hand sliding up your neck to grip it. It wasn’t a particularly tight hold, just enough to ensure that you were paying attention to him. “You’re going to get rid of this gorgeous dress and everything underneath, mesh’la, and I want you to sit on the chair facing me. Then you’re going to spread your pretty legs open so I can see just how wet you are” he instructed, leaving no room for any protest. All you could do was nod at his words. He smiled, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips before turning and heading into your living room.

Sagging against the door, you let out a sigh, feeling how arousal was already pooling into your underwear. Fuck, he was so hot, your plan to push his control to the edge had worked. If your teasing had caused all this… well, it certainly wasn’t going to put you off from doing it again.

Knowing you couldn’t keep him waiting long, you slid the dress slowly from your shoulders, letting it pool down onto your hips before letting it drop to the floor. Howzer had wanted you naked before you sat on display for him, and you weren’t going to disobey him now. Following after him, you reached up to undo your chest band, leaving it on until you were in his sight again.

Howzer had taken off his armour, placing it in it’s spot in your apartment. At the moment, he was dressed in just the bottom half of his blacks. Already you could see the bulge that was pressed against the tight material.

Unable to help it, you couldn’t stop your eyes running over his broad, tanned, thick body. There was a scattering of paler scars along his neck and shoulder, similar to the one on his cheek and chin. You already knew the path of them by heart, after stroking each one and pressing soft kisses to the scarred tissue. He kept himself in peak physical condition, his training from Kamino still drilled into him, even after the war was over. The way his bronzed skin stretched over his sculpted muscles had you almost drooling over how gorgeous and handsome your Captain was.

“As much as I like you staring at me, mesh’la. I want to see you more” his deep voice cut through your thoughts.

Blushing slightly at how distracted you were, you released your hold on the chest band, letting it drop to the floor in front of you. A hitch in Howzer’s breath beside you had you grinning, enjoying the way he loved looking at your body. Running your hands over your breasts, groaning at the relief of being out of the chest band, you knew he would be feeling his blacks become more and more restricting.

As you headed over to your chair, the caf table in between yours and his, you hooked your fingers into the hem of your panties. Turning around, you bent over, giving him a show as you slid them over your ass and down your thighs, letting them fall to the floor and exposing your soaked core to his eyes already. A muffled curse from him had you smirking, before turning back around and sitting down in the chair he had told you to. Raising an eyebrow at him, you waited to see what he would do.

“Thought I told you to spread your pretty legs for me. If you can’t listen to simple instructions, tonight isn’t going to turn out very well for you” he warned, voice controlled and level as he kept his heavy gaze on you. Although you could see his jaw tightening at your little display. He wasn’t as unaffected as he appeared to be.

“Sorry Captain” you demurred, biting your lip and knowing you were teasing him even further.

Running your hands up from your knees and over your thighs, you slowly spread your legs, revealing your glistening core to him. The way his gaze felt had you wanting to close your eyes and whimper, the intense stare making you feel like he wanted to devour you. You wouldn’t mind, you wanted to feel him lose control with you and just take what he wanted.

“Feet on the table, spread them wider” he ordered, dark chocolate brown eyes darkening even further at the way the low lights in the room caught the slick that was pooling at your entrance.

Perching the soles of your feet on the table’s edge, you gasped as you spread your legs even wider, giving your Captain a better look at how much he was affecting you. You already wanted to reach down, press a desperate brush of fingers against your slit but you refrained, Howzer hadn’t told you to do anything else. And you didn’t want him punishing you by keeping you on the edge, over and over again. No, it was in your best interests to do exactly what Howzer said.

“Good girl, you can behave” he smirked, watching as your thighs quivered at his words. “Look how pretty you look, cyar’ika. Did you get this wet just from talking to my brother?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you challengingly.

Biting your lip to hold in the sound that was dying to come out, you shook your head.

“No? Who got you this wet then? Who made this pussy leak so much?” he drawled, leaning forward now, elbow on his knees to get a closer look at you.

Unable to help it, you preened at the knowledge that he was just as desperate to be close to you as you were for him. If he hadn’t had instructed you to stay there, you’d be the one dragging him over the table and attaching your lips to his.

A rap of his knuckles against the wood brought your attention back to him. “I asked you a question, sweetheart. Do I need to repeat myself?” he asked, jaw tightening as he ran his eyes up over your heaving chest and to your swollen bottom lip trapped in between your teeth. When you released it from your grasp, he had to catch the groan he wanted to let out at how pink and swollen it was. He could just imagine those lips around his cock as you took him in his mouth.

“No Captain, I’m sorry. You’re the only one who makes me this wet” you breathed, trying to spread your legs even further for his eyes.

Howzer hummed, pleased with your answer but still not giving you the orders that you so desperately wanted. It was maddening to be so exposed and not touch yourself or have him touch you. He noticed your hands clenching tightly on the arms of the chair, fingers curled so tight your knuckles were white. Howzer wanted nothing more than to touch you, but he couldn’t forget he had been half hard for most of the day just because of your teasing.

“You’ve been teasing me all day sweetheart. Why is that?” he wondered, running his eyes up your shapely legs and towards your leaking centre. He could just imagine you spread out, his head between your legs devouring your glistening cunt, it was making it harder and harder to focus.

“Wanted you to snap… make you lose control and… and touch me. Please Captain” you groaned, hips rocking enticingly to hopefully spur him on. If he wouldn’t do anything, then you’d have to take matters into your own hands.

Chuckling at how mischievous his cyare was, he shook his head at you. “How’s that working out for you, mesh’la?” he teased, sending you a lazy smirk that had your breath catching in your throat. Fuck he was so handsome like this. All happiness and desire was clear to see in his eyes, the stress and worries of the Empire laid down for once.

“Howzer!” you whined, brattiness coming out before you could stop it.

“That’s not how you address me, cyar’ika” he frowned, voice losing the teasing tone and full of authority once more. It was the one he used when speaking to shinies who were still trying to find their place in the squad.

“Please Captain, I need you to touch me” you moaned, biting your lip and hoping he’d give in to you. The strain in his blacks was already noticeable from where you were spread out for him. There was no way that he would be able to last much longer without touching you, or you touching him. Kriff! All you wanted to do was palm his hardened length underneath those blacks, feel him throb in your hand as you mouthed around him. The thought had your legs quivering and your cunt clenching as more arousal slipped out of you.

Of course, Howzer’s keen eyes caught it, and the dirty chuckle he let out didn’t help the feeling of heat bursting through you. “Oh no, sweetheart, you forgot our rules didn’t you? The ones which make sure we’re safe and able to keep having these moments. Wouldn’t want anyone telling Rampart or Taa about us, would we?” he chided gently, sliding his hands up his thighs just to relieve some of the tension that was curling in the pit of his stomach. “So this is a punishment. I’m not going to touch you until I’m ready to” he told you, delighting at the way your mouth parted on a small gasp of surprise.

He couldn’t be serious, could he? Howzer always touched you when you were alone together, even if it was just the brush of a hand against the small of your back as he moved past you, or the soft squeeze of your shoulder as he went to make dinner. His touch was something you always enjoyed and looked forward to, even outside of your bedroom.

“Your little clit looks so desperate for attention, cyar’ika. I can see how much it needs to be touched. Why don’t you use your pretty little fingers and give it what it wants?” he suggested, fingers twitching at his own words. He wanted to be the one to rub your bud, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He still had to punish you for your teasing.

Sighing, you finally brushed the pads of your fingers against your clit, the light touch sending sparks up your spine. Unable to help the little moan of relief, you collected your slick and used it to play with your clit, rubbing it in little circles that had your eyes slipping shut. After so long teasing him, you had become just as worked up as the Captain. It felt so good to finally be able to relieve some of the pressure that had been building.

Howzer couldn’t take his eyes off you. You looked so perfect, so breath taking in this moment that he never wanted to forget the sight of you like this. Your thighs tightening in pleasure as you worked your swollen bud of nerves, breasts heaving with every laboured breath and your eyes shut, lust and desire written all over your face.

The cool night air fluttered against your skin, causing goosebumps to spring up. It was such a contrast to how you were feeling, it felt like you were overheating, as though Howzer’s simple words and heavy gaze was lighting a fire inside of you. One of your hands reached up, ready to tease and pull at your pebbled nipples but you hastily stopped, remembering that your Captain hadn’t given you any instructions on touching yourself there.

“Go ahead, cyar’ika, I want you to touch those cute little nipples. Wish I could run my tongue over them and tease them until you ache” he ordered, groaning at the thought of taking the buds into his mouth and lathing them with attention from his warm mouth and talented fingers.

“You can! Please, I want you to” you encouraged, rolling your hips against the fingers against your clit. The other hand slid up your torso until you could pinch and squeeze at your breast before pulling at your nipple. It sent a zap of pleasure down to your core, more arousal coating your fingers to aid in your touch.

It felt like you were dripping and leaking onto the chair beneath you from how wet you were. And he still refused to touch you. Gritting your teeth at the slow building pleasure that was forming in your core, you couldn’t help but want more. More of Howzer, more of his talented calloused fingers pushing you over the edge.

“Mesh’la” he breathed, feeling desire wash over him as he watched you follow his instruction and drive yourself closer and closer to the edge but have no way of reaching your release. “Use your fingers, want to see them inside of you cyare” he told you, voice strained as he drunk in the sight of you. His cock was throbbing in his blacks, and he ached to relieve the pressure just slightly. Cupping himself through his blacks, he let out a small groan that seemed to set alight the tease that was buried inside of you.

“That’s it Captain, I could make you feel so good” you grinned, watching as he palmed himself through his trousers. Sliding a finger inside of your dripping core had your eyes sliding shut for a second before you pushed them back open.

The sight of Howzer touching himself, desperate for some relief from the pressure building underneath them was something you didn’t want to miss at all. He looked so beautiful, eyes half lidded in pleasure as his head was tilted up just slightly. The gorgeous full lips of his was hanging open slightly, small panting breaths escaping as he lost a part of that control he prided himself over.

Gulping at the feeling of a second finger sliding into you, you couldn’t wait to feel him inside of you, to taste him on your tongue, to feel his strong body pressed against you. “Oh, I could taste you, have my mouth around your cock instead, bet it would feel better than your hands. OH!” you cried, crooking your fingers to press against the spongy patch in your walls, fire spreading across your body as you worked yourself closer and closer to the edge.

Howzer groaned loudly, biting his own lip to stop him from just pulling you onto his cock. You had a way of making him lose control of himself, and hearing your soft cries and teasing words were making it harder and harder to focus. Just the thought of your warm mouth surrounding his length, swallowing him down to the hilt had him near the edge of his own relief, but he refused to cum without making you cum first.

“You’re in no position to tease, cyar’ika. You’ll get there when I allow it. Keep touching yourself, slowly” he ordered, wrestling with his control at your words.

As you pinched your nipple sharply, and slowly pushed another finger in, you could feel your orgasm building and building, getting so close you could almost touch it. “Fuck! Sir, I’m so close!” you whined, rolling your hips against the fingers that were inside of you and arching your chest up into the air, desperate for him to touch you and help finish you off.

“See it’s so much better when you listen to me and follow the rules, isn’t it?” he growled out.

“Yes! Yes it is! Kriff, Captain, please!” you gasped, feeling your stomach tighten and warmth flood through you as you hurriedly slid your hand from your breast down to rub at your clit.

Just as soon as your fingers lightly brushed your bundle of nerves, a vice like grip circled your wrists and pulled them both away from your needy body. Gasping, your eyes met his amused ones as you felt furious at him for denying you your own release. He had snapped forward to stop you just as soon as he noticed you were about to go over the edge.

“HOWZER!” you spat out, unable to believe he would stop you when you were so close.

“I don’t think so, cyare. You’ve been teasing me all day, flirting with my men and wearing that pretty dress. You’re not getting off that easily” he shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips as he saw a pout forming on yours.

“Evidently!” you grumbled, noticing he still hadn’t let go of your wrists.

Chuckling at your indignation, he leant further across the table separating you and pulled your hand up to him. “Hmm, you smell so good. I know you taste it too” he murmured, before wrapping his lips around the fingers that had been inside of you. His talented tongue gently collected the slick on your fingers as he sucked them into his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed as the taste of you burst across his tongue. This! This was what he had been thinking of all day. The unique taste of you on his tongue and the way you sounded lost in your own lust.

Whimpering at the feeling of him sucking your own arousal from your fingers, you ran your hand up and down his arm, feeling the heat radiating from him. When your Captain grazed the pads of your fingers with his teeth, you couldn’t help but curl your fingers around his own and hold on tight to him.

“Hmm, you taste wonderful, mesh’la. But I really, really want to be inside of you” he murmured, leaning forward to press kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Sucking slightly on the spot beneath your ear, you couldn’t help but give in. You’d forgive him for stopping you earlier if he was going to make up for it. “Can I? Can I feel you wrapped around my cock?” he asked, grazing the darkening skin with his teeth before moving on to add another further down.

“Since when have I said no?” you breathed, tilting your head slightly so he could have more room.

“Never hurts to ask” he smiled, lips curling against your throat. He chuckled lightly at your nod of consent before pulling you onto your feet. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he held you against him as he teasingly pressed his lips against yours, lightly running his tongue over yours before pulling away. He looked around him for something before grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch and spreading it over the table.

“Lie down” he instructed, reaching for a pillow to support your head against the hard surface. It wasn’t the most comfortable of places, but it seemed that he didn’t want to move any further than he had to.

Pulling back to look at you, he couldn’t help but look at you in awe. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe how lucky I am that you want me” he breathed, almost shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m the lucky one, trooper! Now are you going to come here so I can show you how lucky I am? Or do I have to come get you myself?” you teased, smiling up at him. His cheeks heated up at your words and he couldn’t help but think you looked stunning with the happiness that radiated from your smile.

“Brat” he huffed, quickly unfastening his trousers and pushing them down his thick thighs. Smirking at your stare as his thick cock sprung up against him, he kicked them off and turned back to you. He was already leaking pre-cum and he took a hold of his cock, spreading it up and down before pressing his body into yours. He felt the way your nipples brushed against the spattering of dark hair on his chest, how your skin had started to glisten with a thin sheet of sweat as you had worked yourself up. Pushing your thighs wider apart to accommodate his hips, he could feel just how wet you were as he brushed his cock between your folds.

You couldn’t help but whine at the feel of him rubbing between your soaked lips. The orgasm that had lessened off was building once more just at the feel of him pressing his body into yours. His body was all sharp angles and hard muscles compared to your soft curves, and it was just intoxicating having him like this. You ran your fingers through his dark hair, before tugging him up from where he was sucking marks on your shoulders to kiss him. The taste of you was still on his tongue and a groan escaped you at the taste of you both mixing together.

Pulling away, he kissed down to your chest, finally taking one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth and lathing it with attention, just like he had wanted to. He greedily ran his tongue over your nub, sucking harshly and making you cry out, pulling once more at his hair. However he didn’t stop, continuing to tease and suck bruises onto your mounds while his other hand pinched and pulled at it’s twin.

“Kriff! You feel so good, don’t stop!” you begged, closing your eyes and losing yourself to the sensation that he was building inside of you.

However just as soon as the words left your mouth, Howzer was pulling away, smug look already plastered on his face. It was all you could do not to curse at him.

“Not nice to tease, is it mesh’la?” he reminded, pressing a kiss to your chin. You could hear the amusement in his voice, never mind seeing it in his beautiful honey brown eyes.

“I’m sorry, now fuck me!” you demanded, bucking your hips up to his. It sent a burst of pleasure as his cock brushed against your clit.

It was soon over as Howzer landed a sharp swat to the outside of your thigh. “Ah! You lost your manners as well, mesh’la? That’s not how we ask for something we want” he growled, voice hardening and scowling down at you.

Realising that he wouldn’t move unless you gave in, you sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, please fuck me sir. I need to feel you inside of me” you pleaded, sliding your hands down his chest and resting them on his hips, squeezing just slightly to encourage him to move.

“Hmm, that’s better. You do have manners after all” he hummed, reaching in between you to slot his cock at your entrance. He didn’t push in, waiting until you let out another moan before slowly pushing his cock inside of you.

A gasp escaped you, unable to stop it as he continued to press into your soaking core, opening you up for his cock and sinking into your tight heat. He didn’t stop until he was buried inside of you, your walls clenching around him as you got used to the feel of him once more.

“Kriff, you’re so tight. Even with your fingers opening you up. Maybe I should have done it myself” he groaned, head falling to your collarbone as he waited for you to adjust to him.

You hummed, trailing your fingers through his curls and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Don’t matter, just fuck me now” you murmured into his bronze skin.

“With pleasure, cyare” he grinned, landing a soft kiss to your shoulder before dragging his cock out against your walls. It left you gasping at the feel of him before your breath was pushed back out again as he slammed inside of you.

He set a fast pace, teasing you by slowly pulling out and then slamming back into you. You knew he was paying you back for all the teasing you had done to him all day, but you would do it all over again if it meant that this was where you landed up every time. You cried out his name as his thrust sent your body higher up the table, your head nearly falling off the side as he fucked you.

Your nails dug into his back and shoulders, leaving crescent shaped marks that would remind him of tonight. He worked his hand into your hair, tugging sharply and swallowing your moan with his lips as he continues to pound his cock into you.

“Harder, please Captain!” you begged, the sting of pain from your scalp shooting to between your legs. He was all around you, every one of your senses filled by him as you writhed beneath him.

“Harder mesh’la? Alright then” he drawled, his voice making you clench around the hard length inside of you. Somehow he pressed you down more into the table, his hips relentlessly slamming into you as he held you even closer to him. Every part of you was touching as he grunted into your ear, loving the cries and moans that he pushed out of you.

Squeezing your legs tighter around his hips, you tugged him as close as you possibly could, body arching into his chest as you felt your core tighten and tighten.

“Fuck, please can I come? Please let me cum now” you gasped, words muffled as you pressed your face into his neck. Thank the Force for his superior hearing because you had a feeling you would combust if he didn’t.

“Think you deserve it? After everything?” he teased, tugging at your hair and squeezing the thighs that was wrapped round him.

“I’ve been good… did everything AH!… that you said” you whined, rolling your hips against his.

“You have, my good girl. So perfect for me” he praised, shifting his hips slightly to hit that spot that had you seeing stars. He hissed at the feeling of your nails digging even more into his skin, but it was marks that he would wear with pride. “Cum, cyare. Let me feel you shake around me” he demanded, slamming once more into you and targetting that special place that had you crying out his name, walls clenching around him as your release washed over you.

Howzer cursed at the feeling of you tightening so much around him that he could barely move, hips stuttering out one, two, three more thrusts before he painted your walls white. He collapsed against your front as your thighs quivered around him, both of you exhausted after your shared relief.

It took what felt like a few minutes for you to come back to yourself, but you didn't want to move, content to just stay in the warmth that Howzer provided for you. Your head felt all fuzzy and warm, happy to be surrounded by his love and care that nothing else mattered. You drew small patterns up and down his back as he gently pushed your hair back away from your face, letting out small soothing sounds that you couldn’t comprehend but they felt nice all the same.

Finally, as the cool night air began to register with you and you could feel his softening cock slip out of you, you grimaced and shivered against his. “Come on mesh’la, we can’t stay here. Let’s move this somewhere else” he murmured, scooping you up in his arms.

Pouting at being disturbed, you clung tighter onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face there. Taking a deep breath, you couldn’t help but relax at the soothing scent of him. You felt the soft material of the couch under your back as he lay you down.

“Hmm, my good girl, wait right here” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. Settling you better on your couch, he cupped your cheek before getting up. “Gonna get something to clean us up with” he soothed, hearing the small whine you let out at being away from his warmth.

Within moments, he returned with a bottle of water, a few snacks on a plate and some wipes to clean up the mess you had both made. “Going to clean you up now, sweetheart. I’ll be quick” he assured, spreading your legs and gently guiding the wipes over your sensitive core. He made sure he cleaned up his seed that was beginning to leak out of you before throwing them to one side.

Next, he encouraged you to sit up and lean against his chest, hands rubbing soothingly up and down your sides. “Drink this for me” he instructed, kissing your cheek as he unfastened the bottle and held it up to your lips. He wouldn't let you take hold of it, preferring to do it himself.

Sighing, you snuggled back into him, eyes beginning to slide shut but his chest shook at his small chuckle. You did look so cute as you fought sleep, but he wasn’t done with you yet.

“I know, we’re nearly finished and then we can go cuddle in bed. Need you to eat something for me, love. It’d make me real happy to see that” he whispered, encouraging you to take a few bites out of your favourite snack for him. “That’s a good girl” he mumbled, when you had enough and was curling into his lap even more.

You felt so safe and protected being in his arms, being surrounded by him, and distantly you recognised you were in that wonderful calm head space that allowed you to give up control and just be. Howzer would look after you, he loved you and would make sure that everything was okay.

“Come on mesh’la, lets get you into bed” he smiled softly, burying his face into your hair for a moment more. Once more he picked you up, positioning you just right in his arms so that he could shut everything off and lock the door for the night.

Your head had barely touched your pillow before you felt sleep claiming you. In those few moments before your relinquished consciousness, you heard Howzer whisper how much he loved you into the back of your neck.