#greetings from the denial town

[ddeck]

tbb 2 ends with Cody running away to a distant planet where he walks around in a poncho that is even worse disguise that the one Rex had, buys space strawberries at the space street market, saves up to go to tatooine and is very alive. GL told me himself

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Everybody Knows That I'm a Good Girl, Officer

Summary: After Javi brings home a pair of handcuffs from work, your plans for the night start to look very different.

Word Count: 7.2K (she got away from me real fast)

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v (It's implied that Javi got the snip, we're good y'all), oral (f and m receiving), face fucking, sex toys, roleplay (kind of? Javi's got access to handcuffs and you're giving him enough attitude to bring out the brat tamer in him 😵‍💫), rough sex, creampie, edging/orgasm denial, overstimulation, dom!javi (but still the same sweet, soft Javi that we all know and love who loves his wife), a sprinkle of a breeding kink (because it's trademark at this point), heavy on the praise kink, sexting, safe word/consent (hawt), spanking (not that hard), one AFFECTIONATE use of slut!, Javi is our aftercare king (are we surprised? no.) Javi's mouth is so filthy I'm washing my own out with soap, I'm not gonna lie to y'all, this is NASTY and I don't think I've ever put this many warnings for something lmao (also, still fluff and dad!Javi because I say so)

A/N: ....... Soooooooo, yeahhhhhhhh. This is hands down the filthiest thing I've ever written 🤠 Steppin' a little out of my normal comfort zone for this one- idk what's in the water this month, but I think someone may have to come put me out to pasture pretty soon!!!! Checking myself into horny prison with a life sentence!!!!! I hope you guys enjoy, I know it's different than the norm, but lemme know what you think 🥺 Thanks for supporting me through my horny endeavors, ily all!!!

The days of chasing down bad guys and capturing criminals were a thing of the past for Javier Peña- at this point, the closet he'd come to his past life in Columbia in his position at the Laredo Sheriff's Department was using every ounce of patience he had to deal with his knuckle headed co-workers whenever they did something stupid.

While the job title "Border Protections Consultant" provided Javi with a much quieter and calmer life than working as a DEA agent, when his daughters had asked him to come in for Career Day, their classmates were convinced that he might as well have been straight out of "Men in Black."

Unfortunately for the other parents who had decided to show, Javi's appearance had out shadowed any of the other jobs after his daughters classes had learned he worked for the Police Department to help catch "bad guys" (even if the better part of the class had decided to ignore the fact he wasn't the one physically going out to stop them).

After showing off some cool accessories he had brought with him from the department and sharing some watered down, age appropriate stories to make his presentation more interesting, the Peña girls were the talk of the town at Alma Pierce Elementary, riding the high of being dubbed "The Kids With the Coolest Dad" by everyone in their class, especially after he signed them out early with promises of slushies before heading home.

So when Javi and the girls arrived back to the house, it was no shock to you that your daughters were still beaming with excitement about their dad's celebrity appearance.

"Mommy, Mommy!" Lucy, your oldest squealed as she burst through the door, dropping her backpack with a thud to greet you in the kitchen, "Dad had the best job at all of Career Day. All the kids in my class said he was the coolest one."

"Oh was he now?" You smirked, watching as Javi and your other two daughters, Elliot and Harper, trailed behind Lucy, equally beaming with excitement.

"Yeah! That's what all the kids in my class said too!" Elliot exclaimed, plopping herself down next to her sister at one of the barstools at your kitchen island.

"Me too!" Harper added, finding her usual spot next to her sisters.

"Looks like someone's reached celebrity status." You giggled, playfully raising your eyebrows at Javi as he came to greet you, wrapping one arm around your waist while the other dropped his work bag on the countertop, pulling you closer for a kiss.

"What's a celebrity?" Harper asked, staring at her sisters in confusion.

"Someone who's like, really famous." Lucy answered, Elliot nodding adamantly in agreement that her dad was, in fact, their elementary school's newest celebrity.

"So I take it the presentation went well then?" You asked, shrugging at Javi, trying not to blush with pride from his daughter's admiration.

"Guess so." Javi replied, shedding his suit jacket and tossing it next to his bag, loosening his tie and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows before reaching in one of your cabinets to grab a glass of water.

"Dad told our class about how he helps catch bad guys and put them in jail, for like, forever."

"And he told everyone about how a long time ago, before he was old, that he used to go run through the streets and catch people and put them in handcuffs!"

"He even brought in handcuffs for everyone to see!"

The last comment most definitely caught your attention, crossing your arms over your chest and tilting your head at Javi, trying your best to keep from letting a suspicious smirk spread across your face.

"Oh? Daddy brought handcuffs? Daddy doesn't normally use handcuffs at his job. I wish I would have gotten to see them."

While your girls would have never noticed anything unusual about your question, Javi was nearly choking on the sip of water he had just taken, very clearly understanding the implications of what you had just asked, coughing a few times as he tried to compose himself.

"Are you okay, Daddy?" Harper asked, looking at Javi with concern.

"Yeah, I'm- I'm good, baby. Just didn't know Mommy wanted to um- wanted to see my handcuffs so badly." Javi stammered, glancing over at you with a devilish look in his eyes.

"You should show her! They're really cool, Mom!" Lucy proposed, her sisters nodding along in agreement, blissfully unaware of the tension rapidly thickening between you and Javi.

"Um- y-yeah, maybe later, Lu." Javi stuttered, still keeping eye contact with you as he answered his daughter, "Why don't you guys um- why don't you guys go play outside for a little bit."

"Really?! Before homework?!" Elliot squealed in surprise and delight.

"Yeah, go- go play. Mom and I will come get you guys in a few."

Javi could barely finish his sentence before your girls were sprinting to the backyard, leaving you and your husband alone in the kitchen in a silent stare down until the backdoor was shut behind them.

"Man, you must reallllyy wanna show me those handcuffs, Javi." You cooed, tongue darting out of your mouth as you bit down on your lip, getting a kick out of how rattled one little comment had made him.

"You better be careful with that shit, Hermosa." Javi groaned, stepping towards you, hands sliding down your back until they were groping your ass, slowly kneading the soft flesh in his hands.

"Yeah? Or what? You gonna use them on me?" You mewled, whispering in Javi's ear, the hot breath of your words making him audibly moan, taking a deep inhale and exhale to try and keep from busting right then and there.

"Jesus fucking christ- If you're gonna keep teasing me like this, then maybe I fucking should." Javi sighed, pulling you closer to feel the bulge hardening in his slacks, pressed against your thigh.

"Is that a threat, or a promise, Officer?"

At this point, you knew you were playing dirty, but you couldn't help hit, sultry smile spread across your lips at the way Javi's jaw had gone slack, practically hitting the floor in horny disbelief that your night was about to take such drastic turn.

"Depends, has sido una chica mala (have you been a bad girl)?" Javi hummed, voice rumbling deep in his chest as his grip around you tightened, eyes growing dark with lust, watching you play innocent, batting your lashes up at him.

"Para ti? Si. (For you? Yes.)"

Letting out a low, quite laugh, Javi shook his head before reaching one of his hands up, wrapping his fingers around your jaw and top half of your neck, forcing your gaze up at him and his smug snarl.

"Then it's a promise." He paused, the two of you staring at each other with a silent thrill of excitement pulsing through your veins. "Go pack the girl's bags, I'm dropping them off at my Dad's."

"Javi, are you sure? It's a Friday night, we can't just drop them at your dad's like this last minute. What if he-"

"Talked to him earlier this week. I know he's not busy. Even if he was, he'd drop whatever it was to have a sleepover with the girls. Like I really need to twist his arm to watch them."

"Okay, well what are we gonna tell him when he asks why we're dropping them off unplanned?" You retorted, knowing Javi wasn't wrong, but feeling bad for springing your girls unsuspectingly onto your father-in-law.

"That it's an emergency." Javi shrugged, his mouth working faster than his brain to find an answer to your question.

"Being horny isn't an emergency, Jav." You sighed, rolling your eyes at your husband.

"I'll figure something out. And if you keep talking like that to me, it most definitely is an emergency." Javi smirked, gaze of his reassuring, sweet brown eyes winning you over with ease.

"Okay. Go call your dad, I'll get the girls ready." You grinned, anticipation bursting at your seams as Javi raced to the back door, throwing it open to yell out to your daughters.

"Pollitas (little chickens)! Come inside, we're going to Abuelo's!"

The two of you were convinced you'd never worked faster to get your daughters out the door, frantically throwing together their sleepover bags with their help before Javi was nearly tossing them into his truck, the girls none the wiser and happy as could be to have a surprise sleepover with Chucho.

"Thanks again for watchin' em, Pops. We'll come pick them up in the morning." Javi nodded, giving his dad a quick hug after dropping off Lucy, Elliot and Harper, who had blessed him with a short and sweet goodbye as they rushed off to the barn to go feed the horses, leaving Javi to part ways with his dad.

"Of course, hijo. You know I love having mis nietas (my granddaughters) here, even when it's a surprise. I must have missed it on the phone, but what was so urgent? Not that I'm complaining." Chucho asked, resting his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans, patiently waiting for his son's response.

"It um- something uh- something came up, and I-" Javi stammered, face turning bright red as his eyes darted towards the ground, trying to come up with some sort of bold faced lie off the top of his head before his dad cut him off.

"I thought I done getting grandkids?" Chucho smirked, relishing in Javi's uncomfortability, having a sneaking suspicion exactly why his son had made such a quick and urgent request.

"Jesus, Dad..." Javi sighed, burying his face in his hands to try and hide his embarrassment, not confirming or denying his father's acquisitions.

"Makes me happy to know you two are still very much in love." Chucho chuckled, patting his son on the back.

"Okay, I'm gonna go now," Javi huffed, scrunching his face in shame, giving his dad one more awkward hug before trotting back to his truck, "Thanks, Pops."

"Don't mention it, Javier. Take your time tomorrow. Tell your wonderful wife I say hello and that I hope the two of you have a fun night toget-"

"Jesus Christ... Bye, dad." Javi groaned, climbing into the driver's seat of his truck, slamming the door behind him as Chucho disappeared into the house, giddily laughing to himself.

Meanwhile, while Javi was busy dropping off the girls (insisting that you didn't come, because he'd have zero self control if you did), you had decided to go digging through the back of your underwear drawer, looking to find something to surprise Javi with when he returned home.

You pulled out a few choices, tossing them onto your bed to browse through before finding a black, lacy set you had almost forgotten about- the delicate, barely there, see through lace of the bra paired with the equally as skimpy thong seeming like an ideal option for the night ahead of you.

If you weren't already thrumming with enough anticipation as you changed into your new attire, your phone lit up on your nightstand, buzzing as Javi's name popped up on the screen.

Javi: Leaving Pops. Be back in 20.

You stared up at the clock, quietly calculating Javi's arrival time before you were interrupted by another vibration.

Javi: Wait on the bed for me. Don't touch yourself until I'm back.

You could almost hear Javi's voice, commanding you with just enough sternness, but not enough to stop you from pushing the limits just a little.

Grabbing your phone, you opened up your camera, dropping to your knees in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom, seductively posing to tease just enough of your surprise to get Javi home to you in 12 minutes instead of 20.

You: Yeah? And what if I do? 😉

You smirked as you sent your text and picture, giggling to yourself at Javi's near immediate response.

Javi: Fuck me. You're so fucking sexy.

Javi: Your pussy's all mine tonight. Be a good girl and do what you're told. Bad girls get punished.

You: Maybe I wanna be punished 😏

Javi: Careful what you wish for baby. See u soon.

You could already feel your stomach swelling with arousal, your text messages alone beginning to soak a damp patch into the lace of your thong, making the fabric clinging around your swollen and puffy pussy, leaving you with a throbbing ache between your legs.

You wandered over to your nightstand, searching around the back, just like you had done with your dresser, looking through the few toys kept there. It had been a while since any of them had made an appearance in your bedroom, not because you or Javi were opposed to it, but because with how religiously Javi wanted to be the one who made you feel good, it wasn't often they were going to use unless you were uncontrollably horny and Javi wasn't home.

And even though at this point he'd be home in 15 minutes, right now, you found yourself in both of those categories, the added layer of seeing if he'd make good on his threat only turning you on more.

With the way your clit was throbbing and cunt clenching around nothing, you opted for your rabbit vibrator, climbing into bed with the toy as you settled yourself into the pillows, lying on your back and spreading your legs to try and ease the ache between them.

You ran the head of the toy over the soaked fabric of your panties a few times before pulling the damp lace to the side, shuttering as it brushed against your clit. With how wet you were from want, you easily slid the tip of the toy into your entrance, sinking it deeper into your pussy until the smaller end was hitting against your sensitive bundle of nerves. You whimpered at the sensation- still feeling no where near as good as what Javi would, but finally easing the fluttering of your pussy and throbbing of your clit was enough to give you temporary relief for now.

You thanked whatever lucky stars were out there in the universe that your vibrator had battery power left, clicking it on to feel the low hum shoot through your lower half, making you squirm against the sheets.

You lazily dragged the vibrator in and out of your heat, just enough to prod against your g-spot without leaving your clit untouched, imagining Javi's length thrusting in and out of you while the worn pads of his fingers circled your throbbing nub, whispering filthy, sweet nothings into your ear as he fucked you.

"That's it, pretty girl. Make yourself feel good. So fucking wet, making such a mess for me."

You threw your head back on the pillow, clamping your eyes shut as you let the scene continue you to play out in your head, turning up the intensity of your vibrator as you rocked it faster and deeper into your cunt.

"You're taking it so well, baby. My good girl. There you go. Pretty little pussy wants to cum so bad, huh? Greedy thing couldn't wait for me to take care of her like I asked?"

You were so caught up in your own pleasure that you could have sworn you'd heard Javi speaking to you. Too lost in your imagination, you didn't stop, feeling your orgasm beginning to creep through your body. So lost, that you didn't hear the heavy footsteps padding their way to the edge of the bed or broad body looming over you.

"Just couldn't wait until I got back, huh?"

Your eyes shot open, the all too familiar low and sultry laugh much too real for you to have imagined, looking up to see Javi standing over you, hands on his hips as he watched you fuck yourself on your vibrator.

"Javi! J-jesus, baby. You scared the shit outta me." You huffed, trying to catch your breath as you scrambled to turn off your vibrator, whining at the loss as you pulled the soaking toy out of you, sitting up straighter on the bed.

"Wouldn't have scared the shit out of you if you did what you were told." Javi tutted, smirking to himself, "You gonna be a good girl and do what you're told, or am I gonna have to teach my pretty little wife a lesson about following directions?"

Before you could say anything, Javi was grabbing you by the hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed so your legs dangled off the mattress, letting him lean in to give you a desperate kiss, tongues and teeth clashing in a messy fight. With his hands frantically roaming your body, tracing over your lacy silhouette, he pulled away from your kiss just enough to let the words of his whisper dance against your skin.

"Donut. If it's too much. Repeat it back to me."

"Donut." You moaned, nodding your head in agreement at your safe word.

"You promise you'll tell me if it's too much? I don't wanna hurt you, amor." Javi asked, the familiar sweet and sensitive concern of your husband unveiling itself through your facade, puppy eyes locking with yours for confirmation.

"I promise. Damelo, Papi. (Give it to me, Daddy). "

As soon as your eyes locked in harmony, giving Javi your promise, the once sweet and innocent gaze had now turned to something much darker, the brown of his pupils pooling with lust, reaching behind you to grab the vibrator laying on the comforter, still covered in your slick.

Dropping to his knees, Javi parted your thighs, settling himself between them to admire the wet, puffy mess you had already made by yourself, running his fingers over the lacy fabric that had been barely covering it up, tugging it tight like a rubber band before letting it slap against your pussy, eliciting a pathetic whimper from you.

"She's crying for me, isn't she, baby? Poor thing. Trying to fuck yourself on this, wishing it was my cock, weren't you?" Javi scolded mockingly, turning on the vibrator and running it through your folds, teasing you everywhere but where you wanted to be touched.

"Y-yes. Wanna cum all around your cock, Javi." You moaned, face scrunching as he slid the toy up and down your weeping slit.

"But bad girls don't always get what they want, do they? Sometimes," He paused, slipping the toy into your hole until the longer curve was flushed to your g-spot and the shorter to your clit, "sometimes, they have to beg for what they want. You gonna be a good girl and do what I say?"

"Make me."

The words rolled off your tongue with a bratty confidence, a challenge you knew damn well he'd accept. Javi turned on the vibrator, cranking it up to it's highest setting, tongue running over his teeth as he watched your body jolt, grabbing fist fulls of your bedsheets to brace yourself.

"Oh fuck-" You muttered, swallowing hard, trying to suppress the shock of pleasure that had ignited in you as the vibrator thrummed at full force, Javi pushing it right up against the soft spongy spot inside he knew drove you wild, making sure the other part of the toy stayed nestled between your folds.

Javi could see your pussy beginning to flutter, clenching tighter around the toy as arousal began to seep out of your hole, pressing the vibrator deeper into you, only egging your impending orgasm on further.

"I know you wanna cum, baby. Ask nicely before I make you beg for it." Javi groaned, the hand not holding the vibrator now digging into your hip, holding you in place.

"N-no." You stammered, confidence wavering as you felt the tingle at the base of your spine start to spread rapidly through your body. Gripping tighter onto the tangled sheets, you felt your legs begin to tremble, cunt clamping down around the toy, about to cross the finish line until-

"Fuck! Nononono, Javi- fuck!" You cried out, whimpering as Javi yanked the vibrator from your cunt, leaving you empty and aching, the near high of your almost orgasm quickly dissipating.

"What's it gonna be, Hermosa? You gonna be good for me now?" Javi mewled, snarky smile spread between his lips watching your chest heave with heavy breaths after leaving you on the brink of collapse.

"Fuck- No. Make me, Javi." You huffed back, trying to keep cocky as if you weren't seconds away from crumbling under his touch.

Javi's response was nothing but a low laugh to himself, turning the vibrator back on high and stuffing it into your hole, fucking you with it more intensely than before. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head, jaw going slack as the feeling of the fullness and buzzing consumed you, putting you back on edge of where you just were moments ago.

The only thought you could process was how close you were cumming, cunt throbbing and pulsing around your vibrator, body trembling with need as the coil in your stomach was about to snap.

"J-Javi, Javi, I-" You stammered, trying to string together a coherent sentence.

"What, baby? You gonna cum?" Javi asked, taunting you with his tone.

You tried your best to nod your head, nearly there, thinking that Javi would give in, only to let out another wanton cry as he pulled out the vibrator again, even more desperate and empty than before.

"Fuckfuckfuck! No, fuck! Javi, no-" You sobbed, white knuckling your sheets, bucking your hips into nothing, "Javi, let me cum. I wanna- fuck- I wanna cum!"

"Brats don't get to cum, cariño." Javi tutted, tossing the vibrator to the edge of the bed, caging your body under his, teeth nipping across your skin, hands cupping your lace covered breasts, fingers slipping under the fabric to tweak your pebbled nipples while his mouth met yours. "You want it? You get on your knees and beg for it like a good girl."

"And what if I don't? What if I don't wanna listen, Agent Peña?" You retorted, staring up at him with a devilish grin, trying to egg him on enough to reach for the handcuffs he had dangling out of the back of his pants pocket.

Reaching down to snake your hand between your bodies to try and rub your clit, you were stopped in your tracks, Javi wrapping is hand firmly around your wrist, grabbing it, and your other free arm to pin both your wrists to the bed above your head in his grasp.

He paused for a moment, looking down at you for a silent confirmation that you were comfortable with what was about to happen next, both of your heart beats pounding in your ears as you gave him a subtle, but adamant nod, biting down on your bottom lip with a sultry grin.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Fuck me-" He murmured to himself, trying to keep from laughing under his breath from pure exhilarated elation, breaking his stern facade. After a brief moment of self-composure, Javi was digging in the back pocket of his slacks, pulling out the shiny, silver pair of handcuffs that had gotten you in this position in the first place. "Either you listen, or I make you fucking listen, Hermosa."

"I'm sorry, Officer, I never have been a good listener." You cooed, batting your lashes and pouting at him with the big doe eyes and plush bottom lip, watching something animalistic begin to consume him.

In a sudden and frantic dance of limbs, Javi was clipping his handcuffs around your wrists, leaving enough room to wiggle them without pain in the confines of the cool metal, but with nowhere near enough room you were breaking free from them without his help. Bringing your now locked arms from above your head to in front of your chest, Javi was manhandling you off the edge of the bed to the ground, settling you to your knees in front of him.

A feverish thrill ran through you as you watched Javi undo his belt, metal buckle clanging as he shoved his pants and boxers down his hips, his painfully hard cock springing free, slapping against his stomach and leaving a trail of precum on the bottom of his shirt.

Your mouth watered as you watched his length bob in front of you, wishing your hands were free to wrap your fingers around his base, stroking him while you lubed him up with your spit and his precum before taking him into your mouth. Instead, it was Javi running his hand along his shaft, the other reaching down to thumb at your bottom lip, coaxing your jaw to go slack for him.

"Open." He commanded, tapping the tip of his cock against your tongue as you stuck it out, the warm and salty dribble of his precum leaking into your mouth.

Javi gleamed watching as your thighs clenched together beneath you, wiggling to try and give yourself any kind of friction as your slick coated the inside of your legs. He ran his hand across your cheek, cradling the back of your head as he ran his fingers through your messy hair, grabbing a fist full near the base of your neck to yank your gaze up at him.

"Could have cum by now if weren't gonna be sucha brat, baby girl. I know you want me to fuck you so bad. You wish that I was stuffed so fucking deep inside you, huh? But you're so fucking greedy for my cock, you'll take it wherever I give it to you, won't you?" Javi huffed, nostrils flaring as you nodded your head, his tip still resting on your tongue before your lips wrapped around the head of his shaft, taking him into your mouth as your tongue ran along the length of the thick vein pulsing in his cock.

With a subtle shift of his hips, Javi was thrusting himself deeper inside your throat, making you hollow your cheeks and breath through your nose, the curls at his base filling your nostrils with his sweet and musky scent.

“So greedy, you'll let me fuck this pretty little mouth of yours, won't you?” His voice rasped, hitching in the back of his throat watching you fill with his length, "You're gonna be a good girl and let me stuff your throat so full of my cock that it'll fuck that bratty mouth right out of you, won't it, hermosa?"

His other hand met his first, cupping the back of your head while he fucked into you, hitting the back of your throat as tears welled in your eyes and drool pooled from your lips as his cock consumed your mouth. You nodded your head, looking up at him with teeth gritted and eyes darkened, his grunts and moans becoming louder with each push and pull, so demanding yet desperate at the same time.

"And after I fuck your mouth, I'm gonna fuck the brat out of you with my tongue," he paused, drawing back to slam his dick to the back of your throat, "I'm gonna fuck you with my cock," He paused again, repeating the motion, wetness dripping down your eyes and mouth from your tears and saliva, "I'm gonna fuck you 'till you're begging me to stop, because who does this pussy belong to, baby?"

Jerking back his hips, he freed his cock from your mouth, leaving you coughing as you tried to clear your throat, completed wrecked in the best way, the thick and musky tang of him still lingering on your tongue.

"It's yours, Javi. My pussy is yours, baby." You whimpered, your mask of cocky confidence now fading to reveal rampant your need and want, your pussy too painfully aching to hide it any longer.

Javi grunted, lifting you off the ground to guide you to your bed, letting your back bounce against the mattress as Javi once again settled between your thighs, slinging your legs over his broad shoulders.

You looked down to see his eyes widen as he admired the absolute wreck that had pooled between your legs, slick smearing your cunt and the inside of your thighs, pussy so swollen and shiny that you were convinced you had never been this worked up in your life without any sort of relief.

"Say it again, baby. Whose pussy is this?" Javi mewled, licking a long, flat stroke across your cunt.

"Y-yours, Javi." You moaned, bucking your hips into Javi's face, desperate for more.

"Louder, cariño. Let me hear who this pussy belongs to." The movement of his tongue repeated, this time added a few more broad strips, draping his hand across your stomach to hold you in place.

"Y-you! Oh fuck- It belongs to you, Javi! " You cried out, writhing under his touch, egging on the primal and possessive part of his brain.

"Do think you finally deserve to cum, hermosa? Poor pussy made such a fucking mess, I can feel her throbbing for me, baby." Javi taunted mockingly between licks of your cunt. "Beg for it, Osita. Beg for it like the filthy girl I know you are only for me."

There was no use in fighting it anymore, every shred of fight you had left in you had disappeared, leaving you a sobbing, whimpering mess, so dire to cum, you would have cried and plead for hours on end if that's what it would have taken for you to finally get what you wanted.

"P-please, Javi, please. Please, baby, I'll be good. Fuck- please make cum. Pleasepleasepleaseplease- Fuck!"

Your sobs were cut off as Javi dove between your legs, the slow and monotonous licks of your pussy now turning into him devouring you, sloppily eating you out like it was his last meal on earth, and he wasn't leaving a fucking crumb behind.

The way his mouth sucked and lapped at your clit had the coil in your spine that had been tightening over and over again for what felt like hours now reaching a near breaking point. Your wrists were straining against the handcuffs still clasped below your hands, writhing and thrashing under Javi's touch, wishing that you had something to grab onto to ground yourself.

"Fuck, Javi, Fuck- don't stop baby, please- ohmygod- I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna-ahhhhhh!"

Your pent up orgasm crashed through you like a tsunami, every inch of your body radiating with such intense pleasure that you could feel your legs shaking around Javi's head, sobbing out with relief while you gushed arousal into his mouth, going limp with ecstasy.

But to your surprise, the sensation between your legs continued, Javi still relentlessly drinking you up, his pace unfaltering as he worked you through your high, clearly determined to make you cum again.

Latching his lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, Javi sucked at your clit with a feverish intensity, fingertips gripping into your hips to keep you in place and hold you against the bed, keeping you right where he wanted you until he had you crumbling under his touch.

It wasn't long before the tingle at the base of your spine was building rapidly again, your pussy fluttering and throbbing, so sensitive from how long you had waited for release of your last orgasm that you could feel your second building just as fast as your first.

"I'm gonna- fuck- Javi, I'm gonna cum again, oh my- fuck- fuckfuckfuck!" You sobbed, limbs feeling like Jello as your next high hit you, eyes rolling to the back of your head, cumming so hard you were convinced you were seeing stars.

With your eyes scrunched shut, you hadn't seen Javi pulling away, shedding his shirt before grabbing your hips to flip you over, maneuvering you so your locked arms were outstretched in front of you and your chest pressed to the mattress, the firm grip returning to your hips to raise your ass in the air, wet and puffy pussy on display for him as he hovered at the edge of the bed behind you.

"Pussy's so fucking sweet, hermosa." Javi hummed, swiping two fingers through your folds and collecting your slick from your still trembling cunt, caging his body over yours as his other hand wrapped around your neck and jaw, pulling you up to flush your back against his chest, tacky with his sweat.

"Taste." He ordered, bringing the two shiny fingers to your lips, dipping them into your mouth while your tongue swirled around, tangy and sticky arousal filling your senses. "Think she's ready for me, baby? Or should I fuck you with my fingers until you're begging for my cock?"

"N-no, I want it, p-please, wanna cum around your cock so bad. Wanna feel you Javi, please." You whimpered, swallowing hard with Javi's palm still gently splayed around your throat.

"Okay," Javi paused, reaching down to grab the base of his shaft, coating his length with your arousal as he ran it up and down your slit until the blunt head of his tip was notching into your entrance, "but this greedy little cunt is gonna take everything I have to give her, understand?"

"Mhmmhmmm-" You nodded against his skin, whining as he sunk the rest of his length inside you, the sweet sting of his stretch setting you ablaze.

"Fuckkkk-" Javi muttered under his breath, pressing his body weight into you to force your chest back down to he bed and ass back up, running his hands over it, massaging the plump flesh before bringing a flat hand down to it, smacking it just hard enough to make you whimper.

"Dirty fucking girl. You loved getting fucked like this, don't you? Getting fucked like the pretty little slut you are just for me." Javi huffed through gritted teeth, giving your ass another smack as he dragged his cock out of your cunt before ramming it back into you.

"Mhmmmmmmhhhh- fuck- Just for- oh fuck- just for you, Javi."

He began to set a punishing pace, pounding into your g-spot, making sure that every thrust was flushed with your ass so that you took every inch of him inside you, practically punching the air out of your lungs with every stroke.

Javi felt so full inside of you, stretching you out in a way that was all consuming, the position he had you in opening you up to take as much as he could give. Your fingers tugged at the sheets, handcuffs rubbing against your wrists as you tried to brace yourself, so worked up and overwhelmed that you were nearly drooling onto the bed.

The noises coating the walls of your bedroom were unspeakably lewd- the wet squelching of your pussy, Javi's balls slapping against your ass, the wanton moans and grunts with every push and pull making your room sound borderline pornographic.

You could feel your cunt beginning to clench again, fluttering around Javi's cock as he rammed into you, your legs beginning to tremble as you could sense your third orgasm creeping through your body. With how sensitive you were, you knew the wiry hairs around the base of Javi's shaft rubbing your clit would be enough to push you over the edge again, wishing you could reach back to grab Javi's hip, digging your fingertips into his tanned and sweat-ridden skin while you came.

"Javiiiiiiii- Fuck, fuck, fuck- I'm so c-close- Don't stop, don't stop, don't, Fuck!"

With each orgasm that crashed through you, your body became more and more loose, feeling like you were melting and floating all at once, all consumed by your dizzying high while Javi's pace remained steady, fucking you through collapse.

"That's my girl. Cum all over me. Let me feel you, baby." Javi smirked, giving your ass another smack as you cried out his name, too wrecked to let any other words form in your brain besides his.

Still staying stuffed inside you, Javi was scooping his arms around your front, one splayed across your middle to keep you upright as your sat back on your knees, the other back around your neck and jaw, tilting your head to lean back on his shoulder while he sucked at your pulse point.

You were all but sobbing at this point, pathetic whimpers and moans rumbling from your chest with each deep thrust of Javi's cock only intensifying as his fingers reached down to circle your clit, so sensitive that just the presence of his hand pressing around your nerve bundle had you crying out for him.

Your face was flushed with heat, sweat beading down your temples with the warmth of Javi's chest pressed against your back, feeling your heartbeat pound so loud you could feel it in your ears.

"It's too much- fuckfuckfuck- it's too much, Javi." You whined, the pitch of your voice registering higher and higher with each word that came spilling from your mouth, starting to squirm in his grasp. Your movement only made him tighten his grip, forearm pressing into your stomach and fingers locking around your jaw as he whispered in your ear.

"Nuh uh. This is what you wanted, remember, baby?" Javi tutted, somehow feeling like he was fucking into you even deeper than before, "You're gonna take what I give you. You're gonna cum for me one more time. Cum for me one more time and then I'm gonna fill you so fucking full of me that I'm gonna leak out of you for days and make sure you remember exactly who this pussy belongs to."

The pads of his fingers pressed more firmly into your clit as they circled faster and faster, each snap of his hips crashing into your g-spot, the volume of your cries growing so loud, you had never been more thankful you didn't have any neighbors close by you were worried about hearing you.

"You're taking me so well, baby. C'mon, just one more, Hermosa. Be a good girl and give me one more. I know you can take it. Take it, take it, take it-" He groaned, chanting with each thrust with a low rumble in his throat, bearing his gritted teeth and flared nostrils as he fucked into you, knowing with the way your pussy was gripping him like a vice, you didn't need much more to get where he wanted you to go.

"Javi, Javi, Javi, Javijavijavijaviiiiii-ahhhhhh! Fuck!"

You were convinced that if Javi hadn't been holding you down, you would have floated away, cumming so hard that your vision went white, everything around you feeling like it was moving in slow motion as pleasure swept through every inch of your body, slumping into Javi, now finally chasing his own high.

"Did so good for me, baby. So fucking good." Javi praised, voice sweetening softly as he held you pressed to his chest, kissing and nipping at the damp skin on your shoulder. "Gonna fuck you so full of my cum. Bet you wish I could still knock you up, huh? Let everyone know who you belong to. Let them know that this perfect little pussy is all mine. I'm- oh fuck- I'm so fucking close. Feels so fucking good. Mierda- I love you so muc-ahhhhhhh-"

Javi's incoherent babbles were cut off by a final stutter of his hips, balls drawing up into his stomach as he spilled deep inside of you, warm ropes of his cum painting your velvety walls.

Still keeping himself stuffed inside you, you could feel the mix of your spend seeping out your spent hole and down your thighs, the dripping only exacerbated by the heavy heaving and panting of both of your chests, rising and falling in sync, so blissfully fucked out from your highs.

After a few seconds, Javi came to, pulling out of you with a hiss, reaching over the side of the bed to shuffle through his pants pockets, digging up the keys to the handcuffs and unlocking your wrists, gently kissing them where the metal had left red marks on your skin.

"Lay down, baby girl, lemme take care of you, okay?" Javi cooed, the flip of his demeanor instantly switching back to tender and soft, pressing a kiss into your messy hair as he shuffled to your ensuite, coming back with a warm washcloth to gently wipe up the mess between your legs.

"You've taken care of me plenty, Javier Peña. I don't think I'm gonna be able to walk for the next week." You giggled softy, still giving your heart rate a chance to come down to normal.

Javi tossed the washcloth into the hamper next to your bed, crawling next to you and pulling you close to lay your head on his chest, tracing dainty circles with his thumb across your skin. "Are you okay? It wasn't too much? Sorry if I got carried away or-"

"Javi! Baby, why are you apologizing?" You asked, looking up at Javi as you felt his shoulders shrug beneath you.

"I just- I don't ever wanna hurt you, Hermosa.

"If you're trying to get me to stroke your ego and tell you that you have a huge dick, then yes, you do." You teased, the two of you softly snorting while Javi rolled his eyes at you.

"Shut up, you know what I mean." Javi huffed, giving you a playful nudge.

"You take such good care of me, Jav. I know you would never mean to hurt me. Besides, I asked and you delivered. This was hot as fuck. This honestly may be a top 5 of all time." You smirked, nudging him right back.

"Yeah? God, you're so fucking sexy. We still got it after all these years, huh?" Javi smiled, pulling you closer to his chest, tickling you with kisses across your face.

"Yeah we do. Although maybe next time we get some more comfortable handcuffs. Those things do not feel good."

"Honey, they're meant to be used on actual criminals breaking the law. They're not supposed to be comfortable." Javi teased, laughing at your suggestion.

The two of you lay in silence for a moment, a peaceful and content quiet washing over you, basking in the warmth each other's bodies tangled together in a mess between your sheets.

"Do you ever miss it?"

"Miss what, Osita?"

"I don't know- having a more exciting job, getting to handcuff actual criminals, not just your wife. I just- I know that you always say how different and boring your job is now, and if you ever wanted to go back to doing something like what you used to then-" Before you could finish your thought, Javi was cutting you off with a passionate kiss, gently cradling your cheek in his palm, looking at you with those sweet brown eyes you loved so much.

"I don't ever miss it. My boring office job gave me a life where I have the most beautiful, amazing wife and daughters. There's nothing in the world that would ever make me even have a chance of giving that up. Besides..." Javi paused, sneaky smirk spread across his face.

"Besides what, Jav?"

"Using the handcuffs on you is way more fun."

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[mrderondncefloor]

“anything? that right?”

old!logan howlett x f!reader

summary: you end up in logan’s shop with an oil leak and can’t afford to pay him

wc: 2.3k (i’m in hell the brain rot is BAAAAD)

authors note: plot is very cliche like ik eat me. while writing this i took a break and got an edit of logan to tulsa jesus freak. yes i’ve lost my sanity. also i don’t know shit about shit with cars so yea

warnings/tags: MDNI. dubcon. unspecified age gap. logan is a little mean?? reader has no description besides hair long enough for logan to grab, wearing short skirt. logan grabs readers face. hair pulling. big dick logan (canon). pussy pronouns. spanking. throat fucking. degrading. tears. dirty talk. pet names. daddy kink. fingering. aggressive sex. unprotected sex (wrap it up). cream pie. orgasm denial.

your type doesn’t frequent this place, the auto shop on the edge of a town that’s seen better days. most of logan’s customers he’s had for years, he’d grown used to the faces that come through the shop, greeting people on a first name basis at this point in his career. like hell did he ever expect you. you, who stood behind him when he’s hunched down, working beneath the hood of a truck. he didn’t hear you coming, the radio on his workbench drowning out the sound of your footsteps. “shit,” he hissed, peeling back from the piece of shit he’d spent his afternoon working away at, white beater stained with oil and god knows what else. he paused abruptly when he finally noticed you, drawing in a slow breath. if he didn’t have enough on his plate, here you are. a pretty, young thing. in the thick of the summer you’re hardly dressed in much at all, a little top and a short skirt. “ain’t hear you come in,” the clear of his throat echoes off the walls as he walked towards his bench, wiping his hands with a greased up towel. “can i do for you?” his teeth clamp down on the toothpick stuck out his mouth, an oral fixation to try and keep his mind off smoking while on the job. it hardly worked for shit, nicotine always in the back of his mind. the radio gradually softens, pair of glasses pulled onto the bridge of his nose. “think i have an oil leak?” you sound unsure of it, logan nods, scribbling it down onto a forum he kept for his records. “bring ‘er in. take a look,” his boots thud quietly across the floor, walking past you to pull open the garage door. the wiring had gone out a couple months ago and he’s yet to get around to fixing it, muscles straining as he pulled the door up an over his head. he watched you pull your car in, sighing as you stepped back out. “well.. ain’t even have to look. engine sounds like shit, definitely a leak. i’ll pop underneath anyway, see f’somethin’s loose or if it’s a crack.” he nodded, wheeling his creeper out from beneath the bench with his foot. he tries not to groan as he sunk to the floor, his body too old for this shit. he pushes himself up underneath the car, brow knit in a tight furrow as he took a look around to access the problem. “oil pan has a crack, s’pretty fuckin’ bad. i can change it out for you, take me an hour.. hour an a half at most.” he nods, sat upright, an elbow propped against his bent knee. your expression flashes with annoyance and he thought to himself that you looked like a fucking brat, but god damn did you wear it so well. he fights back with the corner of his lips that threatens to tug up.

logan gathered up what he needed, not paying you any mind as you’re left with not much other choice but to sit and wait for him to finish on your car. dressed like this he figured you had better places to be, but he didn’t give a fuck. you came to him, and the way he saw it was your choices were limited to accepting the help and learning some patience or ruining your car. he’s good at the work he does, it’s why he has so many loyal customers, why he’s been in business so long. he could’ve given you some grief for the look you gave him when he told you about the wait- and he still might. “she’s good as new.” he nodded, sliding out from beneath the car with your cracked oil pan. his chest is slick with sweat, glistening under the dull lighting. he brushed his dirty hands against the thighs of his jeans as he stood, tossing your old cracked pan into the trash as he approached his work bench again, quickly jotting down the work that he’d done. “s’goin’ to be.. nine hundred fifty three. s’for the replacement, fresh oil and that god damn look you gave me earlier.” he nods, dropping the clipboard onto the desk. “take cash or card.” his arms cross over his broad torso, forehead creasing as his brow sunk in. “this is a joke, right?” you ask, scoffing out a laugh as you look up at him though his expression doesn’t let up, unamused. “do i look like m’makin’ a fuckin’ joke, sweetheart?” his jaw is clamped tight, his tone flat, serious. “you can’t charge me for a look?” “i can charge you whatever the hell i feel like. i had other shit goin’ on.. could’ve made you wait a hell of a lot longer.” you scoff out in disbelief at him, shaking your head. “i don’t have nine hundred dollars.” you finally admit and logan’s head dropped forward, a low chuckle coming from his lips. when you didn’t pull out a card he knew this shit was going happen. he saw right through you. “alright so.. let me get this straight, sweetheart. you came here for me to look at your car knowin’ you didn’t have the god damn money to pay for it? is that right?” he lacks sympathy for you, pretty as you were you had another thing coming if you thought you were going to pull a fast one on him. “i might be old, girl, but i ain’t no fuckin’ fool. i tell you what.. no money, no fuckin’ keys.” his voice is low, your keys dangled around his finger and he shoves them down into his pocket. he walks away from you, too god damn angry to be stood in front of you, having wasted enough time on you already. “please, you don’t understand.. i need my car. i can pay you what i have right now and bring you the rest next week, please.” you beg, coming up behind him where he’s hunched over again beneath the hood of someone else’s vehicle, the same one he’d been working on when you arrived. “ain’t my god damn problem.” he muttered, biceps flexing beneath his tanned skin as he tightened a bolt in place. “i’ll do anything.” you plea again and logan slowly stops what he’s doing, looking down at the truck battery he was working at. he sighed loudly, recomposing himself as he peeled back from the truck, walking towards the garage door. he reached up, muscles flexing across his back as he pulled the door shut, closing off the inside of his shop from the street view.

“anything? that right?” he’s standing before you now, looking down at your shorter frame. “anything.”* you repeat in a whisper. he drew in a slow, deep breath as your palm slid over the front of his dirty jeans, stepping closer into you until you’re tucked between him and the truck. he groans when your squeeze your palm around him through the denim, your lips curling up to a sinisterly sweet smile when you tug at his belt. he grabs your face hard, lips puffed out slightly when he pulled you in for a kiss. it’s sloppy, his tongue lapping across your lips before dipping into your mouth, an anger filled hunger. he’s pissed off, but you’re pretty enough that he’d be willing to accept your throat as some sort of payment. he looks down at you as you pull back from his kiss, sinking to your knees. he appreciates that you had no issue getting to the point. “i reckon you must’ve been thinkin’ about this the entire time, sweetheart.” logan mused as you grabbed his cock out from inside his jeans, moaning at the sight of him. “bet you ain’t ever seen a cock that big huh, girl?” the palm of his hand pets against the back of your head as you stroke him slowly, his shaft filling out your small palm. “hands behind your back.” he nods slowly, gathering your hair into his fist, holding the back of your head with a tight grasp. he taps the weight of his cock against your tongue before he lays his base flat against you, slowly pulling his hips back as your warm tongue licked over the veins that protrude from tightened foreskin. “nice an wide.” he mutters, feeding the head of his cock into your mouth, a grunt parting his lips when he brushed the back of your throat. god damn. “you’re goin’ to sit here and take it like a champ. reckon you ought’a think about havin’ my god damn money next time. stupid girl.” he warned you before his hips draw back and roll forward, pushing the length of his cock down the curve of your throat. it’s lewd, the repeated squelch of your throat as he pushes himself inside again and again. “should’a known you’d be this big of a slut when i saw you. cute little fuckin’ outfit, barely wearin’ anythin’ at all. just knew how to get an old man goin’.” he grunts, unbothered by the tears that have begun to roll over your cheeks. he’s selfish, using your throat to his advantage, balls slapping the underside of your chin. the cute outfit you’d turned up in ruined by your own slop of saliva as it dribbled out the corners of your mouth. “good fuckin’ girl. payin’ off every fuckin’ dollar.” his skin is slick with sweat, head lulling back against his shoulders, blinded by the dull white light above him. your throat is exactly what he needed at the end of a shitty week, and he had no shame in taking out his stress on you, sure you wouldn’t be forgetting him anytime soon.

when he finally lets up you choke out a cough, spit strung between his soaked cock and your mouth, breathing hard as you look up at him with watery eyes. still, you come chasing for more, hands sat on his denim clad thighs as you licked your tongue along his cock, gasping in a breath of air before you took him back into your throat, craving the feeling once more. “fuck’n hell.. look at you. must really need that god damn car, huh?” his fingers move into your hair again, yanking your mouth back off his cock so he could pull you up from the floor. “ain’t that right, princess? you’d do anythin’ for those keys back, huh?” “yes, daddy.” you choke out and what patience logan had left snaps, swiftly turning you around by the hold he has on your hair. he lifts the skirt up over the swell of your ass, palm of his hand roughly swatting against. you. once, twice, three times. your cheeks are stained red as your legs tremble, impatiently waiting for him to give you more. “let me see ‘er.” logan nods, bent over you and he pulled your panties to the side, spreading your cheeks so he had a perfect view of both holes, your pussy slick with your own arousal.

“you like gettin’ treated like a slut.” he acknowledged, spitting against his fingers before he brings them to your pussy, fingertips swirling your clit before he pressed two long fingers into your core, free hand wrapped around your throat. he stroked his fingers slowly at first but gained speed as your arousal coated him, making it easier for him to plunge his fingers into your tight hole, biceps flexing with each stroke of his fingers, feeling out the warmth of your walls, infatuated with the way your pussy sucks his fingers back in. he grins at the gasp you take in when he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, pushing yourself up straighter as he sunk himself deep into your pussy. “daddy,” you softly grab at the hand he has around the middle of your throat, moaning as his chest presses up against your back. “you ever been stretched out this good before?” he asks beside your ear, breathing out a quiet laugh when you shake your head no. he grabs your face again, pulling your lips back to his when he fucks into you, hard strokes that press your hips against the grill of the truck, sure to leave you with bruises in days following. he swallows the moans you cry out, roughly driving his hips into yours. he’s unrelenting, giving himself to you hard the way you deserve it, the way you so evidently love it. it’s been a long god damn time since he had pussy this good, and fuck was he obsessed with yours, cursing himself for fixing the troubles your car had given you instead of giving you the run around to keep you coming back for more. hell, with the way you’re fucking yourself back onto his cock you just might anyway. “you’re going to make me cum, daddy,” you choke out, and he grabs at your hips, pulling him deeper into your sopping cunt. “that right? this ain’t even about you, princess. this was for me, remember? who says you’re allowed to cum?” he is brow furrows, getting a rise out of the way you while beneath him, small hands grabbing at the truck. “please, i know it’s not about me but please let me cum, daddy.” you whine, legs trembling beneath you, threatening to cave under your weight. he doesn’t respond, just fucking into your stretched core while you beg him to cum again and again. he ignored you until he spilled first, filling you with thick ropes of his cum, hips flush against yours so you take every drop deep inside. “you want to cum now, sweetheart?” he asked and you nod, rocking your hips back against him as your chase your own high.

needless to say, logan was more than willing to return your keys. and you.. well you might purposefully pop a tire soon.

[6ronze]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

jujutsu kaisen w SAMURAI!TOJI FUSHIGURO. format. fic. warnings. fluff + hurt/comfort + nsfw. mdni. fem!reader. beating mention. spanking mention. pretty domestic and vanilla ngl. lots of praise(good girl, etc). a bit of dirty talk. fingering. endearments. wife!reader. toji in denial that he’s stupidly in love. summary. samurai!toji w his pretty wife + non-sorcerer au so he’s just miserable here

author’s note. gcbuiawbf got this idea out of nowhere. a bit inspired by hell’s paradise.

toji zenin. His birth name given by his parents along with all the responsibilities he never knew he was obliged to carry. If his soul while a fetus was informed that he was about to be born in a family where prowess reigned supreme and the right to be treated as a human had be fought for, perhaps he would have never wished to be born at all.

Against his will, he was birthed by his mother anyway, having to be scowled at and ostracised by his own clan which was said to be family. Growing up as a child, he learned what he had wasn’t family by the sight he was greeted with when he went out to the capital—children his age, running around with colourful toys in hand instead of a sword. And most importantly, they laughed. Smiled even.

It was something so mundane—a smile—yet something so foreign to him. The only smile he knew of at that age was the smile his relatives had when they kicked him on the ground, using the wooden sword he was given to train to hit him instead. The only smile he knew, was one full of sadism.

The older he got, the stronger he became, the more he realised he was slowly starting to pick up that same trait from them.

Very so often, he’d accept challenges from his peers or outsiders that wanted to humiliate him and his skills, looking down at him despite his bloodline of the Zenin clan.

He’d unsheathe his the katana he had resting on his hip, lazily taking stance and staring the arrogant man dead in the eyes with his own void eyes.

Such duels would end with the same outcome—toji having them laid on the ground, the sharp edge of his long katana dangerously close to the opponent’s neck. Sometimes—just sometimes, he’d smile. Just sometimes, he’d unintentionally make a thin cut to the neck just enough to draw blood.

He would be lying if he said the view from above wasn’t satisfying, the feeling of finally being the one looking down on someone as pathetic as the ones that humiliated him for years. The sneer he’d make with his lifeless eyes under the thin shadow that masked his face from his muscular and tall physique would make anyone think their life was about to be taken in a blink of an eye. But he wouldn’t. Toji would spare himself the trouble of having to face his elders for making a scene out of nothing.

Toji’s lived at the isolated quarters of the zenin estate for years—and that wasn’t about to change. It was where his mother birthed him and died—and so it would be where he would live and die.

The very least he would expect or care about was having a wife to continue his bloodline despite his progressing age. He knew better than to be greedy and trap a lady to the hell he lived in. Besides, he had absolutely no intentions of taking the ladies he’d frequently meet at the brothels out in town as his lover, let alone as his wife.

So the news of the elders arranging him a wife from another samurai clan shocked him. It was early morning when he was informed of such news, he had almost spat out his sake. The only thing he could utter in response was a loud, deep, huh?

Toji finally met you face to face after hearing your name being repeated by his elders when he had a meeting with them. Your family name rang a bell, though he never thought much of them since they weren’t politically involved in anything other than war.

He’s sat beside you, his hair slightly better groomed and yukata straightened compared to the sloppy way he wore it before. Making an effort in his appearance was the least he could do—since he was convinced he wouldn’t bother changing a thing about himself just for your sake.

“Your wedding ceremony will be held five days from now. End of discussion,” one of his elders concluded, the leader of your clan bearing witness and agreeing. Toji merely stared head on to his peers, moving a hand to lift his cup of sake and chugging it down without a hint of respect.

After a few more minutes of discussing the details about the ceremony, he finally turned his head to look at you—his future wife. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, your figure considerably insignificant to his. From what he thought would be an average woman being wed to him, his eyes lingered on you quite some while before he glanced elsewhere, his expression unreadable still.

You two parted ways for the day and he returned to his quarters, cup of sake in hand and his arm rested on the knee of his leg that propped up while sitting on the floor, his other leg bent towards himself. Toji stared out the courtyard of the estate, trying to peel the image of you out of his head. He internally cursed himself and his elders for suddenly arranging a wife for him just because they didn’t want their reputation to be tarnished by having an unmarried man. What was he supposed to do with a woman he’s never met before anyway? Regardless, he refused to be like the men within the zenin clan that lacked sympathy towards women and children.

The wedding ceremony was brief but complete. He was the best dressed he ever was in years, with you by his side. Just some family member from your families and a brief dinner, and the ceremony was complete. You didn’t seem to say a word about it either. Deep down he wondered if you loathed him, or your parents, for setting you up the low life of the zenin clan instead of his cousins. He would never know, he didn’t want to anyway. Ignorance was bliss, he thought.

You were lead back to his quarters after the ceremony ended, the sight of the somewhat empty and undecorated room not giving you much of a shocking reaction as he had hoped. Toji didn’t know what exactly he hoped, maybe a look of horror, sorrow, or pity. Yet he looked at you only to see you nod and acknowledge him, your expression remaining calm as if saying ‘I can work with this’.

Your first night together was mostly silent, perhaps a bit awkward whenever he tried offering you a blanket and separate futon to sleep in. While you thought that he didn’t like you, he was worried (albeit in denial) that you’d be uncomfortable sleeping with him.

To his and your surprise, you ended up having a brief yet meaningful talk that same night while you were both in your respective futons, about to sleep. He liked that you didn’t have expectations, understanding of his situation and yours now that you’re his legal wife. Maybe you weren’t so bad.

Months had passed since your wedding. And he’s become increasingly close to you—he’s fond of you, is what he would say in his own words. Though in the eyes of servants, others that weren’t blind, could see just how infatuated he was with you.

With how he’s stopped going to the brothel he so frequents in the capital, with how he’s become more hostile to those who insult you, it was quite clear how he cared for you, at least. Though what they didn’t know was how flirty he is with you behind closed doors, how he it was simply impossible for him to keep his hands to himself whenever he was in close proximity with you. He was insatiable. Not that you’d tell that to anyone. Unless you wanted a good spanking in the privacy of your quarters.

“What’d I tell you about gossiping with the maids, hm?” He’d murmur against the skin of your neck from behind you, his hard body pressing up against your soft one. His hands were all over you, the curve of your hip and the soft flesh of your breast that he had cupped over your loosening kimono, his calloused fingers circling your nipple making you shiver and squirm.

“I wasn’t gossiping, you fool,” you mumbled, your breath shaky and your body writhing in vain attempts to rid yourself of his touch.

“Then what were you doing? Bragging? Complaining?” You heard from the shell of your ear, his hot breath fanning your skin and the sound of his breathy laugh making you groan in frustration in embarrassment.

“Neither,” you huffed, settling yourself down on the futon with his arm under you still, holding you close to him.

“Liar,” he quickly refuted, his lips grazing the skin behind your ear and slipping his hand under your robe, searching to cup one of your tits and fondling it the second he captured it. His other hand moved down to your thighs, hooking his fingers under the slit of your robe and pulling it away to reveal your bare thighs, and exposing a hint of your dampening heat.

“There’s my beauty,” he whispered, his eyes flickering down your body from your shoulder to see the present he unwrapped for himself, your pretty cunt. He’s reminded you so many unneeded times before that he owned it, you. His calloused fingers slid to the apex of your legs, parting your puffy folds since your legs remained insistent on keep closed.

“Toji—” you started only to quickly be silenced with a deliberate stroke of his finger up your slit, the pad of said finger resting on your clit. The sudden touch made your lips part to exhale a shaky moan, your eyes looking down between your legs to see the movement of his hand.

“Yeah? Need something, sweetheart?” He hummed by your shoulder, burying his face into the crook of your neck to feast on your skin. While his teeth nibbled and marked you up, his finger on your clit began rubbing deliberate circles, feeling you up until he felt it twitching against the pad of his digit. Before you knew it, he had parted your folds further, slipping his thick middle fingers into your entrance, revelling in the way it made you squirm against him, your ass rubbing against his hip. You could only answer him with pathetic mewls that were only music to his ears, knowing damn well he wouldn’t be giving you much time to catch your breath to utter coherent words.

“Thought so, baby,” he scoffed triumphantly at your soft moans, his fingers curling inside you as he thrusted it in and out of your slowly, making sure to leave brief harsh kisses on your g-spot to keep you wanting, to keep you clenching around his digit in need but not enough to make you cum.

“You’re so tight around my finger, darling, can’t imagine how much tighter you’d get when I have my cock buried inside you. Think you’d like that? Feelin’ stuffed?” Was what he kept on whispering to you while he bottomed his finger in and out of you at a steady pace, making sure you’re feeling it as much as he was—and fuck was he feeling it. Even if he had you drunk on his finger, you weren’t exactly oblivious to prodding of his cock on your lower back. You just didn’t have the capacity to focus on it, not when he was turning you on with the mere thought and descriptions of him fucking you.

Toji felt you beginning to spams around him, your voice getting more and more high-pitched and whiny along with your nipples hardened to peaks between his cruel fingers. Signs of you being close to cumming was everywhere and he noticed them all, though he led you on to brink just to pull away when you needed him most.

“Yeah, not on my finger baby. You know where I want you most—where I want you best,” he grinned, his voice gravelly and hoarse as his breath brushed against your already warm skin.

Toji slid his finger out of you with slowly, savouring the way your juices coated him. The mere sight of his slick finger assured him that you were ready for—so fuckin’ ready.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, his free hand now slipping under your thigh, lifting your leg up to forcefully part your legs knowing you’d cramp yourself while trying to keep it up for him. “Yeah, ‘m here,” he assured from behind you when he finally took notice how you kept calling out his name, your voice all whiny and shaky in desperation. He positioned himself from behind you, shifting his hips and snuggling closer to you to lose whatever distance you still had left between each other.

“Feel that? ‘M all hard and ready for you, baby. Just like how ready you are for me,” he cooed, tugging on his own yukata to free his raging hard on, letting the thick girth slick with precum prod your ass, earning a needy whimper from you. He couldn’t help but stare at your side profile, taking in the sight of his wife making such expressions you’d never make for anyone but him.

His arm under your body curled your body suffocating close to him, making sure you could feel his chest against your back and his chin buried on the top of your head, alternating the choice of preying on the skin of your neck or ear.

After a moment of teasing, he finally slid his cock over to your wet folds, letting the tip mingle his precum with your slick juices before he pushed upwards, slowly penetrating your entrance that fluttered around him already, making it hard for him to go further.

“Fuck, princess—you gotta relax. I know you can take me in like a good girl,” he groaned, his jaw clenching at the feeling your soft flesh against his tip before you finally relax, letting him push further into you. He kept on uttering filthy encouragements by your ear while he made you take him in inch by inch until the hilt, his head tilting to kiss down your neck. He stayed still for a moment to let you adjust to his size, not letting that moment go on for too long until he started bottoming in and out of you with you slow, deliberate thrusts, your leg trembling in his hand.

“All mine—this tight cunt’s all mine.” The foul words that reached your ears would have normally had you recoiling in disgust but now, knowing those words came from him, it only made you moan shamelessly in his arms, your insides churning with pleasure and need to chase that high that he so often gave you. His need for you was palpable, almost equivalent to yours with how his hand kept alternating between your tits while he fucked you, his pace quickening now that the knot in his loins was tightening.

Your shared bedroom room was filled with nothing was the scent of your arousals, the lewd squelching sounds of his thrusts into you and loud shared moans. Toji’s hips didn’t stop for even a moment to let any of you rest, not when he was so close, you were so close. His grip on your breast tightened along with his grasp that help your thigh up, his hips bucking into your until he felt his balls tighten, his cock eventually spurting ropes of his thick semen into your canal, his movements jerky until he stopped. He nestled his cock into you until the hilt, unloading himself and letting you clench all around him.

He savoured the feeling with heavy pants, deep growls on satisfaction leaving him when he realised you came with him. Toji kept himself inside you for a while, not showing any signs of pulling out as you both basked in the afterglow.

He’d finally lower your leg down, humping against you lazily now that you’ve both came down from your high. Toji cradle you close to him, his hand slipping out of your robe to move his hand to your stomach instead, his face buried in your hair as he inhaled your natural scent and the musk of your mixed fluids that had began to ooze out you.

“Think you’d be up for another round after this, darling?” His low voice breathless voice met your ears, earning himself an annoyed frown which he merely chuckle at in response.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Sexting & Taking Nude Pics w/ Hockey player!Aemond

Warnings: 18+, smut, AFAB reader, naughty pictures, degradation, teasing, masturbation, edging, manhandling, orgasm denial, P in V

A/N: Sometimes ovulation wins.

Inspired by this amazing art by @novembermorgon 🩵

“Where's my reward?”

An amusement snort leaves your nose. The game only ended a few moments ago, yet he's greedily demanding that you send him what you'd promised.

“Only winners get rewarded”

“I won.”

You smile to yourself as you type, fingers quickly moving over the screen.

"We won*"

"Whatever. Send it."

"Winning by sudden death doesn't count. You should've scored before it went into overtime"

You see him typing, but knowing Aemond, the reply won't be a long one. The delayed answer is due to him not knowing what to say.

God, you love tormenting him.

In all fairness, you were just quoting what he'd told you before. Winning a match that goes into overtime means that the other team scores a point, even if they lose. "If you can't beat them in 60 minutes, you didn't win", he'd said.

"I'll do better next time. Please, send it."

Usually, it'd take more to make him beg. He must be desperate.

You're still smiling as you close your eyes momentarily, imagining him sneaking off to one of the bathrooms by the locker room, still breathing hard from the strenuous match and with sweat covering his face, droplets sliding down his neck and disappearing inside his away jersey.

If you were there, you'd help him out of the white shirt and shoulder pads, planting tender kisses to his wet neck, secretly craving the taste of his salty skin. He always smelled his best straight after a game.

Maybe you'd get a bit carried away and let your tongue glide over the smooth skin over his adam's apple, prompting him to huff in proud amusement as he teases you for being such a needy slut.

Unfortunately, he’s not playing home in Old Town tonight and you're not there to greet him as he exits the ice.

Instead, you've agreed on a different arrangement. Whenever his team wins a match, you send him a little reward.

Today, it’s a picture of your ass, clad in a black thong you know he likes. It had taken you a good 30 minutes to get the position, lightning and angle of your camera just right, and you weren't about to spoil that on someone who can't beat the Winterfell Dires before overtime.

"Only winners get rewarded. Do better."

Still smiling, you bite your lip to calm yourself.

You can picture it so clearly; Aemond frustratingly exhaling through his nose at your unwillingness to give him what he craves.

He's not much better himself. He's teased you to the brink of madness before; edged you until you couldn't think of anything but him.

You feel a dizzying yet pleasant rush of power wash over you as your screen lights up again.

"Please, baby. I need you"

Mischief makes the smile on your face grow wider.

"I don't entertain losers"

Oh he must be fuming. Running his hand over his face in annoyance, clicking his tongue, thinking of all the ways he wishes to make you submit to his will.

Surely only making his balls ache more with need.

"Please, I've thought about this all night. I'm so fucking hard."

Warmth spreads in your chest. You know he only wants you; that he's just as insatiable for you as you are for him.

Yet, opportunities to tease him like this do not come often.

"There's plenty of porn online. Enjoy!"

If you were with him right now, this is where he would've had enough. Picking you up and throwing you on the bed, climbing on top of you and caging you in. Pressing his heavy bulge against your core, lowly murmuring "If you don't shut up, I'll make you" into your ear.

But the distance between the two of you has robbed Aemond of his cockiness.

"Please."

"Show me"

Your mouth waters as you open the image he sends you. The large hand he has around his shaft holds on to it firmly, veins on the back of his hand and down his forearm popping out from the intense blood flow. The tip of his cock looks vexed; bright red and glistening with arousal. You press your thighs together, no longer able to ignore the pounding growing fiercer.

You type even faster than before.

"What are you thinking about right now?"

"You. About how badly I wish you were here. About how I'd fuck you in this filthy bathroom as the lads are getting ready outside"

Defeated by your own desires, you send him the picture of your ass before putting away your phone, closing your eyes and allowing your hand to travel down between your thighs.

You can see him clear as day. He's grabbing the side of the white sink with one hand, the other furiously stroking his length, eyes glued to the screen of his phone as it rests on the ceramic surface.

He's panting; biting his lip and huffing loudly through his nose. Sweat slides down from his forehead to his flustered cheeks, pooling above his parted lips, dripping down.

Staring at his reward, he thinks back to all the ways he's had you. In your flat, in his car, in the bathroom of that high-end restaurant.

His grip on the sink tightens, thinking about how he'd grabbed the flesh of your ass so harshly it left marks as he pounded into you, causing your unabated moans to echo through the room.

He bites his lip to stop the words from spilling;

"My little slut", "My dirty girl", "My good whore”

Mine.

Mine.

Aemond runs the soft pad of his thumb on your cheeks, collecting the tears of frustration spilling from your tired eyes.

“Poor thing can’t take a bit of teasing”

He’s tone is infuriatingly smug, tutting and interrupting you when you open your mouth to protest.

”Doesn’t feel nice, does it?”

No, it doesn’t feel nice.

Or does it?

You honestly don’t know what’s pleasurable anymore, being forced to the edge of pleasure but denied release time and time again.

Aemond’s fingers, lips, tongue and teeth had coaxed you into pleasure-drunk submission. They’d made you beg for permission to cum, cry for permission to cum, plea for permission to cum. But to no avail.

“Tell you what-”, he starts, seeing eye boring into yours with an intensity only ignited when he was feeling particularly bloodthirsty.

“-I’ll take some photos of you, to enjoy when I win next week’s away game, and then I’ll let you cum”

You’re beyond feeling embarrassed, head instantaneously moving up and down in a furiously eager sign of compliance.

Aemond’s teeth sink into his bottom lip to stop the amusement bubbling up inside of him from making itself know.

He must admit that he likes you best like this; completely at his mercy. His to do whatever he wants with.

Grabbing his phone from the nightstand next to the bed he’s got you caged within his arms in, he swipes his thumb over the screen to open the camera.

He admires you through the lens. The way the short, delicate hairs by your hairline stick to your sweaty forehead. The way your naked breasts still heave from exhaustion; skin damp and glistening. The way your agape mouth pants softly.

And then, your features change.

“Stop doing that”

“What?”

Aemond looks stern, like he’s about to lecture you, “Faking it. You’re posing”

“I’m not!”, you defend yourself with a high-pitched protest.

“You are”

Mind still fuzzy from the strenuous, extensive foreplay Aemond had insisted upon, you don’t know how to appease him.

What does he want?

Sensing your confusion, he places two large palms on each side of your waist, leans down to offer you a soft kiss, and flips you over so you’re on your stomach.

Being manhandled by Aemond while your senses have left your head and relocated to your throbbing centre feels comforting, so when he grabs your hips to pull your ass up, you mumble a muffled “thank you” into the mattress.

He always moves your body with soft yet commanding hands, making his display of dominance feel more like an act of adoration and care.

And he’s always so warm, soothing your exposed skin from the chill air of the hotel room.

“Look at me”, he commands softly, tracing his fingers from the small of your back down to the velvety skin of your buttocks.

Turning your head to the side, you meet his eye, watching as he picks up his phone once more with one hand, while the other grabs his hard length, stoking it briefly before lining it up with your dripping cunt.

As he finally enters you, after god knows how much excruciating teasing, you feel your body turn into jelly; pliable to his every whim.

Your fists grab the sheets of his bed with a cramp-like grip, your mouth falls open with a loud moan, and your back arches in pleasure.

And you hear a click.

Aemond smiles behind the camera, satisfied with getting the picture he’d wanted all along. He moves it down to inspect the way you eagerly take him in, swallowing his cock over and over like the greediest of gluttons.

Enthralled, he admires the way he goes in and out; stretching and shaping you from the inside.

He puts his phone to the side, both hands once again finding home in the dip of your waist. His eye flickers to your bliss-filled face, an amused, condescending laugh leaves his lips,

“Are you drooling?”

You don’t care about his taunting anymore; too filled with him to care about anything else. Aemond moves forward, resting his face right next to yours.

The damp skin of his cheek sticks to yours, his breath fans hot air over your face,

“You’re so pretty like this”

You wait for him to kiss your cheek and award your endurance by finally paying attention to your aching clit.

Instead, he leans back once more, and pulls out.

“Aemond!”, you cry, unable to hide the utter devastation you feel at being denied your peak yet again.

“If you want to come you’ll have to work for it”

He’s smug again, enjoying your desperation a bit too much for your liking. Irritated and impatient, you push him to lay on his back and sink down on him in a selfish attempt to chase your own pleasure.

To your surprise, he allows you to take command; placing one of his hands on your hip, thumb coming down to flick your clit. The other hand picks up his phone again.

“You’re close?”

“Y-, yes”

His thumb continues to rhythmically circle your bundle of nerves as the grip he has on you tightens. His hips roll up to meet yours each time you sink down.

You grab his bicep, anchoring yourself to him with nails that harshly dig into his flesh.

So close.

A few more rhythmic movements and you feel fierce pleasure erupt inside of you, causing your mouth to fall open again as you whine out your pleasure.

Click.

Click.

Click.

You’re still sitting on him, breathing heavily as you try to catch your breath and come back to reality after feeling the release of seven denied orgasms wash over you.

Suddenly, you’re on your back again, Aemond hovering over your panting form. Your face is flustered and your hair is even messier than it was before.

Click.

The smug smile on his face has morphed into pride, and perhaps there’s something more, something far more vulnerable than he’s ever allowed himself to show you, hiding behind his miss-matched gaze.

“Gevie”

Thank you for reading! I have an idea for an upcoming part about these two, but with loads of angst as well 🤩 lmao you know I can’t help myself! Kisses 😙

[rafeandonlyrafe]

never truly gone

words: 2k

alternative universe where rafe was the one to fake his death instead of ward

warnings: funeral, discussions of death and grief, established relationship, murder confession (canon murder), implications of smut (no actual sex)

you are barely tuned in to the words being spoken at the funeral, lost in the haze of grief. dressed in the same outfit you wore for your one year anniversary with rafe. it was his favorite. was. the word hits you like a ton of bricks.

it didn't feel real for the longest time, part of it still doesn't, the feeling in your gut that your boyfriend isn't truly gone, but as you pick your head up and look around, you realize you have to get over the stage of denial.

“are you okay?” your mom whispers, reaching over to squeeze your hand. you rip it immediately out of her grip. of course you're not okay. who could be after their first love, their high school sweetheart, blew up?

“now is the time that we invite anyone who would like to say a few words up to the mic.” the pastor says, looking out into the crowd, members of rafes family having already spoken.

ward turns around to look at you. he invited you to sit in the front row when you first arrived, but you didn't want that kind of attention, your every reaction being scrutinized, if you’re crying too much, or not reacting enough.

“would you like to speak y/n?” 

you look at the crumpled, tear stained piece of paper with some words scribbled on it.

“i-i don't know if i can.” you admit. ward seemed so strong when he spoke, the same pillar of community he seems to be when speaking at town halls or midsummers.

“whatever you say, im sure rafe would appreciate it.”

you nod, take a deep breath, then stand. your mind seems to blur as you walk to the front, the pastor greeting you with a soft hug then leading you to the podium.

you clear your throat before looking down at the paper. 

“i never imagined a life without you. you were the first man i ever loved and i can't… i can't see myself ever having that same love again. we changed each other so much. we went from kids to young adults planning out their life together. i love you so much, rafe. i always will no matter how much time passes.” you vow.

your next words turn robotic, talking about the family he left behind, his accomplishments, things that don't actually matter to you but you know should be said. you recount the five years you were together, knowing someone is no doubt scoffing at how little it is, but it was your whole world.

you manage to hold in your sobs until you sit back down. you spend the rest of the funeral with your head down, unable to look at the pictures hung around the church.

-- 2 months later --

you let out a groan as you turn over in bed, not wanting to wake up, wanting to spend another day rotting under the covers.

“it's almost noon.” your mom says, peaking in to the door.

“yeah.” you say, sniffling as you see the photo on your nightstand when you go to look at your alarm clock. you can't bring yourself to move it, even if it makes you cry every time you see rafes smiling face. “i know.”

“maybe we could go out to dinner. or order some pizza? you need to eat, baby.” you know your mom is just looking out for you, but the thought of food makes you feel sick, eating at this point when your stomach truly needs it.

“yeah, maybe.” you pick your phone up off the nightstand and unplug it. “im gonna take a shower and get dressed.”

“that's good.” your mom says. “i love you, y/n.”

“love you too mama.” you pause for a beat when she doesn't shut your door. “thank you.”

you mom nods before exiting. you open up your phone to the gallery that causes you as much pain as it has joy, flicking through your final photos with rafe before sighing and getting up to shower with him fresh in your mind, determined to not forget a single thing about him.

--

you're about to go to sleep, pass out and hopefully not dream of anything. you went out for dinner like you promised your mom, trying to keep a brave face for her. she didn't even mention anything when you came back from an extended trip to the bathroom with tear stains on your cheeks and red eyes.

you grab your phone, swallowing harshly to stop yourself from crying again as you click on your messages, rafes contact still pinned to the top. 

you click on your messages. the last text was rafe saying he loved you. you never got to text him back, but you know he was aware of how much you loved him.

you scroll back for a bit, smiling at his jokes even with the tears in your eyes.

you lock your phone and place it on your chest, looking up at the glittering stars through your skylight. “i miss you so much, rafe. why'd you have to leave me?”

your phone vibrates. you almost ignore it, not caring who it could be from, you've practically ditched all your friends, hoping they won't hold it against you when you finally feel good enough to hang out again, if that time ever comes.

something in you makes you pause when you go to plug your phone in, makes you hesitate and open up the text.

baby, im so sorry. please meet me outside, im at your dock.

love, rafe

you frown at the text from the unknown number, considering ignoring the obvious prank as you fling off your covers, body now fueled with rafe, but when you look out the window, there is an unfamiliar boat tied to your dock.

you slip on your shoes, not really thinking of a plan as you head outside, rushing through the yard to find out whoever is playing tricks on you.

the moon barely lights your steps as you stomp down the wooden dock until you're close enough from the boat for them to hear you and far enough from your house to not wake up your mom.

“this isn't fucking funny!” you scream. “whoever is pranking me, you're fucked up!”

a figure steps out of the boat and onto your dock. it takes your eyes a second to adjust, to really take in what you're seeing, to know it's reality.

“n-no.” you take a staggering step back. “im-im seeing things.”

“it's really me, baby.” the word hits you like a bullet as you fall to your knees, not caring that they dig into the wood. “i can explain everything but-but can i touch you? ive missed you so goddamn much.”

“this isn't real. you're- you're dead. im dreaming.”

rafe moves closer, dropping to his knees as well and pulling you into a tight hug. it isn't until he touches you that you know that it's not a dream, hes real and warm against you.

“oh, god.” you begin to sob, clutching onto rafe, clambering closer to him, climbing onto his lap and hugging him so tightly it's like your bodies could become one.

“im so fucking sorry baby. i love you. i love you so much.”

“i love you.” you sob, pulling back to look rafe in the eye. “i-i love you and you can never leave me again.”

you'll demand answers later, but now you're just happy your initial gut instinct was right, your boyfriend is right here, alive and well.

“can i kiss you? you're probably pissed at me but-”

you don't wait for rafe to finishing, surging forward and smashing your lips against his, all the passion and feelings of the past two months without him, but also the past five years of love, put into your bodies as you kiss under the moonlight.

“baby-” rafe gasps after a minute. “i-i need to get back on the boat. just in case i’m seen. come with me.”

“okay.” you're not sure what it means, but you're not going to let rafe out of your sight.

rafe climbs onto the boat before helping you, hand carefully stroking over yours as he leads you into the cabin.

“did you tell anyone that i messaged you?” he asks, sitting down on the bed and pulling you to his side.

“no.” you shake your head. “my mom doesn't even know.”

“that's good.” rafe nods. “i faked my death.”

“i can tell.” you giggle, unable to keep away for much longer as you press your lips against his in a quick peck before curiosity has your tongue loosening. “how? why?”

“my dad planned it for me. the boat was rigged to explode and i went and suited up in scuba gear. the why…” rafe hesitates for a moment, and you can read every emotion on his face.

“just tell me.” you say. “you can't hurt me. you can't make me mad at you, not when i just got you back.”

“i killed sheriff peterkin.” rafe swallows harshly. “it was to protect my dad, but of course nobody would believe me.”

“i believe you.” you tell rafe, tucking your head into his neck. “that must have been so scary, but i know how you'd do anything to protect the people you love.”

“my dad didn't want me to tell you at all. i agreed to wait until after it happened, but it all moved so fast, and when i got to where i was supposed to hide out for a while, i realized i had no way of contacting you. i had to steal a phone and this boat and leave the safehouse.”

“what's the plan now then?” you ask.

“have you come back to the safehouse with me. it's in the caribbean, on a gorgeous island. i will provide everything you need, we won't have to hide there.”

“and what will i tell my family? tell everyone?”

“well, your mom loves me.” rafe smiles, knowing he's right. “i think we can trust her to keep the secret. as for everyone else… maybe you just need some time away from the outer banks after what happened. maybe some cousins in michigan or something?”

“whatever.” you shake your head. “i just need to be with you.”

-- one week later --

“when you said safe house…” you look around the mansion. “this is not what i was picturing.”

“the locals here think im a cousin of the cameron family. allows me to stay here without much suspicion. i do keep a low profile and stay out of touristy areas just in case, but we can do whatever you want here. the ocean is right outside our doorstep.”

“and money? do i need to get a job?” you've never worked before, having grown up wealthy, but you're willing to do anything to keep your life going with rafe, having told your mom who didn't believe you until rafe stepped into the room. she saw the spark in your eyes and recognized it as the same one in hers when she looked at your father, and her time was also cut short when he passed young.

she made you promise to call and to let her visit every couple months, just enough to not be suspicious.

“no.” rafe shakes his head. “my dad funnels me money. cash, so no one gets suspicious.”

“honestly, i could just stay forever in the house and in the backyard.” you laugh, wrapping your arms around rafes shoulders, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“my dad will figure something out eventually, i don't expect you to hide for the rest of your life.”

“okay.” you shrug. now that you're with rafe, you don't care. you're going to be happy no matter what after feeling the pain of losing him.

“there is one more room i want to show you…” rafe picks you up, your legs slotting around his waist like nothing ever happened. 

you laugh as you kiss his neck, knowing exactly where he's taking you.

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry

[rafesfavgirl]

gurl i neeed a part 2 of stop asking me to stay, that broke me😭😭😭

you ask, i deliver :) hope you like it!!

i don't regret a thing — r. cameron

part 1.

❝ we're not the only ones,  i don't regret a thing every word i've said, you know i'll always mean ❞

pairing: ex-bf!rafe x fem!reader

context: you and rafe have been dating for seven months, and while the relationship started it out well, as soon as the honeymoon phase ended (about 3 months in), everything went to shit. you've been trying to put up with it, knowing the situation with ward, but tonight, you realize you've had enough.

words: 2.4k+

warnings: swearing, toxic relationship, mentions of drug use, mainly fluff, a little angst, might still make you cry. rafe being an absolute simp for you, basically.

rafe wakes up the next morning, faced-down on topper's living room couch with almost no recollection of what happened the night before. except one thing—you'd finally walked away from him.

"not enough to choose me. you give in every time." your words echo in his head, as he opens his eyes.

fuck. what did he do?

"good morning sunshine," kelce comes down the stairs and greets rafe, who looked as if he couldn't move from the couch. "you sleep well?"

"i slept like shit," rafe groans, finally sitting himself up. "what the hell happened last night?"

"you mean other than you getting coked out and royally screwing things over with y/n?" kelce sasses him. "not much bro."

rafe shoots him a glare. "i did not royally screw things over with y/n."

"are you sure about that?" kelce raises a brow at him. "cause i had to drive her home last night crying, bro."

rafe's ear perk up at kelce's confession of you crying over him. you wouldn't have. you were the one who broke up with him.

"she was crying?" rafe asks.

"do you seriously even have to ask?" kelce replies. "i can't even count on two hands how many times you've made her cry the last few months."

no, that couldn't be true. surely he hadn't made you cry that often.

"shut the fuck up kelce," rafe gets up from the couch in complete denial of how shitty he's treated you the last few months and makes his way over to the kitchen.

rafe opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water, while kelce joins him in the kitchen.

"you know it's true," kelce says, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. "you just never see it, because she won't let you."

was he right?

"you know how y/n is, bro," kelce adds, as i take a sip of water. "she'll never let you know you're hurting her, because you fear nothing more than being the cause of her pain and losing her. but she's also not going to beg and cry for you to stay and fight for her."

i did know that. that's what i loved about her. she didn't necessarily play hard to get when i tried asking her out on a date after months of texting, but she didn't give in too easily either. she wanted me to prove i was serious about her before giving me a real chance. she knew her worth.

i recap the bottle i'm drinking from and set it down on the counter beside me, my eyes focused on kelce. "so what should i do?"

kelce holds his hands up. "if you don't know by now, i can't help you."

—

rafe wasn't an idiot. he knew what he had to do.

so, after going home and taking a shower to freshen up and get a change of clothes, he drove to the flower shop in town to get you a bouquet of lavender and baby's breath, then nothing bundt cakes to get your favorite treat—a white chocolate raspberry bundt cake—and finally, your house.

once he parked his truck in front of your house and got out, he went through his usual routine of rounding around to your backyard, where he moved the ladder the gardeners used towards your bedroom window.

he climbed up and knocked, balancing the flowers and bundt cake in one hand.

you were sitting in bed watching after we fell on your laptop with a box of tissues beside you and puffy, red eyes when you hear the knock on your window.

without even thinking about it, you already knew who it was. this was just what he did. and against your better judgment, you got up from your bed, and walked over to pull the curtains open and find rafe outside with a regretful look on his face, a bouquet of flowers and a small box of your favorite treat.

slowly, but surely, you unlock the window and pull it up.

"i'm sorry," he speaks before you can, and you scoff.

"you know, i'm getting real sick of hearing you say that," you reply, turning around to walk away and reposition yourself back on your bed, while he slips in through your window.

"i got you flowers," he offers you a small smile and holds both items out to you. "and your favorite bundt cake. white chocolate raspberry."

your eyes shift from the gifts in his hand to his piercing blue eyes. they were no longer dark like they were last night, but there was a sense of uncertainty in them. like he wasn't sure he could win you back.

"so what? am i suppose to just forgive you? just like that?" you retort.

he lets out a sigh, and takes a seat at the edge of your bed, placing both items down on your bed next to your box of tissues. he finally gets a good look at you—from the messy bun on your head, to the bags under your eyes from barely getting any sleep last night, to your red, puffy eyes—and realizes just how badly he's messed up this time.

"i should've just fucked all those other girls. at least they know how to have fun." he still couldn't believe he said those words to you last night.

"i don't deserve your forgiveness," he admits. "i know that. but i want it, y/n. and i'm willing to work for it."

while those words were music to your ears, you were apprehensive. he apologizes every time. and while things do change for a while, they're never permanent. and a week or two from now, you'd be back in this same situation again. was that really worth it?

"i know i don't deserve any more chances," he continues, his eyes only focused on yours. "but i promise… i promise just give me one more and you won't regret it."

your eyes shift between his. he looked a little… scared? was he really that afraid to lose you?

"i don't know, rafe," you say honestly, shifting a little. "you've hurt me so bad… i don't know if i can take you doing it one more time."

"i'm not going to," he immediately shakes his head and reaches out to take your hands in his, fiddling with your fingers and glancing down at them. "please, baby, please. just let me show you i'm the guy for you. that i can be the guy you need and want me to be."

"how?"

"you'll give me a chance?" he asks, his eyes lighting up at the idea of being given another chance to win you back. 

despite your brain screaming at you not to, your heart wins over and you nod. you couldn't help it. every part of you yearned for him. and if he was willing to show you that he really could be the guy you knew he was—the guy you fell in love with—then maybe it would be worth it.

"wear something nice," he says. "i'll come back to pick you up at seven."

—

at exactly seven on the dot, you hear rafe park his car in front of your house, and look out your bedroom window to see him dressed in skinny black slacks and a long sleeve, white button down carrying a bouquet of red roses as he walked towards your driveway and front door.

you can't help the small smile that forms on your face as you hurry to strap your heels on and look at yourself in the mirror one more time, before grabbing your purse off your vanity and heading down the stairs.

"where are you heading off to?" your mom asks when you pass by the living room, all dressed up.

"date with rafe," you reply, walking towards the front door.

your parents had never been rafe's biggest fan—they weren't exactly unaware of how often he's made you cry the last couple of months—but they also knew they couldn't stop you from dating whoever you wanted, so they never fought you on it, and you were grateful for that. it was comforting to know they'd support you no matter what happened.

taking a deep breath, you place your hand on the doorknob, and finally open the door when the bell rings.

rafe's eyes instantly widen at the sight of you, his eyes trailing down your body wrapped in a tight, short, satin red dress. "wow," he gasps. "you- you look…"

your cheeks redden at his loss of words. "you don't clean up too bad yourself, cameron."

he smiles at your use of his last name as a nickname, and holds the red roses in his hand out to you. "these are for you."

"you already got me flowers this morning, you know," you joke, taking the bouquet from him. your mom was gonna be pleased to know rafe was back to filling up all her flower vases.

"i know, but…" he trails off. "you deserve the best."

the blush on your cheeks deepen at his words. "give me a second," you turn to walk back towards the living room, and set the bouquet down on the coffee table in front of your parents. "don't wait up."

they don't even get a word in before you're walking away again to join rafe outside.

"shall we?" you ask, looking up at him through your lashes, as you closed the door behind you.

"just… one more thing," a sly smile comes across his lips, as he reaches into his back pocket to pull out a black blindfold.

you stare at it, your mouth agape. "you're kidding, right?"

he shrugs, "i want it to be a surprise."

you groan, but give in anyway. "fine. but if i trip in these heels because i can't see where i'm going, consider us broken up for good."

he laughs at the threat, even though a part of him was afraid you still wouldn't forgive him after tonight. "you know i won't let that happen. turn around."

you do as he says, and he ties the blindfold around your eyes, before taking your hand in his and leading you down the driveway towards his car parked up on the curb. he opens the door for you, and carefully helps you into the passenger seat, before closing the door and rounding the car to get in the driver's seat.

the second the engine comes on, your romantic taylor swift playlist plays through the car's speakers.

"you didn't," you say. he would always complain when you had aux because she was all you'd ever play.

"i guess she's not too bad," rafe shrugs, chuckling as you began singing along to the lyrics of wildest dreams.

rafe continued driving through the island for another ten or fifteen minutes, before he finally pulled the car to a stop in front of his family's beach house on the edge of figure eight, completely secluded from everything else.

he gets out of the car first, and helps you out, taking your hand in his to lead you through the house and out to the back porch.

"are you ready?" he leans in towards your ear, and goosebumps rise along your skin at his proximity.

you nod, and he reaches his hands up to the back of your head to untie the blindfold.

it takes a little while for your eyes to adjust, but once they do, a feeling of warmness fills your heart at the sight in front of you.

red rose petals were scattered in the sand of the private beach, along with fairy lights, a candlelit table for two set up in the center of it all, as acoustic instrumentals of taylor's best love songs played through the speaker situated on the porch.

"you like it?" he asked.

you turn your head to look at him. "rafe, i… it's perfect."

"that's what i was going for," he shrugs smugly, and nods his head towards the set up. "come on."

you both remove your shoes, before he takes your hand in his again and leads you down the back porch to the table in the middle of the beach.

"i can't believe you did this for me," you say, as he pulls a chair out for you to sit in.

"i'd do anything for you," he smiles, taking the seat across from you once you're seated.

—

after a three course dinner and a bottle of wine, which was all served to the both of you by a waiter that rafe hired from the country club, the night slowly came to an end, an endless amount of stars filling the night sky above you.

but while you were focused on the stars, rafe was focused on you.

"god, you're beautiful," he says, causing you to look at him now.

you chuckle, "shut up."

"no, i'm fucking serious," he replied, standing up from his seat.

you watched him carefully as he walked over to you, and held a hand out.

you glance at his hand and tilt your head up at him, "what are you doing?"

"dance with me," he says.

"you're asking me to dance?" you raise a brow at him.

"mhm," he nods. "you gonna say yes?"

"well how can i say no?" you reply, a small smile forming on your lips as you put your hand in his.

he leads you a few feet away from the table, and rests a firm hand on your waist, as you trail a hand up to his shoulder.

he locks his eyes with yours as you both begin swaying to taylor's timeless, and scans your face.

"what?"

he shakes his head, "i don't deserve you..."

"rafe…"

"but i'm gonna do everything i can to make sure i become the kind of guy who does," he cuts me off. "i want to be better, y/n. not only for you, but for myself too."

you smile, and pull him closer, your hand snaking to the back of his head.

"i'm sorry for being such an ass the last few months," he says, and you close my eyes, taking the moment in as he continues. "i know i haven't deserved all the chances you've given me, but i'm not gonna disappoint you again. i want to be the guy you think i am."

you pull away, just enough to have your eyes lock with his.

"you are that guy, rafe," you tell him, and you mean it. "you just need to let him show more."

he smiles, "you're pretty damn amazing, you know that?"

"so i've been told," you shrug jokingly.

he chuckles. "i love you, y/n."

"i love you too."

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[rosesbxrry]

Present

Pairing: Boyfriend! Jay X Girlfriend! Fem! Reader

Genre: Smut🔞(Minors DNI), established relationship! AU, Rich kids! AU

Warnings: Dom! Jay, unprotected sex (wrap it up before you tap it), fingering under the table, teasing, dirty talking, cream pie, Jay calls the reader ‘slut’ once, orgasm denial, praising, cunnilingus, Jay has a monster cock in this, bathroom sex. Hopefully I didn’t miss out anything else.

Summary: On Christmas Eve every year, the Parks will host a dinner party to celebrate the special occasion. You had been busy co-hosting the event; leaving a deprived Jay wanting you more than ever— even if it meant loosing a present from you for breaking a promise.

A Holiday Special: ➜ Jay

| ➜ Heeseung | ➜ Jake | ➜ Sunghoon |

Main masterlist

Word count: 4,015 words

a/n: This took be longer than normal to write 😭 because I’m currently in my home town visiting my relatives for Christmas! Happy Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone and I hope you enjoy Jay’s holiday special fic 🎄

Every year on Christmas Eve, the Park family would host a dinner party in one of their many mansions to celebrate the special occasion. It was known around the socialite circle that the annual event was highly sought after, which you understood, knowing that the Park's elevated hierarchy in the pyramid meant those who attended were huge in the scene.

Mrs Park was no other than the mastermind behind it all, being in charge of organising and curating a guest list deemed prestigious enough to be invited. As if you weren't lucky enough to be invited every year, you had the privilege of helping her in the process and were the first to be designated co-host ever since the event's birth.

To many people, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be honoured for managing such an esteemed social gathering. Still, it was unhinged and expected that you'd take over the responsibility in the future, being the girlfriend to the Park’s only son.

"Miss Hostess, "Jieun, your best friend, teased as she approached you. After standing and greeting all the guests formally for so long— seeing her made you sigh in relief, relaxing your stiff shoulder, which you didn't realise.

"You don't know how glad I am to see you." You greeted her back. She laughed at your distressed face, handing you a glass of champagne which you took gratefully.

"Come on, girl. You did such a good job with everything!" She reassured you. "Believe me. I can't even do half of the shit you manage to pull."

You laugh at her, reaching out to touch your champagne glass together before you take a drink of the sweet liquor. Your eyes darted to the main venue of the place, watching all the effort built over the past few months surrounded by people that married in the area.

Christmas was a holiday that was perfectly themed for formal parties without overdoing things, and you couldn't count how many compliments you'd gotten from guests about it. As much as you want to pat yourself on the back, you can't take all the credit for yourself.

"I'm glad Jay's mom was there with me. I wouldn't have gone through with this without her help." You said.

"Speaking of Jay," Jieun raised her eyebrow in question. "Have you talked things out with him about the thing?"

You shook your head, swirling the champagne glass aimlessly.

"I— no, I haven't. I couldn't find the right timing yet." You confessed, letting an unintended sigh escape your lips. Jieun gave you a comforting yet pitied look, patting your back to ease the tension.

The thing in question was what you feared would happen further into your relationship with Jay.

Falling in love with Jay wasn't on your agenda; coming from a vulgar family that climbs the social stratum through new money that constitutes their wealth. Somehow through mutual connections, flirtatious exchanges and romantic rendezvous, you had won the heart of the most desired marriage candidate in the whole social stratification.

It was naive of you to hope that your relationship with him would be kept under public scrutiny and from those stupid tabloids. But, once the sensational headlights plastered on the pieces of paper got out, declaring Park Jay to be in a relationship, you had to face an overnight shift that exasperated into being labelled as his Cinderella.

You wouldn't have taken offence if it weren't for the word being an innuendo to describe the ostentatious gap of elitism. Yes, you weren't in Jay's level of wealth, but you wouldn't see yourself as a pauper either, which makes the whole ordeal cretinous at best.

Call it cliche or cheesy, but you and Jay have agreed that only love will govern the bond; establishing a conventional boyfriend-girlfriend relationship was important for both of you to grow as a genuine loving couple.

However, not everything can work in your favour.

In upper-class elite society, arranged marriages among the children of well-established families ensue for beneficial exchanges through the marital union. Of course, being in your position in their point of view, you had nothing to offer towards the Park family.

After years of dating with no potential courting news, you could feel the prying eyes of both the media and the upper social class. You weren’t going to lie and say you didn’t feel on edge about the pressure, mainly towards the heiress that always seemed to poke their nose with whatever they could salvage.

In their eyes, love is the greater cause of happiness but is a luxury they can’t effort to buy. In the end, money never ruins your mascara which is why they were grappling on the tether of hope that one day, the both of you would split.

You did not doubt Jay unconditionally, but you were human as well; a threat that could leave you undesirable in consideration for resources you lacked had been gnawing yourself-worth which you had occupied with the workload in making the Christmas dinner party possible.

In the end, you found safety in the confinements of Jieun about the brewing uneasiness you felt.

"I don't know," You sighed, searching your friend's face for an answer. "Maybe this whole thing would go away at one point. I think I'm overreacting to it.”

Jieun bit her lower lip, feeling hopeless about how to help you, but she gave you one soft look. "Still, I think you should at least talk to Jay about it."

"Talk about what with me?"

Speaking of the devil himself. The both of you turn towards the direction of the familiar voice; the sight of Jay walking your way had your heart pumping at the thought that he might have eavesdropped on the conversation you had with Jieun.

He wore his signature devilish smirk, a neat black suit tailored perfectly to his figure while the colour of the necktie matched with the couture dress you adorned. He stops to stand beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist smoothly with fingers moving to caress the curve.

"I thought I came here to save my damsel in distress, but it seemed like I was beaten to it." He joked, causing you to roll your eyes back and nudge his ribs teasingly.

"Better luck next time, lover boy." Jieun crossed her arms, a smug smirk plastered on her lips while shrugging her shoulder. "I guess my love for Y/N is untouchable to yours."

Jay mirrored her expression nonchalantly. "Maybe you should spare some for your poor husband right there." He gestured with his chin to a man at the far end of the grand lobby. "He looks like he could use some with the way he's chugging that bottle down."

Jieun turned rapidly that you didn't need to see her face to see the frustration plastered at the sight of her husband downing a glass bottle of liquor with a nervous server trying to stop him politely.

"Seriously? I told him to lay off the alcohol," She sighed exhaustively while massaging the pressure points of her temple, waving her hand to signal her departure. "I'll see you guys later during the dinner slate while I handle that idiot over there."

You wave back at her, one hand holding onto Jay’s forearm as he escorts you out of the grand lobby towards the dining hall through a secret corridor; you raise a curious eyebrow at him as the surrounding turns secluded; only you and him and the white noise coming from the guests afar.

"What are you doing, Park Jongseong?" You laughed as he backed you up against a wall; his hands found their way around your waist as you held onto his shoulder blades at the proximity.

"This is a kidnapping." You quip.

He broke into a contagious grin, leaning close that you feel his breath fanning the high points of your cheeks. "So I can't have a moment alone with my busy girlfriend?"

He leans down to kiss you on the lips, and you let out a breath at the moreish taste of his mouth against yours. You were glad you wore a transfer-proof lipstick, or not, you would have to break the lovely intimacy for public decency after reluctantly.

"I promised you, didn't I?" You said once he releases your lips. "That we'll elope together after all of this is done tomorrow, and you'll get to have me in any way possible."

"Any way possible, hm?" He teased, feeling the feather-like touches of his fingers running up your bare leg where the slit of your dress was located that you instinctively hitch a breath at the touch, goosebumps forming on the skin.

"Is that my Christmas present?" He asked sweetly, his voice an octave lower.

You gave him a slight smirk, patting his chest to give him a wake-up call. "If you behave well and keep your third leg in check until the event ends, then maybe I'll consider."

He clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction.

".....Fine." He sighed after a few seconds of sullen pause. It wasn't the end until he stole a peck at your lips, a satisfied smile on his face that you poked him on the stomach at how sneaky he was.

You did feel bad for him; the busy schedule the both of you experienced until the event was dreadful, and you didn't blame him for being too agitated, which says a lot since he had always been a patient man. However, you couldn't abandon your responsibility as a host, even though you want him as badly as he wanted you.

The evening kickoff with eloquent meals in the dining hall with sitting arrangements done to accommodate guests that attended to enjoy each other's company. Jay busied himself with Sunghoon and Jake in a deep conversation about the newest business venture beside you while you entertained Jieun and the other girls about their pursuits.

You didn't flinch when Jay placed his hands on your thighs under the table, hidden behind the excess white cloth that drapes over the edge. You didn't think much of it, reaching to drink a sip of champagne when his hands slowly drew closer to the inner section.

What game was he up to?

The side eye you gave him was ignored, and you didn't know if he was playing with you with how engrossed he was in the conversation.

That was until you almost knocked over the candlelit decoration with your elbow when he slipped past the slit on your dress until warm fingers made contact with the outer lips of your folds.

In a tight dress you wear right now for special occasions, you would opt to wear a thin tong so that your undergarments won't protrude. You didn't expect it to backfire on you at this moment as Jay easily pushed away the string and started caressing your cunt with two fingers.

Clamping your thighs together was in vain, forcing yourself to listen to the girls talking about something random, but, the pleasure was starting to make you lose your vicinity, only hearing muffled laughter and blurry vision.

You grab Jay's wrists to slow down his movement or warn him not to go any further. Wetness starts to pool on your folds, and with a quick motion, his thick fingers spread it along your pussy line before sliding his pointer finger into your hole.

The way the digit curled inward slightly caused you to bite hard on your lower lip to muffle the moans threatening to escape. A small knot was building in your stomach, wishing he’d move faster and rougher, but the fear of getting caught by the people around you was still evident in your consciousness.

A slight smirk curled on the corner of Jay's lips.

He didn't need to look at you to know that you were crumbling; he could feel your walls clenching around his finger while he agonisingly moved in and out of your slit. Jake's rambling didn't register in his mind as his thoughts were overflowing with how tight and wet your cunt was that he wished it was his hard cock in you instead.

You jerked forward when he inserted another finger to stretch you out; a little moan you let out managed to catch Jieun's attention.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" She asked you worriedly, your figure hunched slightly on the edge of your seat. With a cold sweat, furrowed eyebrows and flushed cheeks, you might have looked constipated in her eyes, but you managed to give her a tight smile underneath the pleasure you were feeling.

"I—I"m fine...." You breathe out when Jay finally slips his fingers out; an unpleasant heat settles at the bottom of your stomach. You weren't sure what was worse; being unable to reach your release or getting a couple of worried glances your way.

"I think—I need a breather." You declare, pushing a few strands of loose hair behind your ear before bracing yourself to stand up from your seat. The chair beside you creaks back, Jay's hands finding their way around your waist to aid you in your endeavour.

"Don't worry," He assured Jieun. "I'll take care of her. We'll be back in a minute."

Your gait was slightly wobbly due to how weak your knees were, leaning your weight on his side as Jay helped you leave out of the public’s eye and into the silent corridor where you let him drag your body to where he desired.

“I’ll take care of her, my ass.” You gritted through your teeth, low under your breath, only for him to hear.

Jay wanted to laugh in amusement, as he does after catching sight of you being a cute mess with what he did, but his own carnal needs urge him to walk faster and open the door to a sequestered bathroom.

“Fuck the present,” He cursed. You watch him remove his jacket, throwing it aggressively on the floor with a dark and glossy gaze. “Nothing can beat how much I want you so bad right now.”

Jay presses his body tight against yours with his hands on your waist, the marbled edge of the sink digging at your back and his raging hard bulge on your abdomen. Your core throb at the thought of his big and girthy cock stuffing your hole, fingers clawing at his shoulders for support when he propels you to sit on the sink’s surface.

“You know, I’ve been holding back from fucking you over the table where everyone can see.” You whimpered as he licked your neck near the pulse, your thighs flush against his hips where he stood towering over your figure between your legs.

“I thought you’ll put up more of a fight,” He teased, hands moving to ride the skirt of your dress up. He groans when you hump against his clothed dick desperately, fingers digging into the back of your thighs. “But you took my fingers so well like a little slut, didn’t you?”

“Jongseong.” You whined, feeling your pussy getting soaked at his words. It didn’t help that the string of your thong was wedged against your sensitive folds every time you moved your hips.

Jay’s chest vibrates when he chuckles. “Look at you. I’ve only used my fingers and you’re already shaking.” He cooed softly as you buried your face in his neck, loving how he was in control of you now.

“I can’t believe your pussy was bare sitting next to me.” He said as you watched him drop to his knee, leaning back on the palm of your hands as you opened your legs wide for him to see. You shudder when he moves the pathetic drenched string to the side.

”To think that this—” He dragged his index finger on your soaked folds, watching your juices drool along his finger with an eager stare.

“and this—” You note how raw he groaned in the end, pulling on the flesh of your outer lips to reveal your swollen clit to him, all pink and perfectly ready to be devoured.

“—could have been in my fucking mouth instead of dinner”, He complained.

You moaned incoherently as he leaned to press his tender lips on the bud, tongue flat on it enough to make you grab a bunch of his silky hair. He swirls his wet tongue up and down your folds in a hungry manner as you open your legs wider. The tension you felt before rekindled in your stomach the more he mouthed your heat sloppily.

“Hmm, feels so good.” You purred, hearing the erotic wet sound of him eating you out echoed in the bathroom.

He hummed against your cunt in satisfaction, your lips spilling out sweet praises fueled him to completely lap at your clenching hole until you were bucking into his face.

Jay looked up from between your legs, watching the way you threw your head back with your eyes closed attentively. You moved your hips to the pace of his tongue, distracted by the high pleasure that you didn’t notice something cold slipping into your ring finger.

“Wait, don’t— I was so close!” You sobbed when he detached his lips from your cunt, a couple of sweat dripping down your temple. You curl your toes, feeling your orgasm again, humming down at the loss of stimulation.

“Slow down, sweetheart.” Jay stood back up, kissing you with your essence still in his mouth, letting you taste yourself as he sucked on your lower lip until your head was spinning.

“I have something far better than my mouth waiting for you.”

He hauled you on your feet before turning you around, bending you over until your chest was flushed on the sink counter with your ass facing him. The sound of his belt clicking open reach your ears; a rough shove of your skirt exposes the way your hole clenches around your arousal in anticipation.

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He taunts, a hand resting on your waist to steady your lower half. “Stay still, don’t move your hips.”

Jay pumped his cock in his hand, spreading precum on his length before easing into you slowly. You were so deprived of any form of penetration that you writh with just his swollen head stretching your entrance. The more Jay sinks into you, the more he can feel your core pulsate and squeeze around his hot length deliciously.

“Relax, baby. Let me in.” Jay spoke softly, hugging you from behind and intertwining his fingers with yours lovingly, contrasting with how he drilling his cock into you inch by inch.

“I—I know, but—fuck! You’re so big.“ You choked out, winching with every forward push of his hips.

Jay pampered your nape with butterfly kisses, his hair tickling the back of your ear as he whispered closely. “You can take it. You’ve done it before.”

Your grip his fingers once he bottoms out, and your walls spasm over his cock to adjust to his size as you struggle to take all of him. You were a panting mess underneath his body, and an uncomfortable twitch resided in your lower abdomen as you felt him reach your deepest spot.

Jay let out a few filthy words at how tight you were, wanting no more than to thrust his cock to relieve the tension, but he knew you needed some time to adapt for you to feel and enjoy the same pleasure as he does.

“My baby, you did so well. Look how good you take my cock.” His praises, gathering your hair in a bundle to give you some space to breathe.

You swallow down the lump in your throat; the initial discomfort soon fades as waves of pleasure make you buck your hips back to crave more. You felt Jay’s hand return to the space on your waist at the positive gesture.

“Jongseong, you can move.” You breathe out. His grip tightens to brace you with what’s to come, nodding his head at your command.

Jay’s thrusts were delicate initially, slow and sensual for you to feel his engorged cock in a soft rhythm that ignited the butterflies in your stomach. When you let out a stream of lewd moans with every snap of his hips and pushing back against him, he put more strength into his thrust that the sound of flesh smacking drowns the cries you let out.

“Miss this tight cunt in me— fucking hell, you’re sucking me in so well.” He sighs when you tense around his length at a particular spot, wasting no time to repeatedly hit the same place until you are pushed up higher against the marbled surface.

The familiar heated feeling grows viscous in your stomach, legs shaking with every feral movement of his hips with heavy balls slapping your flesh. With the combined stimulation from the previously failed orgasms attempted, you grew more desperate to reach your high.

When he slipped down to play with your swollen clit, a deft finger flicking the pearl back and forth aimlessly, your back arched at the intense pleasure coursing through your body. A flushed heat blooms on your skin, knees weak with white spots starting to appear at the corners of your vision.

“Jongseong, please, don’t stop.” You sob out, the release you need teetering at the edge of your sanity.

“I won’t, baby.” He replied, enamoured with the pleasure of you in his arms. “I’ll stay like this forever until you cum for me, okay?”

He continues with his ministration, one hand holding onto your waist to pound you from behind while the other down your pussy to thumb your clit. With his chest pressed on your back, he bit the outer shell of your ear before whispering.

“Cum for me.”

You didn’t need to be told twice as you came undone on his cock— inundating you with a sense of solace to reach your climax finally. With a few more quick drags of his cock in you, Jay groaned as he filled you up with his thick load, rutting you through your orgasm in a rapt manner that had your toes curling.

You wish the both of you could stay connected like this forever, but reality hits you like a brick when the afterglow of your orgasm finally washes over.

He took your jaw in his hand, craning your neck behind to capture your lips with his; a sloppy wet kiss shared between you two was lethal to your heart at the amount of love he projected.

He pulled out of you once he was done, ropes of his warm cum dripping down your inner thighs.

“Jay,” You call him out, leaning onto your elbows as you wait for him to finish wiping you down before turning around to face him. “You’re fucking crazy.”

He let out a hearty laugh, taking you into his embrace as the both of you had one thing in mind when you left the place looking like this; hair in a frenzy, clothes oddly wrinkled, a light pink tint to the cheeks— you were sure that your lipstick had lost its vivid colour.

“They definitely know we fucked.” You reminded him in embarrassment.

He shakes his head confidently. “Not when they see your engagement ring.”

A sceptical look crosses your face before it morphs into shock and horror when you realise a beautiful golden band with an embellished clear diamond at the centre of your finger. Jay watches you with a sincere expression as you inspect the ring gleaming under the bathroom light.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Wha—”

“I might not get a present, but I did get you one. Also, don‘t worry—” Jay rests his forehead against yours, a smug smile on his lips.

“I was on my knee when I slipped it on you.”

Permanent Taglist: open/ take this form to be added!

@forjongseong @skzenhalove @duolingofanaccount @sunnysunnysunnysunshine @sunnyjayjays @archangelaurii @hwihwi0o0 @won-shine @stnkyash @yoursjaeyun @hooneam

A Holiday Special: ➜ Jay

| ➜ Heeseung | ➜ Jake | ➜ Sunghoon |

[horsewithaface]

So I rewrote the Battle of the Five Armies for my Everyone Lives AU because yes I’m still in denial and no you can’t stop me

• Everything up to Fíli getting captured is the same

• Fíli is caught by Azog and held out over the cliff. Kíli is below in the nook. While Azog is giving his speech, Kíli shoots him from below in the wrist, causing him to let go of Fíli. Fíli falls to the ground, onto Kíli, breaking his fall, who drags him into the nook and hides him as he tends to his brother’s wounds. Fíli regains his strength after a short moment and, despite Kíli’s better judgement, Fíli gets up, and races back to the top, calling for Kíli to follow.

• The two brothers fight countless orcs as they climb the stairs of Ravenhill, searching for Thorin. Once they come upon the plateau of ice, they find Bilbo weeping over Thorin as they speak.

• Kíli shuts down, thinking it is too late, but Fíli remembers something crucial. Back in Lake-town, he had pocketed a pouch of Kingsfoil in case his brother’s wounds hadn’t truly healed. With it was a messily-written note of Tauriel’s incantation written out phonetically.

• “I will not let you go, uncle. Not today. It is not your time. We will have a great feast tonight and will walk within the halls of Erebor among our kin. I cannot walk there without you.” - Fíli to Thorin as he kneels down opposite Bilbo, preparing the Kingsfoil. He rips open Thorin’s shirt, revealing the weeping wound before pressing the mixture into it. Thorin lets out a roar of pain but Kíli snaps to attention and runs to hold him down to stop his thrashing. Bilbo grabs Thorin’s hand with both of his, pressing his forehead against the bloodied knuckles, whispering pleas for him to hold on.

• The Kingsfoil incantation only partially works due to Fíli being a novice in elven spells, however it buys them time for Gandalf to get there and finish the spell properly.

• Thorin is taken to the medical hut where he regains his strength for the next week despite his refusal and insistence that he is fine. Bilbo eventually gets through to him and Thorin gives in, allowing the healers to aide him.

• Thorin does not remember what happened when he had succumbed to the dragon sickness, it is only when Bilbo flinches at a sudden movement of his when he is getting frustrated that Bilbo realises Thorin does not remember. Bilbo reluctantly tells him the truth when Thorin demands to know what he did wrong.

• Thorin never forgives himself for his actions, even going so far as to denying his birthright and banishing himself from Erebor. He gives the crown to Fíli who does not accept it, choosing to go with him for Thorin is more important to Fíli than ruling. Kíli never wanted the crown and so the brothers appoint Dain as the rightful king for they would not have prevailed without him.

• Thorin and Bilbo part ways, Bilbo returning to Bag End unsure if he will ever see Thorin again because despite what happened, he never blamed Thorin for it was the fault of the dragon sickness and not his own mind.

• After about a year, Bilbo hears a knock at his door. He is greeted with a very nervous Thorin, quite a juxtaposition from his usual stoic nature. Bilbo doesn’t believe his eyes, convinced that he is dreaming. Thorin cannot help but whisper, “Bilbo…” before engulfing the hobbit in a hug.

• Thorin rambles on a whole poetic speech about how he does not deserve redemption for his actions and he simply came to apologise. Bilbo takes Thorin’s face in his hands, pulling him down to eye level.

• “Stop it. Just stop it, you giant oaf. I forgive you. You never let me speak my mind after the battle. I never blamed you, Thorin. I never have and I never will. It was that bloody dragon, not you. I stand by my word when I say that I am glad that I have shared in your perils. You are more than any Baggins deserves.”

[aliorsboxostuff]

Hey! Sorry for the ask, but if you're still taking requests could I maybe request a Tyler Owens x ftm reader

Readers been on his storm chasing team for a bit, helps Boone coordinate the social media presence or something-

I don't have a well thought out prompt- just a like. How they get together finally after months of pining and comments of "are they dating yet?"

- 🌟

AHH HELLOOOO 🌟 ive been waiting for a Tyler Owens req for agessss nowww omg thank you and ofc my inbox is opened rn!! This fic turned more into like,, a yearning, slight slow-burn-ish fic with a hint of humour from the team lmaooo, ALSO! If y'all didn't know, Dani is Non-binary! So i’m giving them a They/Them pronouns, hope yall like it !! <3

Twin Flame Tornadoes

Tags: Tyler Owens x Male!Reader, StormChaser!raeder, FtM!Reader, No use of Y/n, Boone, Dexter, Dani, Lilly, Kate, Javi, Yearning, Crushes, Fluff, Hurt/comfort, just a bit yk, Found Family, Internalized Homophobia (?), maybe??, General Homophobia (westerners yeesh), Denial, Dirty thoughts, iykyk, Tyler is actually so smitten its insane, Such a lover boy 

There wasn't a lot of space in the West for someone like you. Someone who isn't normal, who didn't stick to ‘her’ own path in life and grow up, get a job, and start a family—No, someone like you takes up space, and most mid-westerners would look at you with burning rage in their eyes. Most would dismiss your identity, bigoted speeches and shouts at your face, protest against your community, and for half of your life you've grown accustomed to it, a unique shield you've perfected after years of dismissal.

But that shield became useless. The shield you've spent your life honing was now nothing but a backup plan, especially when you're with the Wranglers. Especially with Tyler

=====

There wasn't a lot of space in the West for someone like you. Someone who isn't normal, who didn't stick to ‘her’ own path in life and grow up, get a job, and start a family—No, someone like you takes up space, and most mid-westerners would look at you with burning rage in their eyes. Most would dismiss your identity, bigoted speeches and shouts at your face, protest against your community, and for half of your life you've grown accustomed to it, a unique shield you've perfected after years of dismissal.

But that shield became useless. The shield you've spent your life honing was now nothing but a backup plan, especially when you're with the Wranglers.

You joined the Tornado Wranglers just a couple of months after they took off. Back then, you were about to leave town as you finally got a proper job somewhere in Brooklyn, somewhere safer for you to exist. That night, the sudden ring from your phone halts your packing, your hand closing the suitcase while rummaging through your pile of clothes to answer the call.

“H-hey hello,” You greeted, shoving your phone between your ear and elbow. 

“Hey! How’s it going man!” Boone’s loudness almost made you drop your phone in shock, quickly collecting yourself as you catch yourself. “I hope you’re well!” 

“Boone? Is that you?” You smile, hearing your old high school friend's cheery voice. You hear a chuckle from the other end, making you grin.

“‘Course it is! One and only!” He answers. 

You chuckle, nudging some of your sweaters to take a seat, your bed creaking slightly. “Hey! I’ve been good, been okay. You, Boonie?” 

“Never better man,” Boone’s undoubtedly grinning ear to ear, you thought. “Listen, I got a proposition for you now- You busy?”

You shrug, knowing you’ll only be catching your flight in two days. “Nope, I'm all ears,” 

“So I’ve gotten myself into this storm chasin’ thing again, you remember right? Remember when we used to take your truck out in the fields, runnin’ out there and driving our asses way too close to tornadoes when we saw ‘em?”

You sigh, a thump on the bed as you throw your head back to the pillows. “Yeah, of course,  those were the days…” 

“Right? So I started doing this professionally and so-” 

“Wait,” You roll over onto your stomach as you stuff a plushie underneath you. “Professionally? Did you actually join-” 

“A storm chasin’ group! Yeah!” Boone’s laughs shake your core, and something warm churns inside you.

You recalled those days. In high school, you and Boone were inseparable. It didn't take a lot to know why, from an outsider's point of view. Back then, you were outcasted silently, your peers mostly talked to you only if need be, otherwise you were a recluse who kept to yourself, not by choice sadly. Though it's different with Boone. He never cared what you were, how you identified yourself. He sees you as you and for that same reason you two became good friends. At the age of 17, you got an old pickup all fixed up, and the first thing you did with it was to storm chase with Boone. 

That day, a storm warning rang around your town, and while your neighbors closed their windows and blinds, you and Boone took the truck out into the field and chased after it. It was exhilarating, the adrenaline was addicting as you felt the harsh wind against your skin, your hair astray, the loud cheers beside you as Boone was halfway out of the truck. It was dangerous, it was reckless, yet those were the best days of your life. 

Eventually, life took over, and when graduation came around, you busied yourself with college, unknown to you where your best friend went. You never imagined he was the first one to turn the once hobby into a profession.

“Now, about that proposition,” Boone clears his throat. You blink, an unwavering smile on your lips. “Seein’ as I'm now in the storm chassin’ business, me and my buddy need’s another guy for our team, yeah? And I mean, I thought, who else would be a better candidate than you!”

You laugh, though can't help but furrow your brow as you ask; “Wait- you want me? Boone I haven't chased in a while, not since high school,” A sigh as you run your hand through your hair. “I'm not saying no, ‘s just…”

“You don't need to do nothin’ you don't wanna! Buuuut…” He falters, you hear a click of a tongue. “We do need an extra hand on the camera…” 

You pause, eyebrows raising. “Wait… Camera?” 

That's how you found yourself being the 2nd cameraman for the Tornado Wranglers.

While Boone rides in the action truck, you stay back with Dexter and Dani, recording mostly behind-the-scenes shots for YouTube and the occasional passes of point of view whenever the gang goes storm chasing and streams it online. 

It's been a solid 2 years now, and since then the Tornado Wranglers have risen in popularity. From a couple thousand to now reaching a million followers on Instagram, a solid half a million on YouTube and Twitch. Not to mention the myriads of fan accounts now arose, especially for the group's appointed leader, Tyler. 

Each time you went to edit some footage of the latest run, there's always one or two fan edits you stumble across, mostly on Twitter, with yet another catchy pop song that Tyler probably would know if he wasn’t engrossed in his country music, that you’d have to roll your eyes at and scroll past. Not before bookmarking it. 

Truth be told, you’ve harbored a pretty big crush on the guy. Tyler was never one to care about whose identity is what, if he did he would’ve been harsher towards Dani or wouldn't let them join the team, but you were never sure where he swung. You and your gender were never a problem for him, but the constant heart throb whenever the blonde passes by will start being a problem for you. 

He’s a cocky flirt, confidence and charisma are practically an infinite fountain within that man. He’s smooth and witty and every girl's dream, which is evident with the majority of the Tornado Wranglers fanbase being women and the occasional longing gay men, much like yourself. If you don't take into account the usual Storm Chaser fans, the people on the internet would agree about Tyler being alluring. 

—

“Join us for a drink won't ya’?” The voice tore your focus away from the laptop screen and up to captivating brown eyes. The owner of said eyes is leaning on the doorframe of the truck, a shield from the bright floodlights as it captures his frame like a halo, his arms cage you just above your head, a playful smirk on his lips.

You grin, shaking your head to turn back to your laptop before your heart makes another leap from Tyler's presence. “Sorry boss, I gotta get this out tomorrow, remember?”

“I'm sure the fans won't mind it being a day late,” His dismissal would've been nothing if his hand hadn't landed on your shoulder, squeezing slightly which almost got you to gulp. “You’ve been on that thing for hours now, I think your eyes would appreciate the break,” 

His hold, warm and inviting, finally got you to sigh and save the active project, before promptly closing your laptop and facing the man. “Fine, but you buying,”

“Who said I didn't?” His hand drops to your wrist where he tugs slightly, getting you to exit the confines of the truck into the cold evening night. 

The crew was with the many other storm chasers, the motel’s parking lot filled with various trucks and music and chatter amongst many others. When you finally join the team as they lounge around the control van, they cheer at your and Tyler's arrival. Other than Lilly and Boone who were busy reviewing today's footage with various awes and cheers, they all had beers in their hand and were satiated after today's busy day. 

Tyler grabs two bottles from the cooler, offering one to you. Your hand grazes his slightly as you receive it, “I thought you said you were buying?” 

“Hey now, this pack came outta my pocket, y’know,” He chuckles, which makes you grin.

Suddenly, your eyes drop to where he’s holding the beer bottle as he brings it lower to his crotch level and fuck he guides the cap to his belt buckle and pops it open. The liquid inside fizzes slightly before he finally takes a swig, his lips curl around the tip as he gulps down, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion, hands somewhat damp from the bottle's condensation. He wipes at his lips before his gaze drops to yours, a visible heat within them that makes you physically tear away from.

Did he really need to do that? Beside you too? Does he want me dead?

“Need a hand?” Yes- You cough, finding the soil beneath you interesting, 

“Uh sure yeah,” A forced gulp as you handed him your bottle. He repeats his earlier motion though you opted to save yourself from a growing arousal by glancing over to Dani. Yet that was also a mistake. 

Dani had their eyes on you the whole time, undoubtedly seeing the way your face grew in color at what Tyler did, and they smirked at how you completely chose to look down after focusing too much on the man's hand. They raise a brow, which you reply with a knowing stare. They laugh, their smirk just growing in smugness, before they tap something on their thigh which makes your heart drop. 

There, perching idly, is their phone, camera pointing towards yours and Tyler's direction. Your eyes widen, changing from looking at the phone, back to Dani, then back to the phone, before to Dani again, now your eyes soften into a plead. Your puppy eyes doesnt work on them as their phone flops back down to their thigh and into their pocket. 

You groan slightly before Tyler hands you your beer back. “Thanks,” you reply shortly and take a sip. 

The hood of one of the trucks was vacant so you took the liberty of perching on it, craning your neck to look up at the stars. The glimmering spots above were prominent here in the open fields, unlike those in the city. You knew, if you did take that job back then, you’d miss the easy breeze and clear skies of the mid-west. Tyler soon follows, leaning beside you, one arm hung on the hood, his stetson long forgotten somewhere. 

You figured the man would spend more time with Dexter, maybe plan out what they’re going to be doing tomorrow, but instead he hovers near you. He takes a sip, before he cocks his head upwards. 

“Next month’ll be storm season,” His eyes still focused on the sky when you glanced over. 

“Yeah? More toys for us to play with,” Tyler smiles as he hears your reply, you can't help but too. 

“There will be…” He takes a swig of his beer, the clicks his tongue as he finishes. “A journalist, from England. He’ll be going with us for some weeks,”

You hum, though a bit concerned. Not for the team no. If the Tornado Wranglers were dropped into a jungle with nothing but a match you're sure the team could pull through. You’re worried about the journalist, being from Europe no less. When you turn to spot Boone and Lilly both cackling at today's footage, hunched over the iPad, you chuckle, earning Tyler's attention.

“What? Something about the guy?”

“No no,” You smirk, sipping slightly from your bottle. “Just hoping the guy’ll survive us,” 

Tyler balks slightly, before he takes a glance at the crew scattered about, and laughs alongside you. There’s so much professionality the team can do, and while the obvious is to be proper hosts for the upcoming journalist, you can't help but imagine how insane it would be for such a prim-propper European to join a rag-tag group of Americans.

—

“Hey, Kate here take some food and water,” She glances towards the items you're holding, the girl immediately shakes her head. 

“I'm not buying food from you guys,” Her eyes widened, fixing you with a stare. Your head tilts at her response. 

“We’re giving these away,” Your head motions towards your friends behind you, giving out needed food, water, and clothes from the merch boxes. “We’re selling out shirts practically free and handing food and water away, everybody here needs some,” 

The destroyed houses around where you and Kate stood paint a clear picture. The tornado that Storm Par and The Tornado Wranglers were chasing destroyed the nearby town, effectively rendering some of the citizens there with no home and almost no remnants of their things, clothes and pictures scattered beneath the debris, The blonde’s eyes scan the area around, softening when she hears your explanation, eyes fleeting towards the van behind you.

She sighs and musters a small smile. “It's fine, I don't need it, give it to the other people,”

You hum, before pushing the bottled water into her hand. “At least take the water,”

“Okay, thank you,” She nods, another smile enough to reassure you. You reply to her nod before jogging back to your friends. Kate watches as you gather with them, immediately helping more survivors with food and clothes. She watches at your team, before glancing briefly at Javi, then climbs into the car and drives away. 

Later that night, while fatigue reigns over the team, everyone currently catching up over dinner and drinks, you watch as Tyler barely touches his food while downing his 2nd bottle of booze. You knew the man could handle his liquor, well over yours, but he rarely drinks as much as a 3rd bottle when it's with the group. Worry and suspicion steadily bubbling up within your heart.

As you took the space beside him, leaning on the cold car exterior, your flannel button up to combat the cold night air. “You okay?” 

“Hm? Yeah, pretty good,” He takes a sip, sighing as he finishes. “You?”

“Alright,” You nod. 

A silence falls between you and Tyler, though it's a mutually welcomed one. Usually, the team would be loud with a mixture of someone's Spotify playlist playing on the speaker, a thrumming of guitar from Dexter, or Boone just cracking jokes and making people laugh. Though tonight, you both knew the team was exhausted, physically and emotionally. Despite how many times you chase a tornado, the aftermath and impact it has on any town never get easier to swallow. 

You bask in the easy breeze, the usual humidity following a storm from the previous hours. The air invites you to tilt your head upwards, eyes shut to bask in its wind. It sways your lapels a bit, taking the day's tiredness away with it. When you feel a warm hand rests on your nape your eyes flutter open, Tyler’s warm browns greet you when you blink. 

He has something in his look, something warm with care and compassion. It swirls a deep whirlpool, pulling you deeper into its grasp, like longing and want and pining and you're too scared to find out which is which. You watch as Tyler’s gaze slips down and pauses on your lips, parted as you force yourself to inhale sharply, then immediately back to your eyes. A pregnant pause, too long to mean nothing, until he gulps and tears himself away, opting to pat your shoulder instead as his focus shifts to the ground. 

You had to collect yourself; a deep breath as you felt his sturdy pats, then he pulled slightly, a reassuring grip that grounds you. “I'm glad.” he finishes.

You had to blink and force yourself to take a sip from your bottle, mimicking Tylers movements in finding the dirt interesting. You were about to keep up the gimmick before his hand dropped which had you following his line of sight. Just meters away from the group’s huddle, Kate walks in the direction of her motel room. She’s in a hurry, something in the way she walks slightly fast and breath too labored. You recall you haven't seen her after handing her the water bottle hours ago, now that it turned into the evening,

When you turn to asses Tyler, he had the same look he gave you earlier. The same dark eyes with determination and longing. Something hurts, a pang in your chest, throat suddenly dry like you swallowed sand. 

He follows her steps, up the stairs, and as her door closes. 

Your eyes follow his.

Tyler hums, blinking once, before shaking his head and taking a big gulp.

The sting is back. It’s sharp and hard beneath your abdomen, like it’s begging to be let out, a nail inside a balloon that's starting to deflate too quickly. Enough to force you to breathe manually and gulp down your beer just enough to eliminate the possibility of anxiety.

You had to muster yourself to talk. “Go,” 

Tyler turns, a smirk on his lips. “Wha-”

“Talk to her Ty, I know you wanna.” You grin albeit forced. “She ain't okay, not like us. Go.”

He sighs. He takes another minute before handing you the rest of his beer then starts to walk towards the stairs. As he climbs the steps, your eyes meet his, a slight hesitation, before you give him a firm nod, and he continues to Kate’s room. 

You let out a breath you didn't know were holding, chest tight from god knows what. 

After a sigh, you decided to turn back to the others when Dani punched you straight on the arm, hard.

“Ow! What that for?!” 

“For being a dumbass!” They stand a head below you yet they could intimidate anyone within a five-mile radius. They sigh, poking an accusatory finger at your sternum. “You didn't see how Tyler looked at ya’? The boy had puppy eyes on you and you went off and told ‘em to chase Kate!” 

“What are you even talkin’ about Dani?”

They huff, wiping a hand across their face. “I know I’m the only one here that knows you like Tyler- don't cut me off.” You immediately close your lips. “But we all saw that! Hell, even Boone and Lilly did!” 

“You two were about to make out if it weren't for Tyler wussing out!” 

Heat shot upwards, coloring your cheeks in embarrassment as you immediately shot the thought down. “N-no we weren't, and you know that,” 

“‘Sides, look at him! He ran over to ask Kate-” As you spoke, the said couple ran past the group going god knows where with god knows what, Tyler's expression a calm and soothing wave while Kate’s anxiety slowly simmers down. You knew he was taking her somewhere to get her mind off of today's destruction. In another part, you're glad Tyler is the gentleman he is, in another, you wish you were in Kate’s position. 

“See!” You continue. “They’re probably going to a bar or something, take her mind off of things,”

Dani rolled their eyes. They heard the slight change in your tone, the hurt and hint of jealousy. They understand, they know just how long you've been harboring your crush. 

They sigh and turn, leaving you as you watch Tyler and Kate disappear into the night. 

—

“You used to be a rodeo cowboy?” Kate laughs, both in disbelief and awe. The man beside her grows slightly in color, admittedly looking anywhere but at her. 

He nods shortly. “Yeah, only for a bit, before I went to college and became a meteorologist,”

“I knew chasin’ storm was my calling, as much as I loved takin’ care of the bulls and horses,” 

Tyler’s focus is back on the show in front of them as Kate nods in acknowledgment. She used to go to rodeo shows, albeit not as much since she was busier with her studies, and not long after moving into New York. Tyler, much to her credit, isn't as bad as his internet persona makes him out to be.

The man beside her is confident but not cocky, has his knowledge to back up his snarkiness. She smiles when he laughs, captivating brown eyes enraptures her.

Kate recalls the moment before she stormed inside her room. Just out of her peripherals, she saw Tyler with his friend, the one other person he seemed to have a special connection unlike the others. She knows how much Tyler cares about his team, they're basically his family, though with the man that stood beside him, and the way Tyler had a secure hand on the man's back, Kate knew there was a hidden meaning between the gesture. She was too overwhelmed by her emotions that she shut herself in her room without much thinking, not until Tylern coaxed her out to watch the rodeo show. 

Another round of cheers erupted in the audience. All was well, until the wind picked up and Kate’s heart dropped. 

—

“Tyler fucking Owens!” Said man immediately spun around when he heard the familiar voice. Before he could react, strong hands grabbed the sides of his face like a vice. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Are you okay? Hurt anywhere? Is everyone else okay? Where’s Kate–”

“Hey- Hey now, hey,” 

Tyler holds your wrists, his hold warm and grounding, evidence of his existence. It soothes you immediately, the consuming fear slowly dwindles into nothingness and when he slowly rubs circles atop your veins the erratic pumps subside. 

“Darlin’, I'm alright.” A smile playing at his lips.

Relief engulfs you as you choke back a sob. Instead, you pulled at the back of Tyler's head, crown connected with crown as you shut your eyes tight. You feel his hand slide to your nap, soothing your worry, another hand snakes its way from just below your ribs then to the middle of your back. A small pocket in the world was formed, a place enough for the two of you to let your worries float away, a bubble where you’re sure Tyler is safe in your arms. 

When Dexter informed the group of the tornado alert one town over, a chill ran down your spine. You left almost 20 miscalls on Tyler's phone and immediately headed to the town where the alert took place, hoping to god Tyler and Kate didn't spend the evening there. 

Your fear came true when you spotted the two between debris, ambulance and emergency personnel already surrounding the two to make sure of their condition and before you knew it you sprinted past the other civilians towards Tyler.

“Im glad.” You manage to choke out as the two of you separate, though your hand lingers on his shoulder. Tyler pats at your arm before he gives it a reassuring squeeze, the last of your anxiety ebbs away. 

You turn to see Kate making her way through the debris which immediately changes your focus to her. “Hey- Kate!” 

—

“Wait wha- I thought you ran in there to get Kate? Ty her planes about to leave-”

“I can't keep chasin’ someone I don't want.” He stops in front of you, his chest rising and deflating from his run in and out of the airport. 

“What do you mean?” 

He smiles, taking a step closer towards you which you instinctively backed away from. “Kate made me realize something that- damn smart woman!” Hes grinning, wide and blidning.

“When we met, I thought I wanted someone like her. She great, don't get me wrong, smart woman and I know she’ll go places if she keeps up in the storm business  but also- Meeting her made me realize something,”

He pauses as his hands slowly glided upwards, warm on your arms where they land. “As much as I wanted her, I’ve never worried about anyone as much as I worried about you.”

“When you ran after Kate yesterday, outside into the tornado, I thought I lost you. I was so scared- I’ve never felt fear like that. You were selfless, you ran with her knowing your safety wasn't guaranteed.”

He takes a ragged breath as he blinks rapidly, and your worry rises. He continues. “We’ve known each other for a long time, baby you were there when we started it all,” 

“All I’m sayin’ is that- I’ve liked you. Loved you for so long but I kept avoiding it cuz’ i didn’t wanna ruin what we have, And meeting Kate? Made me realize I shouldn't keep avoiding something I know you want too.” 

Finally, finally Tyler stopped to breathe as you stared, bewildered. On one side, you can feel your face growing in warmth from his, albeit, sudden and hurried confession, on another side you worry just how forward you had been with him. Were you the one that made him question his sexuality-

“But you’re not gay… are you?” You hesitate, voice small. 

Tyler laughs and it's almost contagious. “Honestly that's- I don't know. Not yet. But loving you? That, I'm certain.”

“But you- I'm a guy, Tyler. You see me as a dude, don't you? You don-”

“No, God no! I don't care what you were. You’re you, baby, and I love you for you,” 

You’re at a loss for words. You thought the man you’ve had a crush on was going to run into the airport and kiss the girl of his dreams, similar to those cheesy romance movies Dani and Lilly likes to watch but no. No. instead, the man of your dreams, the protagonist of your love life, is standing in front of you, devotion and love and yearning in his eyes as he stares into yours. He holds your arms softly yet insistent. 

You answer, through a trembling voice, “I.. I love you too, Tyler,” 

Without missing a beat, Tyler crashes his lips into yours. He pulls you by your hips, secure arms around you as you wrap your arms around his neck. He couldn't help but grin, making you laugh before he steals yet another breath, deepening the kiss by moving languidly, hand now rubbing circles. When your lungs burn, begging for oxygen, the two of you part, both panting with the centimeter of distance. Tyler rests his forehead against yours, sighing in pure contentment. 

“Woo! Finally!” You hear Javi’s voice making you recoil in surprise. The man in question is leaning out of the Storm Par truck, cheering at both you and Tyler. You laugh at his excitement, then suddenly Tyler’s head drops to hide into the crook of your neck, letting out a small whine. The sound would've spurred you on if it weren't for Kate also cheering as she walks out of the airport's doors. 

“Yes! Took you two long enough!” She grins, quickly pulling out her phone and snapping a picture. “I’m sending this to Lilly,” 

You laugh, holding onto Tyler’s flannel while he does the same, his laughs ghosting over your pulse. He stands, though his eyes are still deep in yours. Tyler moves a strand of hair behind your ear, his warm smile enveloping you. You can't help to smile as well, letting yourself fall deeper into those captivating browns.

— reblogs appreciated! Requests are open!

[hells-plaid-angel]

Dean had the lung capacity of a deep-sea diver. After years of holding his breath as he drove through tunnels, he'd honed the skill, only gasping for breath when the Impala's windshield broke through the darkness and into the light. The habit had formed as a child but lingered into adulthood as most childhood fantasies did.

As a boy, his father raised him on superstition. If you made a wish when the world was swallowed by blackness and you could hold your breath until the end of a tunnel, that wish would come true. Over the years he'd wished for a hundred stupid things. He'd wished his mother was still alive, that he lived a normal life or that a pretty girl would look his way. He'd wished his father had been the one who'd died in the fire. He wished he didn't feel that way.

Once Dean had blacked out in the backseat of the Impala when driving the I-90 through Boston. He'd come to with Sammy squealing like a stuck pig and John Winchester cursing like a sailor. For the next year, being in Massachusetts made him feel light-headed.

Kids and old men are similar in their love of rituals. Dean was no longer a child, but he wasn't ready to call himself an old man. The ritual had changed over the years, but at its heart, it was always the same.

Dean found his new ritual each night he woke from a nightmare. That night, he found himself in the bunker. The image of his hands covered in blood lingered in the darkness of the room. He held his breath wishing for the dream not to be true. He only breathed when he switched on the lights and found his hands clean. In his dreams, Cas was always dying.

The nightmares weren't helped by the fact that the angel had died, numerous times. His sleep-addled mind took time to sort fact from fiction. Had Cas come back this time?

Dean Winchester knew better than anybody that death didn't always stick. Dean Winchester knew better than anybody that the universe liked to make him suffer. Both statements were equally true.

In the nightmare, Cas had died in his arms. He'd awoken, held his breath, switched on the lights and choked out a breath, which sounded suspiciously like a sob. When the drowning feeling reseeded he found himself exiting his bedroom, searching for the object of his nightmares as a drowning man searches for land.

Dean would never admit to himself he was looking for Cas, but the knowledge was there. There were many things Dean knew but wasn't ready to admit.

Dean found the angel in the library of the bunker, absentmindedly flicking through ancient texts and Sam's collection of trashy fitness and lifestyle magazines indiscriminately. A heavy weight on his chest dissipated. Cas looked up at Dean's sharp inhale. He could breathe again.

"Hello, Dean," the angel greeted, as though he were late to some prearranged meeting.

"Morning, Cas," Dean spoke, for lack of a better topic of conversation. He collapsed into the seat beside Cas.

"It's currently 3:15 a.m. and the sun isn't scheduled to rise until 5:25."

"Thanks for the weather report, buddy," Dean griped. His tone lacked the usual exasperated edge he used when Cas said something that struck him as particularly alien, which was often.

"How are you, Dean? You seem... unmoored."

People in the twenty-first century didn't use words like 'unmoored'. Dean knew exactly what Cas wasn't saying. Dean seemed upset. If there was one thing Dean didn't cope well with, it was being anything less than 'fine'. They were experts in each other's pathology, which would always feel strange. Dean wasn't used to being known.

"Can we talk about something else?" Dean had been working on the concept of denial. However, avoidance was fair game.

"If I'm going to be staying here long term, I want to buy better magazines," Cas stated, tossing the magazine haphazardly. He'd been staying for longer than usual. Dean kept feeling like he was holding his breath, waiting for the angel to disappear.

"We can drive into town come morning. Need to clear my head anyway."

"You haven't been sleeping well," Cas observed, his eyes shifting their attention to Dean. The blue-grey eyes said more than his words. His eyes were an ocean to an inexperienced swimmer. Not everyone could read them. Dean could. There was something more to them. A strong rip beneath steady water. There was a storm raging beneath the surface.

"It's creepy that you've noticed that," Dean remarked.

"You haven't been very quiet."

Dean wondered how much Cas heard. Did he talk in his sleep? Did he call out Cas' name in the night? Had the angel heard the moments of weakness where Dean had let himself muffle sobs behind his hand?

"This isn't changing the subject."

"I've been changing the subject all week. Evidently, it's not working," Cas' voice was resolute.

He and Dean shared their stubbornness, which always led to unproductive stalemates. They were two bucks with their antlers interlocked, starving and trapped in their own idiocy.

"The thing about being human, Cas, is that things don't magically just get fixed because you want them to." Dean rebuked.

"I'm aware, but have you actually tried to fix it?"

They were fighting. Why were they fighting?

"Talking never really solved much in my line of work. You know that."

"Is this about work?" Cas questioned.

They hadn't had any difficult hunts in weeks. Cas knew it wasn't about the job. He wanted Dean to know he knew.

"It doesn't matter what it's about. That's not the point. You don't get it." Dean felt the truth pushing its way up to the surface.

"Then help me understand."

"The problem —." Dean began before he felt anger or frustration choke the words from him.

"The problem is you keep dying."

He'd expected Cas to baulk at the confession. Dean wasn't one for sharing fears or feelings. What he hadn't expected was the look of horror that settled on the angel's face.

Dean scowled and scrubbed at his cheek, quietly cursing himself when his palm pulled back wet. Over the years, he'd gotten good at crying quietly. He hated that he was able to hide it from himself. Men didn't cry. Dean didn't cry. It was a lie, not so much a superstition, but a fable. A story he told himself.

"Dean I — I didn't realise my death... affected you so much. I apologise for the oversight," Cas spoke slowly, as though deliberately choosing each word with care.

How the hell could Cas not know his death, every goddamn one, hurt Dean? Cas was family.

"Yeah, well, I pegged you for a lot of things, Cas. Stupid wasn't one of 'em. So just... Be careful. I'm going to bed," Dean mumbled, praying for a quick exit.

Cas grabbed Dean's arm as he passed, stilling him. Dean felt the restriction return to his throat. He held his breath. He wished Cas knew what he meant without having to say it out loud.

Neither man spoke. The silence stretched long and loud between them. Cas clung to Dean's arm like a dying man to a life raft. For his part, Dean was just trying to stay afloat. Slowly, almost imperceptibly so, Cas' palm slid down to hold Dean's hand. Dean let him, which was as good as a confession.

There would be no confessions. A confession implied guilt, something that Dean had in droves, but not about Cas. It wasn't a lie so much as it was a fable. If a story was told long enough it became history.

He and Cas were still in the dark, biding time between apocalypses. He wished that when they finally found themselves in brighter times, there would be no need for confessions.

[cauldronblssd]

Watch It Glow

CH 1/5 | Read on AO3

For @elucienweekofficial Day 1 - Fated

Thank you to my wonderful betas, @climbthemountain2020 and @witch-and-her-witcher.

Iron bars greeted Elain as she opened her eyes. Everywhere she looked, she found it - iron bars on the windows to a yard gated by iron and stone walls, iron knobs on the door to her bedroom, and an iron ring, flanked with pearls, covering her finger. She’d tried to soften the effect with breezy yellow curtains and flowers by the window. She begrudgingly replaced them every few days, the room didn’t get enough sun to grow anything. 

The thick wool of a rug served as a barrier between her bare feet and the cold stone floor as she stepped out of bed. A tray with tea and her morning breakfast rested along the table in the corner. Elain wrapped a warm robe in her favorite shade of green around her body to fight against the chill. Despite all of the color she spread around the room, the gray stones of the walls seemed to leech any light and happiness from the space. Every step she took seemed to echo around her. Aside from a few servants, she would be alone in the manor for most of the day.

Elain squeezed a slice of lemon into her tea before lifting the mug, letting the steam waft into her face. This time in the morning was one of the few simple pleasures of the day she allowed herself to savor. She sat at the table, reading correspondence that had collected from the day before.  A few of the noble families had moved back to the village to rebuild, and the Asters had invited her to a ball they would be holding in a few weeks' time. She read three more letters in the same vein, each polite but mundane in nature. The letter she hoped for, from Feyre or Nesta, would not come by post, but would be spelled to her room directly. It had been a concession that Rhysand demanded, allowing her to stay in contact with her sisters, even if it must be discreet. At the time, she’d requested nothing for herself, allowing her family and her betrothed to make the negotiations on her behalf. Now, she felt grateful that Rhys had been so forceful in his requests.

Setting her empty teacup down with a pleasant clink, she headed to her adjoining bathing chamber to draw a hot bath. She could avoid her duties for a little longer, relishing this time before the sun had fully risen. Afterwards, Elain would be spending long hours running the manor. She’d lost two members of her staff in the recent months, and replacing them had been harder than she’d hoped. Despite their advertisements in local papers for their town and the next several over, the pay did not entice anyone to leave their current position.

Not to mention, so few people were willing to live so close to the place where the wall had once been. Neighboring towns murmured that it was cursed, that dark magic lingered. Others feared the new treaties would be impossible to enforce with no wall or wards to prevent faeries from coming to snatch humans away, as they had once done. While Elain would like to refute this particular fear, she couldn’t deny it, given that what happened to her own sister had launched the series of events that led to her being made fae.

Elain sank into the tub, letting her muscles relax as the hot water seeped into her body. She always felt cold, either due to the cold gray skies or her too thin frame. She draped her long hair down the back of the tub to keep it from getting wet as she submerged further, letting the water rise to her chin. 

Just thinking of the faeries in the neighboring court made her nervous. Her own secrets felt too precarious. Her hold on her magic felt shaky, and she worried that just the presence of other fae might trigger an unwanted release of her powers. Elain nervously felt the tips of her ears, reassuring herself that the glamour remained firmly in place. Even in her own chambers, she never let it slip. She couldn’t risk alerting the servants. Her marriage, too, depended on her willful denial of all things magic.

The truth of who she was, what happened to her, felt too painful to acknowledge. Most days, her old human body felt like a comfort. Other days, it felt like chains from which she couldn’t free herself. She hadn’t seen her own, true face, in years. It felt disorienting to forget the particulars of her own features, like a distant relative. Even her movements, she forced herself to alter. Elain had quickly adjusted to the easy, graceful gait of the fae. Upon her return to the human lands, she’d retrained herself into her old, clumsy posture, moving her hips more stiffly or stepping a hair too loudly.

Elain regretfully extricated herself from the bath, wrapping a towel around her body. She chose an elegant but simple day dress from her wardrobe, the same as what she wore most days when not expecting guests. She tightened the stays around her waist and breasts. Between her frail frame and her naturally small breasts, she doubted anyone would notice if she forwent the constricting garment, but propriety demanded it. 

Long before her engagement, before Feyre had ever hunted down the wolf, Elain had been regarded as beautiful. Her own mother dismissed her for it, seeing her as destined only for a marriage based on her beauty. Her husband, too, had often remarked on it. It had been one of the first things he spoke to her of when they danced at a ball. Glamoured to her old human self, something about her appearance never seemed quite right. Her features remained soft, her eyes a shade of warm brown. She meticulously cared for her loose curls, and they shone as any human woman’s might. It seemed dull to her now. 

Something shifted imperceptibly, it was her own face, but not. She wondered if Rhysand had not captured her human features completely when he’d glamoured her, or if she just had lost appreciation for her own face and body.

Elain inhaled deeply before gripping the iron door to her room and trudging down the hall. She walked down the stairs to the dining room, meeting the cook to review the menu for dinner that evening. The maids and kitchen staff offered her polite nods or small smiles as they passed by her. She longed to talk to them, befriend them, but had been scolded that it was not proper for the lady of the house to spend time with the staff. Who she was meant to interact with was less clear, given that there were no ladies to invite to tea, and she saw her own husband only for dinner before retiring to separate rooms.

The only lady of significance in the village lived just a few miles from her own home, but they did not see each other. Lord Nolan had gifted the property on the outskirts of the village to Queen Vassa in hopes of securing her favor once she returned to the throne. What a queen would want with such a plain and unwelcoming house, she didn’t know. Of all the places for a queen to reside, she certainly would never have chosen her own humble village.

After the war, when she had settled into her routine as the lady of the Manor and a married woman, she’d written on a few occasions to inquire after the queen to invite her to tea or simply to ask after her wellbeing. She’d never received a response, even to decline her offer. She suspected that the messages never truly made it to the fiery queen, but she could never prove it. Graysen often met with her on some official business or another, but she had never been invited to join him and he rebuffed any of the questions.

Once, she’d glimpsed the queen in her firebird form. Even with talons and flamed feathers, she still exuded royal grace as she sailed above. The queen had released a screech that she could have sworn had been directed at her. She didn’t know if a bird’s caw could have a tone, but she felt certain there was unspoken judgment in that sound. It was that memory that prevented Elain from pressing Graysen or Lord Nolan further to visit the queen. Perhaps he had delivered her messages, and only meant to spare her feelings that the queen did not want to see her.

If Vassa resented Elain’s place in the village, she supposed she couldn’t blame her. They had both had their human bodies and mortal lifespans stolen from them. But while the queen was forced to relinquish her womanly form each day to take to the skies, Elain remained comfortably hidden amongst the humans in secret. She’d never had another vision of the queen since the war ended. She suppressed her own powers through sheer force of will and a weekly dose of fae bane. Occasionally, she considered loosening her hold on her magic, just so she could see if she could summon another vision for Vassa. Perhaps if she did, the Queen might consider inviting her into her home.

Jurian, her general and living companion, was another matter. She had seen him, once or twice, reviewing some security measures with Graysen and Lord Nolan, pacing the fields of ash groves that lay behind the manor. It didn't seem entirely proper to live alone with the general. From what Elain knew, Vassa did not keep servants and did not have any other family or court members in her home. To live unmarried with a man would be scandalous by most standards, but she supposed royalty adhered to different rules than lords and ladies.

From what she knew of the queen, she eschewed tradition anyway, much to the Nolan’s chagrin. They believed that ladies, even queens, should follow the guidance of men, should speak only when spoken to. It was just another barrier to her friendship with the queen, Graysen did not permit her to spend time with anyone he considered unsuitable. More than her lack of courtly manners, Elain suspected that the reason that she was not permitted to speak with Vassa was the magic that touched her. Vassa was tied to an immortal God, after all. While still human in appearance, she might draw unnecessary attention to Elain and her own predicament.

She’d thought about asking in one of her letters to Feyre if she still hoped to break her curse, if anyone from the Night Court communicated with Vassa and might beseech on her behalf, but she knew that would invite too much involvement from her sister into her life. Feyre and Nesta never rebuked her outright for her choice to stay with Graysen. She had been so miserable in her time in Velaris, so unmoored by her visions and her loss of her true love, that they had been willing, though reluctant, to make arrangements for her to stay in the human lands.

She knew that Feyre wanted them to stay together. Nesta had fully joined the fold of her inner circle, training as a warrior and mating with Rhysand’s own brother. Elain considered returning to Velaris for Nesta’s mating ceremony, but ultimately decided against it. It had been a selfish choice, she knew. Feyre had assured her that they could winnow her to Prythian and return her that same night, if she’d wanted. Even Rhysand, whom she rarely spoke with, had written to encourage her to come, saying how much it would mean to both Feyre and Nesta to have her there for the day.

Graysen would never agree. Besides, she feared what it might draw out of her to be around so much magic and fae. Instead, she wrote her sister often, suggesting choices for flower arrangements and finding out everything about human wedding traditions she might incorporate into her own ceremony. She sent her little gifts, embroidered signs and hand calligraphed invitations, hoping that she could show her that she would help, offer her any amount of her time, from afar. 

Once a year, her sisters came to visit the manor on her birthday. They made arrangements with the Nolans to clear the house of servants so they could winnow directly into the home and see with their own eyes that she was well and cared for. Along with the letters, it had been one of the requirements of their marriage agreement. Even though she missed her sisters, she dreaded the visits. They looked at her with such concern and pity, she felt the need to overcompensate by acting overly cheerful and enthusiastic.

After their last visit, she felt so exhausted and frustrated, she kept to her rooms for two days, claiming a headache. She knew the staff whispered that it was her own reluctance to age or her sadness that another year passed where she had not born a child. That she did not age and would never bear a child with Graysen was something that she did not say. Someday, arrangements would have to be made for an heir to the Nolan line. Graysen would most likely take a lover, and Elain would raise the child as her own. They couldn’t risk a child born demifae. 

To hide her own powers required constant diligence, to mask the body and magic of a child seemed impossible. Could Graysen love a faerie born child? She doubted it. She tried to imagine her child running free on the property through a forest of ash and amongst the fae hating soldiers that guarded the gates. For love, she would face it, but she wouldn’t place that burden on her offspring.

Elain agreed to a plain dinner of venison and vegetables that the cook had suggested. Though the woman’s skills were considerable, the Nolan’s palettes remained unrefined and therefore their food unseasoned. The vegetables, bought at the market, tasted as much of dirt as anything else due to the unfavorable soil. She’d offered, once, to try growing some produce in the garden herself. Like all things, Lord Nolan deemed it unladylike and suggested she take up painting or an instrument instead. Elain did not have her sisters’ artistic or musical genes and hated both.

She practiced needlework and arranged bouquets of flowers. She filled odd hours practicing the languages of the continents and reading their history, hoping she might one day put her hosting skills to more work as a courtier and the lady of the manor. That, of course, required that any foreign guests deign to visit the human lands outside Prythian. Moreover, it also meant that Graysen allowed her to speak with them about more than the occasional comment on the weather or their preferred dance. Still, if she could not travel, she could at least read and educate herself.

After meeting with the staff, Elain took her parchment and tea to the garden behind the manor to set about returning a letter to the Asters about the ball. She planned to offer her assistance to Lady Lidia. She might find something new to busy herself with and make a friend in the process. She’d just finished pressing the wax seal to close the envelope when she heard a crunch in the gravel from behind her. The heavy steps told her it could only be Graysen’s father, Lord Nolan. The pace of his steps slowed as he approached her. Elain plastered a pleasant smile on her face, as she stood to curtsy a greeting to her father-in-law.

“Lady Elain, you look fine this morning.”

“Thank you, Lord.” She lowered her eyes demurely.

“To whom might you be writing?” No letter ever left the house without one of the two men she lived with approving it.

“Just a letter to Lady Lidia. Her family just returned to the old Aster estate a few miles over. They plan to throw a ball, and I offered her my assistance.”

He nodded his approval, responding gruffly. “Very nice. However, I must ask that you rescind the offer.”

“As you wish. Might I ask the reason?”

“Graysen planned to speak to you this evening, but we ask that you remain more closely at the manor for the next several days. Should any needs arise, please let Parsons know and he will have someone see to it.”

“Is there any danger, sir? Should I alert the servants?”

“The matter has already been addressed with the staff. I will notify you personally when the issue has been resolved.”

Without any further conversation, he inclined his head as a dismissal and turned to walk back towards the town. Elain hated that Graysen and Lord Nolan refused to provide her with any information about the dangers that plagued their days. That they bypassed her to speak to the servants directly snubbed her role as the Lady of the Manor, one of the only true responsibilities they allowed her.

Even years after the war, they spent much of their time reviewing their weaponry and meeting in secret. It is not the first time they’ve asked her not to leave the manor, though usually Graysen delivered the information himself. 

With a sigh, Elain sat back down and broke the seal on her letter. She would compose a new one, politely declining her invitation. Perhaps the threat would be lifted by the ball and she might write to her again to plead for a renewed offer. It hardly set the right tone for a new friendship, but she would supplicate herself to the woman. Even groveling, in the coy sense of a lady, would be preferable to the monotonous silence of the manor.

*****

Two days passed, and Graysen and Lord Nolan never returned to speak to her or tell her how long she might expect to be stuck in the manor. She caught the servants looking at her pityingly on a few occasions. Despite their distant relationship, she knew the servants favored sweet, mild-mannered Elain. Only their loyalty to her kept rumors of her marriage from making it to the town gossips. Personal matters often traveled from one house to another in this way. 

What might they think if they knew that lovely Elain, whose fiancé had been so smitten with her he promised to court her upon their first meeting, had spurned her already, never visiting their marriage bed. Blame would fall on her, as it always did on women. They would speculate that she was frigid or dull or some other odious trait that might lead a man to look for a mistress rather than find satisfaction with his wife.

Whether Graysen chose this, she wasn’t certain. He was gone often, but presumably spent much of that time in the company of his own father. She’d never scented another woman on him, never caught any glances exchanged between him and another lady in her social circle. This meant little, of course. Outside of the social gentry, one might have any number of affairs without making any promises to the woman involved. Graysen might choose such an opportunity, now that he’d secured a pretty wife to host his dinners and uphold his reputation as a respectable gentleman. Feyre had an affair of her own, when they had fallen poor. No one had looked twice when she snuck off, unsubtly, to take her pleasure in the barn with Isaac Hale.

Occasionally, Elain regretted that she had not chosen a man for herself during those years to enjoy herself and gain some experience. She had entered into her marriage with her purity intact. The silent and dispassionate exchanges she had in the dark of her bedroom with Graysen hardly fulfilled the fantasies she’d had in her youth. Elain had been a dreamer, imagining a great romance to sweep her off her feet. She’d expected that to include the kind of thrilling sex life she’d read about or now heard her sisters describe. While the first few times had been awkward, she’d felt sure with practice they might learn about each other’s bodies and find ways to pleasure each other. Graysen had no such interest, his efforts in sex as stilted as their conversations. Eventually, he stopped coming to her bed at all and she stopped asking. 

Elain’s shoulders ached from crouching over her embroidery hoop for too many hours to pass the time. Forbidden from gardening, she sewed flower after flower into pillows and handkerchiefs and napkins. She could only study history or languages for an hour or two at a time before her brain turned to mush. She looked out the window through the gaps in the iron bars to see that the sun shone brightly. She did not see any danger. 

The guards had not taken any extra preparations, they chatted amiably with each other out in the courtyard as they stood at their posts. They only engaged in such casual behavior when the Lord and his son were away. One guard, Bade, had a soft spot for her. She’d noticed his gaze lingering on her as she passed to and from the house on more than one occasion. He was not unusually handsome, but he was sweet and always offered her a greeting, which was more than her own husband could say.

Had Lord Nolan instructed them that she was not to leave the house? Most likely. However, Elain had spent her whole life charming her way into getting the answers she wanted. Perhaps if she acted casually enough and buttered up the guards a little, she might take a walk to the village for an hour or two. She could pick up a new book and stop by the market. If the villagers knew of any danger to the area, there would be talk of it.

Elain grabbed a basket and her cloak before donning her most innocent expression. She strolled through the front door, offering friendly greetings to the two guards stationed on either side. She walked as quickly as she dared without drawing attention. Better not to speak more than necessary so she wouldn’t be caught in a lie. When she reached the iron gates, she paused to address Bade and the other guard, Radcliff.

“Isn’t the sun just beautiful today?”

Both men looked at her warily, though a slight flush bloomed on Bade’s cheeks. She heard his pulse jump, pounding loudly in the silence of the courtyard.

“Indeed, my lady. I did not know that you planned an excursion for this afternoon.”

Elain just smiled sweetly, tilting her head to the side. “Not planned, necessarily. Aida mentioned that she was a bit short of greens for tonight’s stew. I offered to fetch it from the market for her so that I could enjoy the sun. I had need to stop at the seamstress, anyway.”

The guards exchanged glances.

“All this gloomy weather had left me feeling rather ill. I hoped fresh air might ensure my good health.” She was laying it on thick, she needed to slow down if she didn’t want to raise suspicions. She recalled, with amusement, a time when her father had told her that faeries couldn’t lie. These men, of course, did not know that she wasn’t human, but she hoped to call upon a bit of fae trickery to get them to believe her all the same.

Bade bowed respectfully. “Of course, my lady. Lord Graysen will be most pleased to see you looking so well when he returns.”

“You’re too kind, Bade. When does he plan to return?”

Radcliff cleared this throat, perhaps startled that she did not know when to expect her own husband. “Tomorrow evening, Lady Elain, if my information is accurate.”

She forced a smile. “Perfect, perhaps I will pick up something for him while I’m out. You’ve been most helpful. Thank you, gentleman.” She looked at them each in turn, standing at the gate expectantly. They pulled the gate open and Radcliff raised his hand for her to proceed.

The village was just a little too far away to walk comfortably, and Elain’s feet started to ache in her boots by the time she reached the market. She had not intended to buy anything, but now that she’d told the guards about the cook’s need of it, she couldn’t return empty handed. Elain meandered amongst the stands, hoping to look inconspicuous. Usually, the lady of a house would never deign to procure her own food at the market. She tried not to linger too long in any area so that she didn’t call attention to herself. She knew many of the people selling their goods from when she had been poor, when she had bartered anything they had in the cottage to secure food and clothing when she could.

Speaking to any of them now, it was as if those years never happened. In her heart, she wanted to be forgiving, they had all been forced to face many hard years in the best way they could. However, she couldn’t bring herself to truly forget the scornful glances they’d given her when her bones had poked out of her body in every direction from near starvation. Even less so could she forgive the way it humiliated Nesta, the wound to her pride that still lingers.

Keeping her head down, she hadn’t noticed the uneasy glances of many of the customers and merchants as they bustled about the market. One woman held to her purse so tightly as she walked about, her knuckles had turned white. Another man already begun to shut down his booth, despite it not being an hour past noon. Elain’s heart began to beat a quicker pulse in her chest. Discreetly, she looked at her hands. They looked human, normal. Her fae hands had been graceful, with slender wrists and long fingers. Her skin too, looked human. She could even see where a patch had grown rough from the cold spring weather. Her ears were hidden behind her hair, but she felt no difference.

She turned around, looking for any indication of a disturbance. Perhaps there was danger after all, and she should hurry home. She tried to remind herself that she was not a weak human any more. If true danger arose, she could run quickly or defend herself if need be. But that would raise questions she was not prepared to answer.

Still, the thought of another day of quiet in that house with nothing to do but stitch roses and lilies might be her undoing. She quickly purchased some celery and spinach from one of the new merchants to town before hustling towards the next street where the shops were located. An unnatural quiet hovered over the street that normally sang with commotion on a busy day. Faces turned northward where crowds separated with clumsy urgency. She looked towards the cause of the disturbance. A spot of red hovered over the crowd of onlookers.

She stood, transfixed, hoping that she might catch a glimpse of who held the attention of so many villagers. Elain began to turn the other direction when she saw the familiar dark hair and broad shoulders of Jurian walking through the crowds. He looked agitated, his jaw clenched and his hand gripping the pommel of his sword. Jurian was infamous, as a war hero, but surely not the cause of such a fuss?

Elain looked at the person walking behind him and dropped her basket in surprise. She let out a surprised gasp that caused a few people to look in her direction. Walking alongside Jurian, his ruby colored hair gleaming under the bright sun, was Lucien.

[thecoffeelovingfreak]

𝒔𝒐𝒘 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒚

sequel to eyes of the ranger

pairing: boothill x gn!ex-undertaker!reader

genres: western!au, angst, domestic fluff, bits of hurt/comfort

word count: 8.6k

warnings: spoilers for boothill's backstory, death, heavy angst, explorations of grief, gun violence, blood, implied suicidal thoughts, unhealthy coping mechanisms

notes: I've only seen the bare minimum of his story leaks, and they've been spinning around my head ever since. Some details of the timeline might be tweaked, or imagined/added, but that's just for the au. Still, please enjoy this sequel, and what more I've added to this world! Here's some flowers again :) 💐

Read it on ao3!

~~~

Candles cast their glow brightly across wood panels as you hummed a lilting melody. Hands played with your hair, tugging on the strands to draw your attention away from the swirling pot of stew.

“Papa?"

"He'll be back soon, sweetie."

Your daughter shifted on your arm as you placed the spoon back in its resting spot. Her head fell against your shoulder, no doubt growing bored as crackles of fire echoed across the cabin.

You resumed the tune, bouncing slightly from side to side. She perked up once more as you took her hand over your first two fingers, thumb covering its small size. Her eyes began to crinkle as her first few teeth were revealed by a smile. She always loved dancing and music, likely because of her "silly papa".

When he left for town in the afternoon, he tripped over the porch's last step – on purpose, you suspected. She quickly laughed from where she sat with you in the rocking chair, calling him the nickname as he straightened up again. In just a couple strides he was back in front of you, fingertip meeting her nose before she swatted at him. He chuckled, leaving another kiss on both of your foreheads and embarking again.

As you gently spun, her gaze drifted to the window. She lit up, brighter than any heavenly body, and pointed to the door.

"Papa! Papa!"

The sound of approaching hooves met your ears softly, leading you to peer through the glass panes. Unfortunately, your vision was greeted by the furthest people from Boothill.

The National Hunter's Agency had grown to infamy everywhere you went. They had been given many pardons, and bought off plenty of sheriffs and their higher-ups to be able to operate as they pleased in numerous states. It seems now, after two years, they had caught wind of your bounty and wanted to cash in.

You carefully set her down on the floor, hands staying at her sides in case she lost balance. With some support, you walked her to your shared bedroom, guiding her to hide in your shaker wardrobe.

An anxious hand rotated the knob on the front door, leaving you face to face with a row of five men. Two in suits at the center, and three dressed more rugged at their side.

"Good evening." one greeted, smoke flowing from his mouth. "I assume you know why we're here."

The reverberations of your boots ceased before the steps as you stared at the lineup. "Naturally."

He hummed, throwing the remains of his cigarette to the dirt.

The agent at his right spoke up, "Why don't you walk down here, then."

“Isn’t it your job to capture me?”

“Continue resisting and you don’t have to be the only one we take.”

Your resolution faltered, and the hunters closed in. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Are you sure?”

Glass shattered behind you, followed by heavy thumping. Tendrils of dread inched in, their freeze creeping over your bones.

“Step down.”

Despite every instinct screaming for you to move, to follow their commands, denial and fear kept you in place.

“You’ve got about one minute before we force you to.”

A glaze fell over your surroundings, the situation tumbling to the wayside as your thoughts and blood rushed in unison. It was five against one, and each of them were armed – you were not. They had more information than they were letting on. Someone was searching the cabin for your daughter, likely their sixth. She would be weaponized if she was caught, stuck in the crossfire of your bounty.

Was there a way out of this? To prevent what seemed increasingly inevitable?

Well, yes. You could give yourself up.

But there was no guarantee of her safety afterward, or that you would remain alive.

Still, you and Boothill had made a promise when you first took her in, just one year ago. If danger ever presented itself, you would lay down your lives to protect her.

One of the hunters drew his pistol as your boot hit the first step.

Another dismounted, his dirtied white shirt twisting, then straightening once more as he approached you. A rough grip captured your arms, dragging them behind your back. Something hard hit the ground at your right, a rope thrown by one of his partners. It was wrapped and tied around your wrists, the friction beginning to cast a light burning sensation over the skin.

A foot met the back of your knees as he tightened the restraints, dust rising at the impact. One of the agents joined you, the scent of smoke lingering on his fingers as he brought your head up to meet his eyes. They returned to his side a moment later as his gaze turned to the cabin.

A hunter had your little girl in his grasp, her steps short, frightened, and struggling as she was led down the stairs. She looked at you, searching for answers or what to do.

The saddled agent’s voice sounded from behind, “The NHA seeks to rid these ranges of their impurities. When you wish to uproot an evil such as yourself, no trace must remain.”

He gestured toward the four hunters, and his fellow agent disappeared from your view.

Then the brutality they were known for reared its unforgettable head.

The low flat heel of a dress shoe met your back, staying there as you writhed on the ground, watching up at your daughter.

A metallic barrel crept to the rear of her head.

The tendrils of dread became horrible claws, sinking into every organ and twisting.

Warm ruby droplets cascaded over pale brown and flesh, as the shot’s echo dulled your senses and her body crumbled to the ground.

The claws dug open a void as a defeated cry exit your lips. You were released from under the agent’s foot, flipped over to stare at the cloud-stricken dusk. Voices yelled around you, the words fading into one persistent cacophony. A hand pressed itself down onto your shoulder, before a pain blossomed in the other. A rugged face peered down at you, contempt rising in their features. A new flower of sharp ache grew in your left thigh, tears finally stinging at your eyes.

A fresh splattering of blood flowed over your face, shocking you out of despair. Their body went limp over yours, and you quickly brushed them to the side. Now free from the hunter’s reach, you sunk your hands into the dirt beside you, slowly turning yourself back to your stomach. The hilt of a knife hit the ground as you did so, veins coming alight with panic from its twist in your wound.

Despite every injury, you only had one focus – to see your daughter one last time.

Sharp gravel digged uncomfortably underneath your legs as your restrained hands inched forward. Blood thrummed in your ears, yet the unmistakable sound of gunshots broke through. Within a matter of seconds someone rushed to your crawling form. They called for you, voice breaking at the scene as a hand brushed through your hair.

“Darlin’?”

Your head rose at every emotion kept within that one word, asked by a husky voice you could find in any darkness. Anguish cast itself over his face when he finally saw what you were headed toward. He sank to his knees next to you, a wrecked sob reaching into the evening only to be greeted by no comfort.

Reluctantly, you gazed at your daughter’s corpse, journeying silently past Boothill to finally touch her.

A sticky scarlet liquid mocked you, revealing your sorrow-stricken features coated in its kind within the pool. Your fingers rose to her, a warmth lingering below as she was turned. You summoned any last inkling of strength you had, smiling down to her and speaking softly.

“You were my pride and joy, sweetheart. I’ve had no greater honor than being your parent.”

You leaned down, a soft kiss landing on her forehead before you cried a chant of apologies. When any words you could conjure finally entered oblivion, your eyes looked back to Boothill. He hadn’t moved an inch, rendered paralyzed by the gravity of what he arrived home to. It seemed as though he had been ripped apart, every wire inside of him fraying.

This was your fault, and you were sure he knew that too.

Regret became a well in your heart, rising from the depths and overflowing onto its dying grass. Your head ached, thoughts swirling until each one sinked in grief’s whirlpool. In resignation, you lie beside her, holding her chilled hands between your fingers. If you closed your eyes, you could still see her smile as you danced making dinner.

It would feel best if you never opened them again, but you couldn’t leave Boothill to carry this weight alone. He didn’t deserve such a fate.

A hand swiped over your stained cheek, drawing you back to miserable reality. Tears descended from silver, embers kindling beneath their despair. You lifted your hands from hers, closing her lifeless eyes. Boothill’s hat rested at his chest, head downturned from where he knelt.

Together, you mourned.

—

PART I - Fatherhood And Other Dreams

"Papa! The moo-moos!"

"I see them!" Boothill chuckled, watching a finger point at their pasture.

Rena wriggled against his side, wanting to move closer to them. He complied, jogging to the wooden fence as she smiled.

Her small hands reached past the log fence, petting along one of the cow's heads as it grazed. She had such an affinity for the animals here, something you always joked she got from him.

Every morning like clockwork, she would point them out, longing to go and sit with them for a while. He would join her, occasionally teaching her things about their diets or hair as she would get close and stare into their big brown eyes.

Today she angled back against his leg and smiled at her altered reflection in them, before you tousled her growing hair. He hadn’t heard you approach, too absorbed in the scene to hear your boots kick up dust. His hand rose to rub against the back of your neck as you leaned into him, sipping on your mug of black coffee.

He had noticed your odd positioning on the pillow, no doubt leaving you with some pains when you woke. Quiet snores filled the room; something he would laugh with Rena about, her high-pitched giggles overtaking the silence of the night as her hands pat against your cheeks. Your light snoring would cease, and your face would scrunch up at the unexpected disturbance before you recognized the poking of your daughter. He watched as you tickled the side of her neck, placing a hand on her back when she fell on your chest and wiggled around in joy.

He’s never felt more love than in those little moments, witnessing his entire world as two shining stars amidst the murky midnight.

“In!”

“Brush first?”

“Yeah!”

He was brought back to you after a quick shake of his head, two gazes of the same color waiting for him. One enthusiastic, the other fond and patient as he bent down to pick up Rena. She played with his low braided hair, pulling a few small strands free. You ventured to the stables, likely fetching a brush that she had dropped on one of the chairs yesterday.

The grass was fresh with dew, shining under the morning rays. He opened the gate with ease, feeling a breeze run over his cheeks as he shut it behind him. The pasture was wide, yet filled with only ten cows. Each one would be brushed daily by Rena, starting with one patterned in brown and white. It was an activity she had adored since the first time you had brought her out to help just a couple months ago. Seeing how much she enjoyed it, he joined the two of you only a week later.

You came to his side, handing the brush over to her as you sipped on your coffee. He gestured at you with his chin as bristles met little hairs. With a smile, you turned the mug in his direction, a warm and bitter liquid flowing over his tongue.

A gentle laugh left your lips when the cow’s head moved, rising up into the brush and slightly twisting into it. Rena turned to you, beaming as she moved the brush to another spot. The cow reacted in turn, and you laughed again.

~

The wood ceiling of the barn came into view as Boothill’s head was tugged backward. A light chuckle echoed through the space, falling in time with the noon bird's chirp. His hat tumbled to the hay and dust riddled floor, yet it didn’t remain for long. Little hands left the ends of his hair, snatching the hat instead. He watched, bale in hand, as you scooped up Rena. In a swift motion, you placed his hat on her head, one arm wrapped around your neck and the other reaching for the large brim.

The bale crashed onto the floor, beginning a new stack by one of the stables. The sound brought Rena's attention to him, her head tilting backward to spot him from underneath the hat.

“Like papa!”

“You wanna be like him?"

"Yeah!"

"Then we're gonna have a lot to teach you."

He grinned, the brightness of the sun’s rays and his daughter’s admiration seeping into his smile. With her now distracted by one of the horses, he wrapped an arm around your waist, leaving a kiss on your lips before continuing his work.

~

The orange and golden rays of sunset beckoned your gaze to the large window overlooking the front porch. Rena slept peacefully on your chest, a combination of a full stomach and boredom likely the cause. You brought the book in your right hand to the other supporting her, flipping the page carefully.

The slow thumping of boots echoed through the door, prompting Rena to stir. She had always been a light sleeper, though she didn't always fully awaken. It seemed that this evening she would, leaning backward into your hand as the door opened. Boothill's figure emerged, lit by the bright horizon. She shuffled as her eyes opened to meet his, slowly laying further backward against your hand. Letting the leather-bound book fall from your lap, you wrapped both hands around her. She whined, leading one of your brows to raise.

Boothill inched closer, stopping at the edge of the rug in your little living area. You set Rena down, your hands staying at her sides. She watched the floor intently, gaze shifting between it and her papa. Quickly you picked up on her intentions, standing behind her and holding her hands just above her head.

Her foot moved forward slightly, and excitement blossomed on both your and Boothill's faces. He knelt down, holding his arms out for her. Feeling encouraged, she moved faster, taking her first few steps with your support. When she finally reached her papa, he lifted her up, cheering at her along with you. She beamed, her feet kicking back and forth in the air as she giggled.

~

The stars twinkled in the growing twilight, contrasting with the auburn and violet hues on the horizon. Cool grass stood between your fingers, the tranquility of the coming night bleeding into your spirit. The hill provided a lovely view of the valley below as crickets began to chirp. A thin herd of deer moved like whispers just a few feet before you.

One startled in your direction, the sound of Rena picking at strings increasing its paranoia. She was transfixed by the instrument, plucking as she sat in Boothill’s lap. His affectionate gaze watched down at her, adjusting the blanket over her legs.

There were many nights over the past few days you would wake to find Boothill absent from your bed. Rena would stir at your side, face scrunching further into the pillow as she murmured. After returning her stuffed bear from the other side of the bed, you would walk to find him at the kitchen table. The fire lit various scenes; some filled with brushes and varnish, others with whittling tools and etched knobs. Sometimes he would be passed out against the table, shavings coating his cheek. He wanted to complete the gift as soon as possible, his wish of sharing and passing on melodies and lyrics from his life fueling his craft.

Feeling fingers brush through his hair, Boothill would awaken to your soft gaze. Wordlessly you wiped his cheek, taking his hand in yours and bringing him to bed.

Gentle singing met your ears, skilled strumming of a guitar accompanying it. One large hand shifted up and down the strings, holding, shaking, and lifting to change the tune. The other encased one of Rena’s guiding her through the song.

The sun completed its descent underneath the horizon, and the herd of deer found their way back into the forest. Hints of light hung in the sky, now joined by colors of dandelions and the deep sea. The high-pitched babbling of your daughter chimed in during certain sections, forming a heart-warming duet. With your head on Boothill’s shoulder, you hummed along.

—

The town of Iris Creek was blissful, wilted blossoms gathering on the path's edges from the growing heat. The watery flow of its namesake echoed through the grand trees, calming your mind as you approached with Boothill at your side. After your most recent hunt, a week of rest was well-deserved.

Leaning down, you let the velvety liquid rush between your fingers. Its chill permeated your flesh, a content smile on your face as Boothill toyed with your hair.

“I enjoy seeing you this way.” he whispered, staring at you lovingly.

You turned, removing your hand from the water and laying back on the grass.

“At ease?” you questioned.

He nodded, resting down beside you, hat on his chest. You brushed aside his lengthening bangs, turning the strands together before running a thumb over his cheek.

He leaned into your touch as you asked, “Do you watch me sleep then?”

Embarrassed, his face angled toward the ground.

“Gettin’ shy on me, cowboy?”

He gave no response, simply meeting your eyes with a tender silver. Your lips met his cheek, feeling the bashful warmth gracing his features.

“I like it.” you spoke softly in his ear, leaving a little bite along the lobe.

One hand came up to your waist, holding tightly as your focus shifted to his neck. The other fell into your hair, gripping after a bold lick to the revealed skin.

“Can’t help but be at your mercy, sugar.”

“Such a charmer.”

“Around someone like you, it’s only natural.”

A nibble at the edge of his jaw led his fingers to rub underneath your shirt.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, look at you. One conversation and I was hooked.”

“All it took was one challenge for you to love me?” you chuckled.

“Sugar, all it took was one glance.”

A cry reverberated down the creek as you finally kissed Boothill’s lips. It was panicked and small, drawing you almost entirely from the moment.

Pushing off of his chest, you sat up to survey your surroundings. Boothill rubbed your thigh, looking at you curiously. Just a minute later the two of you stood, spotting a tarnished cloth amongst the bank’s brush.

“Do you see that?”

He followed your gaze, walking ahead of you only to kneel down and lift the sullied fabric. His eyes widened as he beckoned you over. The crying intensified, a tiny head turning from side to side.

A baby.

Boothill was the first to move, cradling them gently in his arms. You brought a finger to their grabbing hands, brushing another one over their forehead.

“What should we do?” you wondered aloud.

“Take them in?” he uttered.

“Are we ready for that, though? We’re wanted criminals, Boothill. That’s no life for a child.”

“Then we settle down.”

“There’s still no guarantee we won’t be hunted or ambushed.”

Your hands fell back to your side, unsure eyes watching the gears turn in his mind.

“We would be their parents, together we can take anybody. Lay down our lives if necessary. We could find somewhere more isolated, maybe even further out of this state. Teach them some of our methods as they get older.”

A heavy sigh left your lungs, the weight of dozens of questions slowly dissipating. There were many details to discuss and new plans to craft. Nonetheless, your head landed on Boothill’s shoulder, two adoring gazes on your child.

~

Butter-colored rays bore through the train car’s windows, wide mountains of tan rock and green bushes waiting outside. A bundle of blankets lay in your arms, encasing your daughter in comfort and warmth.

Boothill had left for them not long after you brought her back to the hotel, returning worriedly with them in hand. They were soft and luscious, leading you to wonder who he had stolen them from. “Only the best for our little girl” – it wasn’t just a statement but a promise.

Another was sworn that evening, your daughter finally clean and sleeping in your arms. Boothill rest behind you in the bed, shielding your small family from any danger while wrapping you in care.

“What should we name her?” he asked quietly, warm breath fanning over your neck.

You pondered silently, letting your head lay on his shoulder. “How about Rena?”

He hummed, a thick finger running over her forehead. “From that play of Effie's, right?”

“I think her story was admirable. Live freely, out on your own road, never waste your time with what you can’t change.”

“Now I like the ring of that.”

“See?” you smiled, a teasing slant to it. “When I wrote to her a few days ago she added in a thought or two about the characters. She said Rena also meant melody, at least according to what she could find in Thatcher's library.”

“Then it's settled.”

His chin landed in the crook of your neck as he simply watched her be, absorbed in thoughts of the future. It wasn’t until she stirred, eyes opening and hands seeking, that you witnessed him take on a gentleness formerly reserved for only you.

His eyes began to water as she held his finger close, staring up in his direction yet unable to pin him down. When she finally did, he sat like a spooked deer, only releasing a low, happy chuckle after your own.

A cough down the car broke you from idle reminiscence. Boothill read a crinkled paper, the letter sent from the ranch you were seeking out. He had come back one evening with the result after days of asking around. Down near Iron Springs, there was someone with plenty of land – could provide decent wages and a cabin to stay in. A suitable place to settle down, with much for Rena to learn and experience.

Taking his cheek between your empty fingers, you pinched and watched him grumble. Despite your lifestyle, you could only hope that this would be a lovely and safe life for her.

—

PART II - A Luminous Star, Ephemeral

Murky skies cried chilling droplets, harshly soaking your bloodstained shirt. The evening had to be setting in, but any hope of seeing the sun finally fade had long since dissipated with the storm’s onslaught. A frayed splinter dug into your palm, the weight of the shovel increasing as the hole in the ground deepened. The dirt was malleable, easy to unearth and pile up.

Many graves were dug by your hand, and you prayed this would be the last.

Boothill wept only a few feet away, Rena’s corpse in his arms underneath a sturdy tree. Ashamed, your gaze fell back to the emptying plot.

Heavy throbbing found its home along your left side, yet still, you had to dig. The pain was deserved – a punishment that fit your crime. Crusting edges tug and bent at the surrounding skin, the quickly cauterized wounds only growing more irritated by the rainwater.

Trickles of pink traversed down your cheeks, blood washing away slowly with your tears. Leaning on the shovel, your eyes rose from the ground. A strong and steady breeze cast the rain in sheets, carving figures in the mist. Discerning who they were was useless, you could remember them anywhere.

Your father, the Weston family, and your daughter.

The mud and soil coating your fingers shifted to a deep scarlet, beads falling from their tips and hitting your boots. Trees morphed into tombstones, and you found yourself paralyzed. Mr. Whitfield’s gravelly voice rang in your ears, drowning out any natural melodies.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn a pure soul, lost too soon. Rena Blackwell was an adored child, and she will continue to be so in our thoughts, and all the way to the depths of our hearts. Her smile could dispel any darkness, and her curiosity persisted to the ends of the earth. Her fascinations lie with animals and music, her greatest friends a pony and her papa’s guitar. May she find eternal peace amidst these mountains and plains, their windy song carrying her gently to the hereafter.”

Lightning crackled across the sky, an omen of your judgment day. Boothill’s shadowed figure stand illuminated by the last ounce of daylight breaking from the clouds. Rena lay delicately in the grave, eyes closed and hands folded, his hat just beneath their union. Wordlessly he took the shovel, leaving you to kneel at her side as dirt cascaded over her corpse.

Stars found their stages in the wisp-struck night sky, their beaming light mocking. If they were tangible to Earth, you would have left plenty of rounds in them. Mourning was an act displayed to you since childhood, but it never came easily. Perhaps that was part of the point. Loss would never be simple, and humanity is far too complex to handle it so. Death was an odd thing, and despite working so intimately with the inevitable specter, it had yet to reveal every one of its forms.

Every body you would prepare never revealed its secrets. No amount of soap and water could cleanse it's invasiveness. No number of incisions and blood drained could release the agony. The fluids injected could not provide life, and clothes would only emulate. Death was permanent, and excruciating to all.

You could shoot a man without hesitation, but being along the receiving end of that cruelty, you could only resign yourself to regret. You killed bad men, yet they still had lives. Friends and family they found or created.

The grating sound of a knife on wood reached your ears, breaking into your thoughts. Boothill sat opposite to you, a neat piece of bark in his hands. Raging thunder rolled, sending a chill down your spine. Paranoia created the shattering sense that you would be reunited with Rena by dawn. Either by your own hands or someone else’s; perhaps the heavens would shoot back, sanctioned by some higher force that heard your monologue.

You watched him work, one tainted hand of yours rubbing back and forth over the dirt housing your daughter. His actions soon faded to oblivion as the song of the storm played on.

When a new bolt of lightning crashed, you became privy to her tombstone.

Rena Blackwell

Beloved star

1892 - 1892

Boothill stood, utterly dejected and tear-stained, before extending a hand down to you. His head met your shoulder once you rose, and one of your hands reached his hair. Strength was needed of you, not misery. The only comfort you received was a fact – no harm would befall you in Boothill’s arms, unless he pointed the gun at you instead.

—

Cheers ascended from under the floorboards, filling your pitch-black room with taunting joy. Your eyes remained on the ceiling, hands at your sides as you lay still – attempting to sink into the hard mattress while the hurricane to your left continued. It was the sixth night ending like this. Boothill had yet to find slumber, his journey to it only filled with suffering. He never reached out, always keeping his back to you and his face toward the pillow.

Despite the stinging urge to run your fingers through his hair, not once could you ever. Conflicting instincts wanting nothing more than to soothe him, but craving an escape.

You rubbed your eyes, throwing the sheet off of your body. The night chill creeped in, the sensation a welcome dissipation for your tenseness. A sniff echoed before a heavy sigh, and not even a moment later the bed resumed its light shaking. Stomps came in unison from the bar below, startling you to jump. With a worn exhale you sat up, feet touching the rough floor. In just a couple quick movements, you were dressed well and ready to face the ruckus below.

A saddened silver gaze finally revealed itself in the sliver of light from the doorway, but yours focused only on the ground, afraid to face him.

Instead, you would find solace in a bartender’s hands, the liquor he poured leaving a delightful blaze in your throat – easing the pain one sip at a time. It was only now you could understand why Isaiah Weston made the choices he did. Too cowardly to navigate his emotions, much less his son’s. The vulnerability intimidating, and any words gone with the wind. A weight too heavy to hold, but various fears preventing you from ever sharing it.

Getting lost in the bottle was a romantic escape, then, even if you would come to regret it. That blossomed the vicious cycle, when your method of coping only added more guilt – defeating the purpose of this night to begin with.

A hand placed itself on your shoulder, bringing your gaze from empty shot glasses to a familiarly styled head of black hair. Tears rapidly welled in your eyes, spirit feeling despondent when their hand returned to the counter.

“Jasper?” you whispered, feeble hope fueling your delusion.

They shook their head at you, “I’m afraid that’s not my name.”

“My apologies.” you nodded, downing another round as they began talking to the bartender.

He was dead, the first to meet the end of your revolver. There was no place to find him besides six feet under, at the very cemetery you first met.

Perhaps a visit to Fort Talia was what you needed. It had been four or five years since you left that fateful night with Boothill, never to look back. Although now, after everything, maybe looking back is the right thing to do. Return to, and learn from the past in order to glance forward. Walk the deck of the funeral parlor, stop by your old house. Finally speak to your mother again.

It was decided. Talk to Boothill come morning and see if he would join you.

—

Bright noon rays lit up the dusty buildings of Fort Talia, its peaceful people walking past Boothill with nods and greetings. Under any other circumstance he would respond, however words failed him now. The brim of his new hat hung low, obscuring his features and providing a bit of comfort. The less others saw of him the better.

He was fractured, too many pieces scattered across the range for him to find. Conversation would not come easy when he could hardly even handle a talk with himself. Your hotel rooms had become suffocating as of late. Silence reigning and gazes only ever in opposing directions. It was cold – a sensation Boothill had become unfamiliar with after all these years. That only served to make your icy temperament feel like a burning hell. No words exit your lips, eyes focused out of windows, on the ceiling or the floor. It was unbearable, the shunning that leaked from your figure.

What had he done to make you feel so? Was he even to blame?

Silver watched the clouds drift over the sky, a horrible longing to join them occupying his mind. A nearly impossible fate for him, now feared more than ever.

“Papa!”

A small, light voice shouted excitedly, followed by the pattering of boots on the deck.

Boothill turned expectantly, arms shifting and ready to pick up his daughter.

Instead he was made a fool.

He quickly returned to a regular stance, leaving down the nearby alleyway to lean himself against the wood. That was somebody else’s child, not his. The title he came to love most would never be used again, abandoned amidst the Iron Springs forest. “Papa” was her first word, and possibly even her last.

He recalled the tears you shared when she spoke, listening to her babble about him. Her voice was that of angels, as if he was finally worthy of speaking to the heavens.

Now he lost that angel, the most vivid star in the sky.

~

Three moss-coated tombstones lay before you, names that you first came to know at fifteen.

Isaiah, Callie, and Jasper.

Ellis must rest in Warren, then. Forever separated from his family.

A couple desert marigolds grew along the path to the cemetery, and you left one at each of their graves. Six in total gathered in your hand – one for each person you were to visit, as well as two extras for whoever you saw fit.

Boots trudged through the dry ground, avoiding stones that shaped plots or decorated the base of a tombstone. Rocks of grey and tan sat below your father’s and the one now beside it.

Upon reading the inscription, the marigolds fell to the dust.

Your mother was buried at his right, her death only one year ago.

With your forehead to the fine wood of said tombstone, your resolve finally crumbled. Any strength you wished to hold forsaken for the misery you denied. Tears flowed and fell frenzied, patiently creating a mud where your fingertips dug into the ground.

All of this loss, but why?

Why cherish anything if it would only be ripped away?

Holding your precious little girl one moment, only for her blood to splash over your face the next. Befriend a lonely boy, one who you found a kinship with, just for him to be shot by your hand.

Your mother, who despite her own mourning, still silently reached out to you, giving you what support she could muster. Your father, who robbed and killed unbeknownst to you, still provided and taught you things he knew about the world that would never be shared at the old schoolhouse.

They all had one common thread – loving you.

Burden, plague, curse. All words that could describe what a detriment you were. If they never loved you, never met or created you, perhaps their fates would be different.

What of Boothill, then?

—

Droplet-stained windows displayed a wagon of bottles stopping outside of the saloon. One of the drivers lept from its front, unlocking the back panel and pulling out two jugs. He lifted them in each hand, a big smile on his face as he cheered through the doors.

The crude and familiar scent of cigarette smoke curled through the window as you cracked it open, the stale quietude of your hotel room grating your nerves. Boothill observed you idly from the bed as you inhaled deeply, palms on the framing. The smell was lovely now, soothing almost. His gaze bore into you, seemingly trying to decipher your inner world.

"What is it?" you spoke softly, head turning toward him.

He sighed, eyes shifting to the ceiling. "I… You've just been so… cold I guess. I try not to take it personally, but I can't help it sometimes."

"Our daughter died, Boothill."

He sat up, "You think I don't know that?"

With a heavy exhale, you faced him. "Of course you do, but I just…"

"Every day begins and ends with her. Not a second goes by where that scene ain't fillin' my head."

"You assume it isn't the same for me? I watched them shoot her – her blood was on my face for hours! Do you think I can forget that?"

"I'm not askin' you to!"

"It sure sounds like it!"

"I just want some answers and for you to recognize that you're not the only one hurtin' here. Shutting me out hasn't been doing any good."

"Shutting you out? I recall you doing that to me. Any time I reach out, you leave or move away from me, and I get no words, nothing! You've got no love or respect for me anymore!"

"Don't you go there." He stood, inching closer to you with every word. "How dare you say that I feel nothing for you. If anything, you've been giving that treatment to me. Do you know how it feels to lay there cryin', wishing that your partner would just run their fingers through your hair and share that pain with you? No. Instead they go out for the night doin' who the heaven knows what, and then return at dawn like nothing happened. Like they didn't just abandon you to return reeking of alcohol or bruised and bloodied. Do you know how powerless that makes somebody?"

"I'm handlin' my own pain my way. I'm tryin' to be strong for you!"

"I don't want you to be strong for me! I want to know that my partner is here, and never leavin'! You remember what I said? I take care of you and you take care of me. That was the promise!"

"Well how are you takin' care of me exactly?"

"How am I supposed to begin if you never let me in!"

"Rich comin' from the likes of you."

"Why're you talkin' down to me? Do you think that helps?"

He paused before you, staring down into your eyes with a mixture of fire and love – an undertone of concern and fear. His hands came to hold your shoulders, and you hesitantly accepted the touch. One drifted up to the side of your neck, his thumb tracing your jaw and the edge of your cheek. The way he'd always comfort you. A guilt began setting in, tearing and biting at your throat, preventing any words from leaving you – likely for the better after your childish retorts.

"I don't wanna fight with you, darlin'. Please, just talk to me."

Wordlessly, you placed your arms around his neck, hugging him cheek to cheek. His own came to encase you when you finally whispered everything in his ear.

"I miss you… so much it hurts. I'm so sorry for all of the turmoil I've given you. That was never my intention. I just… I felt like you hated me. Blamed me for her… death."

"I never could."

"And I know that now. I didn't mean to be so cold, and I understand how you need me. I must admit I'd like to be selfish and have you do the same."

"That's not selfish."

You sniffed, "My… my mama died a year ago."

"Darlin'..."

"I didn't know." Fresh tears welled in your eyes. "She had no way to write to me. I have no idea what could have happened to her. She was all alone, lost to the world in our little house."

His hands descended to your hips, carefully stepping backward as you clung to him reluctant to move. He turned, setting you down on the bed before walking to get a blanket off of one of the chairs. The soft wool came into your hands before a weight settled behind you.

“Lay down.”

You shifted up the bed, throwing the blanket over your legs and resting your head. Boothill shuffled up next to you, his cheek to your chest. He stared up at you, eyes closing when your fingers finally ran through his hair. A sigh filled the room, mingling with gentle neighing from the street below. Silver was revealed to you once more, a low and husky whisper reaching your ears.

"We had this huge tree, back on the farm down in Redhawk. Its branches were wide and overflowing with leaves, but on a windy night you could see the stars through them. My fathers, they were always dreaming -- planning for our future. We'd sit out there and they'd talk for a while, answer any of my questions and teach me some life lessons. Eventually, one would get to strummin' on the guitar and we'd sing and cheer along – it was the most fun when some of their friends would come to visit or we'd host some guests from the road.

One was more pragmatic than the other, though they both had sharp minds. He could talk to anybody, find out anything he wanted to know. More caring and gentle, but still very strong. My other was a great gunslinger, and charismatic to a fault. He was a little rough around the edges, but I loved him anyway. They were my idols; taught me nearly everything I knew before I started goin' on the round-ups. Wasn't until I went back to our farm just a couple years later that I found it tore apart, two letters on the dining table for me. They were gone -- one captured and killed by the NHA and the other off to get revenge. He left me one of his revolvers, the same one I still use today."

Your fingers ran over his exposed cheek, noting the brimming water in his eyes matching your own.

“They raised a brilliant son.”

Your voice cracked as you finished speaking, watching him cry into you as you released your own burdens. The euphoria of budding forgiveness and the grief previously set aside catching up to you. It seemed that nearly every pain of yours was one he shared at some point or another, and it only emphasized the resolution of your argument.

You needed each other now more than ever.

—

“Are my eyes playin’ tricks on me?”

“Well I don’t believe it either.”

A man shook hands strongly with Boothill, hitting his other down on his shoulder. He had a confident glint in his hazel gaze, a boisterous air around him.

“How’ve you been, you beautiful piece of scrap?” he chuckled.

“Times have certainly been better.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, friend.” was his somber reply.

You extended your hand, feeling a calloused one against your palm.

“I see you’re his partner in crime, undertaker.”

“You got one of your own yet?” you asked, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

“Of course! You’re more than welcome to come by tonight and meet her, our kids as well! We’ve got two of them raisin’ hell all over the place.”

“Thank you, but-”

“We’ll be there.” Boothill interrupted, a sharp smile contrasting with his sullen eyes.

“I’m happy to hear that!” Lee beamed, “Some supper'll be ready for you.”

His hand hit your elbow playfully before he focused on Boothill.

“What liquor do you like now, ‘Hill?”

~

Lee’s porch was well-lit, a small garden out front with bright flowers and a structure of twigs resting alongside the stairs. It was likely built by his children, or whoever got distracted while watering and left puddles on the steps. A light knock reverberated through the door, summoning a figure that stood as tall as the knob to open it.

“Hello!”

Quick steps came from behind them, before the door was tugged open further.

“Come in, please!”

You were the first to cross the threshold, a large fireplace and a set table coming into view. Chairs were gathered immediately to your left, some books and a half-built pyramid of empty cans decorating the scene. Blankets were gathered against the wall, dark brown eyes meeting yours as a shaggy dog rose from its bed.

Lee carried a pot to the table, a white cloth protecting his hands from the hot handles. He uttered warnings of the heat to his kids, the same ones who greeted you at the door. Another figure, just slightly taller than him, followed behind with a pitcher of water in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other.

While they continued preparing the food and adjusting the ambience, one child tugged on the ends of Boothill’s coat. The other peppered him with questions, looking excitedly at his gun and even more so at the chamber kept in his arm. A small smile grew on his face at their attention before they returned to Lee, wanting to know stories about his “heroic” friend. He followed them to the table, pouring two cups of water from the pitcher and handing it to them. Joyfully, they thanked him and resumed their conversation with Lee.

Seeing what he had raised mixed feelings. You were happy that he had found somebody of his own, that they seemed to love each other and work well together. That joy still couldn’t bury the tinge of envy sinking in, created from how it hurt to be reminded of what your family could have been had Rena simply been allowed to grow.

Scratching behind one of the dog’s ears, a tap landed on your shoulder and grey fingers came into view. They held a glass out to you, filled with clear liquid.

“For you, darlin’.”

The undertone of his words were not lost on you – avoid drinking tonight. Let me take care of you.

“Would you like some stew?”

The welcoming voice of Evelyn sounded from the dining table, a bowl and ladle in her hands. You accepted her offer, watching her gold wedding band glint in the light as you approached her. Their dog followed just behind, its nose occasionally bumping into the back of your leg.

The stew was warm in your hands, making a soft thud against the counter as you sat beside Boothill. A savory broth coated your tongue, the heat of a home-cooked meal comforting amidst the chilly desert night. Conversation flowed easily between all of you, as if you were playing back at the saloon years ago. It wasn’t until there were scraps in bowls and empty glasses covering the table that it took a more serious turn.

Evelyn dismissed their children, Emmett and Mable, from the table. Begrudgingly they went to the living area, playing with the dog and continuing to build their pyramid.

"What happened, 'Hill?" Lee questioned lowly.

You placed your hand along the back of Boothill's neck, meeting his somber gaze. “Let’s talk about it.”

He sighed, his eyes leaving yours and looking at the couple on the opposite side of the table. "Just eight or nine months ago we found a baby up in Iris Creek. We took her in as our own, raising her at that ranch I was tellin’ you about in Iron Springs.” He paused a moment, and you brushed your thumb against his nape, your focus remaining on the wood floor. “About… About three weeks ago the NHA came knockin'. They killed her right in front of them." His gaze turned to you momentarily. "I arrived shortly after."

"I'm so incredibly sorry to hear that." Evelyn spoke gently, placing her hands over one of yours and Boothill's. "I won't pretend to know that pain, but we're here if you need anything."

Lee reciprocated her action, a grit in his voice that was vastly different from hers. "Those cruel bastards will get their judgment day." He exhaled after a glance from his wife, solemnly looking at you, then at Boothill. "She's right, though. A room, food, company, whatever you need. There'll always be a warm fire ready here for you."

—

Bidding farewell to the McHale’s was difficult. They wanted nothing more than to continue catching up, but the night was passing and grogginess collectively set in. Emmett and Mable shouted their goodbyes from the porch, accompanied by the waves of Evelyn and Lee. You returned their gestures, slowly riding off from their home. Boothill’s gaze turned to the stars after saying his own goodbyes, watching the sky as he shifted back and forth. There was much to ponder after that visit, especially for him. The two of you hadn’t talked much in the past few hours, occupied by your own worlds and memories of the past.

Life had been fulfilling thus far, though one world-altering regret weighed heavily on that idea. A certain finality came with it, a need for eventual acceptance lest you meet that finality yourself. In time you would arrive there, but for now it was best to let the pain run its course – feel it and share in it. Boothill had no expectation of you than to simply be there for him as he is for you. Rena had two parents, and lived the best, most beautiful life you could provide for her.

There was one thing you had learned about death -- all that it claimed were eternally benevolent, either in life or the hereafter. If your parents, or Boothill's fathers were here right now, made of flesh and blood, they would want the best for you. For you to live another day and find your place in this wide and bittersweet world. They strived the same as you, to give their child the life they deserved. Perhaps Jasper's notions in the face of death's door were correct. Family would reunite, free of burdens and earthly matters. Spirits would live on in bliss, their memory preserved by each generation.

When you picture all that you've lost, you see a beautiful ranch -- just like the one you worked in Iron Springs. There would be a grand tree, housing Boothill's fathers and little Rena giggling and tugging on one's hair just like she would with you. Your parents would exit a cabin with various drinks and a bowl of apples, stopping to share one with a horse on their way to the meeting spot. Maybe even the Weston's were there, Isaiah smiling from a rocking chair on the porch. Callie would be happy, free of sickly features and whistling a tune. Ellis, cleaning his guns right beside his father. And Jasper would walk from the door, giving each of them a hug before running over to your parents and helping them carry their goods.

If the day ever came, when you would face that reaper with your boots on, that was the life you craved to return to. One where you could drink, laugh, and settle things with your large family -- everyone you ever held dear gathered 'round to celebrate the day. You would wait for Boothill, the inevitable fact being that he would outlive you. It was an idea accepted long ago. Confronting reality was necessary for the life you lead.

Yet that was the other thing about death -- love surpasses it. No matter what kind that love was, it would dance across the edge into the realm of departure. While it may alter itself, those living would still hold its fondness.

If the day ever came that Boothill joined you, either as he is now or as Jesse Blackwell, you would greet him with arms wide open. That very same love remaining with the dead, living in their own peaceful way at your little ranch.

"What's on your mind, darlin'?" he whispered, gazing at you now, instead of the night sky.

"You, and our dreams." you replied with a small smile.

“How romantic of you.” he chuckled, a contrasting and heavy look in his eyes.

Silence rode along between you for a moment until you spoke up, “Where do we go from here?”

He exhaled, a defeated yet promising sound. “Let’s just start with our hotel room. Take it one day at a time from there.”

[rellsingsovern]

There’s no grounds, Jawbone!

On Wednesday afternoon, three days before spring break, The Bad Kids receive their late report cards and open them together. That Friday, they are marched through a door, expecting to die.

The POV of various parents and teachers of The Bad Kids, during the days leading up to the Last Standard Exam.

Chapter 2: Denial (read chapter one on ao3 at rellsingsovern!)

Riz came home exactly when he said he would, which immediately tipped Sklonda off to the fact that something was amiss.

It was late for the town of Elmville, which meant that her night was just getting started. Who says 9:52 pm on a Wednesday night can't be the perfect time to start reviewing her court footage? She’s 20 seconds into the video and three minutes into hitting the refresh button over and over again (curse the Strongtower wifi) when the sound of a motorcycle grumbling up to the building down below blended into the whine of the single fluorescent bulb up in the ceiling of the living room (curse the Strongtower electricity). Her ear flicked of its own accord a few minutes later, registering no footsteps approaching, as to be expected of her rouge son, but picking up the rustling of papers coming from the hallway through the thin walls.

She frowned absentmindedly. Ever since her and Riz had had that talk in November she’d done her best to pay more attention to his habits and tendencies regarding his fucking insane schedule. Much like one of his boards, he kept all his belongings in an ordered chaos she doubted even Pok would have been able to wrap his head around. Sticky notes on papers, papers in folders, folders in binders, highlighters and rubber bands and paper clips in every color made their way from his backpack to his briefcase to his backpack again, leaving Riz his hands free, an intentional move on his part. Wouldn’t be a very good rouge if I couldn’t draw my gun because I’ve got someone’s homework in my hands, he’d quipped to her early in the year, before the bags under his eyes became darker than a bruise and his eyes twitched as much as they blinked, before Fabian started throwing parties Riz for some reason still went to and before Kristen roped him into-

The sound of a pin in the lock snapped her out of her own head and back into her apartment. The part of her that was Sklonda Gukgak: Mom of Riz noticed Riz stumbled through the door lacking his usual grace, most likely due to the backpack that had been progressively more and stuffed full of school supplies ever since Falinell (it made her wonder why he didn’t open his briefcase as often anymore). The part of her that was still Chief Detective Sklonda Gukgak of the Elmville Police Department noticed that in Riz’s hands were his lockpick that he used to enter the apartment and a pile of envelopes and coupon papers that was certainly their mail, bills and coupons and more bills and a dark red envelope with the official stamp of Aguefort Adventuring Academy on it.

And more bills. Great.

Her ear flicked again, and she absent-mindedly thumbed the arrow keys on her crystal laptop, the ones she knew didn’t work anymore, taking in her teenage son who was home before 10 for the first time in a while. “Hey sweetie,” she greeted, eyeing the papers in his hands. She always got the mail, on account of Riz just straight up Misty Stepping into the apartment in a rush between school and his office and school again. “I’m glad to see you, you hungry or anything?”

Riz stepped through the door, closing it behind him, looking down through the lenses of his glasses. “I’m fine, thanks mom. Jawbone ordered Bastion Market.”

She hummed, thinking of the two most recent text messages in her crystal.

3:06 pm

hi mom just finished yearbook club heading to mordred then stand-up night then home around 10 getting rides from fabian love you

4:48 pm

Hey Sklonda Jawbone here, Riz mentioned something about an event he was supposed to attend tonight but he’s decided to stay here for dinner instead, perfectly all right with myself Sandy and Lydia but just wanted to update ya in case you go looking. He’s not taking the grading news too well. I’m sure he’s told you about it but just a heads up. Working on a solution for the kids in the morning, yall hang tight 👍

Riz had, in fact, not told her about ‘it’ yet. Sklonda had had half a mind to call Sandra-lynn to see what Jawbone had meant, but decided to wait until Riz got home, although she had expected to see him way later, if not the next morning. She eyed the red envelope he still held in between his fingers, flicking the lockpick with a small thwack thwack thwack on the seal and wondered if that was ‘it’.

“Thanks for getting the mail, kiddo.” She knows he knows what she’s actually saying. You never get the mail, that’s my job, you’re home early, what are you doing?

What’s wrong?

He shrugged his seemingly 50 pound backpack off his 90 pound body, putting it on the floor but not taking his eyes off it. “Just thought I’d get it on the way up.” His voice says, steady and even-toned.

Former Chief Detective Sklonda Gukgak sees his body language say please don’t question me further.

Hah, Mom Sklonda Gukgak thought to herself. Not a chance in hell.

“Y’know,” she said, closing her laptop and pretending not to notice the way her son’s shoulders rose to his ears immediately. “Whenever you give me a time you’ll be home by, you’re never actually home at that time. And I know you’re very capable, Riz, but I worry about you.”

He muttered something under his breath, holding out the stack of bills to her, holding that damn envelope in his other hand, still not making eye contact.

Riz was a perfect rouge. He had a light step and a light touch and an impeccable aim. He had a brain that ran a million miles per hour and a goblin grit he inherited from his father. He’d been picking the lock to the apartment since he was twelve and learning to shoot a gun since he was thirteen. He was smart, sneaky and secretive.

But he didn’t keep secrets from her.

After Pok died, Sklonda had tried to keep many things from Riz. How scared she was. How exhausted she was. She would throw herself into work then throw herself into bed, crying with her face in Pok’s pillow as the signs of him faded from their life, as silent as she could so Riz wouldn’t hear. His desk became dusty, his razor sat unused, and his pillow stopped smelling like his cologne. She ran and ran and ran from the pain, never thinking about it, closing the door to his office where the ghost of her husband sat until Riz had tried to leave for school one day in shoes too big for him and a briefcase that hadn’t left the apartment in weeks.

At her protests, her nine-year old son had looked at her through his shaggy hair with big, sad, golden eyes. Pok had always been the one who gave Riz haircuts.

You never talk about him anymore, he said. You pretend you aren’t tired all the time and you pretend he’s not gone.

It hurts, mom.

Her beautiful, brilliant, investigative son had deduced what she wouldn’t, what she couldn’t tell him. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

It’s okay if it hurts. I’m still here.

She didn’t open the door to Pok’s room, and she didn’t let Riz go to school with his shoes. But from that day on Riz toted a briefcase everywhere, and on his tenth birthday she gave him a haircut, his own pair of brown loafers (still a little too big, but at the thrift store you take what you can get) and took him to Cravencroft where she whispered all her deepest fears, laid them down on the dirt under her son’s knees and in front of her husband’s grave, confessed to the bone-deep exhaustion that weighed down her arms and her legs and her heart.

Gukgaks don’t give up, Riz whispered back to her, golden eyes shining like suns, an echo of his father’s favorite phrase. She looked at his close-cropped hair and saw Pok. Then she looked at the bags under his eyes and saw herself.

After that Sklonda only had one secret to keep, and Riz had walked into Pok’s room and blew the dust off his desk two years ago in a mighty whirlwind of a 15 year-old detective hot on the case. With the blood of a dragon still hot in her stomach, she and Riz had promised to never hide anything from each other. Not their stress, not their exhaustion, and not their thoughts. Never again did she try to hide her tiredness from Riz, allowing him to replace her cold cups of coffee and lead her to bed on the days when her feet felt like stone, and when he got too jittery and manic with a drive to solve whatever mystery he was currently on she pressed at him until he eventually spilled his guts and she could get him to call a friend for backup in getting him to sleep at least four hours a night. Riz had been raised to notice all he could and never back down, and she had been the one to do it. He had his adventuring party, and she had a new job and new friends, but it was still just the two of them at odds with a world not meant for goblins, two Gukgaks in a shitty apartment, one weighed down with something they wouldn’t confess to and the other who noticed looking up through golden eyes.

Sklonda held out her hand for the red envelope.

Riz, who told her everything, who called her in freshman year every time he discovered something or murdered someone, who as soon as he got back from his spring break quest told her about Pok, who told her about the Loams and the Spies Tongue curse and Fig’s (maybe) god, did not hand it over.

Not a chance in hell.

“I’ll be in my room,” Riz started, leaving his backpack by the sofa as he turned and started away.

“What’s in the envelope, Riz.” She said, pushing as much goblin mom into her voice as possible and knowing it worked when he froze in place. “I don’t like knowing there’s a secret you’re keeping from me.”

“It’s not important.”

“Of course it is.”

He laughed under his breath, still turned away from her. “No, I mean like, it’s really not important anymore. Nothing in there matters.”

“Riz…”

He laughed again, and something in her stomach, a liquid mix of hot worry irritation worry froze into something heavy and cold like dread as his laugh broke into a dry gasp, sharp and cutting. “It’s fine, mom, really.”

“I’m sure it’s not, whatever it is, but I’m sure it’s not that bad either. You can just tell me honey, you know I won’t ever be mad.”

Her words seemed to register and nudge him away from whatever he was spiraling towards, but she still felt her lungs tighten and the cold sharpen in the pit of her stomach. He turned to look at her fully, and she didn't flinch, would never shy away from her son, but his eyes were dull, darker than she’s ever seen, as dark as her own during those first few months of just her and Riz.

He handed her the envelope with shaky hands and in the blink of an eye was suddenly sitting down on the other side of the couch, pressing himself into the flat cushions like they could swallow him whole.

She opened the envelope with no small amount of trepidation, wondering what could be so bad that her son came home at a reasonable time at night.

Reaching inside, Sklonda pulled out two pieces of paper, one significantly bigger than the other. Looking at the smaller one first, her heart at first fell and the soared with pride as she beheld a small slip of paper detailing that her son had earned an A+ in his rouge track during his most recent semester. Student shows signs of mastery at mundane and arcane lockpicking. Student shows signs of mastery at detecting/disarming mundane and arcane traps. Student shows signs of mastery at dealing damage with both short and long range weaponry. Student shows signs of mastery at remaining unseen by others.

The list went on, and she turned to Riz with elation. “This is amazing, Riz!”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, sinking further into the cushions. “Read the other one before I vomit again, mom.”

She flicked open the larger paper with confusion, starting to read, and with every word the ice in her stomach turned back into red hot anger.

Dear parent/guardian,

Your child, Riz Gukgak, has been moved to PASS/FAIL academic status at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy due to FAILURE/EXPULSION of party member Kristin Applebees. PASS/FAIL academic status will nullify any and all extra credit earned from extracurriculars including athletic teams, school-sponsored clubs, and volunteer work in compliance with the Aguefort Adventuring Academy. Your child will be allowed to remain at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy for the duration of their current school year. They must attend graduation and complete their teacher evaluation(s) in order to be accepted back into the Aguefort Adventuring Academy the upcoming year. If your child is a part of any multiclass program they will not be accepted back into their additional academic tracks and must remain only in their primary class the upcoming year. PASS/FAIL academic status cannot be removed or rectified from a student’s academic transcript with exception of the undergoing and completion of The Last Standard Examination. Please contact guidance counselor Jawbone O’Shaughnessy with questions, comments, or concerns.

Regards,

Interim Vice Principal Jace Stardiamond

Failure. Expulsion.

Kristen Applebees.

“-and I don’t even remember if we’re eligible to take The Last Stand this early in the year or if we have to wait until the last semester, but Kristin will be forced to leave this Friday, so if we can’t take it, I don’t know what we’ll do, Fabian, Gorgug, and Fig will be screwed next year and-“

Her blood was boiling, her ears were ringing, drowning out Riz’s voice.

Failure. Expulsion. Campaign manager. Someone else’s homework. People who call him The Ball.

Kristin Applebees.

“-hates her, and I don’t understand why, it’s just not fair-“

“It’s not fair,” Sklonda hissed out, a mirror of Riz’s, her snarl cutting through the air and making the words die on her son’s tongue. Forcing her hands to be still, pushing down the hot flash of rage in her belly, she schooled herself into the professionalism of Public Defender Sklonda Gukgak. Her son needed the cool head and steady tone that she prided herself on, her analytical eye and her forthrightness.

She could fret later. Her son had been blindsided by something she really should have seen coming ever since November, and it was time to address it.

She continued, voice low, watching her son’s posture relax bit by bit. “It’s not fair. Thank you for showing me, baby. We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

Riz turned to face her fully on the couch, knee nudging hers, and the hotness of worry irritation worry surged behind her eyes for half a second as she noticed a vein on Riz’s forehead that had never been there before. “You’re not mad?”

“No, kiddo, not at you. Never at you.”

“But…” He worried the chain of one of his necklaces between his teeth, a nervous trait he told her he’d picked up over the summer. He had sat up out of the cushions, but his knees were still drawn up uncomfortably, pressing his arms into his chest. “Without the pension, and without the extracurriculars… the scholarships-”

Stress was a thing Sklonda was familiar with. It lived in her apartment walls, on the underside of the peeling wallpaper. It filled the rooms in the flickers of darkness when the lights stopped working. It sat in the bottom of her coffee cups, and she’d admit that she found herself chasing it like her son chased clues, with a lot of intensity and only a little self-awareness. She knows her son too well, just like his mother and father in all the best and worst ways. Riz had too much in common with her, too many bad habits, and she’d sooner go back to her old job than ever let her son send himself more into the same stress-filled state she lived in for his party members.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, shuffling closer and putting an arm around Riz’s shoulders, wincing when she felt they were far too tight. Something in her quietly cooed when he laid his head down on her shoulder, glasses being knocked askew, strands of green hair falling and tickling her chin. “I’m not mad at you. I know how hard you’ve worked this year, and I’m so sorry Kristin messed it up for you.”

The shifting of chains between sharp fangs stopped. “...What?”

She rubbed his shoulder, keeping her voice low and soothing. “You’ve been doing far too much for her since the beginning of the year, Riz, it was really a matter of time before-”

“Mom, stop!”

Worry irritation worry confusion dread pooled in her gut as Riz shoved himself off her side and stood up off the couch furiously. “You can’t say that about Kristin, mom, how could you?”

She blinked hard. “What do you mean, how could- she got expelled, Riz, I know she and Fig aren’t academically inclined but c’mon, at least Fig is actually trying.”

“And what makes you think Kristin ‘isn’t trying’?” Riz scoffed, claws making quotes in the air with a harshness that rivaled when he tore into Kalvaxus two years ago. “She tries harder than the rest of us combined, she works so hard-”

“At what, Riz? Her campaign? The one that you run for her?”

“You don't get to talk about Kristin like that!”

This is exactly the opposite of what she wanted to happen. She wanted to hug her son and tell him it would all be alright while texting Sandra-lynn and Jawbone about what the heck The Last Standard Examination was and how Riz could take it. She could count on her fingers the amount of times conversations with Riz had turned to shouting, and even then they were always family matters, never about his party.

Sklonda loved Kristin, she really did. From the back half of freshman year until spring break of sophomore year Kristin spent a lot of time in Strongtower, rotating between the Faeth house and Gilear’s place down the hall before he moved out, wherever Fig was staying that week. Then it was down a few floors in Jawbone’s; sometimes she could still hear the shrieks of laughter echoing up through the thin floors as a gaggle of 15 year old adventurers ran through the halls far later than they were supposed to (not that she ever had the heart to tell Riz to keep it down when he hung out with his friends). Riz was a quiet kid before he went to Aguefort; Sklonda got the idea that Kristin had never been so. She always said what was on her mind, even if it was exceedingly inappropriate (she’s heard enough stories from Sandra-Lynn about her and Tracker during spring break). Always loud, always chaotic, a girl who jumped from idea to idea like she jumped from home to home.

That was a little cruel of her to think, Sklonda had been the one to order the raid on her house, after all.

Kristin had gotten a little quieter after spring break, Even Sklonda, whose building was no longer the Bad Kid’s default hangout spot, could see that. But she had also gotten a lot more chaotic.

“Kristin’s a good kid,” She said slowly, frowning when Riz shoved his hands under his glasses. “But you have to admit she struggles to stay on track sometimes.”

Riz glared at her through his fingers. “Doesn’t give you the right to insult her.”

“I’m not insulting her! It’s just the facts, sweetie, I know she’d never do anything to hurt you on purpose. But-” She waved the paper towards him, and he flinched away as though she were brandishing a gun. “-there’s two names on this paper, one being my son who joined every single extracurricular at the school and one being a girl who’s name my former coworkers apparently know due to several dropped charges of trespassing at the steelworkers factory?”

“You know I’ve probably got stuff on me too, mom, my midterm in December was to break into a warehouse downtown and plant a non-lethal arcane grenade set to go off when discovered.”

She remembered. It hadn’t gone off until February. He’d gotten an A+.

“That’s different, and not the point. Yours was an assignment for school, and Kristin’s apparently not been doing hers.”

“She’s got reasons to struggle, her god died, mom, I was there-“

“She can still cast, can’t she? You do everything for her, why can’t she at least maintain a C?”

“Oh my-” Riz dragged his hands down his face, muffling his next words. “You don’t understand-”

“Riz, I just worry that-”

“It’s not Kristin’s fault!”

“Then who’s is it?”

“I’m trying to explain-”

“Riz, don’t make excuses for her, she brought this on her-”

A sound filled the room, a short, sudden thing that sliced through the air. Riz’s eyes went wide, claws half curled at his side, and she realized the sound had just come from him.

Pressing his lips together as though he could stop the violent hiss that just came out of his mouth, Riz turned away and fled down the hall to his room, leaving his backpack and briefcase and a burning sensation behind Sklonda’s eyes that she couldn’t tell was rage or tears.

Another swing and a miss from Sklonda Gukgak about her poor, poor, boy.

A light flashed at the corner of her vision, startling her enough that her eyes were pulled away from the corner Riz disappeared behind. It was coming from within the couch cushions, and she reached in to pull out a blinking crystal.

10:02 pm

u alive the ball? kristin and I are still out here i wont leave until you respond

10:03 pm

i know u dont want to but if u told ur mom shed understand im sure of it

10:08 pm

we’re still herwogoTAKD2739/@(

10:08 pm

ITS KRISTIN I STOLE FABIANF S CRYSTL TMRW MORNIGN FIRST THIGN BOBBY DAWNS OFFICS I HAVW AN IDEA

10:09 pm

I L OVE OYU MAN THat assholes gonna pay for failing me on a fuckin technicality

What?

The blood rushing in her ears drowned out the incessant drone of the fluorescent light, but straining her hearing she realized that several floors down there was still the rumbling of a motorcycle.

Someone else’s homework. People who call him The Ball. Campaign manager.

Kristin Applebees had dropped Riz off from her own house, had stayed with Fabian and refused to leave until he texted them back, and here Sklonda was blaming her and probing at her son until he hissed and ran from her.

All sensation left from her, and numbly she got off the couch and started toward Riz’s room, crystal in hand. Stopping outside the closed door, Sklonda didn’t bother to knock. She knew he knew she was there.

The door didn’t open.

I don't understand, I don't have all the facts, I don’t know what’s going on, please tell me, she wanted to yell at the door like making more noise would save her from her mistakes.

“You left your crystal on the couch.” She murmured softly instead.

A pause. More rustling of papers, and when Riz opened the door he was holding his glasses in one hand and what looked like a map in the other, eyes dark. She held the crystal out.

He took it gingerly, and the numbness faded by just a little bit when his eyes got a little brighter, flicking over the crystal screen. He didn’t smile, but his face lost a little bit of tension.

He bit his lip and looked at her. “… I’m sorry I hissed at you. I didn’t mean to.”

She tried to smile, but wasn’t sure she succeeded. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain, sweetie. I’m all ears.”

He glanced at his crystal again, something changing in his posture. For a moment she was afraid he would close the door again, and even though she wanted nothing more in the world than to demand answers, she would let him.

“I don’t think I want to talk about it anymore tonight.” He said slowly, cautiously.

Sklonda nodded, thinking desperately about asking Sandra-Lynn out for drinks tomorrow.

“I just…” Riz looked down at the map in his hand, the words Ashgrove Cemetery scrawled in his handwriting at the top. “We’ve all worked so hard, Fig and Kristin and everyone, and-”

He swallowed. “I was gonna find the rouge teacher, mom. And now it doesn't matter.”

She could think of a million things to say, but all that came out of her mouth was, “Gukgaks don't give up.”

Her brave, smart, resilient, beautiful son’s eyes filled with tears, and he shut the door to his bedroom.

Stumbling back to the living room, Sklonda clumsily grabbed her crystal from the coffee table and sent a text, claws clicking against the screen.

10:13 pm

Jawbone, Riz just got home. What is The Last Stand?

The rumbling of the motorcycle faded from earshot. A few minutes later, her crystal lit up.

That oh so familiar heaviness of exhaustion and fear, the stress that lived in the bottom of her coffee cups, in the papers spilling out of Riz’s backpack hit her like a truck as she read Jawbone's response.

The lights flickered, and in the flash of darkness she saw a vision of her son, slumped over a desk, a paper in front of him with a dark red A+ written in goblin blood.

[klonnieshippersclub]

Love Awaits

Happy New Year! This is my post for Day 3. Yes, I know it's a bit late and I'm very sorry for that. It's also not set in 1910 but in Marcel's youth. We have a bit of a "found family" coming together in this AU. This is a little longer than usual to make up for the delay.

Randall was her responsibility. It was only a few years ago he was kicked out of their home. Randall was a Bennett and the Bennetts valued family but Randall was a boy and he didn't quite fit. Bonnie took on the responsibility of caring for him and abandoned the only home she knew. He was only a small child, but their bastard father saw Randall as useless. It was early in the year when they had lost their mother from magical overload in defeating a pack of rogue wolves that were terrorizing a nearby town.  Grief turned their father cruel. Bonnie and Randall left their small town Louisiana for the city. She was essentially a single mother at just fifteen with a five year old to take care of. It was hard but they made it work.

Years passed and they were happy. All they had was each other but that was enough. Randall even referred to Bonnie as his mother. At the age of 10, Randall found a slightly older boy unconscious by a pond. With his magic, he was able to send a message to his older sister. Luckily, she was not too far away and could provide medical aid to the unnamed boy with the knowledge she had from working as a nurse. Upon waking, the boy introduced himself as Marcel. Despite Marcel's insistence that he could walk home on the other side of the city, Bonnie and Randall brought him to their small home.

Hours passed and the boys lost time playing games (nothing too strenuous in consideration for Marcel's condition). Bonnie was making dinner when a belligerent knocking started at their door. When seeing the vampire snarling at her, Bonnie immediately sent him an aneurysm with her powers. She only stopped at Marcel crying out that this was his father. A vampire daddy was unheard of, but Bonnie believed the boy. With Marcel explaining the situation to his father (he was jumped by a rival to his father), the tension in the room disappeared. Bonnie made the sudden decision to invite the vampire inside if he provided his name. Klaus Mikaelson. From this point on, the families were close and the boys were basically inseparable.

It was a summer morning months later when Marcel dragged his father to the Bennett home. Klaus entered ready to greet Bonnie and Randall ran by with only one shoe to play outside with Marcel. Klaus called out to him, “Randall, get back here. You can't run off without your other shoe.”

The boy ran back inside the house to retrieve the shoe with Marcel following him. “I've been looking for it everywhere,” Randall said. Thanks, Pa.”

Bonnie appeared from the kitchen hearing their exchange with her hands on her hips. She voiced her confusion towards Randall. “Pa? He's not your father.”

“But Marcel said-”

“Shhhh,” interrupted Marcel while glaring at the younger boy.

Klaus raised a brow at his son and asked, “Marcellus, what did you tell him?”

“I only said it would be nice if we were a family.”

Randall continued, “And he said that mothers and fathers belong together.”

“Quiet!”

Bonnie could sense one of their childish arguments brewing. The arguments were never over anything serious but they tended to work out their problems physically and she didn't want them wrestling in the house. The last time they did so, they broke a vase of flowers. “Boys, we aren't together,” the Bennett witch remarked.

Marcel rolled his eyes at Bonnie's denial. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Then why is Pa so nice to you when he's mean to all the other ladies in covens?” Randall wondered aloud.

“He's not your Pa, Randall,” corrected his older sister/maternal figure.

Klaus and Bonnie were close but it wasn’t a relationship. “I respect Bonnie more than the arrogant witches of the city,” the Original justified.

Marcel joined in the questioning, “if you aren't together, why do you two always spend time together?”

Bonnie was surprised by the sudden interrogation and felt a bit defensive. The boys were together like glue. It shouldn't be so shocking that their guardians knew each other well. “We don't spend that much time together alone. You both are always with us.”

Randall was tired of their ridiculous excuses when he knew the truth. “Why did I see Klaus laying in bed with you?” he accused. “You were kissing!”

“Randall, what have I told you about spying?”

Instead of listening to the lecture he knew was coming, Randall took off with both shoes on his feet at lightning speed. He did not want to deal with his sister's wrath at him for violating her privacy. It didn't seem like a big deal to him anyway. He left immediately when he saw their lips touch. Marcel laughed as he went to catch Randall.

Klaus couldn’t help but to observe Bonnie and admire her beauty, even in her anger. “They think we’re in love,” Klaus said with a laugh.

Bonnie sighed, “it sounds silly and imaginative.” As much as her body desired his touch, they couldn't ever be romantically involved.

“We couldn’t ever be in love.” Feelings would complicate things. It would be a mistake for them to create a family together. Mortality would always separate them. As witches, they could never find happiness as vampires. Marcel could choose to turn when he got older, but Klaus could not expect that of Bonnie and Randall. “That’s a boundary that shouldn’t be crossed.”

[somedaylazysomeday]

Misbehaving - Part Four

Cody is finally back in town! Unfortunately, his timing coincides with Mother Nature.

Commander Cody x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors, do not interact.

Word Count: 5,100

Warnings: Discussions of menstrual cycles and accompanying discomfort, dom/sub undertones, period sex, blindfolds, minor dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex.

Previous | Masterlist

---

You liked to consider yourself an optimist. 

Sure, sometimes things happened that didn’t quite match up with the way you thought they should. There were always bad days and missed opportunities, but for the most part, things worked out. 

A grand and ironic exception, of course, was that you had gotten your period just days before your boyfriend would finally be back on the same planet. You were still struggling to put an optimistic spin on that particular situation. 

I’ll be there in ten minutes.

The message was glaring up at you from the screen of your comlink. You hadn’t told Cody what was going on, and you weren’t exactly sure why. He was familiar enough with human biology to know that most females had a menstrual cycle and it wasn’t exactly something he could hold against you. 

Still, some combination of irritation and denial had kept you from telling him outright. It was going to be a terrible surprise, you thought morosely, especially given that he liked to be welcomed home between your thighs. 

Two sharp knocks on the door sounded and you glanced over at the chrono. Yep, ten minutes from the holomessage, almost to the second. You hauled yourself up from the couch, grimacing at the way gravity pulled on everything between your legs. 

When you opened the door, Cody was standing there. He was proper as always, helmet under one arm and warmth filling his dark eyes. “Ma’am. May I come in?” 

It was the typical playacting you did when he came over. Cody had insisted on it for ‘plausible deniability’ reasons. You had tried explaining to him that your neighbors weren’t the kind to watch arrivals through peepholes, but he wouldn’t listen. It was very Cody - when he decided on something, nothing short of a GAR command could make him change his mind. (Even then, he would probably want to debate.)

“Yeah,” you agreed, leaning against the wall. Not only did it move you slightly out of his way, but it also took some pressure off your aching spine. 

It was a less elaborate welcome than you usually offered, and Cody’s brow twitched before he stepped inside. The door slid shut automatically behind him, leaving the two of you in sudden privacy. 

“Good to see you, mesh’la,” Cody greeted, hands sliding around your waist. You still felt bloated, but the warmth of his hands was soothing. “You look beautiful.” 

You snorted before you could help it. You hadn’t felt like putting on anything flattering, especially since you had bled on the last two pairs of pants you had worn. That meant you were dressed in clothes that were one wash away from being tossed into a garbage chute, and at least two sizes too big. 

“I’m a mess right now.” 

Cody smiled at you, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve never seen anything more perfect.” 

You couldn’t bring yourself to reply. He was being nice, painfully nice, but you felt so terrible that being called perfect only made you think about how far from perfect you felt. 

Cody’s eyes searched your face. Whatever he found there made his smile fade, which made you feel even worse. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You look upset.” 

“I’m-” You took a breath, trying not to let yourself cry. “I’m not having a good day.” 

“Tell me what I can do to make it better.” 

It came out like an order, and you bit your lip. You weren’t sure if you would have said something rude or burst out in tears, but neither option were how you wanted the evening to go. 

“Change the laws of nature?” Your suggestion made Cody’s head tilt slightly. You scrubbed at your face. “I’m sorry. I’m on my period right now and it’s not fun. Not your fault and I don’t mean to take it out on you.” 

“Hey, don’t worry about that,” Cody soothed. “Why don’t you sit back down. Where does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt, not anymore,” you told him. “I had some cramps right before everything started, and the first two days are always awful, but now it’s just blood and bloat and misery.”

Cody urged you back over toward the couch, and you settled into the tangle of blankets you had surrounded yourself with before he got there. The apartment was a mess, now that you took a moment to look around. You were a mess, why would your home be any different? “I’m sorry, Cody.” 

“You’ve already apologized once, and that was one time more than necessary,” he replied, settling onto the couch beside you. “What are you apologizing for, mesh’la?” 

“I just-” Your eyes watered again as you tried to verbalize it. “I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend your leave.” 

“Don’t worry about that.” Cody seemed utterly unbothered, but how could he be? He had been looking forward to this just as much as you were. “We’re on leave for the better part of a week. We have time. Besides, the galaxy isn’t going to fall to pieces just because we won’t have sex tonight.” 

The finality of that made your chest ache. You were tired and your self-esteem was low, but the hormones were also whirling around inside of you. Most of them were going toward making you mildly irrational, but there were enough left over to make you lonely and long to be filled. 

“I was really looking forward to being with you,” you whined, still trying not to cry. “I missed you so much. In more ways than one.” 

Cody smiled, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “I know,  sweetheart, and that means everything to me. But I want you happy and comfortable. If that means that we don’t sleep together tonight, I’m fine with that.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” You hiccuped. “It’s that I’m… You know…” 

“Does it hurt?” he asked with a frown. 

“No, but-” You cut off, frowning. Had you missed something? It certainly seemed like you had. “I’m still bleeding. And not just a little bit.” 

Cody paused, eyes searching your expression. Whatever he found there, his brow smoothed. Carefully, he said, “You know, I don’t mind a bit of blood. If you want to be together, I’m happy to-” 

“Ugh,” you interrupted, aghast. “You would want to fuck me on my period?” 

“Not if you don’t want me to. But yes, I want you. Like I said, I’m not worried about a little blood.” 

“What if it’s not just a little?” you asked, heart picking up. “My period isn’t light.” 

Cody shrugged. “And? Point is, mesh’la, my plans don’t need to change if you don’t want them to.” 

You thought about it for a long moment. You didn’t love the idea of having sex on your period, but not because of any real reason. It had always just seemed like a taboo. But if you wanted Cody and Cody wanted you… Well, it seemed silly to turn him away because of some outdated societal norms. 

“And you’re sure it doesn’t bother you?” 

Since he had already said as much in several different ways, you wouldn’t have blamed Cody if he’d gotten impatient or sarcastic with you, but he didn’t. Instead, he was patient and steady as ever as he reassured, “No, it doesn’t bother me. I want to be with you.” 

You melted, leaning in with your face tipped up to his so he could kiss you more easily. And he did, pressing his smiling lips to yours until you were well and truly lost in it. All of your worried and inhibitions had disappeared from your mind… until Cody’s wandering hands crept between your thighs and pressed against the thick pad you were wearing. 

Suddenly, horrified embarrassment filled you. Did he think it was weird that you were wearing a pad instead of a tampon? How long had it been since you’d changed it? What if you smelled bad? What if you had a blood clot when he was trying to fuck you? 

You broke away from him, hiding your face against his shoulder. “I don’t know if I can do this.” 

Apparently, Cody understood the muffled question immediately, since he didn’t ask you to repeat yourself. “Why?”

It was a fair question, and you searched yourself to get an honest answer. “The blood might not bother you, but I think it bothers me.” 

Cody was quiet for a moment. “What if I blindfold you?” 

“What?” The question was unexpected enough to jar you out of your self-consciousness, and you pulled back to stare at him. 

Your lover looked calm and helpful, not at all the expression you would have expected from someone who just offered to blindfold you. Granted, you and Cody had done far more adventurous things in your time together… 

“I can blindfold you,” he repeated. “If you want to fuck but don’t like the idea of seeing the blood, a blindfold can make sure we’re good. You can get the relief you want without worrying about the drawbacks. I won’t force you, I’m just saying it’s an option.” 

Your pussy gave a throb at the idea of being stretched by him, and you did your best to ignore the trickle of blood that left you. “I think that would be perfect.” 

Cody’s smile was beatific, and he squeezed your hand as he stood. “Give me a second to get everything set up and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.” 

You watched him leave. You didn’t love that he was wearing shoes and full armor in your apartment, but you couldn’t help but admire the way his boots gave a hint of strut to his step. Besides, if he could make you forget about your general misery, you would gladly clean the floor and call it a fair trade. 

While Cody was working in your bedroom, you occupied yourself in straightening up the living room. Food wrappers went in the waste can, your glass of water went in the sink, and you managed to fold two blankets before you decided it wasn’t worth the effort. 

“Cody?” you asked, with a soft knock on the door to your bedroom. “Are you-? Wow.” 

Cody turned to look at you over his own shoulder. He studied the towel he had laid out on the bed, frowning. “Is this not okay? I can choose a different one. I just thought the color-”

“It’s fine,” you assured him. The dark purple towel had seen better days, so even if you couldn’t remove any stains, it was no big loss. Besides, you would sacrifice every towel you owned if Cody would just let you take a holoimage of him like this. 

Your lover had stripped off half of his body glove, leaving it to hang from his waist while his upper body was on full display. The lamp on the bedside table had been turned down low, and the dim light played beautifully against the swells and dips of his muscular arms and torso. He had pulled pillows and additional blankets to surround the towel, clearly intent on making you as comfortable as possible, and a silk scarf from your closet was neatly folded on the bedside table, ready to be used as a blindfold. 

“Everything look okay, mesh’la?” Cody asked. 

You suddenly realized you had been staring, and nodded to break the spell he had unknowingly cast over you. “Looks fine to me.” 

Cody held out a hand, half-kneeling on the bed already. “Then the only thing missing is you. Ready?” 

You had already taken his hand when you balked. “Actually, I should use the ‘fresher…”

“Do you need to use the refresher?” he asked. 

“Well, no…” you hedged. “But I could probably do with a little cleanup before we get started.” 

“If that’s what you need to feel comfortable.”

You retreated to the refresher attached to your room and did what you could to freshen yourself up, but your period was still heavy enough that you weren’t going to stay clean for more than a few minutes at best. 

“Feeling better?” Cody asked when you joined him in the bedroom once more. 

“Nervous.” 

He frowned then. “Nervous? What are you nervous about?” 

“That you’re going to be grossed out,” you answered hesitantly. “If you are, it’s fine. We can just stop. You know that, right?” 

Cody nodded, his mouth pressed into a grim line. It was only when he started speaking that you realized it was held that way to fight back a smile. “Yes, sweet girl. I know that. I can also promise that I know what I’m getting into. This is hardly the first time I’ve been with someone who’s on their cycle.” 

You blinked. That… was something you had never considered. And it did make you feel better. You didn’t love thinking of Cody with other people, but if he had done this before, he probably wasn’t going to run screaming at the first sight of blood. 

Whether or not you would was still up for debate. 

Your shoulders settled. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

Cody nodded. His hand extended out again, and this time, you took it. He drew you gently toward the bed, helping you position yourself when you laid down. Your hips were centered on the towel while your shoulders were well-supported by the pillows Cody had arranged for you. 

When he joined you, Cody was careful not to rest any of his weight on you. Instead, he lay stretched out beside you, supporting himself on one arm as he leaned in to kiss you. You relaxed into that kiss, the tension leaving your muscles even faster than it had before. One hand rose without your permission, cradling Cody’s jaw and toying with the near-invisible stubble you found there. 

Cody gave a satisfied little sigh at the feeling of your fingers on his skin, kissing you deeper. Simultaneously, he let himself explore you with the hand he wasn’t using to support himself. 

You were fine - eager, even - when his touch traced along your collarbone, but you tensed when he reached your sensitive breasts. However, Cody was as gentle as ever. He cradled the weight of each breast in his hand in turn, brushing your nipples with the edge of his thumb. When he continued working downward, however, you found it impossible to stay relaxed. 

His fingers had just crept under the waistband of your pants when you tensed, breaking the kiss. “Cody?” 

“I know, mesh’la,” Cody soothed you. He removed his hand, reaching for the bedside table. When he turned fully back toward you, he was holding your silk scarf. “Are you ready for me to blindfold you, sweet girl?” 

“Yes.” You weren’t, but you trusted Cody with every part of you. Even your sight. 

That was probably why you were so nervous about this, you reflected, watching the silken material grow closer until you had to close your eyes against it. For all of the ways you and Cody had experimented with limitations - restraints, certain forms of address, even some minor breath play - you had never given up a sense with him. No matter what had been happening between you, you had always been able to clearly see it coming. 

You were smiling despite yourself when Cody finished tying the material behind your head. Perhaps it was only your imagination, but you swore you could feel him pause when he sat back. “What is it?” 

“Just…” You paused, trying to articulate it. “It’s funny - all the things we’ve done together and being blindfolded is the first time I think I’ve been truly nervous.”

“Nervous?” Cody repeated. Out of the darkness, something brushed your cheek and you jumped violently. “Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to scare you. How do we make you feel more in control? Maybe you should tell me what I can do and when.”

It was a clever solution, but it also sounded like it would take a lot of effort, and you weren’t sure you had the mental capacity at the moment. “Maybe you could tell me what you’re going to do before or while you’re doing it?” 

“I can do that, and you can tell me if you need me to stop or to touch you differently,” he assured, thumb brushing the top of your cheekbone. “I’m going to kiss you now.” 

You were smiling when Cody’s lips pressed against yours. The kiss was clumsy at first, and you blamed your fumbling on the fact that you couldn’t see him drawing closer to you. But soon enough, the two of you fell into a steady, comfortable rhythm. 

When you felt a touch against the top of your mound, you jumped and Cody pulled away to bite out a curse. “Sorry, mesh’la. I already got distracted. I won’t forget again.” 

“It’s okay,” you reassured, but Cody wasn’t having it. 

“No, these are the rules for this session. I won’t forget again.” The promise was delivered from much closer than he had been before, and you could feel the heat of Cody’s breath against your throat. “I’m going to touch you.” 

That time, you expected the brush of Cody’s fingers. Even with the way he was mouthing down the side of your neck, you couldn’t keep a frown from your face. Everything was about to become very real. 

He explored along the edge of the pad you were wearing, making you squirm at the warmth of his touch. When he had traced down and between your legs, Cody’s voice rumbled into the very bones of your shoulder. “You ready for me to take these off, princess?” 

You nodded. Apparently, Cody wasn’t going to make you answer him verbally. All he said in response was, “Lay back for me.” 

As you did as Cody asked, there was a slight tugging sensation at your waistline. Cody prompted, “Lift your hips for me and we can get started.” 

After so much time obeying Cody’s orders in the bedroom, your body wasn’t exactly waiting for your input. Your hips raised automatically, helping him ease your underwear down your legs. It was gone, then, and you were jarred by the realization that you had no idea if he had placed them next to you or thrown them across the room. 

“Did you put those somewhere they won’t be smearing blood on the floor?” you asked. Did it threaten the mood? Yes, but so would having to scrub dried blood out of your carpet later.

“Of course,” Cody assured you, pressing a kiss to your hip. “Relax. Let me take care of everything. Do you trust me?” 

“Always.” 

“Good girl.” Another kiss to your hip, then a third on the swell of your lower stomach. 

“Cody?” you asked. A light hum answered you. You would have felt ridiculous, but you could feel his breath on the part of you where your belly turned into your mound. “If you use your mouth on me, I’m going to throw up.” 

A pause. “At the feeling or the idea?” 

“The idea, mostly.” 

“Then I won’t,” Cody agreed. From the sound of his voice, he had moved further up your body. “I am going to use my fingers on you, though. Non-negotiable. I want to do some extra prep work with you on your cycle.”

You nodded again. You knew better than to argue with Cody when he was using that tone of voice. It wouldn’t get you anywhere and would just end with you both being frustrated. As a peace offering, you parted your thighs for him. The slight roughness of the towel until your bare hips was odd, but all you could focus on was that Cody was probably staring at your core. 

“Are you ready for me to start touching your pussy?” 

This isn’t dirty talk, you reminded yourself. Cody’s just trying to keep communication open and effective. Apparently, that didn’t matter to your brain, which insisted on classifying the question as being flirty and daring. You were already blooming for him when you nodded. 

“Let me hear that pretty voice, sweetheart.” 

Well, that certainly didn’t help anything. You had to swallow hard before you trusted yourself to say, “Yes, I’m ready.” 

There was a pause, just long enough to make you wonder whether Cody was going to make you repeat him verbatim before he would move on. Thankfully, he took pity on you and brushed fingertips across your slit.  

Your breath caught in your throat, hips canting upward as if you could find his fingers and force him into you. The sudden, savage surge of want surprised you. The neediness that came with your cycle was nothing new, but faced with the prospect of having those needs met - and met far better than your fingers or toys could manage - was driving your body to previously unknown levels of desperation. 

“That feel good, princess?” 

You wanted to laugh at the idea that he even had to ask, but all you could manage was a dry sounding, “Yes.” 

“Then let me give you a little more.” 

Cody’s stroke was firmer that time, working his way from the bottom of your sex to the hood of your clit. It managed to feel even more dazzling than the first touch had, and you gave a soft moan. That was unusually desperate for you, confirmed by the disbelief in Cody’s low chuckle. 

“My poor little mesh’la needed this even more than I realized,” he mused. “Enough teasing, yeah?” 

The tips of his fingers were at your entrance the next moment, though only one of them pushed inside of you. You were eager for more, but had to admit that one finger felt formidable. The sheer amount of lubrication coating your channel and lips helped ease the way, and you stubbornly refused to think about what else could be causing that wetness. 

Cody worked you slowly with that single finger, patiently petting and stretching you until your inner muscles relaxed enough for him to slip in a second one. You huffed out a breath at the stretch. 

What you hadn’t expected was that being blindfolded forced you to focus more on your other senses. You could feel Cody moving inside of you, of course, but you also felt the way his knuckles occasionally brushed up against your lips. You could hear how wet you were, but also that Cody occasionally held his breath as he watched you take him ever-deeper. His body lay warm against the length of your left leg, and you grabbed his forearm simply to feel the way the muscles and tendons worked as he stretched you. 

Your introspection was cut off when Cody pushed a third finger into you. Your mouth dropped open, a keening noise escaping you as the stretch rapidly went from shocking to uncomfortable to intense to orgasmic. Before you could even begin to warn him, you were tightening around Cody’s fingers and blindly panting out your orgasm.

When the roaring in your ears faded, Cody was still stroking into you. His motions had slowed significantly, but the steady push-pull of his fingers was threatening to build you right back into another orgasm. 

“Cody, please,” you begged, limbs too lax to pull him away. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Cody asked. His hand slowed even further, but he didn’t entirely stop. 

“You.” It came out in a gasp, but clear enough to be understood.

“Always so perfect for me.” Cody’s fingers pulled free of you, and you heard the unmistakable sound of him taking off the rest of his body glove. “Do you need anything else from me before I-?” 

“No,” you interrupted hastily. “Please, Cody, I just need-” 

“Shh… I know what you need, sweet girl.” Your thighs were pushed wider - wide enough to accommodate him between them. A blunted head prodded at your entrance and you canted your hips. Cody’s hands closed around your hips, holding you steady. “Be patient. I don’t want to push you into going faster than you should.” 

You sobbed out a breath as he slowly speared into you. Cody was gracefully proportioned, but some magic of your period or the blindfold - or a combination of both - made you feel his length more intensely than you could remember feeling before. He was sinking into your channel at an achingly slow pace, but that just seemed to emphasize the way he stretched you, forcing you wide around him. 

When he bottomed out in you, you froze at the intensity of the full feeling in your lower belly. If you could have removed your hands from his shoulders, you would have pressed them to your stomach. You wondered if you could have felt him lodged in your guts. 

But instead, you clung to Cody. Your fingernails bit into his skin as you used him as both a source of solidity and a handle so that you could move more freely. Your feet were still resting on the mattress, giving you the leverage you needed to push your hips up, and you ground your pelvis against him. 

Cody’s grip loosened enough to let you do it, then tightened again as he groaned. “You’re killing me, mesh’la.” 

“I’m killing you?” you asked, disbelievingly. “Cody, please, I need you to start moving or I’m going to explode.” 

“Fine,” he agreed. “But you’ll tell me if it’s too much?” 

“I promise.” 

Cody took you at your word. He pinned your hips to the bed and started to move. He couldn’t seem to decide whether he wanted to use long, pounding strokes or shorter, deeper ones. He ended up with a combination of both, which you found both hard to anticipate and intensely sexy. 

You couldn’t stay quiet under the onslaught of pleasure. Admittedly, you weren’t trying very hard, but neither was Cody. He was making his opinions clear, a combination of curses, moans, and praises falling from him. The only time either of you were quiet was when one or the other had initiated a kiss. 

Cody panted above you and you picked up on the particularly desperate rasp of it. He was close. That was perfect, since you were also close, but you wanted to see him. 

“Cody,” you said. Cody groaned your name in response, and you realized you needed to be more specific. “Cody, wait.” 

He froze halfway inside of you. “What is it? Do you need to stop?” 

“No, I just need you to take off my blindfold.” 

There was a beat of silence. “Are you sure? What about the blood?” 

Something in your chest shrank at the reminder that you were on your period and that the scene between your legs probably looked a lot more graphically violent than you had been imagining. Even so, you nodded. “I won’t look. I want to see you. That matters more to me than making sure I don’t see the blood.” 

“Give me a moment, sweetness,” Cody requested. The next thing you felt was the gentle brush of his fingers against the back of your head, then the scarf was lifting away from your face. You studied Cody’s face eagerly, taking in every expression and line. 

You didn’t realize you had a lovesick smile on your face until Cody returned the expression. With a gentle brush of your fingers over his cheek, you said, “There you are.” 

Cody nuzzled into your hand - an oddly sweet gesture considered he was balls deep inside of you. “Better?” 

“Much,” you agreed, rolling your hips experimentally. The brief pause hadn’t killed the mood entirely, and the fire in your blood roared back to life. “Mmmm… I’m close.” 

“Me, too.” Cody withdrew partially from you, pushing back in before pulling out a little further, then doing it again. Eventually, he was thrusting into you with luxurious, full-length strokes that almost seemed to be stroking your insides. Every move managed to brush against your g-spot both when he was pushing in and when he was pulling out, and it wasn’t long before you were panting once more. 

“Cody!” 

Cody pressed his forehead to yours, filling your entire field of vision as your body shattered for the second time that evening. It felt indescribably different to squeeze your internal muscles around his cock rather than his fingers, and the thought crossed your mind that you could happily come around him for eternity. Of course, the pleasure would probably kill you rather quickly, so ‘eternity’ wouldn’t be that long. 

He continued to thrust into you, bucking harder and faster and deeper and stronger until your orgasm stretched long enough to have been your second, third, and maybe your fourth. Cody’s hips lost their rhythm, his brow furrowed, and at last he tore himself from you. 

On the rare occasions when Cody didn’t fill you up, you liked to watch him come. There was something so powerful about it, so primal and compelling. But you were still dealing with the aftermath of your extended orgasm, the pleasurable aftershocks, and the inevitable weakness in your muscles that came after a really good time with Cody. 

Dampness seeped down from your inner thigh, dripping onto the towel beneath you as Cody’s hand squeezed the large muscle that lined the top of your thigh. “...Fuck.” 

You managed a laugh at the harshness of his curse. “You okay?” 

“I think I saw the galaxy for a second there.” Cody let out a shuddering breath. “You’re always amazing, but that was entirely different.” 

“It was a lot more intense than usual,” you agreed. “Maybe you were right about period sex.” 

“Not exactly what I meant, mesh’la,” Cody told you. You glanced at him, surprised that he wasn’t indulging in even a bit of gloating. “You were so strong. I know you weren’t sure about trying it, but I’m glad you did. It was very brave of you. Thank you for trusting me.” 

There were a dozen things you wanted to say: that you would always trust him, that there was no one else you could be as confident with, that it was you who should be thanking him. But you settled for a nod, deciding not to try speaking past the lump in your throat. 

In lieu of words, you tugged Cody upward until you could kiss him. He would understand everything you wanted to say.

---

Author's Note - At this moment, I don't have anything more planned for these two. But every now and again, I'll stumble into an idea that's too perfect not to use, so I won't say never!

Thanks for reading!