#do you understand me the fridge is going to be out the fucking window

[coff33andb00ks]

world around us

summary: you're a candle in the window on a cold dark winter's night word count: 1k pairing: lando norris x oscar piastri x driver!reader (lilli. it's lilli) warnings: just pure fluff, slightly suggestive language(?) a.n.: final installation of my I need Lilli to have an amazing birthday series! this is once again for @maxlarens HAPPY BIRTHDAY LILLI MY LOVE!!! playlist: completely unhinged songs that fit the vibe

"No no no no no no no! You can't do that! You fuckin' muppet!"

Oscar mirrors your eye roll as Lando protests you placing a house on one of your properties. "She owns it though?" he says tentatively.

Lando scoffs, snatching up the guide and snapping it open. "The rules say–"

"I refuse to follow rules when you rolled twice so you wouldn't go to jail," you say with a huff, snatching the guide from him.

"I had to! One of the dice landed on the floor!"

"Oh but when we play golf I have to play no matter where my ball lands?"

"Yes." Lando gives you a look of disbelief, as though the idea of breaking a golfing rule is akin to murder. "It's not my fault you can't hit a ball straight."

"Just for that–" You slap more brightly colored money in front of Oscar - Oscar has to be the banker he's the most honest one among us - and grab a hotel to replace the house. "Suffer."

Lando groans, throwing up his hands. "You're cheating. I hate games night."

Oscar's grin shifts and he begins to chuckle. "We could play Trivial Pursuit?"

"No," Lando whines, picking up the dice to take his turn. "That game makes me feel stupid."

"Uno?" you suggest sweetly.

"No, we'll finish this. Capitalism is good to me, I'll make a comeback." Lando nods to himself as he shakes the dice. "Just shut up so I can focus."

And then, twenty minutes later–

"What d'you mean I owe you double the rent?!"

The rules are checked - well this is fucking bullshit - and he counts out all of his money to pay up. Suddenly capitalism sucks and he's clinging to his one property block and his cash like they're his lifeline.

You'll never know how (he probably cheated) but he wins. Monopoly money rains down as he celebrates and you fall back with laughter when Oscar flips the board in disgust.

You love games night. The silly playlist Lando put together plays, Disney movies play, muted, on the tv, and you've got them.

Lando and Oscar. Your biggest rivals on the track and your closest friends off. You're celebrating Oscar's first win this week now that summer break is here, enjoying the lazy days before you each take off in different directions to visit family and recuperate from an exhausting first half of the season.

"Loser cleans up," you remind Oscar and he groans as he gives you a kiss then begins picking up the mess. Lando's singing along to the latest country song he's obsessed with - Is it your heart or mine? Is it whiskey or wine? Is it somethin' in the night Makin' us wanna cross that line? - and he follows you into the kitchen to get more drinks.

"You sure you don't want to come along with me?" he asks, reaching around you to get a beer from the fridge.

"Let me see... Golfing with a bunch of men versus beach time with my best friends…" You hum thoughtfully, squealing when loops an arm around you.

"That can't be right. Me and Osco are your best friends," he says.

"Let me rephrase. Best women friends."

He's holding you close, swaying a little to the song playing - you think Oscar's the one who added ABBA, or maybe it was you - and you smile a little as you sway with him. He hums songs without realizing it and it's one of his more endearing habits.

"But I'll miss you," he murmurs, tucking his chin on your shoulder.

"I'll miss you too." And you will. This season you've grown closer to him. Literally, considering he finally talked you - and Oscar - into moving to Monaco. But also figuratively. You're just as rough on yourself as he is on himself, and with all the macho bravado that surrounds you every race week, it's nice to have someone who understands your being upset over missing out on a podium due to your own failings as a driver, your miscommunication with the team. It's rarer to have someone who understands shouldering the blame of the team's missteps – if I was better at this, they would trust my judgment but I'm not so they don't and that means—

"Not getting sappy on me are you?" Lando teases.

"You started it," you mutter. Turning, you wrap your arms around him. "We can live a few weeks without each other."

"I mean… You'll text right? Call?" he asks softly.

"FaceTime too," you promise.

It's tentative and new and so fucking scary but he gives you a soft kiss. Not your first with him, but it still makes your heart do that weird little flutter that it's only ever done with one other person.

"Jenga?" Oscar calls from the living room and Lando perks up instantly, nearly knocking you down in his haste to get back to the only other person he's going to miss during break.

Jenga with your boys is impossible. They're too competitive, know too many things they can say that make the other break and send the blocks flying.

"Oh of course he's going for the bottom, man loves to be at the bottom," Oscar mutters to you and Lando's giggling, covering his face with his hands as the tower collapses.

The games are abandoned, and you're squished on the couch between them, Oscar's lips on your ear, Lando's head on your stomach as the three of you, tipsy and relaxed, begin making plans for the last days of break while a Studio Ghibli movie plays. It's not said by either of you, but you already know that the three of you will find each other long before the break is over.

The world is easier to bear when it's the three of you together. It's still new, still tentative, still scary as hell, but it feels oh so right.

[pedroshotwifey]

Should've Stayed Bored

Please understand that this is a crack fic based on this post by @bonezone44 and the comments made by @covetyou on said post ) Also tagging other commenters on that post: @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog snowflake-blog@bubble-pop-eclectic @lunitawrites

Pairing: Chump!Joel Miller × fem!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Tags/Warnings: Joel Miller NOT being a sex god, left flap rubbing, mention of the clit, piv sex (if you could call it that), premature ejaculation, age gap, dad's buddy!joel miller, bad make out sessions, misplaced confidence, secondhand embarrassment, crack fic

Summary: You really need to learn to lower your expectations.

A/N: I actually had a great time writing this and think it turned out really fucking funny.

A/N pt. 2: Well, the og post got fucking deleted, but here it is again. Fucking pissed. I would really appreciate any interaction even if you already did the first time just so I can get it back out there </3

special thanks to @romanarose, @wannab-urs, @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, and everyone else who helped me calm my tits and post this again. Love y'all ❤

*****

You’re bored out of your fucking mind. You’ve had four drinks and have walked in and out of the house probably a dozen times. For a neighborhood barbeque, it’s uneventful as hell. You would think that there would at least be a few interesting people out of so many. But no. So far there’s a group of old ladies gathered around the pool in sun chairs, their husbands around the grill talking about sports, and some kids—probably grandkids—running rampant around the yard. 

That’s what your dad gets for moving into a retiree neighborhood. There’s only a few other households you know of that don’t host couples in their late sixties. Kind of like, speak of the devil, the Millers, who are walking in through the yard gate right now. 

It’s only the two of them—Joel and his daughter, Sarah, who is only about eight. She runs off to go play with the other kids and you smile as you spot Joel struggling to carry a bowl and latch the gate back at the same time. You immediately take the opportunity to walk toward him. 

You’ve always had your eyes on Joel Miller, even though he’s only a few years younger than your father. He’s a DILF in all ways that count. Sweet, responsible, and hot as hell. 

“Hey, Mr. Miller,” you grab his attention as you reach where he’s still trying to balance everything. His face lights up when he sees you coming to help. 

“Hey, darlin’, you don’t mind helpin’ me with this, do ya?” he nods his head to the gate. 

“Nope, not at all,” you say sweetly as you get the gate latched behind him. He beams at you as he shifts to hold his dish with both hands. It looks heavy. 

“Thank you. And please, call me Joel.” He flashes you a wink that makes your stomach flutter before he starts for the back door. 

With nothing better to do, you follow him inside. He’s putting his bowl in the fridge when you close the door behind you and take a spot leaning against the counter. There’s nobody else inside right now, and you realize you might have just found your cure for boredom. 

You slide up next to Joel as he stands up. 

“What did you bring, Mr. Miller?” you ask him in an over the top sweet voice. 

He shoots you a pointed look and takes a step back to put a few inches between the two of you. 

“Potato salad,” he says flatly. “And please, it’s just Joel.” 

“Well, Joel,” you take a step toward him again. “I’m bored.” 

You swear you see him gulp, and you know you’ve got him right where you want him. He glances out the window, probably looking for your dad manning the grill. 

“Darlin’,” he says in warning. “I’m sure you can find something out there to do.” 

You pout at him. “But I found something to do in here.” 

“Honey, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“No?” you banter. “You don’t want to fuck me, Joel? I see the way you look at me.” 

He surges forward, trapping you against the counter. You smile wildly at him and throw your arms around his neck. 

“Get your ass upstairs, now,” he growls. “Strip and wait on your bed.” 

Your pussy flutters at his command, excitement building in your stomach. 

“Yes, Mr. Miller. Don’t be long.” You flash him a wink and slide from in front of him to make your way upstairs. You feel his eyes on you until you reach the top step. 

He only waits a little while, presumably to cover his bases so it doesn’t look like he’s sneaking off with his friend’s much-too-young daughter, before following you up. And by that time, you’re already naked and sitting on your bed. 

He comes in and shuts the door behind him, making sure it’s locked tightly before turning around. Your eyes go to the massive tent in his pants, your tongue coming out to wet your lips. 

“You’re fuckin gorgeous, darlin’,” he says as he takes a step toward you, already starting to unbuckle his jeans. He pulls his heavy cock out and your lips part. You’d expected him to be big, but holy shit.

“C’mon, baby, lay back for me.” 

You let him push you down on your back, and then scootch up a bit so that you’re resting with your head on the pillows. Your body is practically humming with excitement and need. Being with an older man has always been something high up on your bucket list, because there’s no doubt they know how to properly pleasure a woman. And a man like Joel Miller…you can’t fucking wait. 

He leans over you and takes your lips in a sloppy kiss. You wind your arms around him and arch your back, begging silently for him to touch you already. He slips his tongue inside your mouth, and your eyes widen. 

He’s just…licking. 

You find it really hot when a man uses his tongue to make out with you, but. Not like this. You rear your head back, trying to gain control of the kiss. But then his hand starts to trail down to your center and you decide, whatever, you can pick and choose your battles. You’ll let him do whatever the fuck he thinks he’s doing to your mouth as long as he gets those thick fingers inside of you already. 

He trails down, down, oh, there, he pets your clit and you shiver, and then—

Then he continues down…and to the left. 

He starts rubbing circles on your left flap, and you furrow your brows. 

What the actual fuck?? 

You unwind your arms and start pushing on his chest until he pulls his tongue from your mouth to gaze down at you. 

“Joel, you—” 

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that, don’t you, baby?” 

You just blink at him. What?

He winks at you. “I know, darlin’, feels real good, huh?” He dips back down to start kissing you again, thankfully leaving his damn tongue out of it. His fingers increase pressure, which you can only guess would feel really good if he was actually rubbing your clit. 

“Joel,” you mutter against his lips again, but it comes out smushed and smothered. Kind of like your poor pussy right now. Or the outside of it, at least. 

“So impatient,” he laughs. “Hold on one second, baby, Mr. Miller’s got you.” 

You resist the urge to cringe at that. 

He taps your abused pussy lip twice and retracts his hand to grasp his cock, which you’re now worried about. Hopefully he knows how to fucking use that thing. He guides his tip to your entrance—or tries to, rather, and you groan in defeat. He rubs it up and down your slit, prodding every second or so. 

“Yeah, baby, fuckin’ love those sounds you make for me.” 

You just stare at him. You’re not going to even pretend. This is just insane. How the hell did he actually make a kid??

Finally, he finds your hole—the right one, thank god—and starts to push in. You’re still pretty wet from earlier, though you’re sure there will be no developments in that department. Thankfully, it’s enough to ease the stuttering glide. 

Once he’s fully in, he starts to thrust, and you grip on to him, holding on to that last hope that maybe he can nail your g-spot with that weapon of his. 

“M…Feel so g-good, baby,” Joel moans. 

He thrusts once, twice, three times, moaning like a fucking animal. 

And then he pulls out. And shakes above you as he spills his cum on your lower belly. 

You stare at him in shock as he rolls over and collapses beside you. His eyes are closed as he pants and reaches a hand over you to touch your stomach. 

“You came?” he asks. 

You consider lying to him, but figure he doesn’t deserve that. 

“No, Joel, I did not fucking come.” 

“Oh, okay. Tha’s alright. Get you next time.” 

You sit up and gape at him. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

He looks at you with confusion but gets up after a moment. He yawns, tucks himself into his pants, and struts for your door. 

“Don’t be ashamed to ask for more, darlin’. I wouldn’t be opposed to doin’ this again sometime.” He sends you a wink and walks out of the room before you get the chance to say something you’ll regret more than whatever the fuck just happened. 

You learned a valuabale lesson today: age really does not fucking matter. 

[silent-stories]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇

Pairing: Eddie x GN!Reader

Summary: Eddie was not used to a kind of touch that was not violent until he met you.

Warnings: angst, fluff, domestic violence, blood

1972

Eddie was seven years old and didn't know how to ride a bike.

His mom had left about a year before and Eddie was a child but he wasn't stupid: he knew she wasn't coming back.

His father had lost his job and Eddie didn't know what he did all day - and often all night - outside their house.

No one had ever taught him to ride a bike. But that hadn't stopped him from trying to learn when he found an abandoned bicycle next to a garbage can on his way home from school.

The other kids made it look so easy.

The first time he fell he grazed his knee, which started bleeding when his skin scraped against the asphalt after his jeans ripped.

He wanted to cry but his father said real men didn't cry, so he got up and tried again.

The second time he fell, his arm hit the ground and blood started coming from the scrapes on his elbow as well.

The third time he ended up with his face against the asphalt and a cut on his left eyebrow.

He tried again and again, until even his hands were covered in blood and bruised.

When he got home he used a bottle of whiskey to disinfect the wounds, he didn't know if it was really useful but his father always did it when he came home bleeding.

In his room then, he cried. Not really from the pain of the wounds and the bruises that were starting to form, but because his mom had left him, his father hated him and no one cared about him enough to even teach him how to ride a damn bike.

1974

Eddie was nine years old and he was used to seeing his father come home drunk.

"What the fuck do you want?" the man asked seeing his son as he was stumbling into the house.

Eddie just stood there saying nothing, watching his father struggle to remove his jacket and missing the coat rack, then heading to the kitchen and opening the fridge.

"I told you to buy some beer." He said closing it and turning to look Eddie in the eye.

"I'm nine. They said they won't let me buy it." Eddie muttered and it was the truth.

The father walked towards him and Eddie had to keep from stepping back.

When he reached out his hand for him Eddie flinched but the hand stayed in front of him.

"The money."

Right, his dad was waiting for Eddie to give back the money he didn't spend on beer.

There was just one problem. Eddie had spent that money on a book. He had seen it displayed in a shop window next to a supermarket and hadn't resisted, only now did he realize how stupid he had been.

"So?" Repeated his father, "the money"

Eddie shook his head.

"No?" Eddie could hear a note of anger in his off-balance words. "No what?"

"I don't have your money, sir." Eddie muttered. He shouldn't have bought that book, he never should have.

The father's outstretched hand shot forward the kid and grabbed ​​the child's face, squeezing it between his fingers.

"What the fuck did you do with my money?"

"I'm sorry" the boy murmured as tears formed in his eyes.

"What the fuck did you do with them!?" He raised his voice, his hand still gripping Eddie's face, probably going to have a bruise the next day.

"I-I bought a book." He finally breathed.

"A book?" the father asked, his bloodshot eyes staring into the boy's.

Eddie nodded and before he could understand what was happening his father's hand had left his face and the other, clenched in a fist, reached his face.

Eddie's vision blurred as the punch hit his cheekbone and sent him to the ground.

His head was throbbing and his ears were ringing but he still understood what his father said before disappearing into the bedroom.

"Next time remember not to spend my money on bullshit."

Eddie curled up on the living room floor as he began to sob, one cheek resting on the cold floor as the other felt like on fire.

He stayed there until the sun came up.

1982

Eddie was seventeen and hadn't lived with his father for several years, which was good, but people at school had started calling him "freak."

He pretended that it didn't bother him, that it didn't hurt him and everyone seemed to believe it.

They looked at him with contempt and disgust and Eddie honestly didn't even know why. Was it the way he dressed? Was it because he liked metal?

The jocks had started to bump on him on purpose when walking in the hallways making him drop whatever he was holding in his hands.

But he was already used to things like that.

1986

Eddie was twenty-one and trying to graduate, for the third time.

He was part of a band and at lunch he ate with the other Hellfire members, so he could tell he had found some friends.

But there was also something else. Someone. You.

He'd met you one night when you'd picked up the kids after a Hellfire campaign, complaining that you were sick of babysitting but greeting Dustin by ruffling his short, dark curls, showing that you weren't really mad at any of them.

The thing that surprised Eddie was that you introduced yourself shaking his hand, a common gesture that people did so often but which happened to him so seldom.

He had never told anyone that that gesture had made him feel more "human" and less "freak" than he had ever felt during the last years of his life.

Since that day, every time you went to pick up the kids after a campaign you stayed there a bit more just to talk to him, sitting on a bench outside the school for a few minutes, and Eddie thought it was really weird for him that sometimes he almost wished the game would end soon, to see you again.

You were kind, you were not scared to be around him and you always managed to make him smile.

Sometimes your leg brushed his as you talked and Eddie felt a weird sensation in the pit of his stomach but he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

He liked having you close, he liked when your hand brushed his, when your shoulder touched his or when you put a hand on his arm as you burst out laughing at something stupid he said.

And every time he felt something weird, simultaneously feeling the urge to pull away from you, not to let him touch him the way you did, and the urge to push you closer to him, to grab your hand with his and intertwine his fingers with yours or put an arm around your shoulders.

Another thing that amazed Eddie is that at school you would greet him every time you saw him in the hallways, even just with a simple "hey", but you did it every time. He didn't expect you to want others to associate you with him but it looked like you didn't care.

It was when you gave him a hug, one day, that he realized he was completely screwed, because he liked you. He liked you in a way he'd never liked anyone before and didn't know what to do.

"I knew you could do it!"

It was stupid to be so happy for him since it was his third time taking that math test and it wouldn't alone determine the final result of the year but when you threw your arms around his neck, Eddie felt his heart burn in his chest.

He placed his hand on your back and as he held you close, he found himself burying his face in your hair, breathing in your perfume and hoping that moment would never end.

When you walked away Eddie wanted to pull you against him again but you said you were late for art class and ran away before he could say anything.

Eddie stood in the empty hallway for a few moments, trying to sort out his thoughts, trying to figure out what was happening to him.

His thoughts led him to the last time he had had human contact that wasn't any kind of violence. He finally came to the conclusion that you were the first person in many years, or perhaps for the first time in his life, who offered him a gentle touch.

His uncle wasn't one to physically show affection beyond a pat on the back once in a while and his mom probably gave him a hug once or twice when Eddie was four.

That was all.

The rest were just things Eddie preferred to forget.

And now that you had shown Eddie how a hug, or even just a touch, from someone he loved made him feel, he didn't want that feeling to end.

Fuck, he thought locking his locker with the intention of skipping biology class, he was really screwed.

"Thanks for the ride," Dustin said as you got out of your car in the school parking lot.

"You're lucky I have to drive past your house anyway." You rolled your eyes.

"I swear I'm going by bike tomorrow." He said as you walked side by side towards the school.

"Hey" you nudged him lightly "it's okay. I'm just kidding. You know I can give you a ride every day if you need it."

A huge smile appeared on Dustin's face but before he could say something his gaze met the crowd of people gathered in a sort of circle in front of the school. Some shouted, others cheered and laughed.

"What the hell?" You asked before walking towards the crowd with quick steps, followed by Dustin.

When you arrived, it looked like the show was already over.

You shouldered some students to get a glimpse of what was going on. In the center of the circle, Jason Carver was talking agitatedly with a teacher.

"He started it! I just defended myself!" Jason practically yelled at the teacher as he tried to calm him down.

"That's enough. You know very well that fights are not allowed in this school."

Fights?

"I know. And like I said, it wasn't my fault. I didn't start it." He replied confidently.

Liar. Jason was always the first to start a fight.

"As soon as you got here, Mr. Jones, he ran away. It's obviously his fault and he knows it too." Jason's tone was filled with anger and contempt.

Only at that moment you noticed the blood stain on Jason's white shirt, even though he didn't seem to be hurt.

The professor looked around. "What are you all still doing here? Everyone go to class!"

The crowd around Jason and the teacher began to dissipate and most of the students walked away.

"Mr. Jones, you don't understand!" Jason exclaimed dramatically, "that freak has to pay for what he did."

As you heard that word you turned to Dustin and your worried gazes met.

"Eddie." You both said at the same time.

You'd decided your history class could wait and you started looking all over the school for Eddie, you had told Dustin that if you found him, you'd let him know.

After checking out the music room as well, one of the few classes Eddie really liked you figured that if he wasn't inside school then he must have been out.

You looked around hoping that no teacher would see you sneaking out and you went out the back door.

You found Eddie sitting on the ground, his back against the school wall, his head down.

"Hey." You announced your presence slowly walking towards him.

Eddie's head snapped up.

"Holy shit." That was all you could say.

The right side of his face was covered in blood from a cut on his forehead and around his barely open eye was a dark purplish bruise. There were marks on her cheek, as if his face had been pressed into the ground and there was also a small wound on his lower lip.

"It's nothing, really. I'm fine." He said avoiding your gaze. "I've had worse."

"It doesn't look like nothing to me." You squatted down in front of him and wondered if his eyes were watering from physical pain or for some other reason. Up close his face looked in even worse shape and the urge to kill Jason with your own hands escalated to extreme levels. What did he do to his pretty face?

"C'mon, let's go clean up and disinfect the wounds, mh?" You said getting up and holding out a hand to help him getting up.

He stared at it for a moment.

"Trust me. There's no one in the infirmary now." You said.

Finally he grabbed it and got up, his hand was warm against yours.

You pushed the door again and entered the school, you were still holding his hand as you guided him towards the infirmary.

"It will hurt a little." You said soaking a cotton ball in the disinfectant and approaching Eddie, who was sitting on a cot.

"You're missing a class because of this" He said "I can do it myself."

You shrugged, "I really don't like history. Too many dates." Then you focused on his face.

You gently placed a hand on his left cheek to keep his face still and placed the cotton on the wound on his forehead, which fortunately had stopped bleeding.

You expected him to flinch, you knew how much it could hurt, instead he just closed his eyes and leaned into the touch of your hand. He seemed calm.

You finished disinfecting his forehead and pushed his hair behind his ear to clean the blood that had stained his temple.

His eyes were still closed, his hand still gently resting on the side of his face as you disinfected his cheekbone and lower lip.

"All done" you said putting down the blood stained cotton, moving your hands from his face and noting that he already looked much better than before "are you okay?"

Eddie opened his eyes again and his chocolate brown orbs silently stared at you with a look that was very reminiscent of the one of a puppy.

"Eddie." You called to him again, trying to figure out what was going on, then you felt something brush your fingers and you looked down.

His ringed hand had met yours. You watched as he slowly brought it back to his face, not saying a word.

You ran your thumb up his cheek and he seemed to relax as you did it.

"Thank you" he whispered "I like it when you do that."

"When I do what?" You asked.

"Your touch. I like it when you touch me." He muttered.

"Oh Eds." You brought your lips to his forehead for a kiss and then to his cheekbone, just below the bruise, barely brushing his skin trying to be as gentle as possible.

Then you slowly wrapped your arms around him, pushing his body against yours, being careful not to hurt him. He rested his head on your shoulder and his hands gripped the fabric of your shirt in an almost desperate way, as if he didn't want you to leave him.

You held him as you stroked his back and left a few kisses in his dark hair.

You realized that his reaction was probably caused by the fact that he hadn't received much affection in his life and your heart ached at the thought.

He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve all the awful things that happened in his life.

When you heard the bell announcing the end of first period, Eddie lifted his head and gently pushed you away from him.

"You should really go now."

You cupped his face but with one hand on his neck to avoid touching the wounds and you gently placed your lips on his cheek, on his jaw and then again on his forehead and temple.

"I love you so much, Eddie Munson, never forget that." You said then and he couldn't help but push you back in towards him for a hug.

"I love you too." he whispered.

You knew you weren't talking about that kind of love, not yet. And that was fine, for now.

You reached into his hair and dug your fingers into his curls, your nails scratching his scalp.

"You know what? I already skipped the first period, I don't think it will be a problem to take a day off. We can stay here a bit more."

He just pulled you closer.

[butchcarmy]

Blood Orange (Ch 2: The Bathroom)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18, MDNI)

Rating: E (5.7k)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link, ch 1

Chapter Summary: No more fucking your boss. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself, but he doesn’t make it easy, even as you find yourself wanting to scream. Somehow it all falls away when you lower yourself to your knees before him. You don’t know if there’s any stopping this anymore. 

Content Tags: work sex, blow jobs, mouth fucking, CUM PLAY, dom/bossy carmy, coworkers with benefits, carmy being difficult, mental illness, they/them reader, gender neutral reader, the usual

A/N: WHEW. It’s here! Thanks for waiting y’all. I think I embarrassed myself writing this one (flushed emoji). It’s ramping up. Next chapter is gonna be big one. Let me know what you guys think, and enjoy! <3

Before you go to work the next morning, you make yourself come on your fingers. It would've been twice if you had more time. 

You open your eyes waking from a dream with his ghostly blue eyes and low voice, and you already know you're wet before you even touch yourself. The pads of your reaching fingers chase the tender spot Carmy stroked inside of you, but they don't quite make it. Of course they don't. 

Fingering yourself eases the ache for a little while. On the early morning transit with headphones over your ears, you still manage to find yourself aching for him. The music doesn't cover up the sound of his voice, and you catch yourself grimacing in the faint reflection of the dirty metro windows. 

This is not a good way to start your second day at work.

Since you left the walk-in yesterday, Carmy's been following you around like a mosquito in the summer, whizzing around your head, buzzing in your ears. You can't rid your thoughts of him. When you close your eyes, you're trapped in the fridge with him, again, and his fingers are deep inside you. 

Fuck. You're standing in front of the restaurant, willing yourself to go in. Just stop it, you think to yourself. 

You really should be more mad at him. He technically never apologized for insulting you, but you suppose you didn't expect him to in the first place. You didn't usually get apologies at places like this, from people like him. You don't want to get in the bad habit of expecting good things from broken people.

No more fucking your boss, you think resolutely to yourself, and that's the thought you meditate on as you open the door. 

By this time yesterday, there were already a couple of people floating around the kitchen. Today, you find dim lights and silence. Your footsteps feel too loud on the white linoleum as you walk to the lockers to drop off your stuff. You can’t pretend to understand the schedule yet.

“Carmen?” You pace around again as you secure your apron with a tie. No response. Surely he's here, at least. Someone had to open the place. 

You take a couple more steps when you hear his voice. 

“No, I'm not—that's not what I was sayin’.” The direction of his voice sounds like it's coming from his office. “Of course I miss him. Sugar—” A pause. “I know. Yeah. It's bullshit.” He laughs then, you think. You can't measure how genuine it is. “You're bullshit. Look, I'll call you back later, okay? And I'll—yeah, I'll look at it. Promise. Yeah. Bye.”

It's quiet after that. You're standing there, not sure what to do with yourself when you hear footsteps. Sure enough, Carmy pops out of the office, and you catch just a glimpse of something haunted in him before surprise takes over.

“Hi,” you say at the same time he says, “Jesus Christ.”

“How long have you been here,” he asks, as you go, “That's an interesting way to pronounce my name.”

“Um,” you start, and he stares at you blankly, unreactive to your joke. Too early, you guess. “I just got here.”

“Okay. Cool. Uh…” Anxiety radiates off of him, making his hands fidget and run through untamed hair. Not that you were looking at his hands at all. “You’ll be doin’ prep again.”

“Alright.” You expected as such. You’ll probably be on prep for the rest of the week, if not the month. That’s how most places go, but this isn’t most places. 

“Your station was dirty when you left yesterday.” You walk up to your station, and it’s spotless. “I had to clean it before I left.”

“Ah. I’m sorry about that,” you apologize quickly. I was preoccupied with other things, you think bitterly to yourself, thinking of locked doors and heated kisses. Not that you’ll mention it. “I’ll make sure to clean it this time.”

“Prep’s gonna be a bit different today,” he says, completely ignoring your apology. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from snapping. “You’re gonna inspect produce, and then you’ll prep the stock again. Correctly this time.”

“It was nearly perfect, I just misplaced it,” you mutter under your breath.

“Yeah, nearly.” Looks like he heard you this time. Asshole. He places a box of onions on your station, rattling the table slightly. “Do I have to tell you how to sort out the bad ones from the good ones?” You’re honestly not sure if he means that as a jab, but the way he says it makes your insides sizzle with irritation.

Don’t take it personally, you remind yourself. Don’t. Take. It. Personally. 

“How about you show me just in case? Just so we’re on the same page.” It’s a wonder how calm you keep your voice. To your surprise, Carmy doesn’t roll his eyes, doesn’t sigh, he just nods and proceeds. Every time you think you’ll predict him properly, he does the opposite. 

You follow the line of his callused finger pointing to brown splotches on some of the onions. Intently, studiously, you examine the dark spots (indicative of mold), the sprouts (initial stages of deterioration), and the mushy areas (a sign of decreasing freshness). He’s talking about details as he seems to do when it comes to food, even elaborating on the farming process, but you don’t quite pick up that part. You just pay attention to the parameters you need to follow.

No more fucking your boss, you remind yourself again, because you catch yourself aching at the sight of his fingers. Your eyes have a hunger of their own, flickering up and down his muscular arms. God damnit. Maybe there’s another reason you can’t quite pay attention today. 

“Are you listening?” Carmy’s pointed question snaps you out of it. Fuck. You hope he didn’t catch you staring at his fingers again.

“If I can save it and just chop off the bad parts, then I should,” you regurgitate on instinct. “Those are the best ones to use for the stock. Otherwise, I should just toss it.”

For a split second, all he does is fix you with his focused stare. You feel the intensity of it in your chest, your beating heart fluttering with its weight. No matter how many times you scold yourself for finding him attractive, your eyes can’t ignore what’s right in front of them. You find yourself counting his moles. 

“I caught you staring,” he murmurs, “for real this time.”

“I—uh—” Your eyebrows are so raised you’re sure they’re bound to shoot off your warmed face. He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t. You weren’t going to mention yesterday, and after your first interaction this morning, you were sure he wasn’t going to, either. Guess you were wrong again.

“I’ll be in the back if you need help. The others should be here soon.” He’s moving on without giving you a chance to recover. Your brain can’t process the shock. “Just call if you need anything."

Before you get a chance to scrounge up anything to say, you’re alone in the kitchen again. 

This time I'm really gonna do it, you fume internally. Because you have a healthy amount of anger management, you don’t let yourself continue that thought.

Sydney is the third person to show up after you and Carmy. You give her a nod and a thin smile as she walks in, and she waves back. Soon after she arrives, the others trickle in one by one. As you're learning to expect, the quiet never lasts for long. 

There are tasks circling you just like yesterday that you don't fully grasp yet. Everyone seems to be instinctively following their own schedule, their circadian rhythm matched to the chaotic ecosystem of the kitchen. It’s just as suffocating as it was yesterday. You remind yourself that as a new hire, you don't need to understand the madness yet. Nonetheless, an invisible pressure presses down on you. 

“Hey, d'you mind telling me where this produce goes?” A triple stack of filled containers sits heavy in your arms. With Sydney out of the kitchen, Marcus is your next safest option in terms of coworkers. His head flicks up from where he was focused on kneading dough. A streak of white flour is across his nose. 

“Oh, that one's bottom shelf, near the back.” He claps his dusty hands together, flour falling between them like snow. “Here, I'll just show you. You know where the walk-in is?”

With Marcus, it doesn't feel like there are any stupid questions. It's a gift you don't take for granted, especially around here. You let him lead you to the fridge again, even though you remember where it is. It doesn't hurt. 

“Thanks. I'm, uh, still having a hard time figuring out where stuff goes,” you say after you put the produce away. 

“It’s cool. It's only your second day, right?” You nod. “Just takes time. Don't sweat it. You ever work in a restaurant before?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.”

“Then you know what you're gettin’ into.” That makes you laugh. 

“Sorta.” You shrug. “To be honest with you, I just need money, and I like cooking enough, so…now I'm here.” You're not quite as honest with how desperate your situation was on the verge of coming, but it's fine. Not really the time and place for it anyway. 

“I gotcha. That's how it was for me too, actually.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. Well, that's how I started at McDonald’s. That was a while ago now.”

“I see. It's better here, I hope.”

“Hard to say,” he says, but there's a little smile on his face. “For the most part, Michael was cool, but—”

“Michael!” You blurt out, startling the both of you. “Holy shit, I'm sorry. I've just been trying to remember the name of the previous owner for forever now and—wow, sorry. I didn't mean to shout.”

“It's fine.” Marcus has this amused expression, but it dissolves quickly. “You met him?”

“I did. I came here a couple of years ago when I first moved. Just once, but—anyway, what's his deal?”

“His deal?”

“Yeah, like, why'd he give the restaurant away? Carmy said he didn't want it anymore.”

“Oh.” You can't read the way Marcus’ face shifts. “That's what he said?”

“...Yeah?”

“I see. Okay. Uh…” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, I know how this sounds, but just try not to bring Mike up for now. It's still kind of a sore subject.”

“Ah, my bad.” Your brain instantly supplies stories of estranged families, sibling spats, and stolen money. You suppose it's a sour sort of relationship—something you're intimately familiar with. “Can I ask what happened, or…?”

“I'll tell you later,” he replies evasively. “You know what else they got you training on today?”

“No idea,” you answer honestly. The nosy part of you wants to hear more about the Berzatto family, but the responsible part of you reminds you to cool your jets. “Carmy just told me I was on produce. Know where he's at? I peeked into his office, but he wasn't there.”

“Oh, he just left.” Your blank stare makes him elaborate. “He's off doing Carmy things.”

“Doing Carmy things?” Looks like the person in charge has abandoned you yet again.

“Business stuff, probably.” Marcus shrugs. “He does that sometimes. He probably won't be back for a while, so I can help you with training for now if you want.”

“That would be great.” There's a remark on the tip of your tongue about poor management, but you hold it. “Is Carmy a better boss, at least?”

“Compared to Michael?” You recognize sadness in Marcus’ pinched brows, even if it's only momentary. “I dunno. It hasn't been long, but this place has been running more smoothly since he started doing things.” Your shocked expression makes him laugh briefly. “I know, it used to be worse if you can believe it.”

“I'm not sure that I can,” you admit. 

. . . . .

The next several days at work continue to test your patience. While Carmy keeps you on prep, keeping your tasks simple, he continues to find ways to keep you on edge. You stiffen up every time he enters the kitchen, waiting for him to point out yet another mistake. 

Chef, this cut's too uneven. Chef, you're taking too much time on this. Chef, you should’ve cut this part off. Chef, you’re creating too much waste. 

Yes, Chef, you always reply, even as his comments become more and more grating. A childish part of you wants to do a worse job out of spite, but another part of you is hungry for his approval far more than you would ever admit. You wonder if he's this tough on everyone. 

The incident in the walk-in does not get mentioned again. A childish voice in you wonders if Carmy has forgotten about it. Of course he hasn’t, but every time he critiques you, you wonder about the Carmy who kissed you. You wonder what that Carmy's thinking, because you have no clue. 

Has he been thinking of you, too?

This is how things should be, you remind yourself after you touch yourself for the fourth night in a row to the thought of him. Your fingers are wet, and your wrist is embarrassingly sore. I can't have sex with my boss again. I just can't. 

Would it be different if he also touched himself to thoughts of you?

You desperately suck your own cum off your fingers, and you wish it were his fingers instead. It doesn't taste the same. 

The bright lights are irritatingly bright when you come in this morning. It looks like you're the first person here again, other than Carmy. You hear his irritated voice as soon as you enter, which is clearly a good sign. 

“I appreciate you thinking of me, I do. I do. It's just—” He sighs. Looks like he's having another phone call. “I can't come back. Not right now.” Silence. “No, uh, won't happen for a while, I think. The place's fucked.” A shaky breath. “What? What did you say?

“The head chef asked about me?” Carmy's voice has gone tight. “I see. Of course he said that. No, it's fine.” Pause. “...I know what they've been saying. I figured they'd look down on me.” His laugh is hollow and painful. “Look, I got shit to do. Thanks for asking me, but it's a no. I can't.” Another pause, drawn out and tense. “Sure. Bye.”

After he hangs up, you hear him muttering to himself. You can't pick out any of the words other than the curses, but it sounds bad. As you put your things away, you silently pray to the abstract idea of a god to give you both strength of patience. Seems like you'll need it today. 

“Morning,” you tentatively greet him when he sees you. He's not surprised by your presence today, it seems. He nods back. 

“Morning.” His eyebags are dark with a lack of sleep. Upon closer inspection, his whole everything screams sleep deprivation, perhaps a bit more so than usual. His messy hair seems particularly unkempt today. “You're doing prep again today.”

“I figured.” 

“You need to get better about cleaning your station.” His words are full to the brim with irritation. “I keep having to clean it after you.”

“I thought I was—” You stop. Calm down, you think, but it's getting harder and harder to repeat. “Sorry. I didn't realize.”

“I told you the other day that it was dirty. Were you even paying attention?”

“Of course I was!” Annoyance bubbles over inside of you, potent and unbridled. Carmy barely reacts to your raised voice. Somehow, that pisses you off more.  The cap on your contained anger has popped off, and there's no fitting it back on. “Are you always like this towards your employees?”

“Like what?”

“Like an asshole?” You're too irritated to hold yourself back. 

“Depends. Are you always like this with your boss?” He retorts immediately. 

“I don't usually have sex with my boss, so no, I suppose not,” you respond stupidly, and that makes him go dead silent. He narrows his eyes, fixes you with his gaze. Like you're a new problem that needs solving or something like that.

God damnit, you think to yourself. Why'd you have to say that?

“You've been thinking about it.” The air feels thicker, suddenly.

“I never said that.”

“Then why did you mention it?” Shit. “You said you were going to do better.”

“And I have been. I've been trying to do everything you've been telling me to do.” You don't know why you take a step towards him. “You said you were gonna be nicer.”

“And I have been,” he echoes, and his sincerity makes you roll your eyes. 

“Bullshit! You've been nit-picking me all week!”

“We have standards here, and you need to learn how to follow them. That's all.”

“You're right! I'm learning,” you argue, throwing exasperated hands up in the air. “Cut me some fucking slack!”

“Then learn. Improve.” He slams a hand down on the aluminum surface next to you, enclosing you partially in. Being this close to him, you can really see how dark his dark circles are. You could easily move to the side if you wanted to, but something in you stays put. “There's no excuse for a dirty workspace in a kitchen. I thought you would know that already.”

“I'm so fucking sorry, chef,” you spit back with about as much venom as you can muster. Which, right now, is a lot. 

That shifts something inside him. You see it flash across his face—surprise, anger, and then…something else.

“Dirty work station and a dirty mouth,” he murmurs. His voice is lower, quieter, and it sounds just like how it did in the walk-in. You hate how that change instantly makes your heart pick up speed. “You think you get a pass to act like this because of what happened in the walk-in?”

“You motherfucker,” you hiss, meeting his glare with your own. “So now you're going to acknowledge it? And for the record, I get to act however the fuck I want. Especially with someone like you.”

“Someone like me.” He doesn't ask you to elaborate. He just laughs, breathy and condescending, and he's so close you can feel his breath fan across your face. “You think you're above all this, don't you?”

“What?” The question takes you so off guard that it almost dissipates the strange mix of anger and arousal simmering in your gut. 

“I know it doesn't feel good to have to take orders from someone you hate, but here's the thing. You have to.” He's not smiling, but you swear he's getting some sort of sick satisfaction from all this. Why else would he be saying any of this shit?

“I could leave right now if I wanted to,” you threaten him. “You won't be able to find anyone else that wants to work in this shithole of a place.”

“You're right. You could leave if you really wanted to.” His eyes narrow curiously at you. “Then why haven't you?”

You’re well within your right to leave already—it checks all the boxes. Chaotic work environment. Awful management. General workplace misconduct. Unprofessionalism between coworkers. You suppose you're partially to blame for that last one, but still. 

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you told yourself. You're not sure why you're not listening to your own advice. The simple truth of the matter, though, is that other jobs won't have him. They won't have the man that's been keeping you up at night, the man that you want to simultaneously devour and destroy. They won't have Carmen Berzatto, and for some reason, that's all it's going to take.

You don't understand yourself. It scares you, but not enough. Not enough to leave.

“...I don't know why I haven't left yet,” you say quietly after a while. “I have no clue.”

“I see.” If he's dissatisfied with your answer, he doesn't show it. “Then for the time you're here, let's make one thing clear.”

“What is it now?” You sigh.

“I'm in charge here,” he whispers. His other hand is on the counter now. You're completely blocked in. “I'm the one who runs this place, so you're going to be good and listen to me when I speak.”

“You're not really giving me a lot of incentive, chef.” You lower your gaze to the counters next to you. “Maybe if you gave me something to work with.” You don't mean for it to come out as suggestive as it does, but with him surrounding you like this… 

“Incentive?” He brings a hand to your face, tucking his fingers under your chin to pull your gaze back to him. His touch is achingly gentle, but it forces it to look straight into his eyes. Your fidgety gaze catches glances of the dark blue speckles that border his pale iris. “Hey,” he whispers, “look at me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your heart's pounding like sprinting feet thudding on concrete. You can't place what feelings are excitement or anxiety or both, but maybe no separation exists. Shutting your eyes was a weak attempt to temporarily block him out, but now all you can focus on is the sensation of his rough hand on your hot face. 

Hesitantly, you open your eyes to face him. Ice blue and dark circles. His intense stare is difficult to match, but you try. 

“What do you want from me?” You ask quietly. 

“I want you to clean your station. Think you can do that?”

“Don't patronize me. Of course I can. I just—happened to forget.”

“Hm.” He smiles briefly. It's just a bit mocking. “You don't have a good track record so far, so you'll have to prove it to me.”

“...And how would I do that?”

“Depends,” he replies vaguely. “Depends on what you want.”

“What I want? I thought you were supposed to be in charge.”

“When I touched you, you told me you wanted to touch me.” The realization clicks in your head. “Do you still want that?”

You hesitate. Memories of the walk-in flood in. You remember the silhouette of his tight jeans over his bulge, and you ache. You shouldn't say yes. You really shouldn't. A distant voice says, you don't want to do this. What have you been telling yourself? This is a bad idea.

Unfortunately, it's far past a matter of want anymore. It's a matter of need.

“Yes,” you whisper back. Your fate is sealed. “I do.”

That's how you find yourself in the cramped bathroom with him. It's dark with one of the lightbulbs having gone out, making it feel even smaller. An eerie green cast coats the room. 

“You're going to show me that you can listen. That you can clean up after your messes.” He's leaned up against the wall, broad hands unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes shamelessly zero in on the motion. “Think you can do that much?”

“Of course I can,” you reply, but it comes out a lot softer than intended. 

“Good.” You force your eyes away from the outline of his bulge in his boxers to look at his face. His darkened eyes are trained on you. “Get on your knees.”

Oh, you think. So this is how it's gonna go.

You wish you could say that you hesitate even a little bit, that there’s even a shred of contemplation left in you. However, there isn't any of that remaining. Obediently, you fall to your knees, resting them against the cold, hard bathroom floor. You're at eye level with his unbuttoned jeans. Slowly, you raise your eyes to look at him. 

His downturned face is framed by wild strands of hair. Looking down at you casts darker shadows across his face, but not enough to hide his expression. It's an odd mix of hunger and what you think to be admiration. Surely not, but that's immediately the thought that comes to mind. 

“Waiting for directions, chef,” you murmur. 

“Mm. Right,” he says, like he was lost in thought. “You look better like this.”

“Watch it,” you warn him. “I could still bite your dick off.” To that, he just briefly smiles, and then it's gone.

He's pulled his black pants down just enough to let his clothed bulge hang over the waistband. The sight of it goes straight to the simmer starting in your gut. You watch his veined hand disappear into his boxers. He's doing this far too slowly for your taste. 

Finally, he pulls out his cock, nearly completely stiffened, and you can't deny the way you begin to salivate. 

You were right. It's big, though not just in length. His cock is thick. You immediately know you won't be able to take the full length of him into your mouth, but what fits is going to be a stretch. You're already imagining how those bulging veins are going to feel against the flat of your tongue. 

“Use your mouth for something other than talking back to me. Make me come,” Carmy orders quietly. “Enough direction for you?”

“Shut the hell up,” you mutter, ignoring the feeling of the growing heat inside you, and you pull the reddened, shiny tip of his cock between your lips. 

His pre-come mixes with the saliva on your tongue. You savor the taste of his salty musk, suckling slowly, and you hear him exhale shakily above you. Looks like you've been given something of an opportunity to get him back for the walk-in. Not repayment—payback. The distinction is important. 

When you pull back, thin strings of spit connect the pink head to your glistening lips. One of your hands moves to hold the base of his cock as you close the gap again. You drag your tongue down the side of his length, licking the thick vein you were eyeing earlier. You feel him twitch. 

“Do that again,” he breathes. Without question, your tongue retraces its path, running back over the line of spit it created. That gets you a quiet, strangled moan, and it's music to your ears. 

“Is this part sensitive?” You ask as you stroke the vein with your thumb. You suck your way down the vein again, making small, wet seals of pleasure. 

“Somewhat.” He sounds good like this, breathless and flustered. A smile twitches on your lips. You lick across the inside of your hand, wetting it before lazily curling it around his cock. He slides effortlessly in your grasp. 

“You gonna come already?” You can't help but tease. He's surprisingly reactive, more so than you would've thought. It's not that you're complaining—it's not that at all. The sound of his low groans is making you drip. 

“Hah—no. You'll have to work harder than that.” You feel a hand pushing back your hair, and that makes you raise your head towards him. His touch is surprisingly gentle. You watch the movement of his lips when he speaks. “Open your mouth, and stick out your tongue.”

You can't quite figure out what it is about all of this that makes you submit. Just moments ago, you wanted to wring your hands around his throat. It was far too easy to abandon your anger and kneel in front of him. Maybe it's the incomprehensibly part of you that undeniably needs his validation. Maybe it's the soft, low tone of his voice, gentle yet commanding. Either way, it has you obeying with a thought in your mind. 

You do as he says. You part your lips and extend your tongue. As your eyes flutter upwards towards him, you're struck with the impression that you must look obscene. 

“Perfect,” he whispers, and just the one word sends something of a euphoric rush through you. “Doin’ so good for me.” 

You soak up the praise, basking in the warmth of it. Then, Carmy spits onto your tongue, and his saliva slides towards the back of your mouth. 

You can't hide your surprise. Your breath hitches, but you don't say anything. Fuck, that should've made you angry, but it just made your clit throb painfully hard. 

He drags his thumb down your tongue, slow and sensual. You have half the mind to suck on it until he glides the head of his cock on your tongue, leading it into the heat of your mouth. 

“Ah—” You lose the words you were going to say, along with the empty space in your mouth. The tip of his cock's nearing the back of your throat. You breathe shakily through your nose. You were right again—you can't take him fully in. It's enough of a stretch as it is. 

“Fuck, that's it…” Carmy sighs. “Just like that…”

His hand holding your hair turns into a tighter grip as you begin sucking up and down his cock. It's an awful mess, the size of him forcing spit to drip down your chin. It's not just that, though. He's thrusting his cock back into your mouth quicker and quicker. You wish he would slow down so you could lean back and suck on his dribbling tip, but his hand has you anchored. 

Time slows as he starts fucking your mouth. Your hands fall to your hands. Your knees are starting to hurt. You care surprisingly little about that fact, instead opting to care about rubbing your clit as quickly as possible. When you get your hands under your underwear, you find your whole pussy already smeared in wetness. You've seeped through the fabric. 

When he pulls his cock out of your mouth (or rather, when he tugs you off), you think he's going to give you a new order. Or that he's going to say something. You don't realize what's really happening until it's too late. 

You watch him bring a hand to his cock. He strokes it twice, keeping his hand tight in your hair, and with a low groan, he comes.

With his hand on you, you can't move away. Not that you try. When the first glob of cum streaks your cheek, you freeze. All you can do is pause as he comes on your face. Even your hand under your pants has frozen, your palm pressed up tight against your pulsing clit. 

With each rope of cum across your face, you feel yourself throb. Carmy is a sight to behold as he comes, long-lashed eyes falling shut with his parted, gasping mouth. He's jaggedly fisting his cock as he just keeps coming. You feel the cum starting to drip down the slopes of your skin, even your lips. 

By the time he's come down, he's left your face an absolute mess. Your jaw feels heavy, and his cum is hot against your swollen lips. You've come down as well, and it's left you with the irate realization that he just came all over your face without asking.

“You could've at least told me you were gonna come on my face,” you snap. Your cheeks are burning. Your argument feels weak with how worked up you feel over watching and feeling him come, but the irritation is still very real. 

“Clean your station, chef,” he responds, infuriatingly smug even as he catches your breath. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Are you kidding me?” Of course. That's what this all was. A fucked up lesson, a twisted sort of discipline. 

“I'm not.” He uncurls his fist from your hair. “Stand up—your knees must hurt.”

You pause for a second before you shakily get back up on your legs. One minute he's messily fucking your mouth, and the other, he's worrying over your sore knees. He continues to become more and more confusing. 

“You're gonna make me clean up your mess.” You catch your face in the small, shitty rectangular mirror hanging on the wall. God, are you a filthy sight, cum and spit all over your face. 

“I had to clean up yours for the past week, so yeah.” He's zipped himself back up. He's clean, not a drop of anything on him. Unlike the mess parading itself on your face. At least there's not any in your hair. 

“This is not the same. This is—” You frustratedly search for the right words. He's remaining as stoic as ever. “You didn't even kiss me,” you blurt out, and as soon as you say it, you regret it. 

Carmy stills. You can't tell what he's thinking with his unmoving expression. You're sure he's about to insult you again, but then he’s leaning in and sealing his lips against yours. 

You're stunned. A small noise escapes you as he kisses you deeply, thoroughly. His tongue drags up a trail of cum and spit up your chin and back into your mouth. Or back into his. You're unsure, with the way they're all blending together. 

“There,” Carmy murmurs against your lips. When he pulls back, you see his tongue running across his lips, collecting the pearlescent sheen that was on them. 

“Um—” You start and immediately stop. You’re speechless. 

“Now clean up.” You hear the sound of distant company. Your other coworkers must be arriving now. “I expect improvement now, chef. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” you reply bitterly. “I suppose I met your expectations, then?”

“Sure. Closely enough, anyway.” Potent aggravation hits you like a cast iron pan. He drags his thumb in one last infuriating line across your cheek. He sucks it into his mouth and cleans it off. “Don't take too long. I have a lot planned for you today.”

Without waiting for a response, Carmy leaves. He leaves you alone in the shitty bathroom with a now flickering lightbulb, left to clean his cum on your face with water, hand soap, and thin paper towels. You don't know if you've ever been so angry before. 

The anger doesn't make the arousal go away. You rub your needy clit to orgasm, your back pressed up against the wall like Carmy's just a moment ago.

As you come with Carmy's cum slowly trailing on your face, you wonder if there is any coming back from this. If there's anything left to be done to stop whatever's happening. You can't come up with any solutions or suggestions. Only one thing is undeniably clear:

You hate Carmen Berzatto, and you're already thinking of ways to get his cock in your mouth again soon. 

~

taglist: @zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @thehouseofevangelista @alastorssimp @talas-starlight @jmamas92

[dokkamj]

RIGHT PLACE, RIGHT TIME

some of the characters are created by me to gave some layers at the story. But still, Simon Ghost Riley is from call of duty, enjoy.

english is not my first language, sorry for grammar mistakes!!🤍

-

it was midnight and you were thirsty as hell, and it was hot, that’s why you hated summer, at least when it was cold you could cover yourself but in summer?? makes you wanna rip your skin off.

you drag yourself out of bed, yesterday training was rough, the bruises on your legs, arms and ribs could tell. But you won the sparring, that’s what matters.

whit sleepy eyes you get in the kitchen walking on your tiptoes to don’t wake the rest of the Task Force sleeping in their rooms at the squad apartment.

yawning and feeling like you where about to melt, you opened the fridge grab a bottle of water and gasped loudly and bring yourself in guard position.

“Oh chill young lady” you immediately recognize Ghost voice, you laughed and notice that he was well- shirtless.“fuck- what you doing here?” you ask but he was too focused on something else.

you look down to see if maybe you had something on your t-shirt, but you didn’t have your t-shirt at all, you gulped crossing your arms and sigh trying not to blush. you probably take it off during the hot night.

“care to explain why you are here, Ghost?” you asked, he look up at you embarrassed from the face that you catch him stare for too long, he gulped and look out the window that was right next at both of you.

“well Ace asked me to pick him up, as he couldn’t drive guess he had too many drinks, and he also spilled one of those on me” he said with a shrug, oh that’s why he was shirtless huh?

“if only Deacon will find out” you murmur before sigh, pinching your nose nervously. “he will be fine, don’t ya’ worry” he said with his Manchester accent.

you take a sip from the bottle of water “have a cig?” you asked, since your sleepiness disappeared when Ghost catch you off guard. He gave you one and grab one for himself too.

you open the window and light it up turn around “stil here?” you teased him before chuckle “funny girl aith’cha?” he grinned as he take a puff of his cigarette.

“gotta’stay here until 7am, since i left my keys in my squad apartment, i don’t wanna wake up Price” he says looking out the window. “mh i understand” you said.

“like ya’ new hair” he pointed out and you rolled your hair, last week at one of the barracks party you drank that much with the rest of your squad that you passed out on the couch, and of course Rocket had the brilliant idea to bleach your hair in white.

“oh really funny” you said as you grab one of your locks and start to play with it. “nah, not lying here, telli’n the truth, withe seems ya’ color” he said and you look away feeling flattered.

“wanna give you a compliment too but seems you like to hide yourself pretty boy” you teased him and chuckle as you take another puff of the cigarette between your fingers, was he trying to flirt in some way or another? you ask at yourself.

“hmm, it’s not that i don’t like to show myself little thing, but for the safety for person like ya’, that i need to protect” he says getting closer to you, and you stay there with a puzzle look on your face.

“huh? what do you mean?” you ask “i don’t need to be protect” you said, he chuckles “i know ya’ can handle ya’ self pretty well doll, but still-“ he trailed of as he didn’t want to talk about it, you heard many voice about Ghost being a prisoner of war, but you didn’t have the guts to ask.

“mh, i appreciate then” you said pinching his arm, you could see a smile appearing on his lips “wait you have some ash here” he said cup your cheek on his palm brush away the ash of the cigarette away from you.

his palm go grab your chin, and you couldn’t help but stare at him as he got closer, your hand grab his wrist gently, you don’t want him to step back.

your faces get closer, feeling his breath mixing with yours “Ghost…” you trailed off as he pose his lips on yours in a gentle kiss, other hand on your bleached hair.

god, he needed this so bad.

“yeah? sweetheart?” he murmur on your lips “we are not supposed-“ you trailed of as another kiss got on your lips “i like you y/n, always look around to see if you are next to me” he admit, you blushed, it was the same for you, you always had a little crush for him just a little…

“thought i wasn’t your type” you murmur and chuckle “ya’ definitely ma’ type sweet thing” he said before kiss your forehead.

[creedslove]

THE MILLER CHRISTMAS 🎄 🎁

Post outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: a Christmas miracle is really possible for Joel?

Warnings: fluff and angst, boy dad!Joel, Sammy is back ❤️

A/N: Merry Christmas besties 🎄🎁

O.7k words

“Why are you still up, buddy?” Joel rubbed his tired eyes and walked to his son, who was on knees on the couch, so he would be tall enough to keep his little face glued to the window, watching the white snowflakes falling quietly outside. Sammy barely turned his head towards his daddy as he didn't want to miss one single little thing from outside.

“I'm waiting” the toddler's voice wasn't much more than just a whisper, as if he would scare away whoever or whatever he seemed to eagerly wait. Joel shook his head and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, sitting next to his son's small frame, his curls were messy from tossing and turning in bed, - as he'd been way too excited to fall asleep on Christmas eve, of course - and Joel chuckled to himself, thinking that you were right and it was about Sammy got a haircut.

“Are you waiting for Santa? You know he only arrives after everyone is asleep, he drinks his milk, eats his cookies, leaves the presents and goes to visit other kids…” his rough calloused hands stroked his son's hair gently, as he couldn't still quite believe that even after what happened, after the world was destroyed, after all the shit he'd done and the blood he'd shed, he was able to still have something good, to have found love in you, to have had a son in his life and to be able to safely celebrate Christmas reunited with his brother.

“No daddy, I'm waiting for the Christmas angel” Sammy shrugged and turned his attention back to the window, wanting to have another glimpse of the curious Christmas creature, at the same time Joel frowned. A Christmas angel? What the fuck was that? He had never heard of that story, he was pretty sure you had never mentioned that either and Ellie was more of a Christmas monster kind of girl, than an angel. He was confused, where could his son have possibly heard that? Maybe they told kids that in Jackson's daycare, but if that was the case, then Sammy would've said something before, wouldn't he?

“What angel is that?”

“It's a girl angel daddy… she's very pretty and she was here playing with me… then she said she had to go away but she is all the time watching us and taking care of us” he explained with a sweet smile. Joel was now suspicious, not sure if he should be worried, but maybe some girl had broken into the house to play with Sammy? What for? It didn't make the slightest sense.

“What?!”

Sammy took a deep breath, his daddy was usually very fast and smart but he didn't understand why he was so confused that night, maybe the angel had made him sleep too much.

“It's the angel daddy…” he began explaining “she is pretty and she says she always looks after our family, after me, mommy, Ellie and mostly you”

“What's this angel like?”

“She has brown curly hair and brown eyes, daddy like you and me… oh, and she said her name was Sarah!” He grinned at the exact same moment Joel's breath got stuck on his throat. He completely lost action for a while, simply looking at his son with disbelief and shock. How could Sammy make up a story like that? No, he wouldn't do that, he was a sweet kid, he would never simply make up a story out of Joel's most painful memory. Besides, he was sure he didn't know anything about his big sister Sarah, not even you knew the whole story, there was no way someone would've told him that. When he came back to his senses, he found Sammy watching him with a sweet smile. He had wrapped his small arms around his daddy's larger one and snuggled.

“The angel said you wouldn't believe it, daddy, so she asked me to give you this” he opened his tiny hand and revealed the smallest butterfly paper cutting. Purple and blue, his first little girl's favorite colors. Joel swallowed hard, tears flooding his eyes as he desperately tried to keep them in place and prevent them from falling and running down his face. It looked exactly like the paper butterflies Sarah always left scattered around her room before the outbreak. Sammy got on his feet and pecked his daddy's cheek gently

“Merry Christmas, daddy” he said cutely, before getting off the couch and returning to his room.

Joel stood there, trying to let all that information sink. He couldn't believe what was happening and even if he tried finding a logical explanation, he couldn't. Perhaps, it was just a Christmas miracle after all.

____

[jensensfanfic]

NOT JUST THE FLU

pairing: justin foley x gn!reader (romantic) + clay jensen x twin!reader (familial/platonic ofc)

warnings: cursing, vomiting, justin in recovery - mentions of specific drugs, hints of justin's trauma from being on the streets, coughing, lmk if i should add anything else! (i am not an expert on addiction/recovery + symptoms so please don't come @ me)

a/n: here's another fic from my wattpad days. in the original version of this fic, i wrote the reader to be extremely pissed off and annoyed, but in this version they're a lot more understanding and soft

13 REASONS WHY MASTERLIST

—☆—

"Anyone home!? Hello?"

As you close the front door, you kick off your boots, shoving them under the radiator to dry. With dripping hair and soaked clothes, you wander into the kitchen, leaving a trail of wet patches on the carpet in your path. You blow our a long, tired breath and head to the fridge for a bottle of water.

You call out again. "Hello!? Mum? Dad? Clay?" You pause for a few seconds, gulping down half of your drink." No? Just me, then. Sweet."

Figuring that you are home alone, you climb the stairs to the bathroom. You take the small pile of fresh pajamas you'd left before school and change into them. As you're drying your dry, you hear some clattering coming from Clay's room, immediately followed by a curse and then what sounds like a window being opened.

"Clay? You're here?" You knock on your brother's bedroom door. "Why didn't you answer me before?"

When you don't get a response, but continue to hear a string of curse words, you turn the handle and go in anyway. Your eyes widen when you see your friend, Tony. Well, just the back of him at least, as he sits on the window and then jumps down.

"The hell..." You charge forward, watching as he picks himself up from where he'd landed. "Tony, what the fuck?!"

Tony stands, brushes dirt from his jeans, and then looks back up. "Clay said you were studying with Jess."

You're at a loss for words as you frown.

"He said you'd be out late."

"What? I– we got done early. But that doesn't answer my question. What the fuck? Why were you in Clay's room alone?"

"Uh– not alone..." You turn around at his words and your eyes widen further upon seeing Justin Foley laying on your brother's couch, snoring.

How had you completely missed him lying there?

"Tony! Seriously, what the hell is going on?"

"Clay will explain. I have to go." With that, Tony gets into his car and drives away promptly, leaving you confused.

You shake your head in disbelief, then slide the window shut and turn to Justin. You walk over and give him a small shove.

"Justin? Hey..."

Justin wakes instantly, looking around the room, probably for Clay, but when he only sees you, he sits up and looks worried. "Um..."

"Can you please explain to me why the fuck you are in my house, drooling all ovwe my brother's couch?"

Justin opens him mouth to speak, but right at that moment, Clay arrives in the doorway to his room. "Shit! Crap. Uh– I can explain all of this."

"What on earth, Clay? Did you, like... smuggle him in here. Do mom and dad know?"

"They don't, and... kind of. I mean, yes. Yes, I did."

"And Tony was here because?"

"Tony was watching him while I was out."

Justin coughs. "Ugh, I told you, I don't need a babysitter."

You and Clay respond simultaneously. "Shut up."

You shake your head, confused. "Why would Tony need to babysit him?"

Clay looks down at Justin, who looks up at you before opening his mouth to speak. "I– uh– it's–"

"He's sick." Clay interrupts him. "He has the flu. Yeah. I brought him back to help Jessica with the trial and everything... but he's sick, so he's been staying here."

"Why does he need to be here just because he's sick?" You drop your shoulders, mouth hanging open slightly. You sit down on Clay's bed. "How long has he been here?"

Clay gulps before answering. "A few days."

"For real? I mean, what the hell, Clay? You've had Justin Foley in your room for a few days, and you didn't tell me? Are you completely crazy, or am I a total dumbass for not even noticing?"

Clay sighs. "Look, I'm sorry. But we can't risk him being seen."

You rest your head on your hand. "This is crazy."

"I know, okay? Just please... don't tell mom and dad."

Clay gives you his classic, wide-eyed, pleading face. The one he makes when he wants a favour from you, or if he's done something wrong and needs you to cover for him. He thinks it works, but, honestly, it never has.

However, thinking about it, you decide you would rather not face your parents after they find out this... secret. You can imagine their faces and the questions and the yelling they would do, directed at you and Clay. Since now, you have been involved.

"Yeah. Okay, fine." You chuckle. "Can you imagine what they'd say?"

Clay smiles and nods, and then sits down on the end of his bed next to you. "I'm really sorry that I didn't tell you right away."

"Forget it. Does he have medication?"

Justin shakes a small bottle of pills and points to the bottles of meds and water on the table.

"Great."

You feel before you see Clay tense a little, and you look st him with a quirked brow. "What now?"

"You are going to absolutely hate me for this, and I won't blame you if you do, but Tony, um... he can't skip school again tomorrow. Do you think you could– well, you know."

"You want me to watch him? You're serious?"

"Please. Just this once. I'll make sure you don't have to again. I'll figure something else out."

You huff. "Fine. I have first two periods free, so only until then."

"Thank you." Clay nudges your shoulder and smiles. "You're the best twin a brother could ask for."

"I know." You smile back at your brother, and then both of your eyes widen at each other when you hear Justin hiccup and then cough.

"Oh, God!" You try to grab the waste bin quickly, but Justin has vomited all the carpet before you can reach him.

—☆—

You sigh loudly when your phone rings again. "Jesus Christ!"

Justin tries to look over your shoulder. "What is it?"

"Clay... again."

You type a message back to your brother and then slide your phone onto the desk without looking. "He's demanding an update. Like, I'm sorry I forgot, I was sort of in the middle of cleaning up snotty tissues and your favourite vomit-covered shoes, bro."

Justin laughs. "Yeah, oops on that one, he's gonna be pissed."

"Most definitely."

"You have to admit, taking care of me isn't that bad?" Justin smirks.

"What makes you think that? It's gross."

"C'mon, Jensen." Justin smirks, his voice cocky as he explaisn. "Jeff told me."

"Told you what?" You ask, hoping Jeff Atkins really didn't let slip your secret."

"He told me what you said. That you thought I was 'hot', and I quote, 'as fuck'."

Ugh, Jeff.

You figure there isn't much point in denying it. You did find Justin attractive, and you weren't ashamed to think that. However, you do spin a tiny fib and pretend like your little crush on Justin is old news.

"Well... that was after that one night when you were fighting with Zach outside Hannah's party. You were having the time of your life, and so was I while checking you out."

"Oh, really?" Justin beams, and the smile looks strange against his sickly, exhausted looking face.

"How can you be this cocky and... flirty while simultaneously looking like you currently do."

Justin's mouth falls open. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... you really, really look the part of a sick person right now."

"Thanks?" He says, then makes you jump when he blurts out, "Shit, I'm fucking freezing!"

"I gave you three blankets!"

Justin shrugs. "I'm still cold."

"It's probably your fever." You sigh. "Be right back."

You quickly go to your own room and take the duvet from your bed.

"Here." Back in Clay's room, you throw the duvet over Justin, who takes it gratefully and pulls it around himself.

He frowns, surprised by the kind gesture, given that most of your shared time together, you'd been grumpy and impatient to leave.

"Thank you. But won't you need this yourself?"

"You want me to take it back?"

"No." He holds up his hand in defence. "I'm good, I'm good."

It's silent for a little while, so when Justin coughs again, it makes you look over at him. For the first time since you'd discovered him in your home last night, you actually take in his face properly.

You notice his eyes first. They're bloodshot, tired-looking, with little brusie-like circles underneath. His face isn't just pale; it's almost grey, and upon squinting at his hands for a few moments, you realise they are shaking.

Looking down at his medication, you see that not all of them are even meant to be taken for a 'flu'.

You stand up, frowning, and Justin follows your movements as you spot a fold tucked under Clay's desk, and lean down to pick it up. Before you can read it, Justin coughs, and you're certain it's fake; done in order to distract you.

"What am I going to find in here, Justin?" You plop back down onto the bed with the folder, and place it on your lap. "What isn't Clay telling me?"

Justin pulls the blankets tighter around himself. "Nothing, I–"

"You look awful. Like, worse than the flu awful. You're all lying to me, aren't you? You, Clay, and Tony." You roll your eyes when Justin doesn't respond. "Look, just tell me. Please. I promise you, whatever it is, I'll still keep my mouth shut. I just want to know what I'm really dealing with here."

You're about to push further when your phone rings again. You groan loudly. Answering it, you ignore Clay's questions and mutter, "Call me back in 20."

You hang up and throw your phone to the side. "So?"

Justin closes his eyes. "Just open that dumbass folder Clay made."

You do as he says, eyes widening when you read the first line on the first page inside. You read it aloud, "'Detoxing From Heroin.' What and what not– Justin, what–" You blow out a breath, taking a minute to let your anger fade, the feeling being replaced by concern and confusion. "What happened to you? After you left..."

Something in Justin's eyes shift. He suddenly seems scared, shy, maybe even a little ashamed. "I–" His voice cracks. "When I left–"

"Don't answer that." You quickly move to kneel beside him, leaning up on the couch and laying a hand over one of his. "Okay? You don't have to."

"Hm. Thanks." He relaxes and turns his hand, so that he can interlace his fingers with yours. When you don't pull away, and instead, squeeze his hand back, he smirks.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You ask, amazed by how quickly he seems to be able to change his entire mood.

"Because I knew it."

"Ugh. What?"

"You still like me, don't you?"

"Shut up, Foley." You pick up the folder again, opening it up to the page on medication. "Okay, what did you take before I got here?"

Justin doesn't answer right away, he just watches you flipping through the folder and mutters to himself. "Yeah, you still like me."

—☆—

Later that day, when Tony arrives to switch with you, Clay comes home too. You give them both an ear-bashing before leaving the house and heading back to school.

—☆—

A few days pass, and when you're walking to the shower one night, you hear Tony, ranting to Justin about how he needs to be somewhere else. You don't quite hear the what's and where's, or who's, but before you can even think about it, you push open the door.

"Go, Tony. If you need to. I've got it tonight."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm free, so go ahead."

"Okay." He pats you on the shoulder as he leaves the room. "Thank you."

You go and sit next to Justin on the floor, where's he got his knees tucked up against his chest, and his arms wrapped around them, shivering. "You're back. Thought you told Clay that you weren't gonna help after the other night."

"Yeah, well, I lied, I guess."

He smiles sweetly, and then you sigh to yourself for showing how much you really care for Justin, when you squeeze his knee. He looks up, confused, and then you turn your hand, palm up and nod.

Justin takes your hand once again, and then Justin lays his head on your shoulder. You lay your own against his.

"This is nice." He whispers.

"Yeah... until you throw up again."

Justin snort-laughs; and what you don't see is that at that moment, Clay arrives home. He looks in on you both, surprise making him leave you alone as he walks back downstairs, mumbling to himself.

Taglist: @mockerycrow @wqxianwriting

[storm-angel989]

Outside the office Part Three

Hi all! I'm so glad folks are enjoying this series! Let me know in the comments if there is a particular scene you would like expanded on- I am happy to obilige!

That following Sunday morning breakfast also proved mandatory. Snuggled tight in my bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows, I was sound asleep when a loud knocking rudely startled me awake. A brief moment of panic settled over me and it took a heartbeat for me to remember where I was. Unfortunately, I once again couldn’t remember exactly how I had gotten here, or how I had come to be dressed in fuzzy pajamas. 

“Reader! Wake up! Val made pancakes and they’re getting cold!” Velvette’s screech broke through the silence of the morning. 

I groaned but sat up, pulling a robe over my body as I made my way to the door. “What is going on?”

Velvette was dressed in a deep black robe covered with red fuzzy hearts- her typical morning attire. “I said, Val made pancakes and they’re getting cold. Com’on sleepy head. Val’s pancakes are the best cure for a hangover.” She turned and practically skipped down the hallway. 

I followed her, my head still fuzzy from the night before. We had spent Saturday night out at another one of Valentino’s clubs, dancing and drinking- and I guess once again I sipped too much too fast. 

“And pancakes for you.” Vox handed me a plate as soon as I entered the kitchen. “How’s that head feel, hm? Grab a bottle of Sweet Sixteen from the fridge and drink it down.”

I grabbed a bottle of the orange drink from the fridge. Why Velvette and Valentino had named it Sweet Sixteen was beyond me, but whatever was in it helped tremendously.

“I don’t understand why I get knocked on my ass each time I go out.” I complained, sitting down on one of the chairs at the table, my back to the window. “I swear, angels drink. Some of them pretty heavily, might I add.”

“Did you dance at the club while drinking?” Velvette asked, taking a bit of her breakfast. “In heaven, I mean?”

I shook my head vehemently. “Angels do not partake in such behavior.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, good thing you’re only half Angel, because last night showed you certainly do. Anyway, there's your answer- you dance, you drink. It’s simple math.”

“And that simple math is why my clubs are so successful.” Valentino slid into the seat next to me. He reached across and opened the bottle of Sweet Sixteen for me. “Drink. You’ll feel better.” 

“What’s in it anyway?” I asked, taking a sip before taking a bite of my pancakes. “Oh, these are yummy.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Vox bowed before taking his own seat. “I am, after all, the best chef in this household.”

“I don’t think so. I’ll get you back next Sunday.” Valentino said lightly. “And to answer your question Princessa- salt, water, sugar, electrolytes. Everything your body lacks after a night out.”

“Speaking of, can I tell you about fucking Hugo last night? That absolute dumb fuck….” Vox interrupted as he launched into a tirade about his current assistant. I listened patiently. Velvette seemed to tune him out and Valentino rolled his eyes. 

After breakfast it was back to work for the three of them and I found my place wherever I could make myself useful. Being in such close proximity to them made it almost easy to forget they were demons- especially with Velvette and Vox. 

“Are you joining me in the studio today, Princess?” Vox asked when I stood up. “Or will Velvette be hogging you once again?”

I looked at Velvette and she shrugged. “Your choice, but I absolutely need you back tomorrow. I have a new line of workwear that absolutely require your features.” 

“Alright, I guess I’m yours then, Vox.” I replied, then quickly corrected. “Not yours I mean, I can go with you to the studio.”

“Relax, babe. We all know what you meant.” Valentino said gently. 

I flushed. “Just making sure. I better go get ready.”

“My studio after your shower! I have a killer outfit for you.” Velvette hollered as I skittered down the hall. 

An hour and a half later I stepped out of the elevator and into Vox’s studio. True to her word, Velvette had me dressed in the height of what hell considered fashion, heavy on the blacks and the reds. I made my way to Vox’s office, stepping down the long hallway that led to his chair, surrounded by monitors. 

To my surprise, he wasn’t in his usual spot. I pulled out my phone and sent him a message. He replied back instantly. 

I see you. Look to the left. Black door. Just come in. 

I followed his directions and pushed open the door. He stood up when I walked in and handed me a laptop. 

“Go find a quiet place to work. I don’t particularly care where, but if you could read through and edit the documents on your email that would be great. Text me when you’re done- I’ll come to you.” 

I accepted the laptop and went to find an empty cubicle. When Vox initially asked where my skill sets lie, and the topic of editing came up, I didn't expect him to take me up on it. Or to value my input as much as he appeared to. But truth be told, it was something I enjoyed and, well, it was something to keep me busy. 

Several hours later I emailed him the edits, closed my laptop, and sent him a text message that I was finished. I heard the zap of electricity behind me and he appeared. 

“Ah. Good timing, I’m almost done for the day as well. Why don’t you head down to see Velvette? Have lunch down there and get ready for dinner tonight?” He picked up my laptop. “Come, I’ll walk you to the elevator.” 

“Okay, Vox.” 

I followed him and waited quietly next to him when he pushed the button. A few seconds later, I stepped in. 

He gave me a grin as the door closed. “See you tonight Princess.” 

I stepped into Velvette’s studio and one of her employees greeted me, whisking me to the back. She chattered at me about outfit changes, nail color changes, what was trending at the moment, and what wasn’t. 

“Wait,” I interrupted. “What is a sinstergram?”

Her eyes widened. “Omgomgomg.” she pulled her phone out and showed me an icon. She clicked on it and a website full of pictures appeared. “You don’t have one?” 

I hadn’t actually explored my phone that much- beyond texting. Typing on a laptop was easy- other than its more ergonomic design, it was basically the same as the one I was used to. But my phone was a big mystery I just hadn’t solved yet.  I unlocked my phone and saw the icon she was talking about. I clicked it.

Pictures flooded my screen- a photo of Lucifer and I when we first arrived in the lobby of the V tower. Pictures of the four of us on our night out. Captions I didn’t remember writing. 

“See your handle? It’s Princess.Reader. Morningstar . Not the most original, but I’m sure you wanted to keep it simple and straight to the point.” 

“Keep what simple?” Velvette’s voice came from behind me. 

“Sinstergram?” I showed Velvette my phone. 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh. You don’t need to worry about that darling, I control the social media for the four of us. You couldn’t post if you tried- Vox has it blocked. You can scroll through, however. See yourself how the world sees you.”

I scrolled down through the pictures. I almost didn’t recognize myself. In every photo I looked perfect, stunning. Almost too perfect. I expressed my concern to Velvette and she rolled her eyes. 

“It’s the image you show the world, not the truth behind it. But like I said, don’t worry your pretty blonde head about it.” She reached over and clicked off the app. “I got it covered. You just focus on being pretty.” She looked at her employee. “Veronica, take Chelsea’s place. I need you in my office.”

Wordlessly, they switched places and I watched as Chelsea followed Velvette. 

“Velvette wanted bubblegum pink nails?” Veronica asked, reaching across the table. “Let me see those hands. We’ll make them perfect.” 

The rest of the night went by in a blur. And then again. The more time passed, the more my comfort level with the three of them grew. I wouldn’t say I forgot about where I came from, or who I left behind. But the more hours spent together, the more normal our weekly routine became. Occasionally, Velvette or Vox would excuse themselves for the night for a work event, or a fashion show- and just the three left went out. It wasn’t very often, but the disruption didn’t break the rest of the routine. They would simply rejoin the next night, or sometimes find us later on that same night. 

Spending the time alone with Vox and Velvette in particular made them seem- well, safe. More like friends than demons. And although I didn’t spend any time alone with him, the more Wednesdays that passed, I found myself settling into Valentino’s arms as the movies played, craving the comfort and safety he freely offered. Even as I started to figure out my limits and  I didn’t always drink too much at the club, at the end of the night, my head fell into his lap, his hand stroking my hair. Something about the way he held me relieved the worry that even the time we spent together couldn’t fully shake.

It wasn’t until Vox and Velvette both bowed out of dinner one night that I first got to spend alone time with Valentino.

[cumulo-stratus]

“You Do This Everyday?”

Pairing: Spencer reid x Male! Youtuber! Reader

Description: y/n has a pretty popular cooking channel and one day after y/n doesnt edit out spencer givving y/n a kiss when he gets home the fans go crazy wanting a video where you bake together so you make a vid answering questions while making a fall recipe

Warnings: possible swearing, fluff, spencer being a clueless little pookie &lt;3

Flufftober day 12: cooking together

A/N: I saw a fic with he idea of spencer x youtuber reader and i loved it so here we are. i think this idea is so cute and has so much potential so i hope i do it justice <3 Enjoy!

The last of the afternoon light streamed through the windows of Y/n and spencers kitchen, and theirs laughs rang out loudly through the otherwise quiet apartment. Y/n had put his weight on spencer- his face stuffed into his spencers chest trying to muffle his laugh. When the laughing finally died down to giggles y/n lifted his face and said 

“spence- spencer we need to redo the intro!” 

“But we’ve done it 2 times already!”

“yes- and well do it a third and a fourth if you dont stop laughing whenever i start talking!” 

The loving bickering was only that- bickering. Spencer didnt mind doing another take, and another one, if it meant he got to see y/n laugh again he would do it 10 times. His attention was pulled back to reality by his boyfriend counting down, starting again.

“3, 2, 1, rolling. Hello ladies, gentlemen, and rats under chef hats, i welcome back to my channel- I hope your having a funky fun day becasue in todays video im going to be making minestrone soup- but with a twist! i read your comments- ive seen the requests, so today my lovely and beautiful and handsome boyfriend will be joining us!”

Y/n motioned for spencer to come into frame and he shuffled in while his boyfriend did jazz hands around him for special effects. spencer giggled at his boyfriends antics while he introduced him.

“everybody this is spencer- hes my boyfriend, and today he’s gonna help me make soup. And yes we will eat it for dinner afterwards!”

Y/n trailed off and stayed silent for a couple seconds for editing later before giving spencer a kiss on the lips- silently thanking him for participating in the video. 

“okay- now i need to start with the veggies- can you grab them out the fridge please?”

“of course m’lord!” spencer used a joking tone as he pulled all the bags labeled “for soup” and dropped them unceremoniously on the counter, eliciting a chuckle from y/n. After taking the vegetables out of their bags and setting them back on the counter, y/n went back and started the camera. Spencer giggled as y/n began to speak. 

"Okay so we're gonna start by cutting our veggies- but, and especially because my boyfriend over here is a bit of a germaphobe, we're gonna wash them first, thoroughly.”

spencer chuckled at this while his boyfriend poured the veggies into a veggie spinner that he had gotten him for christmas. After washing he brought them back to the island infront of the camera and said “Just like that- poof! clean veggies” (definitely thinking of the audio and just like that- poof! lola’s gone. wrong- im right here you fucking brusell sprout!) 

Spencer looked at y/n confused and asked "wait but- why'd you say poof? You washed them right here?!"

Y/n started giggling and took Spencer's hands in his and said "Spence- lovey I washed them off camera and then I'm gonna edit it to look like they poofed clean" spencer looked down for a moment before looking back up causing y/n to burst out laughing as he said “oh. i gués that makes sense, sorry..” and gave y/n a peck on the lips. Y/n pulled out the knife block and set it on the counter, starting the camera. 

“Okay so im gonna have spence prep my veggies and then I’ll cut them into peices about the size of my thumbnail, or a little bigger.” spencer nodded, understanding his job and started by peeling a carrot. not five minutes in of him cutting and peeling, and of course while you were filming a quick shot of you guys cutting the vegetables- did he cut his finger! y/n wa focused on dicing the onion when he heard a loud yelp from his boyfriend next to him. His headshot up looking at his boyfriend, concerned. 

"What's wrong love?" 

"I cut my finger" Spencer had the most doe eyed, helpless look on his face as he held up his finger, which was now streaming blood. Y/ns eyes knitted in concern for his boyfriend and he walked over, dabbing the blood with a dish rag. 

"Oh my poor baby- here lemme help you."

Y/n left a small peck on his boyfriend's hand, leading him over to the sink to wash it off. Spencer just pouted as the cool water splashed over his finger. Y/n chuckles before getting a bandaid from the first-aid kit in the kitchen, and gently placing it on Spencer's newly cleaned finger. 

After cleaning up the blood, and confiscating Spencer's knife and peeler. 

The couple then took a couple minutes to regroup, and finish the vegetables, before filming the rest of the video.

While y/n put away his camera and turned down the burner under the freshly made soup, Spencer flopped down onto the couch sighing and said "you do this everyday?" Y/n chuckled at this and to flopped down on top of Spencer, giving him a kiss on the cheek and saying "yup- and I still have to edit out all the clips of you just laughing" y/ns tone was teasing while Spencer's became defensive as he spoke in his defense, "hey- I don't do it for a living, you do! You know I'm a terrible cook y/n.. speaking of I think I deserve another kiss for that cut I got on my hand earlier.." Spencer trailed with a smirk. His boyfriend sighed in fake resignation and leaned for a kiss, holding back a laugh as their lips met. 

The End 

[whiskey-bumblebee]

I'm On Fire

Pairing: DBF!Aaron Hotchner/Reader (gender neutral, I think!)

Word Count: 2730

A/N: I got towards the end and realized there was way too much I wanted to pack in here, so I think I'm going to do a part 2! Let me know if you'd be interested! <3

Warnings: older Hotch/younger reader, a brief scene of hotch getting off on his own, inappropriate relationships <3 I think that's it?

Your soaked clothes cling to your body as you stand in the pouring rain. Cars pass you, occasionally honking, leaving you sighing. Your dad was meant to pick you up from practice half an hour ago.

A familiar car nears the curb where you're standing, and you squint into the headlights, holding up your hand to block out some of the brightness.

Great, you think. Now I'm going to get kidnapped.

The car pulls over, and you take a step back. The window rolls down and you're met with a familiar face, leaning over the passenger seat.

"Get in," He calls.

Mr. Hotchner. Aaron.

You hesitate for a moment, looking around. It's dark. For all you know, your dad isn't coming at all.

You sigh and open the door, taking a seat. You're completely soaked, and you cringe at the way the rain drips onto the leather upholstery. You drop your bag in the footwell.

"I'm sorry," You say before anything else. "I'll get you a towel as soon as we're at my place."

Mr. Hotchner doesn't react, looking you over carefully. "Are you okay? It's freezing out there."

You nod. "I'm okay. My dad was..."

"Late," He finishes, his jaw clenching as he flicks the indicator on.

"Have you heard from him?" You say hopefully.

He shakes his head as he merges seamlessly into the traffic.

"Home?" He asks.

You nod. "Thank you, Mr. Hotchner."

"Aaron," He corrects, a slight sharp edge to his voice. "I've told you that you can call me Aaron."

You wrap your arms around yourself, the cold suddenly hitting you now that you're not able to walk around to keep yourself warm.

"Fuck," You murmur under your breath.

Aaron looks you over again. "Bad, huh?"

You will yourself to stop shivering. Fucking embarrassing, being soaking wet and now you're shivering like a dog. Pull yourself together.

You shrug. "Was out there for about half an hour."

"Half an-" He glances at you quickly, then back at the road. "Where's your dad?"

"Probably with his new girlfriend. He's not home much."

You glance at his wedding ring. For a moment, you wish that your dad was more like Mr. Hotchner. Dedicated, loyal. Reliable.

"How's Mrs. Hotchner?"

He clears his throat. "She's alright."

You look at him, the way his grip has tightened on the wheel, his brow furrowing, his shoulders closer to his ears.

"You're lying," You say softly. "You can talk about it, if you want."

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. We all have our things," He looks over at you, putting on a smile. "Right?"

You nod. "Right."

A while later, you arrive in front of your house. Aaron waits out front for you to let yourself in. You walk in, and he realizes that all of the lights are off. He waits in the driver's seat, feeling that something's wrong. Sure enough, you walk back out, looking at him sheepishly. He gestures for you to come back out to the car.

"This is awkward, but my dad's not home and there's nothing in the fridge. Could you take me to a drive through?"

He looks at you for a moment.

"Do you want to come to mine? I don't like the idea of you being home all by yourself. It's late."

It's your turn to look at him, trying to find the right way to phrase it.

"I'm not sure Mrs. Hotchner would understand..." You start, and he sighs, but nods. You're right.

The rain is still pouring down, so he gestures for you to get into the car. He presses a few buttons on his phone and you press your lips together.

"Hi, honey," He greets his wife. You look at his ring again. His wife.

"I was just driving home and I got a call from Gideon. He wants us back at the office to start on another case," He explains, turning his head away from yours.

You feel your heart beat faster. Why? Stop. Stop that.

"I'm sorry," He says, and there's real guilt in his voice. You chew your lip. He's lying for you. You almost interrupt to tell him to stop. You'll be fine. But then he's staring at the phone and the car falls into silence. She hung up on him.

"What do you feel like?" He says, and you can tell he's trying to sound upbeat.

"Maybe Mexican?"

He nods. "I know a place."

In all honesty, you'd been expecting him to take you to a Chipotle, or a Taco Bell, something quick and easy, then drop you home again. Instead, you find yourself outside a food truck, where Mr. Hotchner greets the owners by name.

"I forget, are you vegetarian? Is this okay?"

He points at an item on the menu and you nod enthusiastically. It sounds delicious.

While he's ordering, a drunk man lurches towards you. Without thinking, you grab onto Aaron's arm, pressing your body against his. He reacts immediately, pulling you closer.

"Hey," He says authoritatively, and his face sets into a stern look that you've never seen before. He looks lethal. The guy holds up his hands and walks away. You relax, taking a step back.

Aaron pays, and the two of you walk back to his car.

"You okay?" He asks, opening your car door for you.

You nod and slip into the car. He walks around the front of the car, glancing over his shoulder.

He places the food on your lap and starts driving again.

"I don't think..." He clears his throat. "I don't think I should wait for your dad at your place."

You look at him for a moment, trying to understand where his discomfort is stemming from. You're both adults. Yes, he was friends with your dad, but you knew each other well. You'd seen him around often, and spent time alone occasionally. Once or twice he'd driven you home, although those times were planned, not spur of the moment like this was.

"I think I need to change," You say slowly, trying to find a solution before you finish your sentence. "It's really cold."

"Oh, I..." He glances in the backseat quickly. "I have some clothes in the back?"

You nod. "Okay."

You unclip your seatbelt and slip into the back seats as Aaron drives down the highway. He tries to protest, but you're gone before he can get a word out.

"Where are you going?" You ask, eyeing him in the rearview. He keeps his gaze contained to the strip of glass, where he can see your eyes and little else.

"Oh." He looks at the signs hanging over the highway. "Home, I guess. I wasn't thinking."

You duck for a moment, pulling his shirt over your head. For a moment, you fumble with a few of the tiny buttons, doing most of them up.

"Do you want to drive for a while? We could wait until we hear from him?"

"Sure," You reply, touching your hair to see how damp it still is. It feels cool to the touch, but you'll shower in the morning, reset it from the unexpected 'wash'.

In the end it's 3am when your dad texts you back. He apologizes and says he'll be home around lunch. Aaron rolls his eyes when he thinks you're not looking, but you notice.

At some point after that, you must have fallen asleep, because you notice that Aaron has draped his blazer over you, and you have a definite stiffness on one side of your neck from where you'd rested it against the window.

You swear you hear seagulls, and you look around.

"Where are we?" You say, looking out over the water.

"Delaware," He replies, a hint of humour in his voice. "Rehoboth Beach."

"Don't you have work?" You yawn.

"Don't you?" He teases.

You shake your head. "Day off."

"I just kept driving, thought it's been a while since I'd seen the ocean."

You nod, and continue to watch the sunrise over the ocean.

He could retire here, he thinks. The charming seaside houses and hotels, the boardwalk, the sand dunes, the purplish blue of the ocean in this light. It's a beautiful place. The seagulls provide a soundscape unlike any other he's heard. It reminds him of Seattle, in a way, but fresher. The local coffee shop towards the end of the street, the lone jogger taking a quick run before work.

"How about a swim before we head home?"

"Are you kidding?" He says, voice taking on a higher tone as he responds to what he assumes is a joke.

"We came all this way," You shrug. "Seems like a waste not to."

"I don't have a swimsuit with me."

You gesture out at the empty beach. "I don't think anyone will mind."

He shakes his head. "That's..."

"Be crazy," You say, grasping his hand in both of yours. "You just drove to Delaware instead of going home. Something tells me you need some crazy."

He looks at you, dead serious for a moment. You know you've hit the nail on the head. He pulls his hand back from yours, but nods.

"Alright. Last one to get in buys coffee."

"Deal," You grin. Immediately, you tug off your (his) joggers and open the car door, racing to the shoreline.

"No fair!" He calls out. "I'm in a suit!"

He hears your radiant laugh carried back to him on the surprisingly warm breeze, and you look back at him, smiling widely, hair tousled by the wind. He wishes he had a camera.

He takes off his pants slowly, and the same for his shirt and undershirt. He leaves them folded on the driver's seat and tucks the keys in the nook just above one of the wheels.

"I hope you know my coffee order," You tease, sending a wave of water at him as he finally joins you.

His white button up has gone completely transparent in the water, and he thinks you look like a goddess in it. He tries not to look, but he notices your nipples showing through it. Your wet hair emphasizes your facial features, drawing emphasis to the planes of your face, and he thinks he could watch you all day long, the golden tones of the sunrise lighting you like some wondrous painting.

You lie back in the water, letting yourself float. For a precious, fleeting moment, your worries melt away into the water. Your absent father, your uncertain future... In this moment, with the sun on your face and the smell of salt in your nose, you couldn't be happier.

When you open your eyes and find your footing in the sand again, you see that Aaron is doing just the same; laying back and floating with his eyes closed. For a moment you think of kissing him, and take a step closer. Just as you do, he opens his eyes and stands up.

"You're right," He says, and you look at him questioningly. "I needed this."

You nod, then run your hand over your arms. They're decidedly chilly.

"Home?"

He nods. "On the way, you can tell me your coffee order."

It's all explained away easily enough, and what can't be explained can be cleaned or hidden.

You: a "friend" ended up picking you up and driving you to pick up some Mexican food, hence the leftovers. The white button up is tucked away in the back of your closet, rinsed in the bathroom sink so nobody noticed it in the laundry basket. You were home and in bed by the time your dad made it back home.

Him: the "case" ended up being a dud, but unfortunately Aaron had been halfway through the paperwork when they found out. He pays for the 24 hour car wash in cash, vacuuming the sand out of every crevice. He was starving, so he picked up some takeout on the way home, which is why the car smells like food.

It's almost too easy to slip into your new life of 'crime'. The lies come too quickly, fresh secrets blossoming in clandestine gardens.

It's 2 am when Aaron wakes up, drenched in sweat, with a pounding headache. He's so warm he thinks he must be running a fever, but when he checks with the thermometer, he sees that he isn't. He uses a cool washcloth to wipe down his face.

When he walks back into his bedroom and sees Haley lying there in the dark, he tries not to wish it was you instead. He tries to erase the images his mind had spun in the silver threads of a dream, the way your mouth had dropped open so prettily for him as he eased into you. He tries. He really does.

He scrawls a note to Haley on the notepad on his bedside table, slipping it onto her bedside table so she'll see it when she wakes up.

Didn't sleep well. I'll call in sick when I wake up.

Around 9, he wakes, panicking at first when he sees the time, then remembering he was planning to phone it in. He sees a note on his bedside table, folded into quarters. He'll read it in a while, he thinks. Haley's gone off to work by now.

When he closes his eyes, the images he'd earnestly tried to erase last night came pouring back. You were under him, in his shirt, looking up at him with your trademark smile, ready to burst with a witty comment or bubble of laughter.

He squeezes his eyes shut again. No. This is bad. Your friend's daughter. She's half your age.

It's just a thought. She never needs to know. You're not really doing anything, let alone anything wrong.

He slips his left hand into the front of his joggers, palming himself, surprised that he's already half hard. For a moment, he runs his other hand over his chest, his stomach, then reaching down, stroking his upper thighs, cupping his balls.

It only takes a moment of remembering you on the beach to make up his mind, and he starts fucking his fist, gritting his teeth. It'll be quick and dirty. Just to get it out of the way. Then he'll be over it.

He comes, hot and wet over his fist and his stomach, and he groans softly. He wipes his hand on his skin and reaches for his phone. He feels like he's at law school again; this messy barely-a-man, jerking off, calling in sick to work, ignoring his responsibilities for one day of peace.

"Gideon," He says. "I know, I know. I'm fine. I won't be coming in today."

He glances down at his stomach, still coated in come. He thinks about how your stomach would look... Shower.

"Tomorrow," He says quickly, not fully sure if he's answering the question. "It's a personal day, I'm not sick."

He hangs up without listening to the rest. He doesn't want to know the case details, the people he's neglecting by not showing up.

When he puts the phone back on his nightstand, he remembers the note, and picks it up, expecting to be greeted with some vague sentence of marital pleasantries.

Aaron. This isn't working. I'm not sure what else I'm supposed to say. I want a divorce, is that it? I want more, Aaron. I want the man who promised to love me on my best and worst days. I want a baby. I'm going to stay with my sister. Next time you're out of town on a case, message me so I can come get my things. I don't care about the house or the money. I can't do this anymore.

Before he knows it, he's at Rehoboth Beach. He looks out at the water and he's not sure what to do. He rests his head on the steering wheel, then realizes it's incredibly painful to bend down so low, and glances at the boardwalk. The town is shabby-looking, the paint peeling from the sea air. The coffee shop is shuttered, a 'for lease' sign in the window. The jogger's face is heavy, exhausted. There's debris in the dunes, the remnants of a night of teenage drinking, he's sure. The light of the sun on the ocean is too harsh.

Worst of all, his passenger seat is empty.

[thedevilrisen]

Hospital - 4

Nova Crosby -

12:10pm

Sid's eyes watered as he read the message, and not just from the contents but also the blinding tone of the screen. Fluorescent pixels highlighted every word of the message and while he sat on the carpeted floor of the hospital lobby, Luke slouched down beside him cradled into his chest he thought back to a moment in Nova's favourite tv show. Gilmore girls, or more specifically the moment where Richard Gilmore was in hospital and he stated, 'I'd rather be in Philadelphia than here.' 'What's in Philadelphia?' Rory had asked, 'Nothing, but it would be better than being here.'

Right now, as much as the city despised him, Sidney wished he and Nova were in Philadelphia. Not in the hospital, and certainly that she wasn't in the ICU. Taking a breath and rubbing his hand up and down Luke's arm again, the fabric of his hoodie bunching with the motion.

"I'm about to tell you something that is going to hurt, like fuck." Sid mumbled, he winced at Luke's reaction, the harsh breath in which he sucked in, the grip on Sid's suit jacket scrunching just that little tighter. "Luke, Nova has had two of her three surgeries, they weren't able to get to the third one because some... complications arose."

Luke squished his eyes shut tightly to refrain from shedding anymore tears, as he waited silently for Sid to go on, waiting for the damn wall he so tenderly hand crafted to come flooding down at a mere handful of words.

"Because of this, Novs was moved to the ICU." Sid held his breath as he waited for the fiery explosion of the dropped bomb to submerge him. Sid himself wanted to do the least adult like thing and stand and scream, it's not fair, she doesn't deserve it. Yet, holding it together for Luke, he sat silently, waiting.

"What, do we do now?" Luke choked out horsley, Sid watched as every fibre of the young boys being strained to keep him some resemblance of a man, normal. But wasn't an inconsolable, heartbroken, barely hanging on boyfriend the norm in this situation?

"Well, they told me in the message that there is an intensive care waiting room up on floor three, outside ward three A. If we go and wait there, then a nurse will come and take us in to see her." Sid watched the understanding slowly dawn on Luke's face, viewed the moment it clicked in the young boys head. He could see her, but there were conditions, those conditions required a certain amount of cooperation from his brain and limbs.

"So we go to floor three, then." Luke stated with finality, his grasp on Sid's now wrinkled blazer loosened as he fought his way into a standing position, using the wall and somewhere in there, Sidney's head for leverage. Choosing not to comment, Sid also rose from the ground. Smoothing his suit out of habit.

Both men stood and looked at each other momentarily before Luke meandered to the horridly patterned excuse of a chair he was sitting on. He picked up the brown paper bag which housed the once warm banana bread and creased it to peek inside, poking at the now cold, doughy probably exceptionally buttery loaf Luke couldn't bring himself to eat anymore.

"Any good?" Sid asked, taking the bag which sat loosely in Luke's hand and peeking inside.

"No better than yours." Luke managed, a forelong smile gracing his lips. Thinking once again back to the times when Nova and the two of them spent time in the kitchen throwing flour at each other and eating Sid's banana bread when it was still a little too hot fresh out of the oven.

Watching as the shadows of good memories flash through Luke's features he took the opportunity to make the most of this temporary mood lift. Together with some uhm-ing and ah-ing Sidney led himself and Luke down some corridors they didn't need to and others that finally led them to the Intensive Care waiting room. It was small with a mini fridge and a snack bar, three couches and a window which led to shrouded darkness outside.

Sitting down on individual couches, watching the black industry standard phone and waiting for it to ring felt like torture, knowing that Nova was on this floor, alone and probably scared was killing them both. More so Sidney as this was everything he vowed never to happen, he was supposed to be the one to silence all fears and cradle her throughout the storm. The parental guilt, reflection and utter terrible sinking feeling in his gut all continued to pile.

1:02am

Both men, even while concerned were struggling to keep their eyes open, both the emotional toll and physicality of Sid's game was catching up. Yet still the phone sat silent, the fact that nothing had been passed on only meant one thing. Bad.

When the phone broke them out of their mopey, stupor by piercing the wretched silence with its call Sid reached for it, holding the receiver to his ear.

"Sidney Crosby speaking."

"Mr. Crosby, I apologise for the wait, we had some further complications moving your daughter into the intensive care unit, however we have her out of an unplanned surgery now, she is being moved as we speak. I will prioritise having a nurse come and collect you shortly."

All Sidney heard, and Luke heard from leaning over was unplanned surgery.

A corresponding thought ricocheted throughout their minds.

What the fuck went wrong.

[moonshoon]

“Bite Me”

MASTERLIST

pairing: vampire!sunghoon x reader genre: smut, very very light angst word count: 1.2k

summary: reader comes home to sunghoon drinking blood out of a bag, she doesn’t know what’s going on, but she experiences the best sex in her life

warnings: vampire!sunghoon, blood sucking, fangs, biting, big dick!sunghoon, coming inside, kitchen sex, a little angsty, smut

shortenings: none

!WARNING! contains +18, MDNI

i was walking home from work, since my workplace wasn’t too far away from our house. today i was able to finish work quicker since my boss only gave me one last task to do and then i was free to leave. sometimes i really love my boss... 

when i arrived at our house i could see that someone was in the kitchen through the window. the figure opened the fridge, that’s when i realized it was my lovely husband standing there. 

i continued walking up to the entrance, opening the door slowly. i tried to be as quiet as possible, trying not to let my husband know that i was home already, to surprise him. 

after kicking off my shoes and putting away all of my other stuff, i made my way into the kitchen, aproaching sunghoon from behind. and when i was only a few meters away from him, he turned around, shocked expression adorning his face. he held something in his hands, a bag with red liquid in it, two holes at the top of the bag. some of the red liquid was on his lips and running down his chin. he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the red stains went further down, almost reaching his precisely trimmed happy trail. i let out a loud shriek at the shocking sight of him standing there like this. 

“babe, i- i can explain!” he started, stuttering. as he opened his mouth, i could see the sharp fangs peeking out of his mouth, confirming my suspicion. he was indeed a vampire. “don’t.” i said, his expression turning into a desperate one. 

“please, hear me out! don’t leave, baby” he pleaded, coming over to me. 

my first reaction was to take a step back, which made him even more unsure, before i spoke. “don’t worry. i won’t leave. i’m just a little shocked and dissapointed...” “dissapointed?” he asked hesitantly. “dissapointed that you didn’t think of telling me this, hoon.” a relieved sigh left his mouth as he walked over to me embracing me in a tight hug. “so glad that i have the most beautiful, understanding, gorgeous, fabulous fucking wife in the world.” he whispered out against my neck. 

the feeling of his now suddenly cold breath against my neck made me have goosebumps all over. when he noticed me shivering, he opened his mouth a little wider, letting his sharp fangs glide along the column of my neck, down to the start of my shoulders.

“bite me” i said, my voice just a light whimper. 

“ask nicely, doll. or i won’t give it to you.”

as he continued teasing me with light kisses along my upper chest area, also letting his fangs out from time to time. i couldn’t form any comprehensible words with his actions, unable to think straight. 

“please- please, bite me, hoon” i whined out after a few seconds. 

“there we go.” he chuckled out teasingly, putting his fangs right on my neck, lightly biting down. “come on, or i won’t let you suck my blood eve-” “no.” he almost growled out, biting down harshly. i could feel his fangs dig deep into my skin, then him beginning to suck, basically drinking the blood out of my body. 

strangely, only the first second hurt, then a weirdly pleasurable feeling spread throughout my body. i couldn’t hold back and let out a sweet moan at the feeling. sunghoon hummed against my neck, pulling away and licking over the wound to get rid of the blood spilling out. he came back up, looking me in my eyes, licking his blood stained lips. 

“feeling good?” he asked me cockily, raising an eyebrow and smirking down at me. his hands were on my ass, holding me close. i could feel the bulge slowly forming against my front. “mhm” i hummed, letting my hands slide down his body, from his neck to the front of his pants. quickly unbuckling his belt, i unbuttoned his pants, pulling down the zipper too. he let the pants fall to the ground, stepping out of them, quick to be back against my body again. 

his hands made their way down to my thighs, lifting me up and carrying me over to the kitchen counter and putting me down there. he pulled down my pencil skirt, lifting off my shirt soon after. his mouth was quick to attack the top of my boobs, hands behind my back to unclasp my bra quickly to give some attention to my nipples. 

“hoon- oh god...” 

“don’t worry baby, i’m here to take care of you.” he whispered, continuing his kisses down my body. my hands shot to his hair, pulling at it from time to time as he tugged down my panties with his mouth, his fangs holding onto the fabric, almost making holes into it. 

when he pulled them off, he threw them to the ground, removing his boxers as well, them following on the ground. my gaze landed on his dick, eyes wide. “don’t worry darling. i’ll make it fit.” he said. “but-but why-” “why is it bigger? i’m in my vampire form now, doll.” i just gasped at his words. who knew having a vampire boyfriend would mean having a bigger dick in you?

“come on, fuck me with it then” i said with new found confidence, pulling him closer to me by wrapping my legs around his torso. as his hips met mine, i shuddered deeply. “gladly” he said, pushing in directly, pausing for some time to let me adjust to his size. 

after a few seconds he started moving, hands on my hips to pull me against himself every time he thrusted. i could feel him deep in me, rearrainging my insides with his dick. “so big, oh god” i moaned out. 

he let his head fall onto my shoulder, breathing heavily. “so perfect for me” he whimpered, his hands going to my waist to hold me close against himself. “let me mark you up.” he whispered, attaching his lips to my collar bones, sucking some marks onto them, same with my neck and chest. they were covered in bruises after just a few minutes. i let my nails scratch down his back to return the favor, his skin cold against mine. 

“oh- hoon, please. going to- please” i whimpered, trying to tell him that i was about to come. “yes, do it doll. cream on my cock. be a messy slut for me” he said, voice hoarse. i couldn’t hold back any longer and came, coating his dick with my slick. 

not even seconds after he came too, filling me up with his come. “why-why so much?” “god- i am a vampire, doll. everything has increased, even my load.” he panted, delivering a quick slap to my thigh before pulling out and reaching behind him to get a kitchen towel and cleaning up the come that was spilling out of me. 

“you have to make me squirt like this next time, hoon.” i said, tracing his abdomen with my nails, looking at the blood stains. 

“already thinking about a next time, hm?” he asked, teasing me. blush rose to my cheeks at his comment, and i hit his chest weakly. “don’t tease me.” i said grumpily when he lifted me up to carry me to the bathroom and fill a refreshing bath for the both of us. 

we might have had a second round in there...

[seresinhangmanjake]

Signed Away: Part 4

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader Series

Summary: You find out about the contractual marriage your parents arranged with Jake’s when you were a baby. You’re plently angered by it, but Jake doesn’t seem too bothered. He might even be happy.

Notes/Warnings: typos, i’m sure, cursing, fluff, eventual smut, angst, contract marriage, loss of rights, feelings of being trapped, poor parent/child relationships, use of the word ‘whore’.

As always, comments can make my bad days worth getting through, so i’ll never not appreciate them. Reblogs and likes make me smile uncontrollably, but no pressure :)  

Masterlist

Words: 1900

-----

“So what did your mother have to say about this?” Jake asked, leading you through the front door with one of your moving boxes in hand.

The apartment was nice, far nicer than you expected; a two-bedroom with tall walls on a floor high enough that the sun flooded the space with light and warmth. Jake had picked up the keys the day before and called to tell you to start packing for the move while he spent the day furnishing the place, setting up the internet, and stocking the fridge. I don’t want you to have to worry about any of this, he had told you over the phone. I’ll take care of it all. You just start getting everything together and I’ll come get you tomorrow around noon, ok?

Jake was silent, waiting for your response, but you were too busy staring at the shape of his muscles straining under taut, tanned skin from the weight of the box of books in his arms. He was strong; he always had been. The summer before he left for college, you remember looking out your window to find him lifting weights in his backyard, sweat dripping down his torso and dampening his brow. He was a man, freshly eighteen years-old looking like damn twenty-five-year-old with years of physical training under his belt. Those college girls undoubtedly salivated at the sight of him, likely walking up and down the halls of his co-ed dorm donning revealing skirts and short towels, begging for his eye. Hell, he probably spent all of orientation week flirting and fucking and flirting and fucking some more.

You weren’t blind. At fourteen you had a very good understanding of what women wanted. Being in high school changed that perspective. You started finding the boys from middle school lacking in charm and physical appeal as freshman, and that maturity was what gained you the attention of your ex, three years older and well-experienced.

You shivered, brushing away the unwelcome memory.

Jake set the cardboard cube on the floor with a thud, put his hands on his hips, turned to you and rose an eyebrow. You realized you still hadn’t answered him.

“Oh…she’s in full support.” That brought a little smile to his face, but then you said, “As long as I don’t throw myself at you out of desperation. Because letting you fuck me so easily would just make me a whore and she doesn’t want her grandkids to have a whore for a mother.”

The smile fell to a flush, a delicate pink rising and coating his cheeks. Jake rubbed the back of his neck and released a light chuckle as he looked down to the dark flooring. His chest heaved; the deep breath pushed his perfectly carved pecks to definition against his t-shirt.

“Right, um…I’m going to go get another box,” he said.

“I’ll come, too.”

“No! I mean, you stay here. Relax or unpack.” He was already walking himself backwards toward the door, almost tripping over the threshold into the hallway. “Whatever you want, just…stay.” And then he was gone.

-----

You were going to kill him, plain and simple. Just by being who you are—with your words and your smile and face—you completely ruined him through and through, and chances were you didn’t even fucking know it. But that didn’t keep you from succeeding. He didn’t want to imagine the power you would have over him if you were actually trying. A shudder flew down his spine.

All you had to do was speak in your sweet voice words of sex and future babies and Jake turned into a blushing mess. Never in his life had he been flustered in front of a woman. Not even his girlfriend in his freshman year of high school could reduce him to the current state he was in, and she was the first girl to pay him a significant amount of attention besides his mother. But like with all of his girlfriends, he was in control then. He knew how much girls liked him well before he thought to make any of them his girlfriend. He had them in the palm of his hand the way he knew he never would with you. No, it was you who had him in your hand, wrapped around your pinky, on his knees and at your beck and call.

Jake blew out a breath and adjusted himself in his jeans. He willed his hard on to go away, praying no one else needed to use the elevator midday on a Tuesday. He wanted you; no ifs, ands, or buts about it. He wanted you like nothing and no one else.

-----

You wanted a shower, so he promised dinner would be ready by the time you were done. But it wasn’t until you walked back into the kitchen, fresh-faced, smelling like soap and clean laundry, that Jake realized the mistake he’d made in allowing you out of his sight.

The spoon he was dipping into the pasta sauce to taste fell from his fingers, sinking entirely within the marinara pool when he saw you. A large t-shirt hung over your body, the hem brushing against your thighs just barely keeping you decent, if even that could be said. Your nipples pebbled under the thin material, and god, Jake was thankful the counter stood between you, otherwise you’d get the shock of the growing tent in his sweatpants. He wasn’t so sure you were quite ready for that, which was a damn shame because pure sin was in front of him and he couldn’t think of anything other than bending you over and burying himself balls-deep in heaven.  

“Do you need help with anything?”

Jake’s mouth snapped shut, bugged-out eyes settled back in his skull, and he shook his head as he grabbed a fork to sink into the sauce, digging out the lost spoon. “No, you can sit if you want. It’s pretty much done.”

You sat in one of the chairs at the small round table, tucking one leg underneath you as you started to unfold your napkin. From your right, Jake could see your t-shirt ride up with your movement, gathering by your navel and now barely covering your ass. He cursed under his breath. Fucking torture.

He set the plate of pasta in front of you and handed you a fork that you accepted with a smile and a nod of thanks. But before the first bite could pass either of your lips, a banging echoed down the hall. Your heads twisted to the sound, then you looked back at one another, your eyebrow quirking and Jake’s two pinching in the middle. He rose, taking the napkin from his lap and placing it on the tabletop.

“Stay here,” he said, walking around the corner into the darkened hall and out of your line of sight.

As far as he knew, no one had your address but his parents. Yours hadn’t asked, thank god. Not that that would guarantee keeping your mother from you. If Deanna questioned Amelia, the information would not be withheld. His mother didn’t have it in her to lie. From that good nature, Amelia insisted on helping with the move, but Jake begged her to let him handle it alone. You didn’t need to pressure of a future mother-in-law in your brand new space while you got acquainted with it. But unlikely was she to go against Jake’s wishes by showing up now.

Peering through the peephole, Jake groaned and rested his forehead against the door. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“We can hear you, you know,” came the voice from the other side of the wooden slab. “You ought to just open up.”

So he did, reluctantly. The grins of his three friends clashed with his glare of irritation. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”

Rooster smirked, Coyote was practically hopping on his toes with excitement, and Phoenix said, “We’re here to see your new lady.”

He knew he shouldn’t have told them. But had his high school friends found out about his engagement through their parents, forgiveness would be an uphill battle. However, perhaps stupidly so, Jake thought they’d stay tucked away in Maryland until otherwise advised. “You’re two weeks early,” he snapped. “How did you even find out where we live? I didn’t give you the address yet.”

“Went to your parents’ house,” Coyote said.

Phoenix smiled. “Asked Amelia.”

“She was very willing to give over your personal information,” Rooster snorted, crossing his arms. “So, can we meet your girl now?”

“She’s not available. Come back in two weeks.” Jake began to close the door only to be stopped by Phoenix’s firm hand pushing back.

All three pouted in sync. Practiced puppy eyes shining in full force. “Why?” Coyote whimpered.

“Because I haven’t told her you’re coming and I don’t want to overwhelm her. We literally moved in today, so you all need to—”

“Jake?” Your voice came from behind him.

He froze. Fuck, he loved that sound. But of all the times for you to say his name so beautifully melodic, why did it have to be now? He closed his eyes, thinned his lips, and let out a slow exhale in preparation.

“Is that her?”

Jake shot Coyote a look. “Obviously.”

Then Phoenix was shoving past him, leading the pack in making their way over to you despite your deer-in-headlights look. “Hi,” she grinned wide, encasing your hand between both of hers and giving it a few light shakes. “I’m Phoenix.”

“Phoenix?”

She nodded, glanced at the two men beside her, and said, “This is Rooster and Coyote. We’re Jake’s friends. Well, a few of them anyway.”

“Oh,” you said with a note of surprise, looking around the group to find Jake’s eye.

He shook his head in apology and you giggled, barely, but it was there. He felt his heart clench behind the cage of his ribs. OK, maybe his friends weren’t so bad if them arriving rudely unannounced led to getting a laugh out of you.

You excused yourself for a moment, likely to go put on some pants, and three pairs of brown eyes landed on Jake.

“She’s so cute, Jake!”

His lips couldn’t help but curve at Phoenix’s enthusiasm. Coyote patted his bicep, and said, “Yea, I would not be upset about this marriage thing at all.”

“I’m not.” Jake shook his head. That was the understatement of the year. “Now go to your respective houses and leave us alone.”

“Oh, we can’t do that,” Phoenix said. “You see,” She sighed dramatically, “It’s late. Rooster’s grandmother is already in bed, Coyote’s parents are out of town, and—”

“Everyone can sleep at yours.”

“No can do. Mine were at an arts festival all day in the city and are staying in a hotel overnight. Won’t be back until tomorrow and they don’t keep a spare key under the mat anymore, so...” Standing on tiptoes, she rested one arm across Coyote’s shoulders, the other across Rooster’s.

The latter grinned. “You’re stuck with us for the night.” He glanced around the apartment. “So where do we sleep?”

 Wedding Countdown: 581 days

 A/N: Those three ending up being like Lock, Shock, and Barrel by the time I was done with this chapter. Not exactly my intention, but I don’t hate it. Also, I know I used their call signs, but it will be explained in the next chapter. Oh, and the pilot friends are not the friends from the flashback in part 1.

tags: @marvel-ousnesss @thespeeder @nobody7102 @marrianena @fangirlingoverfangirls @blue-aconite @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @dempy @chaoticassidy @alana4610 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @dracosluvbot @smoothdogsgirl @smit41 @princessphilly @kkrenae @castle-bookworms-world @xoxabs88xox @blackwidownat2814 @acupnoodle @callmemana @zippitydoda @asteria33 @the-mouse27 @111angelnumbers111 @shanimallina87 @creativitybeware @love2write2626 @adaydreamaway08 

[smallestapplin]

Omg, I’m so excited! I’m legit about to explode with excitement!

How do you feel on Sebastian, Sam, and Abigail from stardew (separate) x Omega! reader. Basically the reader is just bugging out from heat and their partner is there to cuddle and comfort them. Just a whole gallon of warm fluff

Remember to pace yourself, You’re awesome and you can do this!

YES YES YES! Finally, some good fucking food I'm feral for this. Pure fluff shit my beloved.

-

-

-

Sebastian

- he has a lot of good nesting items for you, all of which are drowned in his scent, which is perfect for you to build up the edges around the bed and cocoon yourself in.

- He knows heats are very taxing on omegas, which is why he keeps a mini fridge in your shared bedroom stock full of different types of drinks, some cold snacks, and keeps a few nutrition bars on top of it.

- But of course that's never enough. Your body is sensitive to the point of pain, yet all you want is him nearby. His heart aches when you look at him with such teary eyes.

- Gives you his hoodie and watches you snuggle deeply into it, chuckling at how cute you are. It at least keeps you settle while he drives to ZuZu city to get your favorite take out, his sweetheart needs to eat.

You miss your mate, he's been gone for so long you fear you might be dying. Whining, you nuzzle into his hoodie trying to find a comfortable position to ease your pain.

Maybe fifteen minutes later you hear the engine of a motorcycle coming to a stop, then the sound of the front door opening and closed, and footsteps coming up the stairs, to finally the bedroom door slowly creeping open.

"Babe, you awake?"

Sebastian spoke softly, not wanting to actually wake you, he knows how hard it can be to sleep during your heat. A smile spread across his face when you barely poke your head out from your nest, eyes squinted harshly from the light coming from the hallway.

"Oh good. I got your favorite." He closes the door and sets the drinks and food on his desk, rooting through the fast food bag to hand you your meal.

It's adorable how you slowly begin to sit up, clearly starving. Once you had your food, you begin to devour, humming happily.

"This is so good! I have the best mate."

Sebastian feels his cheeks grow pink, he will never get use to you calling him that, he knows you two have been mated for a little over a year now but his heart still flutters at it.

Abigail

- Abigail is a bit of a wild card when it comes to dealing with you and your heats, but for the most part she will stay by your side. She closes all the curtains, making the room nice and dark for you, with the only light source being the tv playing an old cartoon for background noise.

- She's all curled around you, letting you snuggle into her chest and just holds you tightly.

- You are your most sensitive right now, she understands how your emotions are all over the place and you need to feel safe now more than ever. Which is why she locks the bedroom door and windows after blocking out the light, ensuring that anyone would have to get passed those and then her to get to you.

- Abigail mostly lazes next to you, shushing you and whispering how muc she loves you into your ear.

- She only ever gets up to use the bathroom or to bring you snacks and drinks.

"Shhh, shh, it's alright pumpkin, I got you."

Abigail coos softly at you, nuzzling her face on the top of your head. You're shaking, your body feels too overwhelmed, like everything is just too much, the only thing calming you down is your mate.

"That's it, sweetheart, focus on me. That's my sweet thing. I love you." She places a gentle kiss to your forehead, careful to avoid putting too much pressure.

You whimper, burying your face into her chest as you try to regulate yourself. Your heat is just taking everything out of you, even after being sated you can't stop the draining feeling, or how your body feels so hot and so cold at once.

But Abigail is there for you, and she's not going anywhere anytime soon.

She will lay there with you, no matter how many times you toss the comforter off you then beg for it back, she will mark sure you get whatever you need to feel comfortable again, until you can fall asleep.

-

-

Sam

- P A N I C.

- He is freaking out and barely has any idea what to do! He wants to help you but all he knows are the basics, no one told him this was apart of heats! He feels patheic and useless watching you writher in pain, curling into yourself as the pain grows.

- Alpha Sam to the rescue!

- Sam did several searches and asked Harvey (who nearly fainted but answered honestly) and is barging into your shared bedroom with his arms full of things. He's rambling about everything he got you, all the new nesting items he got for you (and heavily scented) the weighted blanket, the weighted plushie that he excitedly holds up.

- He doesn't stop until you groan, you love his voice but it's too m uch all at once. It shuts him up quickly, and he's fast to work, softly asking if he's allowed in your nest (as if he wasn't a few hours ago.)

- He slides in, placing items around you, before laying you on top of him, and placing the weighted blanket on top of you for extra comfort while you curl up on his chest.

"I'm sorry, firefly, I know....I know but I got you."

You don't know if he's trying to comfort you or himself, but you love it all the same. His voice now nice and low, instead of loud and frantic as it was earlier. Sam wraps his arms around you, gently rubbing your shoulders, while the weighted blanket is settled across your lower back.

Your nest is filled with a mix of his and your scent, though yours is fighting to show through after Sam scented so many items for you, knowing his scent brings a source of comfort to you.

You don't mind, you enjoy the warm feeling of being surrounded adn protected by your lover.

"You're so cute like this." His voice almost a whine, just loving how cozy and comfy you look on him!

His mate is so precious he wants to cry!

"Sammy please...." you mutter, nuzzling further into his chest.

The blonde chuckles bashfully "Sorry, sorry I didn't mean to was ya from dozing."

Can you blame him? So cute.

[likepraying]

7-11 run | oneshot

pairing: guy x honey summary: first meeting between guy and honey... or at least my interpretation. warnings: none! wordcount: 1,004 note: i know this took so long to release but here you guys go!!

You weren’t the type to go to 7/11 at three in the morning. However, the guy you talked to about Star Wars for around six hours offered and for some reason a slurpee sounded great right about now. You didn’t know why saying yes to him was so easy but you were sure it had to do with the way he smiled at you and the look of hope that was in his eyes… You could probably say yes to anything he said at the moment. 

The reason you two met was because of this dinner party. You were at the point in your life that people did dinner parties, which you didn’t even know if you were the best candidate for. Someone from your class invited you because her boyfriend was a culinary major and he wanted to do something for the sake of practicing his skills. Plus… you couldn’t remember the last time you had a meal where you had all five food groups. More sad to admit in your head now you think about it. 

Still, you expected to see a keg and some dudes with shirts off… Okay, maybe you weren’t the biggest party person and you didn’t spend time outside of your dorm other than for work. You didn’t want to talk about it. The dinner held around fifteen people and all of which you could communicate with, except for this girl named Kayla which was rough. Most of the time she wanted everyone to pay attention to her but you didn’t have the patience for that so you just ate your food and talked to others. Honestly, you couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live with her. 

It was a good meal. A wonderful array of different types of tacos. It was traditional style tacos with fish, veggies and chicken with some rice that was so good you had to take home. As well as the tortillas and a good amount of salsa. Your mini fridge will be thankful for actually being full for once. But the guy who sat next to you asked about you. He was interested in what you studied, what your hobbies were, why you specifically hated the Return of the Jedi when it was the best of the original series. You couldn’t understand Guy, you wanted to so badly but you couldn’t get him and that’s why you probably stuck around with him this evening. 

Your window gets rolled up as he finally turns on the air conditioner in his 2014 Subaru outback (that of which he named Steve Irwin) and you smell the royal pine air freshener once more. You two had a debate about that one too. 

“You know what would be totally crazy?” Guy’s voice breaks the long and lovely silence you were having.

A sigh escapes from your lips, “Yeah?” “If you like… stay at my place and we have a sleepover.” “...What?” “You heard me, dude.”

“Guy. I cannot spend a night at your place.” “Well! News for you, babe, it's actually three right now so you’re not exactly spending the night.” Guy counters but it only makes you close your eyes. 

“I cannot. I got work.” “Great. I’ll drive you to your dorm and then I’ll take you out.” You sit there in the passenger seat, tempted to just shake him. You hear his marble-sized brain shake around his head but you don’t. You bite your lip before shaking your head, “Fuck it.”

“YEAH! Sleepover at Guy’s!” He screams out before you  are swerving to the right and pulling to the 7/11. 

“I hate your driving so much, oh my god.” You say, holding to either side of the car, bracing as if you were going to crash. 

“Hey, I deliver pizzas for a living. I gotta get there fast or else they get a free pie. I can’t have that.” He turns off the ignition and steps out of the car. Before you have a chance to open the door he runs over, sliding over the hood of his car and opens up the door. With a huff he smiles, “Hey girl.”

“Never say that again.”

“No! It’s the Ryan Gosling meme!” “...Where do you get so much energy?” You ask. “It’s the H in ADHD.” He smiles back at you before gesturing to start walking with him as he closes the door after you climb out. 

The worker doesn’t even bother to look up from his phone screen as the both of you enter. The humming of the fridges and the slurpee machines fill the silence and already the two of you are giggling as you try and race each other to the machines. Guy hip-bumps you and you’re thrown off your course. You watch him grab a big gulp cup and fill the cup in every flavor. His giggles only make you question whether a demon possessed him. 

Slowly in your frightened state you grab a medium cup and begin to fill the cup with coca-cola and cherry and the man snaps up as if he just remembered what he needed to get. 

“The Airhead rainbow things. The sour things.”

You watch him furrowed his brows in confusion as he tries to remember the name of the candy and you feel laughter bubble in your throat before it escapes, shaking your head and you speak once more, “You are ridiculous.”

“Yeah, that’s right, honey! R-I-D… Uh…”

You look over at him with a raised eyebrow and he stares back at you with puckered lips and shakes a finger, “Whatever. I need the candy. You can sit here and judge me for not knowing how to spell ridiculous but I want snacks.” 

And he was off to another aisle. You grab a straw and feel yourself smiling more than planned. You didn’t know why you didn’t tell him not to call you anything. Especially “honey” of all things. But you could get used to him calling you that. You could be Guy’s honey.

[just-horrible-things]

'Verse: Resistance AU: Chewtoy, Alt: What if Connor's "right way" worked out

Dust

Connor drives her home. Ari sits in the passenger seat, stiff and numb, feeling her stripes through the bandages and the unfamiliar dull of the painkillers they made her take.

It doesn’t feel real.

The last time she let herself hope it was real, Connor betrayed her.

She has all of the documentation that proves it’s real right here, in an envelope clutched too-tight between sweaty, trembling fingers.

It’s not going to stick. Riven’s going to find some way to drag her back. She feels it as a leaden weight in her chest, crushing her lungs down into her stomach.

Connor tries to get her to talk, asking questions she cannot possibly answer like what’s she going to do now. She mumbles “don’t know” and does not look at him.

She ought to be trying to drink in the sight of outside while it lasts, but she barely sees the buildings rolling past the windows.

Eventually he parks up in a lot that she recognises but cannot find any familiarity in. She knows where she is, but all the shapes are alien. She gets out of the car. 

Connor gets out too, and gets the meagre bag of Ari’s belongings from the back before she can get to it. Ari holds out her hand for it. He looks like he didn’t expect her to take it, but he hands it over.

He follows her into the building. She wants to tell him to fuck off but – it’s pretty fucking ungrateful, isn’t it. He did get her out. She shouldn’t still be angry with him.

In the elevator she turns her keys over and over in her hands like they’re some foreign artefact. Connor is quiet, perhaps finally understanding that she doesn’t want to talk.

The lock on her front door is no stiffer than she remembers it. She supposes that with no weather inside the apartment block, there’s no reason for it to stiffen up with disuse. Reluctance hits her like a wave. She doesn’t want to open the door. But with Connor watching, she doesn’t hesitate.

The first thing that strikes her is the smell. A cold, damp smell, of dust and mildew and god she hopes there isn’t too much mold.

The second thing is the dust. A thin, off-grey layer coats absolutely everything. The carpet, the couch, the cabinet, the bookshelves she never fully filled, the windowsill, the printer, the paper she left out, the unwashed plate still balanced on the arm of the couch…

She knew, she knew to expect it, but christ it’s going to take a long time to clean up.

She can’t feel the dust through her boots, that’s ridiculous. But she thinks she can. Grime under her soles, gritty and greasy. All the doors still stand ajar where she presumably left them.

“How long…” When she looks back, Connor is still lingering at the front door. His tone has changed, blunt pragmatism softened and hollowed out by surprise and a pity that makes Ari’s skin crawl. “I lost track,” she answers without feeling. “About three years.”

There’s insect dirt all over the kitchen floor. Fuck, what did she leave in the cupboards? Probably pasta, rice… She’s not even going to think about the fridge yet. That’s a problem for another day. In fact, the whole kitchen is a problem for another day. Priorities. She makes for the bedroom instead.

It’s going to be grim, she knows. If there’s mildew in the sheets she might have to chuck them. But if it’s just dust it should wash out…

“Why don’t you stay at my place tonight,” says Connor. Ari looks back. He’s stepped into the apartment now, but not far enough to close the door behind himself. “Or… as many nights as you need.”

Why, so you can cuff me to your couch again?

Ari bites her tongue. “It’s fine,” she says. “It won’t take too long to clear a space to sleep. I can work on the rest later. Over the… the next few weeks. It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

She doesn’t want to look at him. She pushes the bedroom door open instead – avoiding the dust-coated handle – to take in the layer of grime and mold coating everything that used to be hers. 

A wide swathe of black mold is creeping up the outside wall, all spots and streaks. Well fuck. Maybe she isn’t sleeping in here any time soon. That’s going to take a shitload of scrubbing to get rid of.

“‘Anything else to do’ – Ari, you need to take time to recover. The doctor said rest, you can’t be – deep cleaning an entire apartment.”

Her bedsheets are still rumpled, unmade, the dust highlighting all the untidy folds. She doesn’t remember the last day she woke up here. She didn’t know she wasn’t coming back.

“We’ll get a cleaning company.” Connor is still talking. “And you can stay with me until this place is fit for human habitation.”

Anger is sick and bitter in the back of her throat. Her fingers are tight on the doorframe – too tight, she makes an effort to relax before Connor sees the white of her knuckles.

“Or… if you don’t want to stay with me, we can book you into a hotel.” “Here is fine.” She tries not to snap it, and instead her voice comes out thick and choked. She digs her fingernails into the palm of her hand. “Here is a biohazard,” Connor fires back. “You are not sleeping here, you’ll get… mold in your lungs or something.”

Her stupid childish posters are still on the wall, actors she no longer gives a shit about succumbing slowly to the encroaching mold. Movies get nothing right anyway.

It’s better than a cell – but she doesn’t say it. She doesn’t want his pity, she doesn’t want –

She stiffens, sensing Connor’s approach without looking round. She’s ready to shrug a hand off her shoulder, ready to pull away without giving in to the impulse to lash out – but he doesn’t touch her. He stops out of arm’s reach. Reluctantly she turns to face him.

Their feet have left prints in the dust.

“Come with me,” he says. It’s almost, almost a request, but even now he’s telling her, not asking. Even though she’s supposed to be free now, why would anyone ever ask Ari to do anything?

She’s trembling, and she hates it.

“Let’s go and get something to eat, and set you up with a decent place to sleep, and we can figure out what to do about –” an encompassing gesture “-- this later.” 

We, we, we. Inviting himself into her life – such as it is.

“I’m not yours,” she snaps. The look he gives her is withering. “Jesus, Ari. You’re not anyone’s. What crazy crap did he put in your head?” Ari flushes, the kind of head-to-toe flush that makes her face and her fingers and the soles of her feet itch. “Sorry,” she mumbles, “The, um, the drugs, I’m not... thinking clearly…” “Yet another reason not to tackle this today.”

Her shoulders are shaking. She feels like once upon a time she would have been crying, but there are no tears.

She doesn’t want to be here. This moldering shell of the life she used to have isn’t a home. It’s the cast off skin of a teenager who doesn’t exist anymore.

“Come on,” Connor repeats. “This is… day one. You don’t have to tackle everything at once.” Reluctantly, eyes fixed on the dusty carpet, she nods.

So she trails after him like a ghost as he leads her back out of the apartment. She locks up without needing to be told, and puts the jagged shapes of the keys back into her pocket. They ride the elevator down in silence.

It’s only when he expects her to get back into his car that she balks.

“If they,” she fumbles, “if, if I have to…” Connor stops half-in-half-out of the car. He looks at her struggling, fidgeting at her bag, and settles on out. He leans his elbows on the top of his car to listen to Ari as she tries to find her tongue. “If they change their minds, and they — want me back, want me to go back –” “You’re not going back.” “-- I don’t thi– no, I won’t survive it again.” “Ari, listen to me. You’re not going back. If they change their minds, I will tell them that I lost you and I will make sure you get out of the country. But they won’t change their minds, –” “What about – not being a traitor, not putting your, your job and your life on the line, not – letting me desert –” The words are tumbling out of her now. “What about – people seeing you with me and – CCTV and –” “Ari.” “-- and your fucking duty – aren’t you gonna jump to it if they call you back to fucking heel? Aren’t you gonna drag me back in if they decide I’m the traitor and Riven was – is –” “Ari.”

She shuts up. She hates herself for it, for responding to the anger in his voice with instant compliance.

“I’m not taking you back again. I told you – if this way doesn’t work, I will find another way. I’m not taking you back for Riven to kill you, or for anyone else to do it. If they try to call you back or frame you as the bad guy here… that’s a blatant perversion of the law, and I will not go along with it.” Ari almost laughs. She swallows hard, tries to disguise it as a cough. “Didn’t I tell you I was getting you out?” he presses. “And here you are.”

“Swear it,” Ari demands. She doesn’t know where it comes from. “Swear you won’t – give me back to them, no matter what they say.” It’s a stupid thing to ask for. Why would a promise to her carry more weight than his oaths to President and country? “I swear it. No matter what.”

Ari exhales shakily. She wants to run from him, run from here. Grab everything that’s worth anything from the apartment and run and run and never look back. Not trust Connor, or anyone else, ever again, and just pray that when they change their minds she’s far enough away that finding her isn’t worth the effort, and – live however she has to, sleep in the trash if she has to and stay under the radar and –

“... Will you get in the car?”

Feeling numb, Ari nods.