#he was lonely back home and now he’s lonely here and now apparently he’s in a debut team with 3 guys who know eo and he wants to die

[tgmsunmontue]

Saga of Solitude 15/21

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. IceMav AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version). (Side Hangster, which is ALSO angsty).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001) THREE (2002) FOUR (2003) FIVE (2004) SIX (2005) SEVEN (2006) EIGHT (2007) NINE (2008) TEN (2009) ELEVEN (2010) TWELVE (2011) THIRTEEN (2012) FOURTEEN (2013)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – 2014

                Tom has it narrowed down to three candidates. He’s been chipping away at figuring it out, not making it a top priority, but definitely something he keeps circling back to. The man who he wants to keep a closer eye on, even if it’s been five years he suspects that Bradley hasn’t exactly forgotten him. He had tried gentle probing questions, only to have them deftly avoided. Clever of him, and Tom knows he’s no doubt had practice from when he was younger and serving under DADT as well as protecting Tom and Pete’s own relationship.

                However Bradley hasn’t even told Natasha, because he’d also carefully asked her and she’d simply blinked at him in surprise before shaking her head, saying she didn’t know anything, but that if Bradley had slept with anyone he’d been very discreet, because she heard gossip, and there hasn’t been any about Bradley. Well. Other than him apparently being secretly married to her. Tom doesn’t know why he should even care so much, other than Bradley is his son and he wants to protect him as much as possible, despite the fact that Bradley is now over thirty and more than capable of looking after himself. He has his own house, not that he stays there very often, preferring to be in the center of things and being here in the family home with Tamsin and Petra.

                Except Tamsin and Petra are growing up too, Tamsin in her last semester of high school. She’s been accepted into California-Irvine and he’s so proud but he is also not prepared at all for her to move away. He’s glad she’s decided to stay within state at least, and he knows Bradley likely helped sway her in that decision. Which is why he wants to find some way to ensure Bradley is never held back in anyway. So he’ll keep trying to work out exactly who it is that he still so hooked up on.

…            …            …

                “She’s going to prom,” Pete says again, and he knows he’s maybe belaboring the point, but also he can’t believe that Tamsin is in her last year of high school, is so capable and accomplished and intelligent. Hell, she runs circles around him on the regular and yet he can’t fathom how the little baby girl he held in his arms over seventeen years ago is now taller than him. A fact everyone seems to great joy in pointing out to him, however he can still pick her up and carry her. Her boyfriend hasn’t stopped trying to impress them, and Pete can’t say he likes the young man, and he has tried, thank you very much Bradley.

                “Wish I could have gone to prom with you…” Ice says, stepping in close and wrapping his arms around Pete’s waist. He leans into him, never feels safer than when he’s like this.

                “Yeah? You want to dance with me?”

                “Always…”

                “We pretending we’re at prom?” Pete asks with a grin and Ice smiles, the soft-gentle half smile he uses when he’s feeling particularly sentimental. He feels Ice’s arms tighten around him and there isn’t any music, but then Ice starts humming quietly and his own smile grows wider and he presses a kiss into the side of Ice’s neck. “God I love you…”

                “Love you too. So much Pete… Did you ever think we’d get to have this life?”

                Pete startles a little, surprised at the question.

                “Of course…”

                “Seriously?”

                “You didn’t?”

                “Not in my wildest dreams. Every day I am grateful I get to have… all of this. You. Bradley, The girls. Sarah and Melissa. Hell, even Aubrey is a blessing.”

                “We are very lucky. Want to get luckier?”

                “This was a nice moment…”

                “It’ll be even nicer soon. Let me take you to bed?”

                “Yeah. Please.”

                “Mmm. Begging already. I like it.”

                “Begging you to stop talking. You used to be a man of action, not words…”

                “Pfft. I’ll show you action…”

                “In a bed Mav, come on.”

                They undress with no haste, helping each other, trading kisses and running hands over bare skin as it’s revealed, Ice’s touch on him causing repeated full-body tingles, they always have. He hopes his own touch has the same effect, thinks it does with the way Ice shivers and presses against him, murmurs his name quietly under his breath and kisses at the soft skin just behind his ear. He presses a gentle kiss over the newly healed port scar from Ice’s cancer treatments, suddenly overwhelmed that he too is grateful that he gets to have all this. He’d have been content with just Ice to call his own, but to have his odd little family, to have a son and two daughters who are all turning into these amazing individuals.

                “Pete…” Ice says, voice deep and raspy, the way it gets when he’s just woken up or when he’s getting really turned on. Then there are warm dry fingers wrapping around his cock and he follows Ice down onto the bed, lets his hands find purchase on Ice’s hips as he rocks against him. It’s warm and comforting, and despite wanting everything else to go fast in his life, this, with Ice right now, is something he’s happy to draw out. Knowing they don’t have to rush, not the hard-fast-desperate times that they had in the beginning, terrified of being caught.

                He’s married to this man, it’s on his record and they live together, always come home to the same place. He realizes he didn’t think he’d get to have this, but he had always hoped and dreamed he would. That despite everything he’s damned lucky and he shouldn’t take what they have for granted.

                “You want to fuck me?” Pete asks, straddling Ice’s thighs and grinding his erection in a rocking motion against Ice’s.

                “Yes.”

                He grins then, knows his face is probably scrunched up in happiness but he doesn’t care. They don’t do this very often, it’s more effort than either of them are usually wanting to put in, but sometimes it’s exactly what they both want. He leans back, rolls off the bed and pulls open the bedside table drawer for lube; hears Ice shuffle off to grab towels. He follows, uses the glass on the sink to have two large glasses of water.

                “You planning on working up a sweat?”

                “Yeah… you better be able to keep up.”

                Ice snorts at that, but follows his example and throws back a glass of water, but his eyes stay on him, the light grey-blue shaded darker with arousal and Pete’s cock jerks in anticipation. Ice, being the smug bastard he is, and because he knows him so well smirks, lets one of his hands come to rest on Pete’s flank, fingers digging and rubbing and pulling him close so they can rub together. He’s being moved, Ice using his height and breadth to encourage him back to the bedroom, like he somehow needs convincing.

                “Hi…”

                “Hi. Can we…”

                “Always trying to rush…”

                “Not this. Not with you.”

                “I know.”

                Then he’s on his back, Ice dragging him so his hips are raised on a couple of pillows, which are covered with one of the towels. Ice kisses him, then there’s the slick slide of fingers between his ass cheeks and he reaches blindly for him, needs to touch him so he can feel grounded, know that Ice is there with him. It’s not fast, Ice always takes his time, makes sure now that he’s not going to cause any pain or even discomfit. Pete has learnt that he’s allowed to just lie back and enjoy. The whole preparation aspect is something Ice takes pleasure in, the building anticipation and knowledge he has time, permitted to touch Pete and make him feel good. He does that now, their years together making him an expert in Pete’s body.

                Pete doesn’t often have the patience for this; time shifts and passes in a liquid state, seconds measured in kisses against his skin, minutes in the growing and easing pressure of fingers stretching him. He’s hard and leaking, feels like Ice has been driving him around the edge of a whirlpool for hours and he’s just waiting for them to get sucked down together. He feels Ice’s cock push into him and he lets out a groan, cants his hips to make the press deeper and let’s Ice manhandle him so his legs are around his waist.

                “Ice…”

                “Yeah. I got you Mav…”

…            …            …

                He’s home five weeks early, and they’re managing to pull it off, and god, if he makes her cry and her mascara runs she’s going to kill him. But it’s her prom night and while they’d planned on him arriving during a school assembly to surprise her, they’ve modified it because she’s going to prom alone because her boyfriend is an asshole.

                So.

                Bradley is going to turn up in his dress whites, sweep her off her feet and he’s going to consider himself lucky if Tamsin doesn’t punch him. She’s standing with a group of her friends, nearly all of whom he recognizes, Ice and Mav are failing at hiding behind a pillar, Petra with them and looking bored. A lot of sets of eyes are on him and he can see someone making a signal for the music to be turned down, and that has Tamsin and her group look around and he steps forward, hand out stretched.

                “Can I have this dance?”

                “Bradley!”

                Then he’s being hugged tightly, she looks so grown up and he’s reminded again that parents do this all the time; that he works with some who leave their young kids for months at a time and he’s simply an older brother. He steps back to take in her dress and hair, is pretty sure Mav and Tom probably had collective heart attacks given the split up the side.

                “You look amazing.”

                “I know!” she laughs. “It took hours. I cannot believe that some people do this every day before they leave their homes…”

                There’s applause and he’s got the usual thanks for your service and he nods and smiles his way through it all, because he’s in the service to fly planes because he can’t imagine doing anything else, and if it has the added bonus of serving his country then that’s okay. But he knows what came first for him.

                He dances with Tamsin, can actually dance the more formal and traditional dances but steps away when she starts throwing her hands up to a song he doesn’t recognize. So this is what old age begins to feel like. Ice and Mav have left, and some of Tamsin’s teachers come and introduce themselves, and he finds it a little alarming that one of them is in fact younger than him, the others only a few years older and he hopes his freak out about being his age isn’t showing on his face.

                “You’re actually in the Navy huh?” a man asks, and he thinks this is Tamsin’s English teacher.

                “Yes. These are my actual dress whites. Thought I’d try and make tonight better after her boyfriend decided to dump her.”

                “Ah yes, he’s a bit of a social pariah now. Tamsin is well liked.”

                “Good. She’s awesome.”

                “The words of a completely unbiased bystander, I’m sure,” the guy says with a gentle teasing smile and Bradley turns slightly, thinks he’s being flirted with.

                “Protective and proud older brother instincts aren’t ever going to go away. I’ll be in a rocking chair and I’ll still think she’s awesome.”

                The glint of something intensifies and Bradley raises an eyebrow, licks his lips and doesn’t miss the other man’s eyes flick down to the movement.

                He is never telling Tamsin that he got a blowjob from her English teacher, however he also doesn’t feel like he’s so ancient after all, so he’ll definitely count it as a win.

…            …            …

                Tom isn’t an idiot. When Petra turns sixteen he very politely recuses himself from even being an option to teach her how to drive. He did it with Bradley and Tamsin. Petra is another thing entirely, and he knows Pete has already let her drive his motorbikes up and down the airstrip at the hangar, has no doubt that she’s already done the same with a car. He can only hope that Pete doesn’t make any exceptions around safety. He doesn’t expect he will, he never has with Bradley or Tamsin. It’s only his own body he’s a little reckless with. They both come back super excited, fizzing with more energy than he knows what to with and later when they’re curled up in bed Pete admits he knows what he’s going to get Petra for Christmas. Laps at the nearest racecourse.

                Tom sighs.

…            …            …

                “Hey Bradley?”

                “Yeah Pet?”

                “If you try and pull that prom bullshit on me I will castrate you and make you wish you’d never been born. Got it?”

                Bradley snorts.

                “Yeah. Got it. Is that a no surprises ever, or just big public ones where you might cry?”

                “No public ones. Nice surprises are fine.”

                “Okay. Well I’ll try and keep the big public displays saved up for Tamsin.”

                “Yeah. That sounds good.”

…            …            …

                “I have to look over these promotion recommendations before sending them on to the SECNAV. We’ve got a young aviator who chalked up an air-to-air kill, so he’s being recommended for accelerated promotion to Lieutenant… A Jake Seresin.”

                Tom recognizes the name immediately. Jake Seresin. He remembers having dinner with him, he’d been polite and engaging, flown in a way that made him itch to be in the sky again. He’s also on the very short list of men that are potentially Bradley’s ill-advised hookup that he is adamant about leaving the fuck alone. Tom isn’t so sure, but also he’s got a feeling in his gut that this is him. That Jake Seresin is the young man that Bradley hooked up with. Which makes him worth his attention, but it doesn’t stop him from halting the other man’s career trajectory. He signs the paperwork giving his recommendation for promotion and asks for an invitation to the ceremony.

…            …            …

                “Jake.”

                “Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

                Bradley bites back his immediate retort, because he guesses he deserves that.

                “Congratulations on the promotion.”

                “I’m sorry, are you talking to me now?”

                “Well, we’re currently the same rank so I can’t have the fraternization rules thrown at me as a warning. So yeah, I guess I’m talking to you…” Bradley starts, even knowing that the previous difference in their ranks is a weak excuse for his previous behavior.

                “Yeah well, I’m not listening. Catch you around Bradshaw.”

                Fuck.

                So much for trying to apologize.

[soobvape]

heol

[specshroom]

A Mischievous Fairy

˚˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˚˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹

When a humble farmer decided to live on the outskirts of town right next to the forest he did not expect to make friends with a small temperamental creature from the forest.

It was a pretty good deal you had going on, you help his plants grow with fairy magic and he gives you a safe warm place to sleep and home cooked meals. Most days are spent with you doing your best to annoy the poor farmer as he tries to remind himself that you're the reason his produce sells for such high prices.

You fly around his head making little jingle noises and he tries to ignore you and go on with his work. You steal little things like spoons, screwdrivers, pencils and put them in places he can't reach like on top of the cabinets and shelves. When you get mad at him you grow weeds in his crops until he apologizes or gives you a gift to your liking. Despite this the farmer has grown to truly enjoy your company...for the most part.

His loneliness is getting to him and he's tried to have company over but it's kind of hard to explain to guests why there's a little, scantily clad fairy staring daggers at them the whole time. It definitely ruins the mood as he tries to convince them you won't bite (you will and you have).

One day the farmer comes home from town looking more excited than usual. You plop yourself on his head as he walks around his little cottage.

As he sorts through all the items he bought you get impatient and decide he's not paying enough attention to you. You fly right in front of his face and pose for him, showing off the new outfit you made out of flower petals in his garden.

"Not right now, Tiny."

The farmer rolls his eyes and gently shoos you away with his hand, focusing back onto his apparently very interesting haul from the market. The very rude gesture gets you all fired up and you're in his face again this time with your hands on your hips and an angry expression. The farmer sighs and gently cradles your tiny body in his hands.

"Look, I'm busy. Alright?"

He walks over to the windowsill and gently plops you down onto the little pincushion he set aside for you. You sit there with your arms crossed, glaring at him as he puts away his items.

While you're sulking you notice a little bottle of purple liquid poking out of the farmers front pocket. You quietly flutter over and sneakily inch the tiny thing out of his pocket.

"Hey!"

The farmer tries to stop you but you're much faster than him and fly up, out of his reach. The glass bottle is a little bigger than you're torso and when you inspect it the label says "Growth serum"

You let out quite a dramatic gasp and look down at the farmer, betrayal written all over your face.

"Now Tiny, don't jump to conclu-"

The farmer starts but is interrupted by a very angry fairy yelling things he doesn't understand right in his face. All he can hear is jingles but he's sure he's getting severely cussed at. He understands why, you helped this man grow his crops bigger and better than ever and now you think he wants to replace you for some stupid, probably overpriced serum?

You angrily throw the bottle to the ground and the farmer dives down to clumsily catch it before it smashes onto the floor.

As you feel tears fall down your hot cheeks, you flutter back to your windowsill and sit with your head between your knees.

"Hey, don't cry now."

The farmer sheepishly leans against the windowsill next to you.

"I promise, it's not for the plants. You already help me out so much with that and I appreciate it a lot. I don't need anything else."

You peak your head out from your arms and look at him skeptically.

He holds his hand out to you and you hesitantly flutter onto his palm, enjoying the warmth of his touch despite the cold wetness of your cheeks.

"Truth is, it's lonely for me out here... and I know you get lonely too."

You scoff at him. Obviously, the whole reason you were upset in the first place was because he was ignoring you.

"I uh... I got this for you. So we could....uh well only if you want to, I mean... I don't know."

You stare at him dumbfounded as he fumbles his words, you've never seen the farmer like this before.

You shoot up to hug his cheek, jingling in excitement. You give him tiny kisses and he laughs at the ticklish feeling. You float to the counter in front of him and bounce on your heels waiting for him.

"Alright, alright."

He chuckles at your stark change in mood and uncaps the tiny bottle of magic liquid. You brace yourself as he carefully lets one single drop fall onto your little head.

Nothing happens for a moment but before you could feel disappointed the world blurs and you're suddenly face to face with your farmer.

He stares down at where you sit on his counter, now perfectly human sized. Your cute dress didn't survive the quick transition but you don't seem to mind as you jump the poor farmer.

You grab his face and kiss him deeply. Finally feeling his lips on yours makes your wings flutter and your heart sing as you lock your legs around him to pull his body closer.

"Alright, slow down."

He says through kisses and huffed laughs as you kiss all over his face and neck.

"Now why don't you let me show you how much I appreciate you."

He mumbles in a sultry tone, bringing his hands down to grip your ass and grind your hips into him.

He laughs at the way your wings violently flutter and takes that as eager agreement.

˚˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˚˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 8 - Jason Fucking Todd

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Well, look on the bright side of things. You’re not crying right now. That’s nice. You’re not an intern anymore. That’s nice. You struggle to think of anything else. Oh yeah, you’re rich! That’s also nice. You’re not dead. Nice.

This is kind of pathetic. You just feel bummed after having to break up with George a second time. And getting smacked right in the face by him. Which you know, anybody would be, you think. You don’t think a single soul has ever known the George Lancaster Break-Up Special more than once. And you didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to fall for that asshole more than once.

You couldn’t fake a brave face anymore, you just didn’t have the energy for it.

…And let’s not forget almost dying via Joker goon. Not even the man himself, just a random lackey. You think of how he literally disappeared in front of your eyes, and decide you are going to stop thinking. It’s doing you no good anyway.

Instead, you just start walking. Letting your feet and your intimate knowledge of Gotham’s streets, even in this area you don’t often frequent, guide you. You find yourself at the train station. With little consideration, you buy a ticket to the southern part of the city. The bad side of town, the docks, where your apartment used to be.

You feel like a little rat scurrying back into the sewers as you hop on the subway, tucking yourself in between people who don’t recognise you, probably because of your general dishevelment.

Shoulders knocking against strangers, you feel the most at home since this whole disaster started. You stare across the train car, watching a baby babble to its mother. It catches your eye, gives you a big toothless smile, and some snot dribbles into it’s mouth. The mother notices and cleans the baby up with a tissue. When she catches you staring, you give a very awkward but friendly smile, and she smiles back.

A tiny weight lifts off your shoulders. Surrounded by the chaos of Gotham, as the subway exits the tunnels and heads up onto the sky rails, you find yourself warm by the rays of sun through the clouds. The view is beautiful, as it always is. Usually, you’d be looking at your phone, too busy to enjoy the sights. But it really is beautiful.

It’s only when you hear the announcer calling out that you realise you did this for a reason, and dart out of your seat and through the narrowly closing doors. The metal closes behind you with a small hiss. The Docks station, for most people, would be one of the better Gotham train stations. Newly built, and with all the tourist money it was clean. Well, clean as it could get. You’d read some article about the bacteria the rats were carrying being not found anywhere else on earth, and you’d decided to stop reading articles.

Anyway, for you, even the shining marble of the station was a sad sight. Because you only ever came here on your very worst days.

This seemed like one of them.

The familiar streets flit past you, barely something you’re even cognisant of. This part of the city was mostly new, the concrete fresh under your feet instead of littered with potholes. Still, it wasn’t at the centre of the blast radius, so it hadn’t been totally demolished.

No, that was just up ahead. And like everything else in this weird new world, you immediately noticed something different. Where your family had died was… still there, for some reason.

With confusion, exhaustion, and no small bit of despair, you stop in the middle of the pathway outside the remnants of what used to be an old diner and was now just a pile of rocks. Some very charred rocks. Looking at the wreckage, you raise your brows. Its crumbling form is still under construction after all these years. The yellow caution tape is only a deterrence to you because you don’t want to end up on the gossip reels for a second time today. Looking around, you find yourself further confused. Lots of other parts of the pier had been redeveloped, but this piece of the puzzle still lay bare.

It didn’t, in your home, your world. It had been replaced with high-rise apartments, and since they were so close to the water, so pretty and new, you had no hope of affording them. It probably wouldn’t be very good for your mental health even if you could. Still, you’d taken many walks past the street. Enjoyed the little bit of dirty white concrete that had survived. You and your siblings had signed your names into it, and you’d stroked the sidewalk like the weirdo you were many times.

Like you did today. And today, for some reason, the rest of it was here. Untouched. A remnant of the disaster. As you run your thumb along the sharp edge of Julie’s J, you find yourself once again lost in your memories. They were like honey traps to you these days.

The mum-and-pops diner had been run by your uncle. It’d been in the family for three generations, and he was incorrigibly proud of it. You’d all had your birthday parties there, because it was free and you were poor. It wasn’t like your uncle would let you pay for the food anyway, it was just one of the few times Mum could stand the generosity. She didn’t like it when you had disappointing birthdays, and no matter how much you tried to fake your happiness, she could always see to your core. Eventually, you and your siblings all gave up on trying.

You were late. You were often late, but this time it was… it was the difference between life and death. If you’d been a few blocks further, a little bit earlier, you’d probably be dead too. Or at least have some serious hearing loss instead of just suffering mild tinnitus.

You had felt more than seen the destruction. The earth had rumbled, and a deafening roar had swept through the streets. You remember falling to your knees, the worry about being late morphing to worry for your best clothes to a true terror when you realised where the blast had come from.

When you realised your family was in the epicentre.

You sometimes wish you were on time that day. That you’d gotten to see them all, even if you went with them. It didn’t sound so bad, really. At least you wouldn’t be alone. Hmm, you should probably stop thinking like that. Or maybe go to a therapist about it.

Not that you could afford it. Oh, right. Rich now. That was really taking some getting used to.

You wonder if people who won the lottery felt the same way. Probably not, because the rest of the world reflected the changes the person felt. They’d have to go pick up the check, go to the bank, and if they let their family and friends know, deal with the consequences of that.

You’d just woken up rich. No time to adjust, your new life was here and it was demanding your attention very loudly. And soup-ly, unfortunately. After a few minutes of staring blankly at the rubble, you look towards your left, where you know the Memorial awaits you. It’s in the centre of the new shopping district, built on top of the bombed parts of Gotham. It sits right next to the water, the cold breeze a comfort that you’d turned to on more than one occasion.

You’d feel bad if you didn’t change your clothes. You told Grayson you would, and you already felt bad enough about... everything to do with him. You suppose he was your brother. Your ex-brother. Ex-step-brother. The ex-step-brother of a woman who you weren’t.

Really, he was just a stranger. It seemed he didn’t feel that way, though.

You start the walk towards the shopping district, and into the first clothes store you see. The prices on the tags would usually make you flinch, but well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing seems to matter. Your survival is now guaranteed, might as well wear some clothes that feel nice on your skin.

You walk out of that store looking like you just robbed it. Even the clerk had given you a weird look but accepted the black card tucked in your phone without much complaint. It’s an improvement if a small one.

Once you’re done, like a moth to a flame, you drift towards the Memorial centre. You’re following all the steps you used to in the past, but somehow, it all feels a bit alien. The world looks a little different, a little uncomfortable. Your shoes are worn in, and yet they still feel too tight.

Uncanny valley. You feel unwelcomed here, unwanted. Like the very earth can tell that there’s something wrong in this scene, some intruder. You ignore the feeling as best you can.

The Memorial is just as unfamiliar as the diner was, maybe even more. You know that your mother was a Wayne before she died. You know that. But still seeing your family’s framed photos, right alongside Jason's is so shocking you nearly jump. It takes a moment of wide-eyed staring before you can manage to get past that. When you do, for some reason you still go back to your old habits. You walk by them, the bouquets and to where their names used to be in thin letters.

You count with your fingers, finding the fifty-second line.

A man’s name replaces the spot where your mother’s is. The little grooves the oil in your fingers had left behind were gone, and instead was sharp stone like when the monument was first erected. It cuts at your fingers. It no longer welcomes your touch.

James Whitaker. That’s the name of the man who took their spot.

You can already feel a rising obsession with the random dead man. If you were going to psycho-analyse yourself, you’d recognise that you didn’t feel that the images of the Waynes you’d created were no longer real, no longer safe to your escapist mindset. You’d realise, that this was all pretty unhealthy, and you really, really needed therapy.

Instead, you give the guy your condolences and start reading the other plinths. They seem largely the same. It’s not like you hadn’t read all of these towers of stone at one point or another, your eyes glazing over the many, many names. So much devastation, all in one moment.

And still, this was not even a tenth of all the lives the Joker had taken. You kinda wanna go take a kick at one of the Bat signals littered around the city. Maybe that’d make you less… broiling with incompetent rage.

Again, maybe you should just go to therapy. You should call Jeanine about that or something.

Eventually, you circle back to your family and Jason’s shrines. You know, back then you’d been jealous that Jason Todd had been so well mourned. You’d wished your family had gotten the same treatment.

Now, you… felt jealous again. Possessive, over their memory, their image. You didn’t really like that random strangers that never knew them… knew them. That Sam always got As in English and Art class but would sometimes skip math and would hide in the bathrooms to do so. That Chasey had struggled with going to school because of her anxiety but kept going because she had a friend going through the exact same thing. That Julie was the ace of her school’s soccer team, and that she’d almost gotten them to nationals even in the presence of all the super-rich schools in Gotham. That your Mum was a great cook but genuinely hated doing it, but for some reason, baking was her favourite thing even as she had never made a proper macaron.

They didn’t know them. They knew their faces and a facsimile of them, but they didn’t know them. It reminded you of the people at the orphanage. Nice, but not kind. They’d had their own lives, they didn’t want some bratty, demented teenager who was going down and planning on taking everyone with her.

You really couldn’t be happy, could you? Maybe you didn’t know what you wanted. What you want now. What you’d wanted for a while, actually.

Ugh. You close your eyes and let out a deep, soul-shaking sigh. It takes a moment for you to shore up the willpower to open them again. Come on, flower shop, finish your weird little ritual then you can go home and hide for the next millenia.

The walk there is the same as always, if a little more morose. It’s in a good spot, near the church just a block away and the memorial on its other side, as well as less sombre atmospheres down near the pier. Well, as little sombre as Gotham can manage.

You feel like you blink and you’re there. Too quickly, you find a rainbow of blooms in front of you, the scent of the blossoms washing over you. When you walk into the flower shop, the bell at the door rings the same as it always does. On autopilot, you walk over to the small, cheaper buds. Your hand clenches around the crinkly wrapping paper, a bundle of posies in your hand. You go to the counter with your prize in hand.

Larissa, the counter worker, smiles at you. Your breath hitches. It’s a working smile, not one of the real, toothy ones she used to give you.

“Oh wow, I thought all the posies had sold out. Lucky you!”

You think of something to say, but the moment passes and you don’t. She rings you up, tells you the price, and when you pay, asks sweetly if you want a receipt.

She doesn’t say your name. Doesn’t acknowledge how you come here every week and buy this same handful of flowers. She doesn’t ask about your job or the weather. She doesn’t cheerfully tell you about how her apprenticeship is going, or about the next sweet thing her partner has done. No, she just stares at you, growing more uncomfortable the longer it takes for you to answer.

She doesn’t even seem to recognise this other version of you. It feels like another string that tied you down to the earth has been snipped. You have an image in your head of a child losing a balloon, desperately grasping at the air. You’re going to float up into the atmosphere, and then you’re going to pop.

You can see the foil glinting in the sun’s light, so, so clearly.

You squeeze your eyes shut, “Yes, a receipt, please.”

Taking it blindly, you barely flutter your eyes open as you walk out of the shop. She didn’t know you, didn’t remember you. That doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. You hadn’t really known her. It doesn’t matter. There’s no real difference, it doesn’t matter.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it never really mattered. You keep telling yourself this as you walk back over to the memorial. As you lay your flowers down with the others, the little posies are dwarfed by the other donations. It didn’t matter. You didn’t know her. None of this matters. Their flowers don’t matter.

You don’t matter. You hit that errant thought with a mental fly swatter.

Exhausted, you sit down next to the monument. You used to be able to lay your head on the stone, able to feel your family in the warmth it had absorbed in the sun. Now you just sort of, awkwardly reached out to the small bit of uncovered plinth at the side. You have to stick your hand through a wreath to do so.

It’s not warm. You wonder if your family are sad. And then you wonder if you’re an idiot for attributing feelings to a literal rock.

After a while, you get up. Cross your arms. You stare at your family's portraits, eyes moving over their smiles. One by one. You recognise some of the photographs, those are your favourites. A smile cracks across your face when you see the picture of when Chasey lost her two front teeth. She still grins cheekily at the camera, uncaring for any changes to her appearance, as all kids shouldn’t.

Your shoulders fall just the slightest bit when you see the picture of Jason Todd. It’s one of his older pictures. Probably seventeen or something. He’d always been a lovely boy when he was younger. And he still was up till he died but you’d always thought you’d seen something start to change in him. That sparkle of innocence, dulled, just the slightest.

And then he’d died. And you’d wondered if maybe he’d felt it was coming.

You certainly hadn’t. It had been like a hurricane tearing through your life. You’d ended up on the other side completely abandoned, the only friend who’d bothered to keep seeing you being one who’d learnt to dodge train ticket costs like a damn ninja. And you’d had to decide whether you could keep doing this, whether you even wanted to.

You were an obsessive creature by nurture. It had been all you could do to hang onto the Waynes, pretend they would love and care for you even if they’d have never even noticed you in real life. You weren’t sure that was strength or simple human survival. Dying was scary. Of course, you were scared of dying.

Your whole family had died. So, you told yourself, that Jason Fucking Todd would be sad if you killed yourself, and somehow, you had made it all these years.

And now here you were, and the Waynes did notice you in real life. You were important to them. You didn’t want to be, but you were. And again, you have to ask yourself, what would Jason Todd ask of you? What would he want you to do now, in this impossible situation you’ve found yourself in?

You stare at the picture. Stare at the way the sun hits his dark hair and blue eyes. Stare very, very hard. Like he might crawl out and give you a detailed list of what to do. You’d really like a detailed list. Or any guidance at all. Maybe you could go hit up a seance or something.

Your head falls forward into your sun-warmed palms. This is so stupid. No answers are going to fall from the sky, you need to find them yourself. And you’re not going to find them here.

Someone walks up beside you to the old memorial, and you quickly tuck yourself back into an acceptable image. Fold in all the rough edges you can. A tall and well-built man, with a face mask, sunglasses and a trucker hat, he looks like he could be a celebrity or something. Someone important, much more than you.

And you weren’t, not technically, at least. The universe had done the equivalent of a shelving error, and now here you goddamn were.

He does an odd pose next to you, something military-esque, where he clasps his hands together and bows his head. With a quick flick of your eyes you confirm, yes, his feet are equal with his shoulders. It’s obvious that he’s paying his respects so you do your best not to judge him too hard.

And then he speaks to you.

“I’m sorry.”

You look up, startled and confused.

“For your loss,” the deep voice finishes, jerking his head toward the pictures in front of the two of you.

“Wha- oh uh, um,” you blink and then realise that this person has recognised you, which would make sense since you are literally in one of the photos in front of you, and manage to pull your fading conscious mind back together for a moment more.

“Thank you, uh-” you stare at him a moment longer, “You too?”

Almost worse than that time you told the barista who gave you your coffee you hoped she enjoyed hers too, but not quite. Well, you know, he’d probably lost someone here too. You don’t know why he’d be here otherwise unless he wanted an autograph or something. The thought almost makes you laugh.

He snorts at your words. You don’t know what to make of that.

He looks back down at the pictures and flowers. You think he does, at least, from the slight shifting of his head. He’s kind of mysterious. Pair that with the deep voice, the muscular and tall physique, and you’re an odd mix of attracted and socially anxious. Not that you’re not always socially anxious, but this guy feels… strong. Dumb again, you can see his biceps from here but…

You just can’t quite shake it off. Strong. Strong.

“They didn’t deserve it, none of them did,” he speaks again, and you wonder what the fuck he’s going on about at all.

You admit, you sound a little bitter when you mutter, “Well, that’s obvious.”

He lets out a bark of laughter, and you see his eyes flash to you from under his sunglasses. A shade of blue. There’s another odd pause, and then he turns to you. You don’t know why he’s looking at you. He crosses his arms, and seems to size you up.

“What are you doing here?” he asks you like he knows you.

Your brow furrows. Okay, kind of losing any hotness points here. Bothering someone who was grieving could’ve been seen as rude from the very start, but you’d just thought he was weird. Now, you thought he was weird and rude.

“…Paying my respects. Obviously,” you gesture downwards, “My mother, my siblings, and…”

Well, how would you describe the relationship between you and Jason Todd now? He was still just a stranger to you and-

“With who, that guy?”

Now, it isn’t often that you’re stunned into silence, but at the moment you can’t find it in you to do anything but stare and gape. Frankly, you’re astonished! You’ve never met anyone who spoke so rudely of the dead, and well, he couldn’t have picked a worse person to do it in front of.

“Excuse me?” your voice can’t seem to convey even half of your offence, even as you sound like you’re about ready to bite a second person for today. The man pauses like you’ve surprised him, which- what the fuck is going on? Why do you feel like an alien crash-landed on Earth these days?

“No, I just meant-” he huffs, shakes his head, and continues, his voice now offended too, “What the fuck am I saying? Yes, I did mean that. That little twerp was a naive idiot who was manipulated by the people he believed in most.”

You stare, absolutely speechless, as the stranger goes on a damn-fucking-near crazed rant about one of the people most important to you. Never met? Sure. Dead as hell? Absolutely. But still, he was one of your lifelines. Your candlelight in the dark, guiding your way even when you felt completely lost. And now he’s calling him a naive idiot? You can practically feel the steam coming out of your ears.

“He changed nothing, made no difference in the end-”

“Nothing?!” you practically shriek, finally able to find your voice just to use it to shout, “He changed… so much! He donated millions of dollars, did heaps of charity work, was practically a treasure to our city… He made multiple homeless shelters, an orphanage, helped rehabilitate criminals and countless other things.”

Your fists are clenched tight enough that they shake. You hide them behind your back, but you still feel like he can probably see them. Your emotions are simmering too close to the surface, bubbling over and onto the floor. About to burn his sneakers to ash.

“You seem like you care a lot,” he says, sounding reserved.

“Of course, I care.”

“…It’s just, you didn’t seem the type, on the TV,” he keeps talking, poking at you for some god-awful reason, and you bark out a harsh laugh.

“Maybe people need to stop making so many fucking assumptions, then? It certainly hasn’t gotten you anywhere,” you throw your hands up, damn sick of all the constant fucking surveillance you’re under. You can see why this version of you lost her mind. You’re near about to as well.

He stares at you for a moment longer, and you start feeling too uncomfortable. It’s a stupid and useless protectiveness that has you staying. Like he’ll somehow try and harm the shrine to your people. It’s happened before, Joker fanboys defacing it and such. This guy could be one of those bastards.

And yet… somehow you feel…

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he finally says.

“Good, you do that.”

“But in the end, nothing’s really changed. Joker’s still out and about, as you well know.”

You physically flinch like you’ve been slapped. For a good minute there, all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. You raise one shaking fist, and lift one trembling finger, pointing. The man looks in the direction you’ve pointed, and when he doesn’t see anything, turns back to you. His sunglasses reflect the grey afternoon sun.

“Go,” you order, voice shaking just like the rest of you.

He just keeps staring at you. You wish he’d take off those dumb fucking glasses, so you could see this asshole’s face. Etch it into your mind. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t take any action. He simply waits for you to… Well, you don’t know what you’ll do. You haven’t known what you’d do since you left Dick behind two hours ago.

“You need to go,” you say again, and again, he doesn’t fucking move, “You… there’s… you have no right.”

You can hear the buzz of the city around you, the wind rushing by. His clothes rustle in the wind. Your voice sounds too loud in your ears, but he won’t just… he won’t leave. You don’t want this stranger here, watching you. Judging you. It’s all…

“Jason didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, and you think to yourself, desperately, ‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’

There’s a slight shift in the stranger’s posture. His shoulders tensed.

You think you’ve offended him.

“The Joker… That’s nobody's fault but the government for not just sucking it up and giving him the death penalty, or Batman’s for not doing it himself a long time ago. They’re all fucking useless, but they’re the ones who are supposed to be dealing with this!” you continue, your words growing more heated. It’s only the already looming threat of an assault case that keeps you from shoving the guy. Not like you’d be able to move him an inch, of course, he was huge.

You’re sure it would feel good, though.

“It was never some random teenager's responsibility, and it wasn't mine either,” you say, but find yourself pausing for a moment when you hear the end of your sentence. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like it wasn’t obvious anyway.

You’d tied yourself and Jason up together in your head. To you, you were both two sides of the same coin. One foot in the grave. You’ve got one foot in the grave…

“Jason Todd was a good person, and he made the world a better place.”

You look down at the portrait of the boy, his toothy smile twisting at your heart. None of this was fair. None of this had ever been fair. Why was this guy acting like anybody here had ever been able to do anything about it? Like Jason should’ve been smarter, and avoided a fucking bomb blast?

It was stupid. This was stupid, and you were over it. You were tired.

“And I miss him.”

It’s quiet after you say that.

“I don’t know how you can think it’s fair to act like his death was pointless when… of course it was, all of this was pointless,” you say, throwing your hands wide and gesturing to the entire memorial. “This was a tragedy, but Jason was a victim. And I’m sick of people like you who think they can decide whether someone else’s life was lived right. It’s not your damn right.”

“Now… fuck off!” you announce, and to your shock, he does. He fucks right off. The man gives you one last lingering look, and then turns and leaves without another word. Not like you needed them.

You huff out a shocked breath, and then turn back to the memorial.

The framed faces of your loved ones stare back at you, and for all you know it’s stupid, you can’t help but feel embarrassed for the display. You know your mother would’ve scolded you for your language, at least.

“Sorry,” you say, and you’re unfortunately reminded of that irritating man again. Likely that won’t be the first time he pops up again in your head. He seemed well, insane. Which wasn’t that odd in Gotham but… god, you just couldn’t seem to let it go.

It pissed you off to high heaven. His rudeness was something you’d usually be able to shrug off, especially from some random stranger, but, but, but-! Argh, damn it all. And it wasn’t like that was the first time you had had that sort of conversation, but it was certainly the first time someone had been so bold as to bring it up in front of your dead mother’s smiling face.

Earlier today had snuffed out the fire in you, but that encounter had been the spark to reignite it. More than that, actually. It had made you so damn pissed, made your blood boil in a way you just couldn’t ignore, to the point that you wanted to prove him wrong.

Jason Todd had mattered and had made a difference and change in Gotham. He had made a change in you. You put your hands on your hips, stare down at the flowers, and make a decision.

You’re going to fix your goddamn life. For Jason Fucking Todd.

Your body feels like shit, your brain feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool, and yet this is the greatest opportunity you’ve ever been given. You have a chance to save yourself, and save your friends, and fix all the tiny little problems in Gotham that you’ve suffered through since childhood. Surely just throwing enough money at all your problems would fix some of them.

You were rich. If you couldn’t fix your life with millions of dollars available, then you had no chance.

And yeah, you don’t know what you’re doing. You know you can’t really change what happened. Back then or even just a few days ago. But you hate that. You hate it so much. You hate how weak you are in the face of loss. How both then and now, there’s nothing you can really do. And maybe if just out of spite, towards that asshat, Batman, Joker and everyone else, you want to make a change.

You want to be able to do something about it. You want it, so fucking bad.

First order of business?

…You want more flowers.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[lipglossanon]

Dirty Little Secret

Stepson!Leon S. Kennedy x Stepmom!Reader <one shot>

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pseudo incest, cheating, loveless marriage? lol, mommy kink, breeding kink, mentions of lactation kink, dirty talk, noncon, slight somno, mention of a rape play scenario, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread ✍️ just smut

title from Dirty Little Secret by The All American Rejects

You thought it was love. This guy wined and dined you then showed you the world. So when he proposes to you only three months into your relationship, you’re so smitten that you agree before he even finishes asking. 

It must’ve been the honeymoon phase because a year later, you’re stuck at home while he galivants around the globe for his business. It’s not like you have a hard time, but you’re lonely, done begging for attention from a man who apparently just wanted someone to live in his empty house while he’s gone. 

Then after months of stilted phone calls and cut short video chats, he drops by only to surprise you with a son from a previous marriage. Something you knew nothing about. After introducing Leon to you, he leaves him there—some flimsy excuse of letting you two get to know each other—and is off again once more. 

Leon smiles at you as his dad leaves, “Sorry to drop in like this.”

Your frown smooths out as you take a deep breath, “Not your fault, sorry if I’m off kilter. He didn’t even tell me about you til now.”

You wince after saying the words out loud but Leon only laughs. 

“It’s okay. I’ll stay out of your hair as much as possible.”

You wave your hand, “Don’t be silly, it’ll be nice to have company again.”

He smiles again but this one makes you feel a little more on edge, something about the way it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Well then, I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.”

You settle into a new routine, Leon fitting into your day to day pretty easily. He’s sarcastic and mouthy, but it beats only having yourself for company. Your husband dropped off his son in late January and it’s now early May; it’s like you blinked and realized you haven’t even had anyone else visit except for Leon’s actual mom. (She’s surprisingly a sweetheart and quite helpful even if she makes Leon all moody to have her in your shared space). 

It’s after one such visit that left Leon in an irritable mood where you decide to have a little movie night in order to cheer him up. You’re unsure as to what started it this time, but the ex missus just gave you a quick smile and wave goodbye as Leon stormed off upstairs. Taking in a deep breath, you rap your knuckles on his closed door and listen for any movement.

Half a minute passes by before you hear him walk over and open the door. You take in his sweats and loose white tee. Good, it doesn’t look like he's headed out—you tilt your head before looking back up into his face. 

“Yes?” He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, a corner of his lips ticking up into a half smile. 

“Wanna watch some shitty horror movies and order pizza?” You smile, pleased with yourself when he drops his arms. 

“Sure,” he shrugs, tossing his phone back onto his bedspread and pushing you away from his door, closing it behind him, “w’nna order a cheese pizza?”

“Sounds good,” you lead him back downstairs, flopping down on the couch and grabbing your phone. 

Leon sits on the cushion next to you, leaning over to watch as you scroll through the app. 

“Want any sides or anything?” You ask, attention still on your phone. 

“Pizza’s plenty.”

You feel his breath ghost across your neck and it sends a chill down your spine. Scrunching your shoulders up, you laugh and bump against his side. 

“That tickles, Leon,” you shift a little and you feel him move to face the television. 

Once you place the order, you lock your phone and sink into the couch. Leon’s close enough you can feel his body heat, but you know if you move he’ll end up next to you again. It’s something you’ve noticed over the time that he’s stayed here; you’ve only brought it up once and he admitted he likes being close since he misses his mom. 

You frown to yourself as Leon channel surfs, not wanting to start any movies only for it to be interrupted by the delivery guy. For him to miss his mom so much, he’s always pissy when she visits. Maybe he’s just salty that she let him end up living here with you? Glancing over at him, he notices you looking and shoots you a grin. 

“Have any idea on what movie we start with?”

You return his grin and drum your fingers against your thigh, “Hmmm, you ever watch Spookies?”

He shakes his head, “I’m assuming it’s bad?”

“The worst but in the best way,” you laugh.

He studies you for a moment. 

“Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

Giddy warmth bubbles in your chest, “Of course, Leon. I know the situation probably isn’t ideal, but I’ll take care of you.”

He laughs low in his throat, “We’re nearly the same age.”

You wave him off, “Yeah, yeah, but I’m still older though.”

Lapsing into a companionable silence, you mindlessly watch as Leon zips through different shows until the doorbell rings. After stuffing your faces with pizza, you settle in comfortably on the couch, feet laying over Leon’s lap after he tugged your legs away from you. 

“No reason to stay curled up like that,” he pats your calf. 

Unsure how to feel, you eventually relax into him. If it doesn’t bother him, then why should it bother you? The heat from his lap must lull you to sleep because the next thing you know is blinking your eyes open to some random movie playing on the tv. Another beat and you groggily glance down your body at the new weight pressing you into the cushions. 

Sandy blonde hair fills your vision as you feel Leon softly suck a nipple into his mouth. Without you noticing, he has pushed your flimsy shirt up and tugged your bra cups down. Squirming under him only leads to him sighing softly, eyes fluttering shut as he licks around your stiff peaks. 

“Stop, stop,” you pant, feeling sluggish and out of sorts, arms and legs feeling wooden as sleep tries to cling to your senses.

Leon only laughs and goes back to softly sucking on your nipples, mouth drifting from one hard bud to the other with quick swipes of his tongue. 

“But mommy, you said you’d take care of me,” his low voice raises the hair on your arms, “mmm, and what I really need is to suck your sexy tits.”

There’s no denying the rush of slick that fills the gusset of your panties. 

“S’wrong, Leon,” you counter, weakly crying out when he gently bites your nipple. 

“Maybe, but I think you need this, need me to take care of you. After all, my dad’s not going to,” he growls and roughly sucks the puckered skin around your stiff bud, “you need a husband who wants to stuff your hot little pussy.”

A loud keening moan leaves your mouth before you can clamp your lips shut.

His eyes are bright as a grin lights up his face, “See? C’mon, no one has to know that you let your stepson dick you down on the couch.”

Hips jumping, you mewl as he goes back to lapping at your nipples, hands coming up to grope the soft fat of your breasts. 

“Been waiting for this,” he murmurs into your sternum, mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses across your skin, “fuck, I’ve wanted you so bad, mommy.”

The condescension in that one word makes you drip, pussy throbbing for more than just words. 

“W-we shouldn’t though,” you try to get a grip on yourself, hands hovering over his hair, “god, I’m married to your father.”

“Is he here? Is he ever here?” He raises up and sneers at you, “never around when you need’em huh?”

Raising up onto his haunches he gives you a nasty smirk, “But that’s why you have me now. I’m gonna pound your hot little pussy day and night. Maybe it’ll even make you a real mommy.”

“Leon!” You gasp, nipples tightening at the thought, hands digging into the couch.

But he’s telling the truth. Your husband is never home— hasn’t called you back and barely replies to texts. You’ve been lonely and neglected even before Leon got here; so what if it’s wrong? It won’t kill anyone just to go along with him this one time. So that’s what you decide to tell him. 

“This one time,” you whisper, biting your lip as you give in to him, “just once.”

He laughs, “Sure, I can work with that.”

Once turns into twice. 

“It’s still just the one time,” you pant as he fucks into your squelching pussy, face mashed against the armrest of the couch, “it’s still the same round.”

“Sure, mommy,” he murmurs in your ear and you clamp down on him tighter, “whatever you say.”

Which turns into three and four and then five…

By the next afternoon, you're bouncing on your stepson’s fat cock in your own marriage bed. 

“Fuck, fuck, I need it, please, I wanna cum,” you whimper, grinding down onto Leon’s dick, “please.”

“Take it then, mommy, take your son’s cock deep in that little pussy,” he growls, thumb rubbing your clit in tight rough circles. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, eyes rolling back as Leon’s fat tip kisses your cervix, “god, it’s so good.”

“Yeah? Better than dad’s?” Leon asks, flashing you a smug little smile. 

“Uh huh,” you whine, hands pressing on his broad chest so you can ride him harder, “you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

“Goddamn,” he growls, grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back. 

Pulling halfway out, he bullies his cock back into your sopping wet hole, pace fast and hard making you wail as he rams against your g-spot. 

“Tell me mommy, tell me who’s making this fat pussy feel so good,” he pinches your nipples, “c’mon mommy, say it.”

“You,” you whimper, tears clumping your lashes, “you’re making mommy’s pussy feel so good.”

“Who?”

“My son,” you cry out as he tugs your nipples roughly, “my son’s filling my pussy and making me cum.”

“Good girl, mommy,” he coos mockingly and you squeeze his cock, pussy walls snug and wet around his thick length. 

“I’ve given you so many creampies,” he sighs, “fuck, I hope one of them takes. Wanna drink your milk.”

You shudder, hips stilling, “That’s so—”

“Hot?” He slaps your thigh and you start grinding on his cock again, “these tits leaking milk for me would be a dream come true. Let me breed you, mommy.”

“I can’t,” you mewl, clit throbbing as you rock your hips into his thrusts, “can’t get knocked up by my stepson.”

Leon groans, “It’ll just be the one time. Besides, I’ve been dumping load after load into this tight little cunt. We both know you want it, mommy. Making that pussy crave to have me stuffing her to the brim.”

You lean forward, face pressing against his neck as you moan brokenly. 

“I shouldn’t,” you hiccup, hips writhing as Leon reaches underneath you to grip your ass. 

“It’ll be our little secret,” he humps your pussy, cock knocking against your cervix and making you squeal, “let me breed you, mommy. Let your son breed your fat pussy.”

“I’m gonna cum,” you slur, mouth panting and drooling against his skin, “oh god, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Next time, I want you to fight me,” he whispers in your ear and you moan, “fight me so when I pin you down, I’ll be raping your hot wet pussy until you cream all over my cock, mommy.”

Your nails dig into his back and you scream, orgasm wiping out your thoughts as your body thrashes under Leon.

“I’m cumming, fuck, mommy, gonna fill you up again,” he rambles, hips pistoning his cock in and out of your pussy as you continue to orgasm. 

The last thing you see is Leon’s blue eyes staring down at you as your pussy milks his cock while he spurts rope after rope of thick cum inside your clenching hole. 

You wake up sometime later with Leon running his fingers along your arm and shoulder. 

“You okay?”

You hum and nod, stretching out along the bed, feeling a slight twinge in your hips. 

“May’ve over done it,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands. 

Leon laughs and drops a kiss to your head. 

“Yeah I got that after you passed out.”

Giggling, you turn on your side to face him. 

“Need to drink more water I guess.”

He nods, a funny sort of smile overtaking his features. 

“You’re not gonna tell anyone right?”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “Why would I? Even if we’re both adults, I don’t think anyone’s gonna be happy it happened.”

Sighing, you push up until you can swing your legs over the side of the bed. 

“I’m gonna take a shower.”

Standing up, your thighs shake but you’re able to walk over to the en-suite bathroom. At the doorway, you turn back to see Leon staring at you, a hungry look in his eyes. You bite your lip knowing what you’re about to say isn’t a good idea, but what the hell. You’re already in it this far. 

“If you wash my back, I’ll wash yours,” tone flirty as you smile at him. 

Not waiting for an answer, you walk into the bathroom, listening as the sheets ruffle from Leon climbing out of bed to follow you.  

[rafey-baby]

hidden 3

c/w: hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, outlaw!rafe being his usual self, mentions of murder, pogue!reader having some sexual awakenings & some backstory on rafe, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.3k

hope u enjoy xx

part 1 part 2 & part 4 part 5

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  

The following morning, her eyes groggily open in her own bed— covers tucked over her shoulders and head comfortably propped up by her pillow.

She finds herself perplexed, doesn’t know how she ended up here since her last coherent memory from last night is sitting on the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck and letting her heavy lids close for what was originally supposed to be a few minutes.   

Her sock-clad feet pad over to the living room where Rafe is rummaging through some of his papers and whatnot; appearing as busy as ever.   

“Why don’t I remember coming home last night?” she stops to stand next to him.  

“Cause you sleep like a fuckin’ rock. Had to carry you to your room,” he sounds disinterested, not even bothering to lift his head from the piece of paper he’s pinching between his fingers.

Upon closer inspection, it appears to be some sort of a contract—letters unfortunately too tiny for her to be able to read from where she’s standing.  

“Oh. Thanks?”  

Instead of leaving her passed out in his car like she would’ve assumed, he tucked her into bed? Maybe he owns a heart, after all.   

“It’s whatever,” he dismisses her while reading something over; seemingly deep in thought.   

“Do you— do you need help with that?”  

“Nah, I’m good,” his hand lifts up to scratch at the back of his head before scribbling something down. 

“Right…” she trails off, apparently rooted in her spot and unable to move.   

“Did you want something or what?” his tone is suddenly exasperated, eyes finally flickering up to peer into hers along with his brows raising expectantly.   

“No, I just…are we going somewhere today?” she can’t help but feel a little out of place in her own home with him there; almost as if she’s waiting for his next command to know what to do. It makes something peculiar swim in the pits of her stomach.   

“Nah, just have to go over these. Can you, I dunno, go to your room or something? You’re botherin’ me with your staring,” he grumbles and shifts into a more comfortable position on the couch; not sparing her another ounce of attention.   

“Sorry,” she mumbles, a frown taking over her visage.   

Honestly, she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do now. Normally, she’d go to work at the surf shop near the beach but since Rafe so kindly took her phone and texted everyone in her contacts about a family emergency that would take some days to sort through, she can’t exactly do that.

And besides work…well, she doesn’t really have much else going on in her life. It’s sad, really, how a literal criminal forcing his way into her house is the most exciting thing to happen to her in the past few years.   

All things considered though, she doesn’t mind living a quiet life in the Cut, just sometimes wishes she didn’t feel so…lonely. And don’t get her wrong, she has friends, she just sometimes yearns for something deeper than fun boat adventures or getting high with her feet dangling over the dock while a tangerine-colored sunset paints over the horizon.   

She’s always had this dream of traveling around the world or simply just somewhere that wasn’t the Outer Banks but her parents never had the money for it. Therefore, she settled and learned to earn a living by herself in order to keep a roof over her head.   

And she’s been content with her simple life, even considers herself to be happy but then she sat on Rafe’s lap and at the realization of him getting hard from her unconscious rubbing against him felt butterflies in her belly, maybe for the first time in her life. It was something she thought only happened in movies yet there they were; their fluttering wings poking at her core like some vicious reminder that she hadn’t let someone make her feel good in ages.   

Truth be told, she grew tired of guys not being able to make her come because they didn’t understand her needs; didn’t even bother to find them out which is why she sort of lost hope for the whole thing altogether. But then Rafe steps inside her home uninvited and is nothing but mean to her and suddenly she... 

It's wrong.  

It doesn't make any sense yet she still can't help but feel a certain pull towards him whenever he's close. And she doesn't like it one bit; wants to forget about it as quickly as the thought breaches her mind.  

It's far too complex for her perplexed mind to grasp onto, which is why she confuses it for insanity; simply decides that she’s going crazy. And maybe she is, because why else would she suddenly care for Rafe? Why is a hidden part of her heart beginning to harbor gooey, fond feelings for a killer who’s technically holding her hostage?  

She’s sure her muddled brain is going to explode if she thinks about the matter any longer; instead opting to take a long, scalding shower due to the clothes she’s been wearing since yesterday starting to stick to her sweaty skin and making her feel even filthier than she already does.  

Unfortunately, the steaming water doesn't quite wash away the ache between her thighs.  

She’s in the middle of pulling a shirt over the damp strands of her hair when harsh knuckles rap against her bedroom door and Rafe enters a second later; not even bothering to wait for a response.   

“Change of plans—” his words die down on his tongue when he notices her current state.   

“Rafe, what the fuck?” she quickly adjusts the hem over her waist, painfully aware of the fact that she’s not wearing any pants and his eyes are now fixed on the lace of her panties practically on show for him.  

“Why are you just barging into my room like that? I could’ve been naked!” she complains before snatching a pair of shorts off her floor; tugging them over her hips.   

“Shit, wouldn’t have minded if you were. Got a nice ass for a Pogue,” he shrugs while sporting an irritating smirk that makes her glare at him.   

“And you’ve got no manners for a Kook. Except, I’m not surprised,” she rolls her eyes when he feigns shock; exaggeratedly dropping his jaw.  

“Puppy’s getting angry, huh? Where’s this attitude coming from? Thought you were still scared of me?” he belittles her with a condescending tinge in his laugh.  

And she’s about to respond when out of the blue the ring of her doorbell reverberates around the house.   

They both tense.   

“You’re expecting someone?” his tone turns bleak, frigid; inducing shivers to litter across her arms as her head turns towards the source of the sound.   

“N— no. I’m not,” she stutters because truthfully, she doesn’t have a clue as to who could be at her door in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday.   

“Did you fucking call someone?” he takes a threatening step towards her and she panics.    

“No! I promise, I didn’t. I don’t even— you literally have my phone, remember?” she tries to fruitlessly defend herself.   

“I swear, if you’re lying right now—”   

“I’m not, okay? I didn’t call anyone!” She reassures once more, although it seems like he’s not even listening anymore. Therefore, she tries to be logical. ”I should— I should go and see who it is, right?”  

The icebound water in his eyes bores into her as he weighs out his options.  

“Right, right. Yeah, you should do that," he finally settles on. "But if you even consider telling them anything, I swear I’m gonna fucking find you, you understand?” He grits out into her face and she flinches when she can feel his harsh breaths hit her mouth with each syllable.   

She quickly nods before teetering towards the entrance of her home and twisting the lock with precarious fingers.  

Soon, she’s standing in front of two men wearing police uniforms.  

“Oh, sorry for the wait. Was um…in the bathroom. How can I— uh, help you?” she tries to appear unfazed; inhaling slowly and doing everything she can in order to not look as guilty as she feels.  

“We apologize for the inconvenience but we’ve been assigned to ask around the island in order to locate a criminal who’s potentially a threat to our entire community,” one of them says and she thinks his jaded eyes are peering into her soul and seeing right through her rickety facade.  

“Have you seen this man recently?” the other guy dangles a picture of Rafe in the air. She takes a moment to properly look at the photo as to not answer too quickly.   

“N— no, sorry. Can’t say I have. Why? Who is that?” she bats her lashes in confusion as her poor heart thuds in her ribcage. She wonders if they can hear it.  

“This is Rafe Cameron. You might’ve heard about Cameron Development? He became the owner after his father’s death a few years back. And now we have reason to believe that he’s the main suspect for the murder of a fellow officer,” he states with a serious expression.  

“Oh, that’s…that’s terrible,” her eyes widen in shock because she had no idea Rafe was a Cameron. Of course, she’d heard everyone talking about what had happened with Ward Cameron and the rumors surrounding the gold but she’d never cared enough to dig through for more information about the rest of his family.   

“Seems like the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree considering what Ward did to Sheriff Peterkin,” the one with the piercing stare snickers and her brows furrow because she doesn’t think the topic is all that hilarious.   

“I remember watching that in the news when it was all happening. Didn’t you guys also arrest an innocent Pogue with no actual proof?” her question is sharp because the whole case still itches her in the wrong way.  

“That was— listen, I wasn’t even here back then, it was all very tragic. But the investigation on this case is still ongoing and we have a reliable witness claiming they saw Rafe dragging something heavy near the ocean the night before we found the body washed up on the shore. And according to multiple sources Rafe was the last person seen with our coworker at the island club a few hours prior to his death,” the guy explains and she momentarily wonders if they’re even allowed to share this much classified information with her.   

“Right. Well, I really wish I could help you but I unfortunately haven’t seen him,” her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek and she wonders if they can tell that she’s lying.  

“At this point, it seems like no one has. We’re suspecting that he might’ve fled the country. Anyway, we’ve got orders to search every house but honestly, we don’t think he’d be on this side of the island. So, we’re not gonna waste our time on that. Call this number if you notice anything out of the ordinary, though?”   

“Yes, of course. I really wish there was more I could do to help. Hope you guys find him soon,” she offers them a tight smile.   

“We’ll do our best,” they assure her before the door finally closes.   

Her back slides down against the wood as her labored breathing begins to slow down. She closes her eyes in a moment of relief until she feels Rafe’s presence interfering with her peace.   

“Who knew you were such a good liar? Shouldn’t believe everything you say too easily then, should I?” his gaze travels down her form and he genuinely seems impressed.   

“You killed a cop?” she decides to ignore his teasing.  

“Relax. He was a sleazy bastard who was helping me with some side business and became too greedy. What can I say? Don’t like being used. But believe me, he was not a good person,” he answers her question, maybe for the first time ever.  

“Right, right,” she tries her very best to understand where he’s coming from but she doesn’t think she’s ever going to be able to justify ending someone’s life with such indifference. In her opinion, he doesn’t have the right to decide whether someone gets to live or not; no matter how good or bad of a person they are.  

“Listen, I didn’t mean to do it, it just…happened, okay?” he tries to explain himself and he almost sounds vulnerable. She nearly feels bad for him.   

“You know, I could go to jail for helping you!” she snaps when frustration bubbles to the surface instead.   

“Calm down, Pup. You’re not going to jail, alright? And watch that fucking tone, yeah?” his hands rest on his head as he begins to pace around the hallway.   

“I just— cops don’t care about Pogues. If they find out I lied to them they’re gonna put me behind bars cause unlike you, I don’t have the money to bail myself out,” she tries to pointlessly reason with him.   

“Already told you, nothing’s gonna happen to you, okay? Now can you shut the fuck up so I can think?” he demands, halting his movements.   

“Did they, uh, tell you anything?” he speaks up again and she tells him everything she remembers from the brief conversation while he mulls over his situation.  

“Right, right. So, they don’t actually have any real proof about me killing the guy? Just speculation,” he confirms.   

“I guess, yeah? But I don’t know if they even know all the details about the case,” she offers in response and can practically hear the wheels turning in his head.   

“They didn’t happen to mention who the witness was?”   

“N— no, why?” her voice wavers as she swallows around the question.  

He lifts his head to inspect her reaction when he seems to have finally conjured up some sort of a plan to clear his name.   

“Think I’m gonna have to pay him a little visit. And you’re gonna help, aren’t ya?” 

She would very much like to find out whatever sin she committed in a past life that weighed so heavily that it made her end up in a position as wretched as this one. 

[wishful-sinful-9]

consider…….lumberjack logan taking care of you when you’re sick and the heat/ac in your apartment went out

more lumberjack!logan here!

October is approaching and there's a chill in the air. On your walk to work, the sun is barely peeking over the mountains and a crisp breeze makes you draw your little red swede jacket closer together, Bob Dylan style. You hum “Blowin' in the Wind” to distract yourself from your blocked nose and tickling throat.

Your slight sniffling and paling face fails to escape Logan's radar. “Comin' down with a cold?” he grunts as you place his coffee down in front of him.

“Nothing that won't right itself in a couple days.” You reply, though you're not as certain as your words suggest.

Your fears manifest when you arrive home to an apartment with no heating. You cocoon yourself in blankets, but it's no use; an occasional cough intensifies into fits, and your sniffling evolves into sneezing. Worst of all, you've come over with a bad fever.

He picks up the phone to your meek little voice down the line, a simple: “the heating's broken” and there's a Logan-shaped hole in the wall.

“It's the whole floor,” you explain when you let him in. “It won't get fixed for a few days, it looks like. I was gonna order food.”

“We'll order food from my place.”

You turn to look at him, baffled. “Logan-?”

“Get your stuff, you're staying with me until it's fixed,” he says firmly. “Living in the Arctic won't help a cold. Now c'mon.”

You don't dare protest further when he looks at you with that firm expression of his, instead busying yourself with packing a bag.

The drive to Logan's makes it apparent that his daily visits to the diner must not be for convenience; he lives a few miles away from the town, the site he works on being on the other side of the hill where his lonely cabin overlooks the mountains. You know you make a mean cup of coffee, but you wonder if it could be something else attracting him...

You find yourself on his couch, The Grateful Dead playing on the radio as he gets the fireplace going. He'd made you soup and hot lemon and honey tea for your throat. Any attempts to lift yourself from your seat were sternly thwarted.

An indescribably warm feeling blooms in your chest at the sight of him rushing about attending to you. Only once the fire is lit he stops, turning to you to ask if there's anything else he can get you, something from the store, an extra blanket...

He freezes when you take his arm, blinking up at him sweetly, “I'm fine, Logan, thank you. Please for the love of God, sit down.”

He huffs out a fine, although his heart flutters at the proximity when he takes a seat beside you.

-

You're asleep on his shoulder. You're sitting right next to him and you're asleep on his shoulder.

The two of you had been watching a movie, you having insisted he take some of the blanket. Outside, the sun was slipping down the sky, bathing the cabin in syrupy sunlight, casting over your drooping eyelids. It's early to sleep, sure, but now you're completely warm and comfortable after suffering in the cold of your apartment, an exhaustion had settled over you.

Ever so slowly, Logan reaches around your back and under your thighs to scoop you into his arms in a bridal hold. He carries you to his bedroom and gently settles you into the sheets, arranging them over you - tucking you in.

He falters for a moment, looking over you: the peaceful look on your face, your body curling into the warmth. A slight smile lifts on his lips.

Tentatively, Logan leans down, brushing a stray strand of hair that threatens to bother your eyes - and dares press a kiss to your temple.

He hurries out the room.

[nadvs]

　　💔　⊹　❀　︵　∘　 old wounds ⟢

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary you thought you left your ex-boyfriend in the past for good. but one night, when you need a ride home, you drunkenly text him to help you.

content warnings toxic relationship, smut

continuation of this alt ending, inspired by this ask!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Rafe is sitting in the sand after an evening at the beach with his friends, laughing under the night sky and knocking back a beer. He finally feels almost back to normal after the shitstorm that was your relationship.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he has no idea who it’d be. It’s nearing midnight and all of his friends are here.

His body goes cold when he sees that it’s a text from you. heyyyyy can hou give me a ride home??

He inhales sharply, staring at the screen. It’s been two long months since you last spoke, bitterly parting ways.

He doesn’t like to think about it, but the way he left you to walk home that night still fucks with his head. He was pissed off and heartbroken, head foggy from all the shit you said to him.

But as your boyfriend, he spent every day wanting to protect you, and even after he lost that title, he realized he still felt a responsibility to keep you safe.

His anger blinded him that night, though, and he regrets making you get home alone. He checked your social media over and over until he saw proof that you were alive.

Eventually, you blocked him on all your accounts. But apparently, you don’t have his number blocked.

It’s a twisted joke that you’re asking him, obviously drunkenly, for a ride now, considering you could have used one from him that day.

Rafe’s thumbs hover over the screen. He was sure he hated you. But the thought of you drunk and alone wherever the hell you are, so desperate that you’re asking for help from the man who called you a bitch the last time he saw you just because he knew how much the word hurts your feelings, makes his chest ache. And he feels like a pussy for it.

You text again: ill give you avery nice thank you lol

Your words ignite a fire in his core. He’s glad he’s barely buzzed from the beer, clearheaded enough to drive. He replies: Where are you?

Minutes later, he gets an address.

You’re standing outside the house, arms crossed as the wind whips around you. You’d be cold if you weren’t so drunk. Your friends are plastered, half of them passed out around different parts of the house, after celebrating a birthday.

You’re the only single one in your group of friends and hearing them gush about how happy they are with their amazing boyfriends got to you. It’s why you decided to text Rafe of all people to give you a lift home.

You miss him. Every time he crosses your mind, you hate that your heart twists with loss. You’re grieving and you feel like you shouldn’t because the only thing that died was a dysfunctional, painful, awful relationship with someone who didn’t love you enough to improve himself for you.

But enough time has passed that you can hook up with him without it messing with you. And if it hasn’t, you’ll deal with the consequences tomorrow. You’re sad and lonely and horny and he’s the only one who can make you feel the way you want to.

The car he pulls up in is new. It’s not the one you sat in together when you broke up.

Rafe had a penchant for losing himself in booze and drugs and impulsive purchases whenever things didn’t go his way, and you wonder if this car was an indirect result of losing you.

He pulls up beside you. You open the passenger door, your orientation off from all the booze you drank tonight.

“New car,” you say, climbing in and settling onto the cushioned seat.

You try to gain your bearings, finding the seatbelt, while Rafe takes the few seconds he gets to see you clearly before the interior light fades off.

He hates how beautiful you are, how goddamn short your dress is, how there are people who get to see you every day, people you love despite their flaws, meanwhile he was someone too broken for you to stay for.

“No shit,” he mutters. Beneath the rush of seeing you again, he feels nothing but pure agony right now.

“Someone’s grumpy,” you say with a giggle. You finally look up at him, meeting heavy-lidded blue eyes. It’s sobering to see the man who left such a painful crater in your heart.

The car light dims into darkness. You can still see the outline of his hard jaw. And you can still smell him. His cologne makes you feel sadly nostalgic, yearning for the early days of your relationship.

He looks ahead and accelerates.

“You still doing this shit with your stupid little friends?” he says. He picked you up from this house a few times before. He knows your best friend lives here.

“You still mad I have friends?” you say amusedly.

Rafe hated how you used to party. He never knew what you were doing and who you were talking to and if you were safe when you were with your friends.

But he didn’t hate that you always ended up drunk calling him, slurring that you love him. That you spent the next day so hungover that you said you’re never partying like that again.

Your eyes travel over the big dashboard and the darkened flat screen above the console, the time in small, white text. 12:16 AM.

You touch the screen, activating a myriad of apps and options to fade in.

“Fancy,” you say.

Rafe’s jaw tightens, watching your shadowed fingers over the screen. Within minutes, you’re here, in his life again, touching his things, acting like this isn’t hard for you at all.

“What are you listening to these days?” you ask, pressing the music app.

“Stop,” he says sternly, shoving his hand over the screen, powering it off.

You lean back and nuzzle against the headrest, staring at his profile as he drives. In your haze, you wonder how such a beautiful man can let his soul get so ugly.

He stops at a red light.

“What, am I gonna find something embarrassing?” you ask with a soft chuckle.

Rafe hates that you have him figured out. Because yes, he would be mortified if you saw what he’s been listening to. It’s none of the stuff he puts on when his friends are around.

It’s sad, corny shit that at least makes him feel sort of understood. Shit he listens to because of you.

“You should be embarrassed,” he replies. “Getting wasted. Wearing that. It’s so fucking trashy.”

Your gut reaction is to defend yourself, to say you’re not trashy and that he’s just an asshole. But it’d just be falling into old habits, fighting with someone who loves to get a rise out of you.

So, you don’t give in. You’re better than that.

“You used to love this dress,” you say evenly. “Now it’s trashy?”

You grip the hemline between your fingers and he takes in the sight of your thighs pressed against his seat. He always had an obsession for your thighs, loving to squeeze and kiss you there.

The light turns green. You gaze at him, his teeth dug into his bottom lip. He’s just as sexually frustrated as you are. You can tell.

“You can go,” you say. “If you’re done staring at my legs.”

Rafe wants to know if you were bluffing about thanking him. Maybe you even forgot about your flirty text.

But he’s not making a move. He’s not risking rejection from you again. If you want him to fuck you, he’s not the one initiating it.

So, he looks ahead again, pushing his foot down on the gas. There are barely any other cars on the street. He’s counted three pairs of headlights since he picked you up.

“Why are you mad?” you say with another laugh.

“You’re so drunk,” he says.

“I’m not that drunk,” you reply with a shrug. “Seriously, why are you so pissed off?”

His grip tightens on the steering wheel. His ring gleams in the passing streetlights. His profile is strong and concentrated, as if he’s never driven through this area before.

You realize you’re actually making him nervous.

“Is it because you miss me?” you ask, goading him. “I know you still think about me.”

“No, I don’t,” he snaps.

You thought you wouldn’t care, but his words hit you. He’s still so mean. This was a bad idea.

You shift your legs towards the window, looking out your side of the car. Rafe notices. You used to do that whenever you were mad at him.

“I hurt your feelings?” he scoffs mockingly, regaining some of his pride.

“Oh, yeah,” you reply sarcastically, your tone careless. “Like I expected you to be nice.”

“It’s pretty damn nice of me to drive you home,” he snaps.

“You just want to get laid,” you reply. By the way he doesn’t immediately snip back at you, you know the power is back in your hands. “You wouldn’t have come if I didn’t send that second text.”

You turn to look at him. You’re slipping into playing the game of wanting to make him feel like the loser. You thought were above this now. Fuck.

He sucks his teeth, shaking his head in irritation. It’s fucked up that you texted him that just to trick him into doing you a favor.

Rafe shoots you a hard look, but because he can’t help himself, he gazes down your body again, imagining using it the way he wants to.

You could see his lustful gaze a mile away. You lean closer, the coil of desire in you only tightening.

You impulsively rest your hand on his leg, your palm on the smooth nylon of his swim shorts and your fingers touching his bare knee. You can feel the soft hairs on his skin, sure he was enjoying a night at the beach with the guys like he always used to do.

You grip him a little tighter. He grits his teeth so hard it hurts. He realizes maybe you’re not playing a game. Maybe you really do want to do hook up.

“Admit it,” you taunt. “You think about me.”

“Not much to think about,” he scoffs, still trying to have the upper hand, to hurt you any way he can.

“Fine,” you say with a breathy laugh, pulling away.

Strong fingers grip your wrist, roughly guiding your hand back to his lap.

“Okay,” Rafe mumbles. “Yeah. I do.”

“I knew it,” you say with a soft chuckle, stroking your thumb over his thigh. “What do you think about? Other than how good the sex was?”

He huffs another frustrated breath as you drag your hand higher.

“Just tell me,” you whisper.

He can’t. He won’t. He’s not going to open up that wound, not to the girl who gave it to him, not when he knows it’s not safe to do with her.

Impatiently, he grips your hand again to put it on his cock. He lets out a nearly silent exhale of relief once you make contact.

The feeling of how hard he is floods your body with the warmth of anticipation, a need so hard that you feel it in your bones. You bite your lip as you massage him, already desperate to feel him with no barriers.

Rafe comes to a stop sign. He meets your gaze in the dark car, his muscles tense. He doesn’t drive ahead.

“Use your mouth,” he orders, his voice heavy.

You part your lips to say something, to keep playing up the flirty and careless attitude all the booze you drank gave you, but you’re speechless.

You’ve done this before when you were dating, sucked him off while he drove, making him feel better since he usually found something to be pissed off about whenever you partied.

He’s so damn satisfied with how eagerly you pull down the band of his shorts. He shifts, his cock springing out once his shorts are low enough.

Seeing him so hard for you gives you a sense of conceit. You love that you can still do this to him even after months of silence that were brought on by vicious fights.

Every part of him is so irresistible. You haven’t tasted him in so long.

You kneel across the console and the second your hand wraps around the base of his cock, he groans. You flick your tongue against the tip and you feel him roughly pull up your dress, ripping a few stitches, his big hand landing on your ass and squeezing hard.

You dribble spit over his pre-cum and swirl your tongue over him. You feel the car move forward as you sink lower, taking more of him in his mouth, his cock twitching in your mouth.

“Like that,” he groans. His grip on your ass is rough and painful. “Take it all.”

You reach the base of his cock, feeling him deep in your mouth, trying not to gag. The way he groans again makes you want to keep deep-throating him and you hate that you care about his pleasure. About him loving it so much that he’ll realize how much he’s missing out on with you.

You won’t let him finish like this. He owes you pleasure, too. After everything he put you through, you deserve it.

This is unreal. Rafe can hardly focus on navigating down the street with your hot mouth tight around him. He jerks off to the memories of you giving him head while he drove. He never thought it’d happen again.

His fingers dig into your asscheek, stinging you with pain. You wince, inhaling sharply as you raise your head off of him.

“You’re hurting me,” you complain.

“Tough,” he mutters.

“No,” you say. “No. Fuck this.”

You start to sit up, but he stops you, his hand shifting up to rest on the back of your neck.

“Wait, wait,” he says desperately, his voice nearly whispered into a whine. “I’ll stop.”

Rafe pushes your head down, silently begging that you’ll continue. He moans in gratitude when your lips lock around him again. He grips the roots of your hair, his other hand on the steering wheel.

You bob up and down as he drives, your cheeks hollowing. All you can hear is the quiet purr of the engine and the sounds of your wet mouth on his cock.

It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, like he needs to touch you everywhere because this is a goddamn dream he might wake up from.

He lifts his hand off of your head and feels your chest, kneading your breast over your dress.

He can’t drive you home. Not yet. He’s not done with you. He’s not losing this opportunity to see your tits, to feel your pussy squeezing around his cock. He’d hate himself even more than he already does for wasting this chance.

Rafe turns into the first empty parking lot he sees, heading towards the back, facing a fence. He slows the car to a stop once he reaches the back of the lot, all the while trying not to come.

His hips start to buck up and you know he’s close, but before you get a chance to sit up, he pulls you back by your hair.

He gazes down at you, your lips glistening in the dark.

“Get in the back,” he murmurs. “Take everything off.”

He puts the car in park as you scramble to the backseat, pulling your dress off over your head and slipping off your bra and panties.

Rafe watches, his mouth going dry when he sees you naked. He pulls his t-shirt and shorts off and has to duck low to maneuver his way to the back.

The second he’s close enough, his mouth is on yours, kissing you hard as he pushes you to lie on your back. His tongue moves slowly as he takes your head in his hands and it makes you ache for him even more.

This is the type of lover he was, so rough and passionate and making you feel like he’d lose his mind if he didn’t fuck you. The sex was always good, no matter how much you fought.

You wish he wasn’t kissing you. This gesture is too sweet, and you don’t need the reminder than he has it in him to be sweet sometimes.

His cock is pressed against your stomach, wet from your spit. He pulls back, his thumbs on your cheeks as he stares down at you, barely steady on his knees.

It’s a look he’s never given you before. You’re sure you’re giving him the same one. Disgusted in yourselves that you both want this, but so in awe of each other at the same time.

Both of you are panting. You shouldn’t be here. But it’s the only place you want to exist right now.

Rafe’s eyes flit to your chest. You can see him swallow hard. He lowers to squeeze your tits, burying his head into your cleavage, kissing you wherever his lips land.

His fingers dig into your breasts, his mouth is hot on your skin, and when his grip tightens and his teeth start to graze against you, you know he’s getting close to hurting you like he did in the front seat. But your impulse is to try to withstand the pain, to just let him hurt you.

Because at least he wants you, and the way he’s breathing and touching you right now is the definition of a man unstable with desire, and you wish you didn’t care if he wanted you, but you do and he does.

His mouth closes around your nipple and you tip your head back, shuddering at how good he is with his tongue.

Rafe is in a haze. He was sitting on the beach minutes ago, thinking what a good thing it was that he spent most of the evening without you popping up in his mind, but now he’s naked with you in his backseat.

Your smell, your taste, your sounds, they’re all even better than he remembers and he hates that he can’t hate you, not all the way.

You look up at the ceiling of his car through half-closed eyes, desperate for an answer from him. You’re drunk enough to give into the gnawing curiosity of his thoughts of you. You’ve been thinking about it every day for two straight months.

“You didn’t answer me. What do you think about?” you urge again through a strained breath. “Tell me or I won’t let you fuck me.”

“Goddamn it,” Rafe mutters. He straightens his arms, hovering over you. You take in his features. His face is creased in anger, his chest bare and broad and heaving. “Why?”

“Tell me.”

“You’re ruining this,” he says.

“Tell me.”

He lowers a hand between your legs, making you shudder when he drags up your slit. You arch your back as he spreads your lips apart with his fingers, dragging over your wetness.

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” he says, tone low.

He brings his hand up to your mouth, tapping his fingertips against your lips so you’ll open wider.

“Taste how wet you are for me,” he says. You oblige, eyes locked on his as he dips two fingers into your mouth, watching you with so much desire that it looks like it’s hurting him. “You’ll let me fuck you either way. I know you will.”

You gaze at him longingly as he pulls his fingers out of your mouth just to put his hand between your legs again, rubbing your slick folds.

It’s intoxicating how unapologetically depraved he can be, how hard he fights to be the boss of you, but you persist.

“Tell me or I’m leaving,” you say. “I have no problem walking home. You left me to do it before, remember?”

His jaw tightens with frustration. He loathes that you gave him the reminder. He lowers over you, his cock pushing against your thigh as he plunges a finger into you.

Rafe’s body rushes with heat at how you clench around his finger. The feeling of that tightness around his cock will be unbelievable like it was every time he fucked you. He needs this. He hates that you’re winning, but he needs to be inside you.

He leans over, his nose nudging against yours, sliding in and out of you, curling his finger every time.

“I think about how batshit crazy you always were,” he says.

You gasp when he adds a second finger, going knuckle-deep, your body rolling with pleasure.

“I think about how I much I fucking hate…” He groans, hip jutting against your leg, his cock aching. “I hate that you can do this to me, alright? I hate that I was having fun tonight and I still dropped everything to drive you home.”

You bite your lip, frowning with downturned brows as the mix of lust and sadness fill your body. You cup his lower back with both hands, urging him to finally sink into you.

“Fuck me,” you whisper. He pulls his fingers out of you.

“Beg,” Rafe says. He’s so pissed that you pulled those words out of him, so he’ll take whatever power he can have.

“Please,” you say. “Please, Rafe. I need it.”

You feel his fingers wrap around your neck, squeezing at the sides as he pulls back to look at you.

“You need me,” he mutters. “Say you need me.”

“I need you.”

He buries into you with one rough, swift moment, making you quiver with the impact.

“Fuck,” you whisper. You only have the space to wrap one leg around his hips, squeezing tight as he thrusts with fast strokes.

His breath is hot on your cheek. His chest is warm against yours. The pressure of him stretching you, hitting deep inside you, is incredible.

“You think about this all the time, don’t you?” he murmurs into your ear.

You moan in agreement, draping an arm over his firm shoulders, but it’s not enough for him.

“Don’t you?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you say.

“You touch yourself thinking about me?” he whispers.

You sigh, your hand running over the back of his neck, tugging hard at his roots just to punish him in some way, any way you can.

“Yes,” you admit.

You feel him smirk against your cheek, the car gently shaking.

“Bet you can’t even come without thinking about me,” he mutters. He only says it because that’s how he is with you.

It’s such a burden. No matter what he watches, no matter who he hooks up with, he imagines you every time he’s on the cusp of his orgasm, wishing it was you he was coming in.

You can’t admit it, so you turn your head to kiss him just to shut him up. The kiss is so slow and gentle, the complete opposite of how hard he’s driving into you.

Maybe it’s because of all the alcohol you drank, but you’re fighting the urge to cry as your lips join. You two were a catastrophe together. You can never be happy and fulfilled with the man on top of you, kissing you, yet it feels good, self-destructive but good, to spend this moment pretending like you can.

Rafe is going nowhere in life. He’s known that for a long time. But when he’s with you, even when you’re screaming at each other, at least he’s somewhere that matters.

But you took that away. You took away the only thing that meant something in his life. And he pulls back. He won’t kiss you anymore. You broke his heart.

And he fucks you harder and faster, listening to your gasps and your moans, wishing he could just finally get enough of you to not want you anymore.

The friction of his skin against your clit and the power of his thrusts makes you go numb before the orgasm hits you, pushing you into full-body trembles, moaning so loud that you almost can’t believe it’s your own voice coming out of you.

Nobody else gets you to make sounds like that.

You crumble, weakening as he continues to push into you. He nuzzles his head into your neck when he feels his peak coming, smelling you and squeezing his eyes shut as his hips stutter against yours.

You feel him fill you with a rush of heat, holding his breath as he comes. He heaves against you, his thrusts sloppy as he gives you everything he can offer.

All of Rafe’s weight is on you now. He can feel that your breaths are strained but he’s so fucking weak. He has no actual power around you. Not really.

He knows this is doomed. You won’t be together after this. This was just a fuck. And he hates that he’ll drive this car tomorrow knowing what happened in his backseat, allowing you to taint yet another thing in his life with a memory he wishes he didn’t have.

He feels your soft hands tap his shoulders, urging him to get off of you. His thighs ache as he shifts to sit in the driver’s seat.

He doesn’t bother putting his shirt on. He slides on his shorts and then starts the car. He waits for a moment, looking back but refusing to turn enough to look at you.

“Just go,” you say quietly, exhausted.

You get dressed in the back as he drives. Neither of you say anything else.

When he pulls up in front of your house, you grab your purse from the passenger seat and get out of his car, your legs wobbly as you walk up to your door.

Rafe watches you disappear into your home. He needs to watch you disappear from his life, too. Because while you hate each other, tonight, you fucked like people who don’t.

And now he has a fresh wound. Something else to think about. To regret. Nothing good ever came from knowing you. The high you give him is never worth the crash.

You don’t cry while you get ready for bed. Not when you look in the mirror while you brush your teeth. Not when you clean the night off of you in the shower.

But once you’re under your covers, alone in the dark, a hot tear runs out of the corner of your eye and onto your pillow.

You were so sure sex with Rafe would just be sex. And you feel ridiculous for the misguided self-confidence. He still has you in a vice.

You wish you were drunk enough to forget what you just did. But you’re not. You’ll remember and regret every part of it.

(continuation)

[solarmorrigan]

Steve Harrington is absolutely the sort of person to become emotionally dependent on a pet. He grew up lonely and he loves taking care of things, and here's this creature that loves him unconditionally and is dependent on him for care? He's a goner

He finds a kitten in his backyard, wet and cold and alone, but in pretty good shape, all things considered. It hisses and swipes at him, but it's also mewing pathetically, and Steve can't just leave it, so he manages to get the thing inside with minimal blood loss (all his) and cleans it up and feeds it. It's a lot more amenable to the idea of Steve once it's warm and dry and full, and by the end of the day, it's curled up and purring in the crook of his neck, and Steve is already prepared to die for this thing

He does recognize that the right thing to do is to ask around and see if anyone is missing a kitten, which he does do, but no one on his street or the next one over lays claim to it, and there aren’t any kind of wanted posters going up for it, so Steve decides he is now the proud owner of a cat

He names her Baby and dotes on her accordingly. (In his defense, the name is Robin's idea; she tells him that he treats the cat enough like a baby, so the name might as well fit. Steve's always been shit at coming up with names, so he just goes with it)

Baby is the world's most spoiled cat, which Steve readily admits. But isn't that what cats are for? She's a wonderful cat and she clearly deserves nice things and Steve is going to get them for her. Toys, treats, a plush cat bed, the best food, whatever he thinks she could possibly need or want. If "I work hard so my cat can live a better life" t-shirts had existed in the 80s, Robin probably would have gotten one for him and he probably would have worn it

Of course, it helps that Baby actually does adore Steve. With everyone else, she ranges from frosty to outright hostile (she's taken a particular dislike to Eddie, of all people, which is unfortunate, because Steve really, really likes Eddie); she'll consent to be admired, and she'll accept treats, and she might even let more familiar people pet her, but in the end she is very much Steve's baby. If he's home, she's stuck to his side like a burr, curled up wherever he is and purring away, content just to be with him. She still snuggles up in the crook of his shoulder at night, just like when she was a kitten, even though she's bigger now and is a bit less easily accommodated

It goes without saying that Baby is strictly an indoor cat. Steve lives right up against the woods and there are predators out there, and people in town drive like assholes, and Steve won't take the chance of her being eaten or run over or meeting some other horrible fate. He really doesn't think his heart could take it

But of course, because all cats are terrible bastards at heart (affectionate), Baby darts out the back door one day as Steve is coming in off the patio, chasing after some other small animal that Steve can't even see, and she's out of the backyard and up towards the trees before Steve can do much more than make a grab for her

And Steve, who has survived interrogations and monster attacks and many situations objectively much more stressful than this, does not panic. He does spend half the night wandering around in the trees with a flashlight, shaking a bag of cat food and calling for Baby, but that's not panicking, that's problem solving

He eventually gets too cold and too tired to keep going and has to pack it in for the night. He holds onto some shred of hope that she'll be waiting by the back door when he wakes up, wondering why the hell it's taken so long for him to come let her in, but apparently that's not the way life works, because the patio and all areas around the house are still distinctly catless come daybreak

Eddie shows up sometime mid-morning, just as Steve is preparing to head back out and look for her. He has genuinely never seen Steve so upset; he looks like he might actually cry if he doesn't find that damn cat, which just isn't something that Steve does. But he's actually fucking distraught, and Eddie simply can't have that, even if Baby is his nemesis, so he goes to the phone and makes some calls

He cashes in on favors, he makes promises, he actually agrees to pay Mike ten bucks to show up, but he gets the kids, all the older teens (the only reason Robin hadn't been there already is because Steve hadn't paused long enough to tell her what was going on), and even the Corroded Coffin boys up to Steve's house to comb the woods for Steve's damn cat

It's Eddie who finds her in the end, a shock of pale, mewling fur actually stuck in a fucking tree. The cliche nearly kills him – either that or trying to climb down a tree one-handed while holding a cat. He's surprised she actually lets him pick her up, but then again, she's been out here all night, she's cold, and at least she recognizes Eddie. Maybe this is the beginning of a truce

Or, she might go back to hissing and swiping at Eddie any time she the mood takes her, but Eddie doesn't even care, because Steve is elated to have Baby back, so fucking happy that he doesn't even seem to notice that she's digging her claws into his arm as she clings to him for dear life all the way back to the house. Eddie will deal with anything that Steve loves that much

Steve pays for pizza to thank everyone for putting their Saturday on hold to search-and-rescue a cat, and everyone warms up and eats their fill before slowly filtering back out of the house. And later, after Baby's been cleaned up and fed and properly doted on and is purring away curled up over a heating vent in the living room, Steve takes Eddie upstairs to show his thanks in a much more thorough manner

After all – Baby is very important to him, and he's more relieved than he can say to have her back, but she isn't the only thing that Steve adores

[janitorhutcherson]

Bf!Futturman Headcanons (Future Man)

there is NOT enough future man content! allow @dollfacedalls and i to fix that :p these r some headcanons we came up with real quick. if there are typos, sorry guys lolz. its 3am and i just typed this up bc i felt like we needed some josh futturman content. enjoy the sweaty loser boyfriend vibes!

Bf!Futturman who tries to be flirty and sexy but is unsuccessful. You've been out all day, and you've just gotten home. The moment you walk through the door, Josh is in front of you in a pair of dinosaur boxers with a huge, cheesy smile. You know why, and you know what he's wanting. You can't help but grin like an idiot as you put your bags down, walking towards him to place your hands on his hips. Before you can do so, Josh attempts to lean against the coffee table in a sexy fashion. Of course, as expected, he loses his balance, his feet falling out from under you. He lets out a yelp as his elbow hits the coffee table, your eyes wide as you run to assist him. "Baby," you gasp as you kneel. "Are you okay?" you mumble as he repositions himself, now leaning on his hurt elbow on his side, the toothy grin back on his face. "Yeah.. fine now that you're here, sexy," he says, wiggling his eyebrows as you roll your eyes, hitting his shoulder.

Bf!Futturman who is so clingy that he misses you so much, making him even want to be you. You two live together, Josh finally having moved out of his childhood home to get an apartment with you. You were at work, and Josh was upset. He felt like his other half was missing. It wasn't fair that he was off and you weren't. So.. naturally, he did what any man who was missing his partner would do -- he tried on your clothes, sprayed himself in your perfume, listened to your favorite songs, and watched your favorite TV show. When you walked into your apartment to him sitting on the couch in your dress, the apparent scent of your cherry-scented perfume in the air, Dance Moms on the TV, you gasped. The moment his eyes locked with yours, Josh froze, his eyes wide, not really sure what to say. Your eyes darted to the empty bottle on the table; your lonely boyfriend had drained your expensive perfume. Josh's eyes followed yours to the bottle as he shot up, walking over to you with raised eyebrows. "I swear, baby, I- I'll buy you a new bottle," he awkwardly muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. 

Bf!Futturman who wants an ugly cat with you. No, not just a cat, but an ugly one. He wanted to find the most hideous, rattiest, mangy-looking cat the two of you could find. At first, you were somewhat frustrated with how adamant he was about the situation. You would've been much happier with a fluffy kitten with pretty blue eyes and soft fur. But no, you loved your boyfriend so much you'd given in. Josh convinced you he wanted one because 'nobody wants the ugly ones.' He claimed it was an action from the goodness of his heart, an action to save a poor kitty. He never would've said it out loud, but the reality was he didn't think the name Barthalomeow fit a pretty kitten. You ended up with a fluffy cat with huge brown eyes bulging from its skull. Its bottom teeth hung out of its mouth, and its brown fur stuck up in every which way... Yeah... it was hideous for sure, but Bathalomeow loved you and his kitty dad so that you couldn't be too mad.

Bf!Futturman gets so sucked into his game that he doesn't notice anything around him. When you weren't around, and he wasn't working, Josh did NOTHING but play Biotic Wars. He'd be so sucked into the game for hours, going to disgusting extremes to avoid having to press pause. When you were home, though, he'd only dedicate an hour or two a day to the game. This usually didn't bother you, but one particular day, you were feeling incredibly desperate for his attention, his eyes locked onto his TV screen as his fingers moved stealthily across his keyboard. You felt like you'd attempted everything. At first, you just tried his name. No luck. Then, you tried tapping his shoulder. Barely flinched. Your next action was more severe, seeing if your words would stir anything in him. "Baby," you called out, your annoyance apparent. "Hm?" he hummed with a half-assed response. "I'm going to my other man's house in a few. Is that cool?" you said from behind him, sprawled out on the bed with your eyebrows raised, your eyes throwing daggers toward the back of his head. "Yeah, whatever, babe, I'll see you later," he mumbled quickly as a loud groan left your lips. "Jesus christ," you mumbled. "Gonna jump off of a bridge, Joshy," you sang out jokingly, to which Josh responded, "Okay, baby." It felt hopeless, that was, until you had an idea. You threw your shirt off, your bare chest exposed as you pranced over to him, standing in front of him. Josh glanced over at you for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as he reached his hand up to grasp your boob before looking back to his screen. "Mm, give me another hour," he hummed, his attention once again back on Future Man. Nope, didn't work. You'd revisit in an hour when you were his girlfriend again, and it wasn't his controller getting all of the hand action.

Bf!Futturman that attempts to cook for you. Josh could not cook. This was a given considering in order to cook, you had to have good coordination and be able to somewhat follow directions. Unless in video game form, it was difficult for Josh to do both. You didn't mind, enjoying making dinner and snacks for the two of you. It wasn't until one night Josh wanted to surprise you. He'd watched a YouTube video online on how to make a baked chicken with broccoli, mashed potatoes, along with a few other things. He didn't think twice about the difficulty, already feeling like a chef as he turned off his phone. He was soon proven very wrong, as about an hour later, you walked into the door to the smell of burning meat and smoke filling your kitchen. Josh stood in the center of it all, surrounded by far too many pans for him to be making such a simple dish, many of them filled with what looked like pure charcoal. He looked at you with sad eyes, a pout on his lips. "I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to make a mess. I really just wanted to do something nice for you like you do for me," he said softly as he walked over to you. You embraced him into your arms, pressing a kiss to his head. "Hey, 's okay baby, we can just order takeout," you giggled, deciding to turn the oven off and leave the mess for another time. 

Bf!Futturman who has no filter and lacks an understanding of time and place. The two of you were inside an art museum. You pulled out your phone to snap a cute selfie. The moment he saw the camera, he pulled you close, stiffening his entire body as he stared into the camera with a blank expression. You snapped the picture, reviewing it afterward as your smile dropped. "Seriously, Josh?" you asked as you raised your eyebrows, showing him the photo where he looked both uninterested and terrified all at once. He snickered with amusement, his nose scrunching up. "God, people are going to think I kidnapped you," you muttered under your breath. He nudged you with his shoulder, raising his eyebrows up and down. "That's because you did!" he exclaimed as he pretended to yank out of your grip. People began to stare, and Josh just snickered as you smacked his shoulder. "Shut up, Futturman!" you gritted through your teeth, rolling your eyes. God, you loved him, but oh, how he pissed you off sometimes.

[ghoulsbounty]

From a Previous Life

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bound and fearful, you seek answers from a mysterious stranger about the fate of those you love.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of death, pregnancy, non-detailed talk about experimentations, angst, grief, swearing, judgement, flirting (if you squint)

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: My first Cooper fic! I've had this idea going around my head for a hot while and I really could go on, and on with more (yearning, smut, etc) but I just wanted to get out an initial one-shot that could potentially turn into more if any one likes it (or I end up adding to it anyway!) I'd love to hear your thoughts 💌

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Silently, you moved through the desolate wastelands, each step stirring clouds of dust and veiling the once lively towns now reduced to rubble. Somewhere in California, though the exact whereabouts blurred, you were leagues away from the sanctuary you once called home, apparently almost two centuries ago. Time, to you, was an elusive concept, for the stiffness in your joints and the lingering ache betrayed the recent thaw from cryo-sleep. Your mind remained ensnared by fog, a residue of the drugs coursing through your veins during preservation.

Yet, your senses, dulled by centuries of slumber, detected his presence long before he materialized. Heavy footfalls pierced the barren silence, prompting a cautious glance over your shoulder. There he stood, solitary amidst the wasteland, a gun slung lazily across his back and a weathered ten-gallon hat shadowing his features. Perhaps he had spotted you, perhaps not; regardless, neither of you quickened your pace, silently agreeing to maintain a wary distance.

Ever cautious, you abruptly veered into the next structurally sound building, bracing for a potential standoff. Praying it wouldn't come to that, for the meagre supply of bullets salvaged from a fallen vault security guard, coupled with his erratic pistol, offered scant reassurance. The art of marksmanship was foreign to you, a skill unbefitting a woman of virtue in the world before its descent into chaos. Your pride lay in nurturing the home, not in extinguishing life.

"What would your husband make of this sight?" you thought. Clad in the worn remnants of the blue and yellow jumpsuit issued upon vault entry, now stained with blood and grime from your desperate flight. Would he mock your dishevelled appearance, your unadorned face and frayed nerves? Would he marvel at the pistol clenched tightly in your grasp, its weight unfamiliar and your trembling fingers poised on the trigger? Could he shoulder this burden, like you wish he was here to do so? Such musings left you unsettled, your husband's whereabouts a lingering question mark, conspicuously absent from your side.

Peering cautiously from beneath the window sill, your gaze swept the scorched landscape beyond. The lone figure should have drawn near by now, should have approached the building where you lay in wait, yet his silhouette remained absent from the horizon. Instead, the frigid touch of a gun barrel against the back of your skull sent a shiver down your spine, your body tensing instinctively under the ominous threat. You suppressed the cry that clawed at your parched throat, swallowing hard as you slowly lowered your pistol to the ground beside you.

"That's it, nice and slow," he instructed, his voice gruff with a hint of amusement. "You might be my easiest catch yet."

Realization dawned upon you—he had been tracking you. You inwardly chided yourself for your naivety before complying, raising your arms slowly with palms outstretched. Encountering no one in these barren lands, you were uncertain of the customs among people so removed from your time. You were one of them now, but survival demanded adaptation.

"Please, I don't have any money," you offered, hearing his scoff. "I mean it. Take my gun, you can have it."

His movement rustled the air, his presence brushing against you as he leaned to retrieve your pistol. A low hum of amusement escaped him, and you felt the cold barrel of his gun pressing against your skull before it vanished altogether.

"I don't want your hunk of junk, sweetheart," he drawled, tossing it back to the ground beside you. "Doubt it can punch through a tin can. No, what I seek is your cooperation."

"O-okay, yes," you agreed, the words tumbling from your lips almost too hastily, embarrassment flushing your cheeks.

A nudge at the side of your heel prompted you to turn and face him. You complied, shifting on your knees, arms growing weary as they remained raised above your head while you awkwardly pivoted to meet his gaze.

The scream tore from your throat as you beheld him, sending shivers down your spine. He loomed above you, his visage warped by decomposing, discoloured flesh that swathes his form. Cracked lips parted to reveal yellowed teeth in a perpetual grimace, his once vibrant eyes now a haunting shade of blue-green, still clinging to a trace of humanity amidst the decay. You recoiled at the absence of his nose, now a dark cavity amidst cartilage and bone.

"That's not polite," he admonished, his narrowed eyes betraying annoyance. Trembling under his scrutinizing gaze, you stammered out an apology, extending a trembling hand to ward him off as he took a step forward.

"Please, leave me alone. I-I don't have anything," you pleaded, but he showed no sign of relenting. Your fingers curled around the pistol on the ground, raising it shakily in his direction.

"Well now, what are you going to do with that?" His smirk deepened as you aimed the weapon at him.

His amusement infuriated and terrified you in equal measure. You were aware of your body shaking, aware that he saw it too. You hadn't formulated a plan, hadn't considered the consequences. But you'd never faced a situation like this, especially not with someone so grotesque yet strangely human. He spoke like a man but resembled a monster, reminiscent of the creatures from the old sci-fi holo tapes your husband used to rent on Friday nights, leaving you cowering behind embroidered cushions until the credits rolled. You weren't built for this, but just like only hours before, you must fight.

With a tight grip and clenched eyes, you pulled the trigger. The recoil sent you crashing against the wall, the impact jarring your head as the bullet ricocheted through the room, narrowly missing the man and striking a nearby doorway with a sharp ping.

"Well, that was disappointing," he remarked, his head cocked and lips drawn into a condescending smirk. "You finished, sweetheart?"

With a mixture of annoyance at your failure and frustration at his dismissive demeanour, you tossed the pistol at his feet. Your head throbbed, and as you tentatively touched the back of your skull with trembling fingers, you were unsurprised to find them stained with blood.

"Are you going to kill me?" you panted, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

He shook his head, kicking at the dirt with his pointed boot before crouching in front of you. "Not much use to me dead, not much use to me at all if you don't cooperate," he emphasized, his tone dripping with implication.

"Fine," you huffed. "What do you want?"

A triumphant hum escaped him as he straightened up, retrieving a long rope from his hip and tossing it into your lap. "Tie your hands together," he commanded.

You hesitated, eyeing the rope and then him with uncertainty. His tone shifted, imbued with a hint of authority as he spoke again. "The rope goes around your wrists or around your neck. Either way, you don't want me to be the one to do it."

With deft fingers, you hastily wound the rope around your wrists, striving to fashion a knot that would hold without chafing your skin too severely. He bent down, giving the tether a firm tug to test its security before nodding in approval. Seizing the other end lying in the dirt, he yanked it harshly, nearly causing you to stumble forward onto the unforgiving ground.

"Get up," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

You complied, awkwardly pushing yourself to your feet without the use of your bound hands. There was a pregnant pause as you gazed at him expectantly, awaiting further instruction. However, he simply tugged on the rope, turning to lead you out of the dilapidated building and back into the sprawling wasteland.

You followed him into the desert expanse, both of you shrouded in silence save for your intermittent attempts to coax answers from him. Questions about where he was taking you, what he planned to do with you, hung in the air, but he offered no response. Instead, he whistled a tune, leaving your inquiries to dissipate into the wind.

As frustration reached its boiling point, you dug your heels into the sand, exerting force against your restraints as the rope cut into your skin. A hidden thrill coursed through you as you witnessed his hulking frame falter against the resistance, a fleeting moment of satisfaction before he regained his footing. His narrowed gaze met yours from beneath the shadow of his hat.

"I'm cooperating," you asserted, your voice strained. "You can—should at least tell me where we are going. Why you're doing this to me."

A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders slumping as he gazed skyward before meeting your eyes once more. "You're sure dumb for a pretty thing," he muttered, retrieving a flask from the recesses of his torn duster and taking a long swig. "I guess that's how they like to keep you down there."

As he turned to face you fully, his eyes rolled at your bewilderment before he elaborated. "Not much up here untouched nowadays, so when you see a little rabbit wandering the lands fresh from her cage, a smart man doesn't think twice before he acts."

Anger surged through you at his mocking words. Barely escaping your 'cage' with your life, barely comprehending the aftermath of the bombs, and now captive again—this time by a man, no, a monster, likely more sinister than those who had ensnared you initially.

"You already said you're not going to kill me, so you're going to fuck me or sell me," you asserted, mustering more confidence than you truly felt, chin lifted defiantly as he scrutinized you, tucking his flask away.

"Now you're catching on," he replied cryptically, offering no further explanation as he tugged at the rope and resumed walking. Your mind whirled with apprehension at his ominous response. Which fate awaited you? Both? The thought churned your stomach, imagining the touch of his weathered, calloused hands, pondering the atrocities he may have committed before and the ones he might be willing to commit now. You resolved not to make it easy for him, determined to fight tooth and nail if necessary.

"I can hear you thinking from over here, vaultie," he called back. "I ain't gonna fuck you," he added with a smirk, glancing briefly over his shoulder at you before continuing. "Ain't my type."

You scoffed, your brows furrowed in disbelief at his audacity. Doubt crept in, questioning if someone like him truly had preferences, more inclined to prey on anything within reach rather than adhere to any type. He resembled a monster more than a man, and you suspected his instincts remained consistent regardless of his words. Out here, where the population had dwindled to ashen, skeletal remnants of unfortunate souls caught in the blast, it seemed unlikely anyone could afford to be picky.

"What happened to you?" you demanded, your voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

He visibly stiffened at your question, briefly halting his movements before resuming with a dismissive gesture. He heard you, yet chose not to respond.

"I said, what happened to—"

"I heard you," he snapped, cutting you off. "Doesn't mean I owe you an answer."

You huffed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I'm just trying to understand what's going on! Yesterday, I was in my kitchen baking a key lime pie and dancing to the radio, and then—"

"Miss your cage, vaultie?" he interjected, a cruel chuckle escaping his lips. "If you miss it so much, why are you out here?"

Straining against your restraints, you heard him sigh in annoyance as he came to a halt. Turning to face you, irritation etched on his ghoulish features, he regarded you with a jutted hip and clenched gloved fingers tightening around the rope. "I'm not talking about the vault," you said earnestly. "I was in my home yesterday, just a normal day. Then the sirens blared, so loud I couldn't think. My neighbour, she came to my door, told me we had to leave, find safety. I didn't want to go without Glenn, but everyone was running, scared. I was too."

"When we reached the vault, it was chaos," you continued, his attention now fully captured, eyes glazed. "So many people, struggling to get in. But we made it, and... my neighbour, Patti—she's my friend. She had just given birth to her first child, a beautiful baby boy." You swallowed hard, suppressing the bile that threatened to rise in your throat. "They were supposed to let us in, we were pre-selected. But when we arrived, they turned Patti away. Shot her husband when he fought back," you recounted, the horror of the memory still fresh. "Then chaos erupted. The first nuke fell, and I was pushed through to the vault door. I lost Patti."

He regarded you with a sombre understanding, silently urging you to continue.

"When I entered, it wasn't like the commercials," you spat bitterly, recalling the false promises of safety. He cleared his throat. "That actor, going on about how great the vaults were—'a vast and wonderful place,'" you mocked with disdain. "Mine wasn't like that. It was... They did unspeakable things to us, to unborn children, and there was no recourse. It wasn't right. I knew what they wanted, deep down, but my head told me not to be so naïve. Vault-Tec was supposed to be saving us."

Tears welled in your eyes as the memories flooded back, as vivid as if they had happened yesterday, because to you they did. "They threw us into pods, froze us until they needed us. Took us out for testing and... I was the last one. Everyone else had... died, from the testing," you choked out, the pain of loss still raw. "I fought to survive, because I couldn't let what happened to those women and their babies happen to me or mine."

He listened intently, his eyes widening as he took in your story. His gaze flicked to the small swell of your stomach below your tied wrists, realization dawning.

"So I need to know," you implored, your voice trembling with fear. "Is what happened to you also what happened to Patti and her baby? Will it happen to mine?"

He studied you, and you felt yourself shrink under his penetrating gaze. You hadn't intended to divulge so much, to reveal your condition that you had desperately tried to conceal until it could no longer be hidden, to relive the trauma that still haunted you, though in reality centuries had passed since its occurrence. Yet, you needed answers. You needed to know what lay ahead in this desolate wasteland, and if you possessed the strength to face it.

"Yes," he answered quietly, his voice laden with a heavy solemnity. "It will, in time."

Fresh tears traced their path down your cheeks, and you nodded in understanding, raising your bound hands to wipe at your wet nose. "Okay," you whispered, then smiled sadly in resignation as you rubbed your wrists gently over your stomach. "At least up here, we had a little freedom for a time."

You felt the rope that he had been keeping such a tight hold on slacken before being dropped to the ground. Stepping towards you, he gingerly took your wrists and began working on the knot, untying it with ease before meeting your gaze from beneath his lashes. "You just gained a little more."

"You're letting me go?" you asked, doubtful.

"I'm letting you choose," he corrected, his voice carrying a peculiar weight as he rubbed the tender, burned skin of your wrist where the rope had left its mark. His thick thumb felt rough against your flesh as it traced over you in a gentle, swiping motion. "There are things worse than me out here, sweetheart. Are you going to take your chances?"

His words hung heavy in the air, and you met his gaze defiantly. "I don't need your pity."

"Good, because I ain't giving you none," he replied, his tone firm.

You held his gaze, neither of you willing to be the first to look away. Moments ago, he had been intent on taking you to an undisclosed location to sell you for whatever passed as currency in this wasteland, but now he presented you with a choice—a grim ultimatum. Stay with him or fend for yourself in the harsh wastelands. Neither option was ideal, but you hadn't lasted a single day on your own before being apprehended by him. Perhaps it was better to stick with the devil you knew, especially if there truly were worse threats out there as he claimed.

"I'm going to get bigger, you know. I'll slow you down," you warned him. "And I can't fight."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he gathered the discarded rope and secured it at his hip. "I've seen you shoot, but I've yet to see you fight. I think a few vault security guards could probably vouch for you, though," he teased, a hint of admiration in his voice. "You can't stay with me forever, nor would you want to. I'll take you to a safe haven for women in your condition. It's a few months' journey north from here. Until then, try to keep up."

You pondered his words, feeling a sense of relief at the prospect of a safe haven and the promise of being escorted there, despite the long journey. "Why the change of heart? What's in this for you?" you asked, curious about his sudden shift in demeanour.

His expression tightened, his gaze drifting to the small swell of your stomach that you now cradled protectively. "Righting some wrongs from a previous life," he answered solemnly, not waiting for your response before turning and beginning to walk away. He paused momentarily, waiting for you to follow.

"I don't know your name. What do I call you?" you called out after him.

He pondered for a moment, gazing out into the vast desert before turning back to you, tipping his hat in acknowledgment.

"Ghoul, for now."

[lokis-army-77]

Live from Hawkins

Older!Eddie Munson x female reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Eddie watched as you are stood up on a date and without a second thought, he brings you home.

Warning: 18+. Eddie is in his late 50s to early 60s, reader is 20s to early 30s. p in v, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, sir kink, pet names, a few spanks, fingering, mention of a partner having died.

A/n: Thank you @munson-blurbs for hyping me up to write this and for thinking of the funny little thing that happens at the end hehe, I love you <3 also my version older!eddie is inspired by @ farmerusedto on tiktok and Instagram.

Masterlist  Part 2

The fun of nightlife had escaped Eddie when his biological clock started making him go to bed at 8:30 p.m. instead of 2 a.m., but tonight was an exception. After an extraordinarily shitty day, he thought a drink or two at his old haunt would cheer him up. It didn’t, not entirely. The whisky he had been nursing tasted like shit and the crowd in the bar left little to be desired, except for you. 

Eddie had clocked you when you entered the establishment at eight on the dot. His eyes raked over the pretty silky red dress that stuck to the curves of your body as you made your way to a tiny circular table with two chairs and sat down. Your head was held high as you watched the front door. 

Ah, a date, He thought. Then he began thinking about all the dates he had been on in the long past years until he had met his wife, and then the lack thereof after her passing twenty-some years ago. He’s never had time to date. Raising kids two kids as a single dad while also being a simi-successful musician turned producer, looking for romance added a whole new thing to worry about so he just didn’t, but now, in his later years of life, with his children grown and moved out, he could afford the chance to indulge. Sadly though, you were apparently taken. 

Even after he had finished his one glass of alcohol, he waited. Watching you as your posture slowly became slouched, you sipped on some fancy beverage, and your head stopped peaking up when the bell to the door chimed as it was opened and closed. You were beautiful and didn’t deserve to be stood up.

When the clock struck nine, Eddie stretched his aching joints and stood from the bar. Sauntering his way over to your tiny table.

“This seat taken?” He asked, hand resting on the back of the chair. 

You lifted your head from your phone startled and shook your head. “Unfortunately, no. You can take it.” Sighing, you look back down at your phone, expecting him to take the lone chair and pull it up to another table. To your surprise, he actually sat down in front of you. “Um… can I help you?” 

“Sorry, I just saw you sitting here by yourself for a while and thought you might like the company. A pretty girl like you in a pretty dress like that shouldn’t be sitting alone in a bar like this, some weirdo could show up.”

You blush, almost as red as your dress. “And how do I know you aren’t the weirdo?” 

“Good question. You don’t.” He laughed.

The deep timber of it had your stomach flipping. His facial features were hidden under a nicely kept beard, full of salt and pepper hairs, more salt than anything else. The shaggy, slightly curly hair atop his head looked the same. He was definitely older than you by a couple of decades, but hey he was nice looking and obviously, the guy you were supposed to be seeing wasn’t coming. What harm could come from flirting with this guy?

“But hey, a bit of mystery can be a good thing, don’t you think?” He asks. 

You can't help the giggle that passes your lips. “Oh, really?” You look him up and down. His outfit was something reminiscent of the eighties, only more subdued. Tight black jeans, motorcycle boots, and an Iron Maiden shirt that had been ripped at the hem. Before he had sat down you even spotted a black and white skull bandana in his back pocket. “I’ve heard that with age comes wisdom. Are you here to enlighten me then?”

He lets out a more hearty laugh this time, his head falling back. Your eyes scan the contours of his neck and watch as his Adam's apple bobs up and down. “I don’t know about wisdom, but I do have a few decades under my belt. Maybe I was the one hoping to learn a little thing or two from such a charming young lady as yourself. 

Your hand lifts to cover your smile and you look away almost bashfully. “Such a smooth talker aren’t you?” 

“As smooth as I can be…” He leans forward, hand resting on the table, fingers laced together. You see the many rings decorating them. The flip in your stomach drops and you clench your thighs together. “Why? Is my charm winning you over?”

“So that’s what you’re trying to do, huh?” You smile. 

“Well, it was either that or all the vintage dad jokes I know.” He smiles back. 

You can feel your mood being lifted from the once sour thing that it was into something more bubbly as you listen to him. “Vintage dad jokes? Sound’s intriguing. Maybe I’ll stick around for now.” 

He nods. “That’s a good choice Sweetheart. Who could resist the allure of outdated humor and a bit of gray hair?” His hand tugs at his beard. 

“You know, I could be out having an adventure with the guy I was supposed to be meeting here instead of chatting with a silver fox.” There is a permanent grin etched into your face as he gasps in faux offense. 

“You wound me, Sugar.  Isn’t it usually the unexpected adventures that turn into something unforgettable?” Eddie couldn’t lie to himself, he was laying it on pretty thick, but it was all in hopes that maybe, just maybe you might come home with him. 

“Well, I do have to admit you are intriguing, maybe I’ll take you up on this adventure.” It was childish, the way your heel-clad foot slid its way past the single, center leg of the table and halfway up the man’s calf. 

When he feels your foot rubbing on him, he has to steel his face. One of his hands slipped from the table and slithered its way down his leg and caught your foot. “What do you say we get out of here?” His hands were so big and his fingers so long that they wrapped with ease around your ankle. The pads of his fingers pressed in gently and you hoped he couldn’t feel how fast your pulse were thumping throughout your body. 

Your mouth suddenly turned dry, words evaded you. All you could do was nod in response. He let go of your foot and stood, reaching out his hand. You take it and he pulls you up as well. “My name’s Eddie by the way.” 

…

The drive to Eddie’s suburban home was filled with chase touches and lingering hands. His large palm warmed your thigh, his fingers dug into the plushness there. You cozied up to him, lips trailing up his neck to his ear where you nibbled on the lobe. 

Eddie groaned as he white-knuckled the steering wheel. His breath caught in his throat when you inched a delicate hand into his lap. 

“Now, little girl, don’t be starting something you can’t finish.” He chided. His hand on your thigh moved ever closer to the already high hem of your dress. 

“Little girl?” you whisper into his ear. “I’m not a little girl, old man.”

You feel every bump and jerk of his 1960s Ford pickup as he practically jumps the curb and slams the brakes in his driveway, screeching to a halt. Eddie unfastened his seatbelt and turned to you. His hand immediately found purchase on the back of your neck and he pulled you in for a kiss. His lips were soft and plump and his beard tickled. You giggled into the kiss but that was cut short when they turned to gasps as soon as Eddie caressed his tongue into your mouth. 

“Eddie…” You moan into him, fingers latched onto his shirt, pulling him into you. 

“What is it, Sweetheart?” He pulled away from the kiss. 

You looked him in his eyes, the street lamp outside aiding in deepening their already dark hue. “Touch me. Need you to touch me.” 

He smirked. “Alright baby, I’ll touch you.” 

Then, he backed away, hooking you from himself and slipping out the door. A pout worked its way onto your features as he walked around and opened your door. Tisking he shook his head. “What’s the frown for sugar?” 

You took his outstretched hand, he was ever the gentleman. “You stopped kissing me.” 

Leaning down he gave you a sloppy peck on the lips. “Well, I can't touch you how you want, Sweetheart, unless we go inside.” He chortled as he guided you to his front door. As soon as the lock was undone and the knob twisted, you pushed the two of you inside. You were hot and worked up and needed something to help the pounding ache that had made itself known between your thighs. 

Inside, you try your best to tug Eddie’s shirt up and over his head but he is quick to catch your hands, pushing you back against the wall and holding them above your head. 

“Not so fast. You’ve got to ask for the things that you want.” 

You shake your head in defiance. You knew where this was going from the way he gripped your wrists. From the way his voice became stricter, more dominant. Need pools in the pit of your stomach. This was what you had been craving, what no other man could make you feel. 

“Please.” Your plea comes out just above a whisper. 

“Tsk, Sweetheart, I think you can do better than that.” Eddie maneuvers both your wrists into the hold of one hand while he lets the fingers of his other run down the open skin of your neck tantalizingly slowly. Goosebumps begin to prickle on your skin as the fingers wander down your chest and over the tops of your breasts, cleavage on display, heaving as you take sharp breaths of air. 

“Please, Eddie.” Voice cracking. “Please, I want you. I want you to touch me, I want to feel you.” 

He groans, hips pressing you to the wall harder. “What a good girl you are.” He captures your lips in another heated kiss.

The night had barely begun and you already felt like you were drowning in him. The scent of menthol cigarettes, whisky, and something almost woody filled your nose and all you could think of was the man pinning you to the wall.

A staggered gasp caught in your throat when Eddie dropped your wrists and heaved you up by the waist. Your legs cinched around him and his arms held you close. “Why don’t we take this to my room? I can put some nice mood music on.” He kissed up your neck as he carried you through his home. 

“Mood music, hum?” You whimper when he sucks on a sensitive spot. “What, gonna play the Temptations greatest hits? Or how about the Chordettes? Don’t they have that song with your name in it?” 

You yelp when his hand smacks your ass. “M’not that old, Sweetheart. It’s more like eighties rock ballads but that’s not what I’m choosing.” The smirk that contoured his lips was wicked. 

“Mmm, and how old are you?” You ask, words muffled by your lips meeting his. 

“Old enough.” Eddie pushes his door open and it hits the wall with a thud. He walks to his bed in the darkness and practically throws you on top of the sheets. He doesn’t follow, instead, he flips the bedside lamp on and the room fills with a soft yellow light. 

His room isn’t what you thought it would be. It's all dark colors, blacks and grays. Three electric guitars hang like decorations on the wall in front of you. A few picture frames are scattered over the dresser to your left, too far to see the images clearly in the dim light. You watch him like a hawk as he walks to that very dresser and turns on a speaker. 

He really wasn’t kidding about the mood music. You think. 

“Get comfortable Sugar… Just got to figure out this damn phone.” You chuckle as you watch him fiddle with the touchscreen and cheer when the music fills the silence. You laugh even louder when Eddie fumbles the phone in his hands and drops it to the floor. “Shit.” He bends down to pick it up and when he does he props it against the mirror of the dresser. 

“Is it okay?” You ask, hand covering the giant smile plastered on your face. 

“It’ll live.” He shakes his head. When the giggles die down, he slowly comes toward you, crawling up the bed. The way his hands travel up your bare legs gives you chills. He pries you open gently, your dress hikes up your thighs, and the wetness of your pussy is on full display. 

“Well, aren’t you a naughty girl… No panties?” He asks, hot breath on the inside of your thigh as he nips at the skin. 

You shake your head as you explain. “No, not wearing a bra either. You can see the outline through the dress” 

He grins a devilish grin and slowly teases his way up your thigh. The hot air from his breath caresses your skin white his beard tickles you. He pushes back your dress a little more before looking you in the eyes. “Ready?”

The whine that comes from you is almost unrecognizable, all desperate and needy when his mouth attaches itself to your pretty cunt. Your hand flies to his head, gripping his silky hair between stiff fingers. 

“Fuck. E-Eddie.” You rasp. He hums the vibrations add to the cacophony of pleasurable feelings between your legs. 

Eddie’s tongue rolls along your folds, wetting every inch of skin. The gentle sucks he performs on your clit pull moan after moan from you. Your back arches and your hips push down into the bed. Eddie’s hands push your thighs farther apart, the plush of them pooling through his spread fingers. 

He loves the feel of you. Loves that he can make you writhe under him with just his tongue. His ego is through the roof, having not been this intimate with someone in years. 

It's been all but a few minutes, to you its been hours, Eddie is expertly working you up up up and to the edge. One hand smoothes down your leg and under his chin. You feel the subtle touches of his fingers as they linger around your cunt. His other hand pushes your leg back more, creating more room. You heave a cry when two fingers breach you, stretching you out at a leisurely pace. 

In and out, in and out, in and out he went, fucking you deeply with those long thick fingers of his, covered in rings. The metal soon became warm as they began to be covered in your slickness and his spit that dribbled down to meet them.

With the way his fingers pushed up into your walls, poking the fire in your belly. The ember that it once was, was not a full-on flame. It was wild and hot and needed something more to feed on. 

“Eddie!” You cried, clamping down around him. Body ridged, ready to let go. 

“That’s right baby, say my fucking name.” He pulled back only to reattach to your clit and pump his fingers tenfold. 

His words were tender to the flame, making it rage out of control. “Eddie!” You cried again, wonton moans following as you feel the fire spreading. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you chant like a prayer. 

He’s greedy as he laps up every ounce of your release, you have to push him away gently, too sensitive for him to keep going but the crooked smirk he gives you as he kisses up your body tells you he wants more. 

Your breathing is rapid as you come down. Your legs feel like jello and you’re hot, super hot. The fire in your veins had rekindled and the dress, conforming to your body, was becoming uncomfortable in the heat. 

Eddie can see the way you tug at the garment and gives it a tug of his own. “I hate to see this little number go but I need to see all of you.” He manhandles you onto your stomach, snatching the tiny red zipper and pulling it down to reveal the soft skin of your back. 

His hands rub into your muscles, thumbs catching on knots and smoothing them out. It was intimate, something you had never experienced in a one-night stand. He removed the tiny straps from your shoulders and kneaded until you were sighing contently into his sheets. Lower and lower he went, tugging the fabric with him and eventually taking it off, throwing it into the abyss. Rough fingers squeezed at the fat of your ass. 

Unknowingly, Eddie had bent down, and as he was massaging you bit down playfully on your ass cheek. A weak squeal erupts from your throat. “Eddie, what are you doing?” 

“I can’t help it if you look good enough to eat.” He bites down again and you buck your hips back. A hand quickly smacks down on your ass. “Quit being a brat. First not asking for what you want and now this? What am I going to do with you?”  Condescension drips thickly from his words. 

You wiggle your hips in his grasp. “M’sorry.” 

Another smack. “I’m sorry what?” 

The fire burns brighter with this fuel.

“I’m sorry, Eddie.”

He spanks you a third time. “Try again, baby.”

Your stomach flips. “I’m sorry… Sir.”

He hums in satisfaction. His hands wrap around you and pull you to your knees, ass in the air. With your head buried in the covers, you can only guess what he’s doing by the subtle movements behind you. 

Eddie has taken his shirt off and unzipped his pants. His cock achingly hard and straining against his black boxers. “Gonna fuck this pussy good, baby.” You whimper in response. He shickers, “You like that, Sweetheart? You want my cock in that pretty pussy of yours?” 

“Please,” You mewl, aching to finally have him inside you. The roughness of his hand steadies you as he inches closer. His hard cock on the other hand. He presses it against your folds, the head slipping through easily. You release a shaky breath when he nudges your clit. “Need you inside, please Sir.”

“Gonna give it to you baby,” Eddie replies, pushing into you. His breathing shudders at the warmth surrounding him. Your cunt squeezes him tightly, sucking him in and not letting him go. 

He feels amazing stretching you out. He's bigger than you thought, wider. The tip pushes into your walls as he begins to thrust into you, the most wonderful grunts and growls filling your ears from behind. 

"So fucking tight, Sugar." Eddie fucks into you at a hard brushing pace with stamina you didn't know he had. His hands grip your hips so hard you know there will be visible marks there later but you don't mind. 

You turn your head slightly and look over your shoulder as best you can. Eddie has a wild look in his eye, streaks of gray hair falling into his face. Your eyes catch on the plethora of ink etching his skin. You had seen the ones covering his arms but you couldn't have imagined this. Your mind wandered to what the rest of his body looked like. We're there more pieces yet to be seen or did alabaster skin win out as you go further down his body? The thought of seeing the rest of him has you bouncing your ass back into him, meeting his every thrust with fervor. 

The fire Eddie had lit within you was once again roaring out of control. The way his cock filled you deep has you shaking in delight. 

"More, more, more," you called out to him, fists clamping down onto his sheets so hard it was a wonder you hadn't ripped them. 

“More? Is that what you want?” He patronizes. His right hand moves from your hip and he bends forward, snatching your hair up at the base of your skull. The dull throb that accompanies his tight hold has you wailing. Your stomach flips and flips, pressure building up. You’re going to cum and you tell him as much. 

“Please, keep going Eddie, fuck. Keep going, I’m gonna cum, Sir.” Big blubbery tears have started to streak down your face, once pristine makeup now smeared. 

He pulls on your hair. ‘Don’t cum baby. Wanna watch that pretty face as you cum on my cock.” 

Eddie pulls out of you and it feels like forever until you are flipped onto your back and he inserts himself back inside. The new angle has your legs clamping shut around him and the head of his cock brushing against a sensitive spot which makes you keen into him.

You make eye contact with him, his gaze is feral. He’s looking at you like you’re a buffet laid out for him. His hips rock into you with such force that your body is slowly jerking up the bed. You reach out for him, hands open and close, needing to have him close to you. That fire is still burning within you and it is scorching. 

Eddie leans into your touch, relishing in the feeling of your nails dragging long scratches down his pecks and stomach. He catches one, entwining his fingers with yours and pinning your hand back into the mattress. Another intimate moment that had butterflies erupting alongside your fire. 

“Please,” you whimper. “Wanna cum so bad.” 

He leans down more, pressing a chased kiss on your lips. “Alright Sweet girl, you can cum.” 

When you let go, Eddie can’t help the absolutely hedonistic moan that comes forward. He’s rutting into your constricting cunt like an animal. The look of absolute ecstasy that washes over your face had him fighting off his own release. 

“Where do you want it, Baby? Where do you want my cum?” 

It’s absolutely crazy, the place that comes to mind, but some deep, dark, nefarious place inside you wants it so badly. Craves is. 

Without thinking, brain foggy with a greediness only comparable to the deadly sin itself, you blurt, “Inside.” 

Eddie’s hips stutter and his mind goes blank. Inside? Fuck, She wants it inside. He groans, fighting himself. He shouldn’t but he wants to. Oh, how he wants to. Thoughts of what your pussy would look like leaking his cum have him going ridged, his conscience losing out against a primal need he didn’t know he had. 

“Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck ah!” He’s a moaning mess when he finally gives in and lets himself cum. 

You can feel his release as a warmth spreads out from your tummy and envelopes you. Eddie falls careful not to let all of his weight squish you. His kisses make you giggle as you try and catch your breath. 

You’re exhausted, warn out in a way you never have been. “Thank you,” you say, kissing him back. He looked at you with soft, round eyes.

“Why are you thanking me, Sweetheart?” 

You sigh, content. “You saved me from a night of wallowing in my self-pity.”

He shakes his head. “Beautiful girl like you deserves to be treated right, that guy’s a bastard.” 

“Tha-” You’re cut off by the loud ringing of his phone, still connected to the speaker.  Eddie cringes at the volume and turns slightly to eye the phone but does not move to get up. It stops ringing a moment after. 

“I think I should get going…” You whisper and give him another kiss. 

“Mmm, you could stay the night. I can take you back to your car tomorrow.” 

You pout at him. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Sweetheart, I’m asking you to stay, you aren't imposing on anything.” 

You giggle and go to answer but you are interrupted by his phone ringing again. Eddie says quietly, “What the hell?” before pulling himself out of you. He hesitates a moment, watching as his cum leaks past the puffy, used lips of your cunt, then grabs at his phone. 

‘HARRINGTON’ Is flashing across the screen. 

“What do you want man? I’m in the middle of something.” 

Eddie still has his phone connected to the speaker and the next few sentences make Your smile fall and your face bloom into a heat that could rival the sun. 

“Oh, I know you are. Half the fucking world does you dipshit!” 

“Wow okay Steve, calm down. No need for name-calling.”

“Eddie I swear to god, do you know what you’ve just done?” 

“No…?” Eddie scratches his head, looking at you and shrugging his shoulders. 

“You just fucking broadcasted you having fucking sex LIVE on fucking Facebook!”

[boldlyvoid]

Little White Lies

18+ Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Summary: Readers sister is having an Engagement/Christmas party this year and her cousin will be there. With her new fiance. Who is reader's ex. The only logical thing to do is to show up with her own new boyfriend... who isn't really her boyfriend. He's her boss.

Warnings: fake dating, mutual pining, idiots in love, flirting, teasing, there's only one bed, love confessions, getting together, oral sex (fem receiving), condom use, p in v smut, meeting readers family

Word Count: 5.3k

She sits in the corner of the jet, facing Aaron in the two-person seat near the entrance to the cockpit. She’s sat there with him on almost every trip for the past 3 years. He’s good company, not too talkative, he gets her drinks and he gives her little smiles every so often. It’s relaxing to sit with him… however, tonight, she’s not in a good mood and he can tell. 

He looks at her all concerned and then looks around at the others to assure they’re all busy. “Are you alright?” He whispers. Keeping her business between them. 

She shrugs, “My sister’s been texting me. Her engagement party is coming up and I promised I’d go but I just found out that my cousin and her fiancé are going to be there…” 

“Do you not like her?” 

She shakes her head, “it’s complicated.” 

“I’m all ears?” He reminds her. 

She sighs, “Her fiancé is my ex-boyfriend. She slept with him while we were still together… I was in the academy and he was apparently lonely all by himself and didn’t have the time to travel here to see me so he fell into her bed instead.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Hotch says, concern all over his face and disbelief in his voice. “That’s awful, why would your sister invite her?” 

“Because my parents are paying for it and all the family gets to go, no matter what,” she scoffs. “It’s to show off, nothing more.” 

“You know…” he tilts his head to the side and his brows go up as he thinks, a pondering look on his face that’s quite amusing. “You could bring someone with you, someone to prove to him that you’ve moved on and you’re in a much better place now?” He suggests. 

“Yeah, like who? Morgan?” She teases, laughing slightly. 

“Or me?” He offers. His brows were still raised but the softest, most sincere look on his face. She’s never seen him look so… so affectionate. So careful. Unless he’s with Jack. This is his ‘I love you like family I’ll do whatever you need me to’ look. 

“Yeah,” she gives in. “That would be nice… it’s December 22nd. Would you be able to take time away from Jack that close to Christmas?” 

“Where is it?” 

“they’re having it in New York, that’s where my sister lives now,” she explains. “I’m taking the train up the night before, I have a hotel room booked but I could stay with my sister and you could have the room for the night?” 

“Could we switch to a double queen?” He suggests. 

She shrugs, “I can call and find out?” 

“Okay,” he nods. “Jack’s with Haley this Christmas, I see him boxing day till New Year's Day and then he goes back to her.” 

“We’ll have to bring him home something,” she suggests. “We can even go a bit early or stay later if you want to go shopping a bit in the city?” 

“He’s always said he wants M&M’s with his face on them,” he teases. “It’ll be fun.” 

“I’ll tell my sister to expect another person,” she says as she pulls her phone out. “Do I tell her you’re my boyfriend?” 

He nods, “Whatever you want to call me, I’ll be it for the weekend.” 

—

She tells him to pack a suit and obviously an overcoat to stay warm in the cold New York air. The party they’re going to is going to be on the top floor of this really expensive restaurant, they’ll have rooftop access and there’s free drinks. It’ll be the fanciest non-FBI party he’s ever been invited to. 

The team doesn’t know they’re going together, everyone has the next two weeks off unless there’s something serious like terrorism or multiple bodies dropping, or a kid going missing. But it’s not often their Christmas breaks get disrupted. So they pack up on the 20th, everyone takes the elevators down to the garage together and they say goodbye before their vacations. 

He meets her at the train station the next day at 11am, their train leaves at 11:20, and he comes with snacks and coffee. Always in dad mode, he knows what it’s like to go on a long trip with someone who’s hungry, it’s not always fun. They have a little booth together, the trains are mostly empty this close to Christmas. Everyone’s either where they want to be already or taking last-minute flights. So it’s quiet, they get to look out the window together and she shares an earbud with him, with her phone on shuffle, exposing him to a whole bunch of new music. 

And she has a nap, head on his shoulder and wrapped around his arm. It’s not the first time this has happened, he’s let her sleep on him on the Jet and they’ve had to share beds in hotels before. He’s hugged her after rough cases and when she’s just sad… she’s his family. Everyone on the team is. He just feels it a little stronger for her. 

He rests his cheek on her head, looking out the window with a smile on his face. Excited to pretend to be her boyfriend for the next 2 days. To have her hang off his arm, to dance with her… maybe even steal a kiss or two to really sell it. And he can’t wait to see her dress, or how she does her hair or if she’s going to wear makeup? She doesn’t get all dolled up for work, but he’s seen her dress up for the bar and events for the bureau and he thinks she is so, so beautiful. Always, but especially when she puts on lipstick and her good perfume. 

He’s been harbouring this little crush on her for so long that he’s not really sure how much longer it can stay a secret. 

They arrive in New York at 6pm. The hotel they’re staying at has a restaurant and Y/N, being the genius she is, booked a reservation for 6:30. They have enough time to put their bags in their room and head back downstairs, but their room is wrong. 

“They told me they could switch to two queens?” She complains as she sees just one bed. A King bed. 

“Did you specifically say two queens or a double queen?” He teases. “Cause a double queen might make them think you want a bigger bed…” 

She groans, holding her hands over her face, “Oh god, I fucked up.” 

He gently rubs his hand on her back, “Hey, it’s okay. I don’t mind sharing for 2 nights, there’s lots of room in there. Plus… it might be good for playing pretend.” 

She smirks, “my boyfriend would sleep in the same bed as me.” 

“and enjoy it,” he pulls her in for a hug and rests his chin on her head while she snuggles into his chest where she feels safest. 

—

After dinner, they walk around the city a bit. She still has to get her sister something and she has a registry at some fancy store nearby. They get hot chocolates and stand close together as they walk, hands brushing each other but not holding, no matter how much she wants to hold his hand. So she rubs her knuckles against his and waits for him to be the one to finally give in. 

It takes a while, they walk down the block and explore two stores but he finally takes her hand in his, fingers interlocked, as they cross the street. And he doesn’t let go once they’re safely back on the sidewalk. He simply guides her towards the store her sister is registered at and they head inside, closer than ever before. 

“Hi, can I help you with anything?” One of the workers asks with a genuine smile on her face. 

“my sister has a registry here,” Y/N explains. “It should be under Lindsay and Connor Higgins?” 

She’s taken to the register and handed a list, everything they want is on it. Some crossed out as they’ve already been purchased, but a decent amount of things are still there. A lot of it is pointless, fancy shit but she likes to think she knows her sister well. She knows what would actually be used by her and what would just be a decoration to prove she had good taste. 

Her sister works really hard at a very important publishing company, she’s gone to work by 6am and home no later than 8pm most nights. She lives on coffee and wine to wake her up in the mornings and relax her at night. So she gets her an espresso maker and some crystal wine glasses. But when she goes to pay for them, Aaron reaches out and pulls the wine glasses towards himself. “I’ll get these, I can’t go without a gift.” 

She smiles, “you don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” he assures her. 

They pay, they get a decorative gift bag each and head back outside to the cold. He reaches for her hand again and she lets him, smiling over at him. “You’re taking this assignment very seriously.” 

“Have you ever known me to slack on the job?” He teases. 

She bumps her shoulder against his, “No, I guess not… and I guess this is helping, it’ll look more real in front of everyone tomorrow.” 

“It won’t be that hard,” he assures her.

“Why, 'cause I’m so loveable?” She jokes, not believing the words that leave her mouth. 

“Yes, actually,” he nods, smiling over at her. 

She just laughs, not thinking he means it as anything other than familial. “Thanks. You’re pretty great too when you’re not telling me what to do.” 

“I don’t boss you around that much,” he laughs too. “Dave teases me all the time about how much nicer I am to you than the others.” 

“Well, I am your best agent,” she shrugs with a proud smirk. “You wanna go back to the hotel or is there anything you want to do tonight?” 

“We can go back,” he agrees, leading them in the direction of the hotel already. “I’m going to need some good beauty sleep to make your ex jealous tomorrow.” 

“Ha!” She laughs, raising her hand that’s carrying the bag to cover her mouth as she giggles. “Yeah, no you don’t. You’re like a million times hotter than him, it’s not a fair fight at all.” 

“Yeah, okay,” he shakes his head in disbelief. 

“What?” She looks at him like he’s crazy. “Do you not think you’re hot?” 

“Not exactly…” 

“I knew you were funny but that’s hilarious,” she jokes. “You’re very, very hot. One of the hottest men I’ve ever seen in my life, like People magazine should be reaching out to you for sexiest man of the year. You’ve been on the news enough times, surely the public will agree.” 

He laughs at the compliment, “Thank you, I guess… I guess I should trust your judgement here the way I do everywhere else.” 

“Yes, 'cause I’m never wrong,” she reminds him. 

They keep joking around, teasing each other until they get back to the hotel. Up the elevator and into their room. They leave their gifts by the door and Aaron lets her take the first turn in the bathroom to get ready for the night. 

She takes off her makeup, she washes her face and does her skincare routine and he knocks, “Are you okay in there?” 

“Yeah, you can come in,” she announces, still fully dressed. 

He opens the door slowly, “You’ve been in here 10 minutes already I thought you were just changing?” 

“Nope, skincare is important,” she smiles at him, massaging the moisturizer into her face. “Want some?” 

He smiles, “Sure, why not?” 

“Wash your face first, get a new face cloth over there,” she points and steps out of the way of the sink. “My face wash is right there.” 

She watches him wash his face carefully, smiling at him through the mirror with so much affection behind her eyes. He’s so cute when he gets soft like this, she could easily see them having a life like this together. Getting ready for bed together, doing their nighttime routines and falling into the same bed. Night after night. Forever. 

Once his face is washed he looks to her, “How much moisturizer do I use?” 

“Want me to do it?” She offers. 

He nods, “please?” 

“Sit down on the toilet lid,” she instructs and he moves over there quickly. 

She opens the jar again and takes a decent-sized amount onto her fingers, she puts the jar down and smiles at him, “It might be cold.” She dabs it on his forehead, cheeks, nose and chin and then starts to rub it in for him. He closes his eyes and sighs as he leans into it. “Like it?” 

He hums, nodding slightly, not wanting to talk incase he accidentally got cream in his mouth. She just smiles, adoringly, loving that she gets to have moments like this with him. “You’re so cute…” she whispers. 

He chuckles, finally looking at her again. She cups his face in her hands, “all done.” 

“You’re cuter.” 

“What is happening here?” She asks, completely serious. “Are you just a good actor or—

“I was in a few plays,” he teases. “But no, I’m not acting.” 

“Do you have a thing for me?” She lights right up. “Oh my god, you do?” 

“And you call yourself a profiler,” he shakes his head. “Yes, okay? I like you. I think you’re wonderful and beautiful and everything I want— is that what you wanted me to say?” 

“Get up,” she says, pulling at him. 

“Why?” He asks as he stands. 

“So you can be taller than me when I kiss you,” she teases. Grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him in. 

The kiss is soft at first, cute and sweet… but then they get needy. Years of close proximity and bubbling feelings and “what ifs” all coming to the surface. He cups the back of her head with one hand and holds her lower back with the other, holding her flush to his chest as his tongue makes her acquaintance. 

She accidentally moans as his hand goes down to cup her ass and he smiles against her. He pulls back slightly, noses brushing. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to do that.” 

“Really?” She can’t believe it. 

He smiles before he steals another kiss, and another and another and before they know it he’s backed her out of the bathroom and all the way to their king bed. He has her on the mattress, hand on her back and the nape of her neck as he cradles her and hovers over her. His tongue on hers, their chests pressed together, and her hands on his back with her nails desperately clinging to the cotton. 

He eagerly moves to kiss her neck and while it feels so good, she’s worried about what is about to go down. Sure, she hoped for this. She thought maybe they’d have a few drinks at the party tomorrow and stumble home and fall into bed together and regret it in the morning but this… admitting to liking each other while completely sober, was not on her mind at all. 

“Aaron,” she whispers, hesitation in her voice. 

He pulls back, “something wrong?” 

“Are we going to regret this?” She worries. 

He cups her face gently, his body weight still on top of her, it’s oddly comforting to feel so trapped under him. “I know I won’t, but if you will, then we stop. I never want you to regret your time with me. I never want you to be uncomfortable with me. I never want to lose what we have… so if that means we never have more than a friendship, I'm perfectly okay with that.” 

“I have tried so hard not to love you for the last year and a bit that we’ve been friends,” she admits. “If we go further and you change your mind, I’ll never recover.” 

“I won’t change my mind,” he says, confident as ever. “I want you to love me as much as I already love you.” 

His thumb caresses her cheek while he talks, he looks at her with the most affectionate look she’s ever seen on him. He’s so handsome all the time, but this look. The softness, his big brown eyes, the way he smelled like her face cream and he kept looking down at her lips like he was dying to taste them again… she’s always believed him when he speaks, but this is different. He’s opened his chest and handed her his heart and he wants her to hold it and keep it safe... forever. 

“I love you,” she admits, tearing up because this is so unreal. “I love you so much, Aaron.” 

He kisses her again, so gently, breathing her in and savouring every moment. Sure, it’s not their first kiss, that happened 10 minutes ago, but this is the first kiss they’ll have being openly in love with each other. 

She kisses him again and again, never wanting this to end. She wraps her legs around him, she holds him closer than ever and he lightly moans against her. She starts to work at his shirt, unbuttoning it so she can get her hands under it. She wraps her arms around him, touching his hot skin as he breaks the kiss and moves down her neck. 

“I love you, so much,” he reminds her again. 

“Show me how much?” she whispers right into his ear. 

He pulls back, delicately looking into her eyes, “are you sure?��� 

She nods, “more than I’ve ever been before.” 

He gets his shirt off, and he pulls her forward to pull hers off too. Through kisses and rolling around, his pants are off, then her’s. Behind her, he kisses her spine while he unclips her bra, pushing each strap off her arms with kisses to her shoulders, he cups her breasts and kisses up to her ear again, “lay down.” 

She listens, he gets between her legs and peels her underwear off. Raising her right leg, he kisses her knee and down her thigh, as he gets on his stomach, he looks up at her for permission and all she can do is nod because this seems unreal. His big beautiful brown eyes are looking at her from between her legs as he kisses the most intimate part of her body and she’s in heaven. 

She’s died and gone to heaven. The train must’ve crashed and she’s in her own personalized forever with the man of her dreams…. But it didn’t. This is real and happening and she should be enjoying it. 

She grips his hair, and her back arches as she moans into the contact, he’s so fucking good with his mouth because of course he is? Is there anything this man can’t do?

Full of love and zero expectations or worry, she feels herself getting closer to an orgasm so much faster than she has with anyone else ever. Not even herself. Normally she’s so in her head, so nervous and worried or barely being taken care of… this one just sneaks up on her, trembling through her, she grips his hair a little tighter and moans out his name, “Oh, oh I’m cumming, I’m— oh!” 

He laps up every last drop as she rides it out, overstimulating her slightly, and he can tell. He pulls back with a grin, proud of himself and enjoying the way she looks so fucked out like this. 

He kisses back up her tummy, between her boobs and then hovers over her while she’s still catching her breath, “hi…” 

She smiles, “Hi?” 

“Ready for me to show you the rest?” 

“There’s more?” She teases, “You love me more than that?”

He laughs, “Yeah, that was just a taste…” 

She pulls him in for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips. “Mm, a good taste.” 

“You’re telling me,” he growls. “I could do that every day for the rest of my life.” 

“And I’d let you…” 

He kisses her again, cause if he doesn’t, she won’t stop teasing him. 

Kissing him while coming down from her high, feels unreal. She’s floating on a cloud, and might as well be on drugs— it feels too good, she moans against him, legs wrapped around him, she never wants to let him go. He kisses the side of her mouth, “baby—

She hums, pulling him back in for another kiss. 

He pulls back, “I can’t fuck you with my boxers still on.” 

She sighs, pretending it’s more work than it is, “Fine, take ‘em off.” 

He shakes his head with a smile as she lets him go and he’s able to push his boxers off. “And I need to grab a condom—

“did you bring condoms?” She sounds shocked. 

He nods, “yeah… I didn’t expect anything, I just always have some in my toiletries bag.” 

She watches his cute ass jiggle as he walks towards his bag, he squats to undo the zipper and she tries not to laugh at the view of his balls dangling but it’s so endearing somehow? He’s real and there and he’s about to rock her world. 

He’s quick to grab what he wants, he rips the condom open with his teeth and tosses the wrapper to the floor as he rolls it on right beside the bed. She watches carefully, eyes scanning his whole body. She hasn’t really had a good look at him while naked yet, he’s been pressed against the bed or on top of her. But damn. 

“Jesus,” she whispers under her breath. 

He smirks, “what?” 

She waves her hand around in his general direction, “You just walk around with all that under your suits every day?” 

He shakes his head again, “I could say the same thing about you.” 

He crawls back onto the bed, between her legs again, one hand on the bed as he hovers over her, “you okay with this position?” 

She nods, “perfectly okay with it. It’s a very underrated position.” 

“Mhm,” he agrees, leaning in to kiss her again. One hand on her hip, he grinds himself against her, “Ready?” 

She nodded, watching as he lets go of her hip to grip himself at the base, she spreads her legs a bit more and he taps her clit once just for fun but it makes her whine, “Don’t tease me.” 

“But you can tease me?” He asks, head right at her entrance, about to push in… she nods and that’s when he does it. Watching her head tip back with a silent moan. “Now I know how to get you quiet.” 

He goes back to rest his hand on her hip but she reaches for them and interlocks their fingers, instead. He bottomed out and dropped to hover over her once more, bringing their interlocked hands over her head. 

She reached up to kiss him, but Aaron pushed into the kiss and made her settle into the pillow once again. It honestly felt like a movie scene, the first time between two star-crossed lovers. He pulled out ever so slightly before thrusting in again, she gasped against his mouth. Aaron trusted more while she pushed her hips into it as well, an offbeat rhythm developed in pure ecstasy. She let go of Aaron’s hands to snake them around his waist, to run her fingers over the soft and slightly chilled skin of his back. Feeling the bump of his spine Aaron ducked into the crook of her neck, placing kisses along her collarbone.

He changed the position of his thrust as he wrapped his arms under her, arching her back ever so slightly to reach the bundle of nerves that left her a quivering mess. She, in response to the added pleasure, ran her sharp nails down Aaron’s back and he groaned at the feeling, “do that again.” he requested.

“Like that?” She asked, dragging his nails down him once more.

“Yeah,” Aaron moaned, dark and deep. “Mark me… where no one can see it, only you know tomorrow.”

So she does, she runs her nails over his back with more intent, knowing there will be 8 red lines spread down his back in the morning. Just then, he starts to kiss lower, down to her boobs, where he sucks a mark that shouldn't be visible in her dress tomorrow… he wanted to mark her just as bad. But his kisses quickly return to her neck and lower ear. 

“Aaron,” she moans out. “Go a little faster?” 

He does as she asks, keeping that loving feeling but picking up the pace. The feeling of pure bliss overtook her body with each thrust, warm chills ran through him with each brush of his thumb on her clit. Every kiss to her neck and squeeze around her waist made her feel like she was on fire. The hairs on her arms stood up, and goosebumps formed along his forearms. Aaron kissed from her neck to her nipple and took the hard nib into his mouth causing her to moan like she never had before.

“Aaron,” she panted, pulling Aaron’s face back up to his.

His eyes were absolutely blown out in pleasure, those chocolate wonders he used to stare into were now replaced solely by the pupils. She ran her thumb across Aaron’s cheek before reaching to the nape of his neck to pull him into another kiss. Open mouths pressed together, hot air on each other’s faces as they panted to the pleasure.

She was in heaven.

Her orgasm bubbled in her stomach, “are you close?” Aaron whispered right beside her mouth, kissing her cheek lightly after.

She hummed, unable to speak with the mass amount of pleasure coursing through her body. Aaron fucked into her a bit harder, a tiny bit faster, hitting her G-spot dead on each time to the point the nerves in her thighs were quaking uncontrollably.

She was so close, Aaron used 3 fingers to quickly rub over her clit before she threw her head back with a shout. Cumming with her eyes pressed shut, pleasure coursed through her body stronger than she’s ever felt before.

Nothing had ever made her cum that hard, ripping through her like her soul was leaving her body. She dug her nails deep into Aaron’s skin holding him close to his body while he kept thrusting.

A high-pitched gasp left his lips, close to her ear as his hips sputtered into hers one last time. She still hadn’t opened her eyes, her breath rigid, she felt winded. Aaron had stilled as he came inside of her and then collapsed into her, deadweight lying on her.

But she didn’t mind. Not in the slightest. She wrapped herself around him even tighter and kissed the side of his head, “I love you, too.” 

He kisses her neck, “I can’t believe I was afraid to tell you…” 

“Silly man, we could’ve been doing that the whole time,” she teases him again the first chance she gets. 

He huffs a little laugh out of his nose, smiling against her. “We can do this all the time now.” 

“Mhm,” she squeezes him a little tighter. “I hope you know this means we’re dating now. I don’t just fuck anyone. Especially not my boss…” 

He manages to push himself up to look at her, and the look on his face says it all. “Yeah, I know… and I’ll handle the paperwork when we get back.” 

—

They get all dolled up together, between kisses and flirting and teasing… they end up fully dressed, presents in hand, on their way to the party. They hold hands the whole cab ride over, up the elevator and into the booming restaurant. 

It’s entirely booked out for her sister’s party, on the top floor of a fancy building. It’s completely catered, there are fancy waiters walking around with trays of hors d’oeuvres and expensive champagne. They have their gifts taken from their hands upon arrival and their hands are instantly filled with a drink. She looks around, looking for the first person she knows well and spots her mom and dad over on the other side of the room. 

“Come with me, I have some people I want you to meet…” she says as she leads him through the crowd. 

He’s nervous but more excited. She gets to show him off and this isn’t a lie. He really is her boyfriend and they are in love and happy and this is everything he’s ever wanted. With his hand around her waist the whole time, shoulder to shoulder, he meets her parents and her sister. He shakes hands with her dad and her new brother-in-law, he gets hugs from the mom and sister, they’re looking at her with eyes that he can hear. They’re saying how much of an improvement he is to the last guy, they’re amazed at how handsome he is, and he blushes slightly in response. 

“So how long has this been going on?” Her dad asks. 

She looks up at him and smiles, “Not long, but we’re really happy.” 

“The happiest,” he agrees, stealing a quick kiss from her that makes the women swoon. 

“You know, this is fantastic,” her sister announces. “I was worried you’d be upset to see Brad and Cameron here together but now you have Aaron and they’re not even coming anymore. Something happened… I don’t even think they’re together anymore.” 

“Oh?” She’s completely shocked to hear that. 

“Once a cheater always a cheater,” her brother-in-law says under his breath with the roll of his eyes. 

“We see it all the time at work,” Aaron agrees. “It’s pathological. They crave attention so intensely that they’ll do anything to get it, to the detriment of the people they love. They cheat because for a moment they’re the most important person, they’re attractive enough to get who they want and powerful enough to get away with it. And even when it blows up in their face they can play the ‘you wouldn’t be this mad if you weren’t so obsessed with me’ card.” 

“That’s Brad,” her dad agrees. “Good riddance, honestly.” 

“Let’s just leave it there,” her mom announces. “We’re here for Lindsay and Connor.” 

“It’s been lovely to meet you Aaron, but we have a lot of people to mingle with,” Lindsay announces and Connor sighs. “We’ll talk again later?” 

“Sounds good,” Y/N lets them head off and then she’s just with her parents. “Um, I’m hungry… Aaron, did you want to go raid the snacks?” 

“I’d love to,” he agrees. “It was lovely to meet you both.” 

“We hope to see you again regularly?” Her mother throws in. 

“I don’t plan on going anywhere,” he assures, “you should get used to me.” 

She manages to pull him away from them, a little overwhelmed and so in love with him. She gets him to an empty corner and looks up at him like he’s crazy, “did you seriously say that?” 

He nods, “What part of last night didn’t you understand? I’m madly in love with you. I would marry you tomorrow if it wouldn’t take the attention off your sister.” 

She just laughs, shocked and amazed that he just said that. “Really?” 

“Yes. Really.” 

She shakes her head in disbelief, “o-okay… but you still have to ask me. I don’t need anything big and extravagant and I’d like to maybe pick the ring out with you if you want but—

“You want to?” 

She nods, that teasing smirk he loves so much plastered on her face, “I don’t just want to be your work wife, Aaron.” 

“We’ll revisit this in the new year… I need Jack to know about this and be okay with it before I spring a step-mom on him,” he explains. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 2 - First (Second) Introductions

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

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Tim Drake was an obsessive creature by nature. Ever since he was little, he’d always been easily swallowed by his obsessions. His wants and desires, the little things that fascinated him. And, more than that, he never fought it. He gave himself into it, wholly. It was how he’d gotten this far in life.

He’d taught himself how to code, how to hack. He discovered Batman and Nightwing’s true identities. He’d learnt how to fight, how to keep the city safe, how to fling oneself off a building without fainting. He’s taped the family back together again and again after every splinter. He was one of only two Robins left, and that would soon be the only once Bruce retired and Damian graduated.

And this was all done through obsession. And it was obsession. He was self-aware enough to know that. While the rest of the family often indulged in delusions, he never had the time for them. He’d spent countless nights pushing his lagging body along with caffeine and sheer willpower. He’d often forget to sleep or eat even on the calmer days. All that was to say, Tim Drake was obsessive.

But, his obsessions never lasted. Sure, he’d keep the skills and the relationships he’d make, but when the dust settled, he’d find himself feeling empty. Tim Drake was obsessive yes, but his true obsession was the conquest. The rush he’d get when he finally claimed a new skill, a new person, a new piece of knowledge or wisdom.

And then, too quickly, far too quickly, the rush would disappear. The tingle in his spine would leave, the energy would disappear, and that feverish nature of his would flatten. Cool down. The others in the family knew it as one of his ‘moods’, but Tim thought it was probably more than that. Still, he was definitely in one of them right now.

It didn’t matter. None of it really mattered. The point was, right now, he was quite simply depressed. Bummed out, if you would. He’d finished a mission from Bruce, one that had taken him months of desperate, undying effort, and it was now done. And he didn’t have anything to do.

It sucked.

Boredom was a sinister demon. While Tim was by far the most emotionally stable of the family, he was still, well- not. Not by a long shot, honestly. The League’s mandatory therapy sessions had confirmed that. He just needed something to entertain himself, and quick. Usually, on a day like this, he’d be at home working on any random degree.

Unfortunately, he had responsibilities. He could not alleviate his boredom, because he was in the most boring place on earth.

A party. Not a party by any normal person’s standards, but one of his adoptive father’s galas. Even more horrifying, Bruce Wayne was in attendance. He was doing his billionaire playboy persona, and Tim couldn’t stomach it. It was no shock no one else had shown up. Even Dick was busy in Bludhaven, and he sometimes enjoyed these. Sometimes.

And once again, as every year, the birthday girl was nowhere to be seen.

Tim’s eyes rove over the very boring gala. Your gala, for your birthday. You weren’t here, because you never were. He couldn’t blame you. These balls sucked, even the better ones. This one was miserable, and the atmosphere was sombre. While it was your birthday, it was more than that, a day of death.

Your family had died, Bruce’s new wife had died, and all the siblings he never really got the opportunity to meet, gone in a brilliant flash.

And Jason. Jason, who now walked the earth again, flesh and blood. Jason, who tore himself through a wooden coffin and grave dirt. Jason, who even Dick couldn’t seem to bring back into the family. Jason, alive and well and probably spending the night at Roy’s house. It was still the anniversary of his death, and while Jason did his best to put on a front, anyone with half a brain could tell he found today… upsetting.

But, he was alive. That was more than Tim could say for your family.

None of these people knew that. They saw one of the great Wayne’s dead, and they mourned. They saw the new wife and step-children of Bruce Wayne dead, and they lamented. Tim was sure most of it was faked, at least in this gala. The rest of the city truly grieved the Wayne family's tragedy. Especially Jason, one of the princes of the city. But here? No, they just wanted to rub shoulders with Bruce.

The man you very clearly insisted had never been your father, and never would be, was… probably a little sad. Tim was probably a little sadistically pleased about that. He was bored, alright? Anyway, Bruce did not know how to deal with you, and you with him. Both of you were stubborn people, unable to communicate or reach a place of cooperation. You never showed up to the galas or the manor, you did everything in your power to never have to interact with anyone from the family. The only reason you even still lived in Gotham was to be close to your dead family. And above all, you made sure that everyone knew how much you hated Bruce. That the sight of his aging face made you nauseous. Everyone else found that hilarious, of course.

And Bruce, because he was stubborn, kept trying to reach you, despite your angry protests. Even if he had absolutely zero legal ties to you, he still kept trying. And so, another birthday party passes without its leading star. The memorial tomorrow would be missing you too. Christmas, easter, hanukkah, new years, Rosh Hashanah, you refused to show up to any of them.

Still, he had to agree with Bruce. They couldn’t just leave you. Not with the way you were.

You’d once quietly admitted to him that you hoped you’d one day go to sleep and not wake up. That you’d rot away in your room, disappear from the world entirely. That was one of the last few times he talked to you face-to-face. And then a few months after that, you’d blocked him on all social media.

He’d read hundreds of books on therapy, and he knew what suicidal idealisation looked like. Luckily for his sanity, he was not your therapist, nor was he your keeper.

That was poor old Dick’s job, and he was, hilariously, failing at it. Badly. Technically, you were the second massive failure Dick had taken on, and it was starting to show in his mental state. Old Dickie was spending more and more time in Bludhaven, preferring to patrol there instead of Gotham. Still, he insisted he could get through to you. Tim was doubtful. Dick had better luck with Jason, of all people.

Jason actually wanted to be a part of this family. You hated them all, viciously. And so, you’d obviously never show up at-

Wait. Wait, no. He definitely recognised that face. Why the hell were you here? Well, that was irritating. Tim prided himself on being prepared for any situation, for any unlikelihood. He was the son who would be taking over Wayne Enterprises, after all.

You being in the same room as Bruce Wayne was impossible. Completely impossible. At least willingly. You should be kicking and screaming, scratching like a hellcat at anyone who tried to make you stay. Instead, you’re standing in the middle of a crowd, chugging back champagne like your life depends on it. He could already imagine the chaos the media would be starting, to his misery. ‘Estranged ex-Wayne shows up at birthday gala and drinks like a fish’. Well, he had been complaining about being bored. Careful what you wish for, and all.

Shit. He was not prepared for this.

He was, despite it being your birthday, not at all expecting you to be here. He didn’t even have a present. Shit. He pulls out his phone and shoots off an order to his assistant, who would probably go to Dick’s for help.

He sees you over there, obviously uncomfortable, and realises he should probably rescue you. He tells himself he should, that he’s gonna get up and go do it.

Instead, he crosses his legs at the ankle, leans back in his chair, and watches. You won’t catch him off guard twice. He has his pride, after all.

You throw another glass of champagne back. Tim winces. Okay, maybe you might. This was all a bit of a shock. And the rest of the gala seemed just as surprised at your appearance as he was. They obviously didn’t know what to do about you, creating a wide ring of people who refused to step closer to you. And you seem oblivious to the social pariah you have suddenly become. Or maybe uncaring, as you’ve already claimed an entire buffet table and champagne tray for yourself.

Just… just drinking. You seem to only care about ingesting more alcohol and confectionaries. It’s your twenty-first, but uh… this definitely doesn’t look like the first time you’ve been drinking. Not that he cared if this was your first time drinking. He’d done his fair share of illegal activities. Sure, they were mostly superhero stuff, but still illegal. Frankly, it’s kind of impressive. You might even be able to drink Jason or Alfred under the table.

…Good for you, he guesses. A talent’s a talent.

He realises, after a few minutes, that you have absolutely zero plans of socialising. You’d showed up here of your own free will, and then just scared off anyone who’d talk to you. Not that there’d be many who’d be interested in talking to the swaying woman who looked like a threat to herself and everyone around her. No, you were still just drinking. You’d gotten halfway down the buffet table, trying every single cake and a few of the savoury items as well.

You kept circling back to have more champagne and Victorian sponge, and then you’d go back to wherever you were in the buffet and try something from there. Your choices seemed sporadic, and more than once you spat something back out into a napkin. You look at some of the dishes like you think they might be poisonous, taking wide circles around them.

He rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward to press his face to his intertwined fingers. He’s definitely past the point where he should go help you. You’re making a mess, both physically and socially, and yet, he still just sits there. He can’t help himself, it’s interesting.

“Tim.”

Uh oh, your knight in shining armor is here. Or well, dark. Bruce had never been known for pastels. Tim turns his head to the giant man blocking out the light, giving his father and leader a smile.

“Hey Dad,” he greets, in an open attempt at manipulation.

Bruce shakes his head, not caving begrudgingly like he usually did. Shit, that usually worked. Guess he must be actually mad. He glances from Tim to the object of Tim’s apt fascination. You. He turns back, looking down at Tim with his ‘I’m trying to be a good dad’ look. It’s not very convincing.

“How long has she been doing this?” Bruce asks, straight to the point as always.

“Twenty-seven minutes. You’re ruining my process,” Tim replies, telling B to screw off in the kindest way possible. He doesn’t take the hint, because he’s a bit of an ass. Even Batman fanboy Tim could recognise that.

“You can’t just count when someone is getting drunk in front of the public. You need to actually do something.” Bruce shakes his head, hand lifting to massage his brow. It was just that easy to give the old man a migraine. Poor baby probably needed some Ibruprofen. Tim had some in his pocket, but he wasn’t going to offer.

“I was going to eventually. And aren’t you curious? She refuses to show her face for months, and then pops out of the blue to… what? Steal from your liquor cabinet? She knows she doesn’t have to come to get whatever she wants,” Tim ignores B’s nagging, turning his gaze back to you. You’re having a love affair with that cake, honestly. Oh, you’re going for another shot… You do realise the stuff you’re chugging goes for millions, right?

You probably don’t care. You never had about money.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s here, and we should be taking care of her. This is obviously her reaching out for help, and she obviously needs it,” B insists, splaying his worn and scarred hands over the table. Tim has the same hands, everyone in the family does. Vigilante work left scars and callouses.

“Then why hasn’t she come over here, yet? My theory is she’s just trying to smear your good image. Which doesn’t need smearing in the first place, but who understands the minds of young, drunk and miserable women?” Certainly not Tim, as he had proven in his relationship with Stephanie.

“Tim, enough with the sass. Go and help her.”

“She’s not your responsibility anymore, B.”

“Her mother would disagree. Now go,” Bruce orders, his words final. Because they always are, in the end.

Tim groans, letting his head fall back. He glares at the ceiling and all the sparkling diamonds strewn about, and then he pulls himself to his feet. Cracks his shoulders, and parts the Red Sea with a glance. The crowd in the gala splits so the young heir can easily find his way through, and he gives everyone he passes a kind smile.

He strides up to your side, calmly waiting for you to notice him. You’re still imbibing, completely oblivious to his presence. It’s funny. And fascinating. Usually, you were so paranoid that he wondered how you weren’t always a single breath away from a panic attack. Like a feral animal, ready at a moment’s notice to fight or flight.

He sees that you’re dealing with those social anxieties in a way befitting the Wayne name. Which is to say, absolutely shit. His head tilts eyes flickering over you. You don’t look too good, which is no real surprise. Even with your people’s perfect styling, they can’t cover up the shaking and sweating in your form. It might just be anxiety, but knowing you, it’s probably not. He wonders if you even notice how sick you are.

You don’t look like you notice much of anything. Maybe the cake, but that seemed to be pushing it.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” Tim starts but is unable to continue when you spin on your heel and drop your flute of champagne. It crashes to the ground, and he finds his socks becoming uncomfortably wet.

The two of you look up from the mess and meet gazes. Your mouth is open in horror, eyes comically wide. Tim has to bite the inside of his lip so as not to immediately burst into laughter.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, you do a weird crouch-pop-up movement, and then your eyes swivel around frantically, “I’m- am I supposed to clean this up? I can totally clean this up.”

You look just about ready to kneel into a pile of thin glass shards, so Tim stops you. Because God knows Bruce would hang him from the rafters if he didn’t.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Somebody else will handle this. It’s your birthday after all, right?” he says, giving you a charming smile. It’s sort of a shock when you don’t scoff at him, and instead just stand there with a deer-in-headlights sort of look.

“Hey, are you alright?” Tim asks when you don’t say anything else.

You startle, and then blink at him rapidly. Distracted and inebriated. Lovely. He doesn’t think you know what you’re doing here either, which was a bad sign for your mental health. Have you been refusing to go to your therapist again?

It wasn’t like he went either, so he couldn’t judge.

“I’m good,” you say, your words only slightly slurred. You blink again, your head cants towards the floor, and then you glance back up at him. You look like he’s caught you committing a crime. “Do you- uh, want some of the cake? Sorry for stealing it all, it’s really good.”

You were acting… really strange. Tim found himself with the undeniable urge to follow along with your strangeness.

“You know what? Yes, yes I would,” he says, taking one of the little plates of strawberry cake and a delicate three-tonged fork. He scoops up some of the cake, the cream and jam, and eats. Chewing he keeps staring at you, as you fidget awkwardly. It’s good, but all the food here’s good.

“Did you like it?” you try to smile at him, but it looks more like a grimace.

“I did. Javier did really well with these desserts,” Tim says, before waving over one of the staff to clean up the mess the two of you are ignoring. You look surprised when he offers an arm to guide you away, and he wonders if you’ll accept it. He can’t imagine a world where you would, but today seems to be full of surprises. In the end, you do, but it takes you a good five seconds of awkward staring before you take it.

He takes you over to one of the tables, careful to make sure you don’t slip and fall face-first into the spreading champagne puddle.

“Oh. Is he the chef?”

“He’s the pâtissier.”

You give him a blank stare. Right, you probably don't speak French.

“The pastry chef,” Tim clarifies, as he helps you find your chair. You slump down with zero grace, and for a second Tim thinks you’ll fall right off. You manage not to with a desperate grasp at the table. Good for you.

“Oh, cool. That’s super cool. I think I love this Javier guy, honestly.”

Tim snorts, taking his own seat, “He has that effect on people.”

You’re not looking at him, instead grimacing at the mess you made that two of the staff are cleaning up. Tim’s sort of surprised. It wasn’t that you had been particularly mean to the employees before, but you rarely acknowledged them. You had barely acknowledged anyone, completely unaware of your effect on the greater world. You didn’t care. To be fair, it didn’t seem like you cared about anything but your family’s gravestones and memorials.

Still, there was definitely something different about you, today. And he couldn’t blame it all on the alcohol. Today, you looked a little green about the whole accident. Like you actually gave a shit. Maybe you’d had a change of heart. He hoped you had, for Dick’s sake. You looked more alive, even if it was a confused, embarrassed, uncomfortable sort of alive. It was still an improvement. Usually, your expression was dead, a blank stare. It reminded him of Jason’s as he’d been lowered into the ground.

The two of you wouldn’t like that comparison. And it’s hypocritical too, Tim knows he sometimes resembles a zombie after one of his little sessions.

He can’t help himself. He’s curious, so damn curious. What had prompted this miraculous shift? And plus, you could still be planning something, even if it was seeming more and more like you’d stumbled in here drunk and confused, not able to remember you hated them all. Maybe you had a concussion or something. A head wound sounded like a good explanation for all this.

“Why’d you show up here today?” he finally asks, caving quickly to his need to understand.

You give him a weird look like he’s the one being strange.

“It’s my birthday.”

Tim tilts his head. “That it is.”

“Was that- that the wrong answer?”

“I don’t know, was it?” Tim knows he should stop playing with you. You’re making it far too easy, though. And he's bored, damn it.

“I don’t know either. That’s… that’s why I’m asking you.”

Before he can react to the strangeness of that comment some (awfully rudely, might he add) intrude on your conversation. One of the board members of W.E., someone he had to pay the proper respect to. When his hand slaps down on Tim’s shoulder, he has to suppress a withering sigh. There were less fun parts to his job, and this was one of them

“Drake! It’s so good to see you,” the old man greets, and it takes even Tim a second to remember his name.

“Lancaster! You as well,” Tim replies, noticing your barely there flinch.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you tonight. My project’s funds are running a little low, and everyone knows you’re the one to go to for an easier time. Bruce is a great leader but…” the man chuckles, and Tim grins at him. It’s fake, of course. When in Rome, they say.

“A bit strict, yes. I have struggled with his attitude before, too.” Understatement of the century.

Tim glances at your quiet form, eyes set on the tablecloth in front of you. Even still it’s obvious you’re listening to their conversation, head cocked just slightly to the right. The board member doesn’t even seem to notice you. Tim’s curious if he recognises you.

You’d been out of the public eye for so long he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. That’s the way you’d wanted it to be, after all.

“But let’s talk about this later, I’m entertaining a very tipsy birthday girl at the moment,” Tim says, hoping you don’t mind him using you as an excuse.

“Oh wow!” Lancaster cries, at your mere presence. Subtlety is not this man’s strength, “I didn’t see you there. Wow, jeez. Didn’t think you’d be here today. What made you change your mind?”

You give him a long, assessing look. Whatever you find makes you pull an expression like you sucked on a sour lemon.

“My assistant forced me to,” you answer honestly. Seems you’ve realised that ‘it’s your birthday’ isn’t an adequate reason. Not that you’ve never failed to reject any and all pressure to attend these events before. Like Tim had said, kicking and screaming.

“Ha! I know the feeling. Well, I’ll leave you two kids to it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” the old man chortles, gives you a wink, and leaves. Your gaze follows him into the crowd, and stays there, even when he disappears behind it.

It’s quiet for a moment. Tim waits for you to speak first.

“Who was that man?” you finally ask.

“Charles Lancaster, one of the newest board members of Wayne Enterprises,” Tim says, surprised you’re curious. You’d never been interested in W.E. or anything involving the family. Surprised, surprised, surprised. He should just accept any odd behaviour from you at this point, start expecting it.

You slump in your chair, pressing your forehead against the table. Then, you let out a long, unhappy, groan. Tim gets it, he really does. He does not get what you do next.

Your hands slap against your cheeks, and Tim jerks in his seat. Okay, maybe Bruce was right, you probably do need help. He couldn’t imagine the big guy sending you to Arkham, though. It was obvious you were only a threat to yourself. You take a deep breath, completely ignore his confused stare and get to your feet.

And you immediately fall sideways.

Tim’s arm shoots out, grabbing yours before you crash into the shining marble floors. You look down at him, mirroring his shocked expression. You look down further down, and Tim follows your gaze.

Your stilettoed heel looks the same as it always does. Still, you stare at it like it’s a shark biting at your toes. Tim thinks this is one of the first real emotions you’ve shown in months, and it’s desperate fear of your shoes.

“I told her I can’t wear heels,” you say, more to yourself than him.

“What? Yes, you can. You wear heels to all these events,” he replies anyway.

“What- Well, I meant… heels this tall. They’re really tall.”

He just blinks at you, at the inanity of your statement. They were really tall, but Tim had seen you wear taller. Why were you lying about something like this? Had you drunk too much and were too embarrassed to mention it? Or maybe you’d hurt yourself?

He looks down at your ankle again. No, the flesh seems unharmed. And you hadn’t been walking with a limp earlier, you were just stumbling around now. Must really just be too much champagne. You’d already dropped a glass earlier and had been obviously embarrassed by it. Even if Jeanine had swept in just like she was supposed to, fixing the situation. You’d apologised profusely.

He’d never heard you apologise before. It’s… well, it’s strange. That’s the only way he can describe this encounter.

“You can let go of me now. Please?”

Tim lets you go, and you rub your arm. Shit, he grabbed you too hard. He knew you were on the delicate side, wasting away both mentally and physically. You didn’t take care of yourself and rarely even left your apartment. Even now you looked oddly sickly.

“I’m going to uh- I have to go pee,” you say, and immediately wince at your words.

Tim, without thinking, replies, “Go piss girl.”

You make a shocked choke of laughter, nod at him, and then run off as fast as you can while grasping every piece of furniture in your reach. You look genuinely ridiculous. Well, it’s not the first time a Wayne gala has turned into a clown show. Compared to Dick’s younger years, this was completely unnoticeable.

Bruce still loved to complain about the chandelier he’d broken in an impromptu trapeze show. It’d been diamond, and over a hundred years old. The ones above him now were just as expensive, but not vintage. Jason thought it was hilariously funny, and was always trying to get Dick to do it again. Luckily, Dick had matured, if only a little bit.

Speaking of which, this is a perfect opportunity to mess with Dick. He pulls out his phone and the secure channel they use to communicate. Dick was in Bludhaven right now, probably on patrol. Doing something fun. Sure, tonight had gotten more interesting, but you’d just run off and with you his only entertainment. Tim was bitterly envious of Dick’s fun, and because of that, he had to make Dick just a little more miserable. Just to make things even, of course.

‘Smartest_Robin’: guess who just showed up to her own birthday party?

‘Underwear_guy’: you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. why?

‘Smartest_Robin’: hell if I know. she’s drunk as hell lmao

‘Underwear_guy’: please don’t let her do anything stupid.

‘Smartest_Robin’: yeah, yeah. i’m the idiot who has to deal with the fallout anyway

‘Underwear_guy’: how’s it feel being the ‘favourite son’?

Tim snorts. The media often called him that, purely because it was well known he was the one inheriting W.E. It was hot gossip that it was Tim and not Damian, the proudly stated ‘blood son’. They didn’t know Damian was inheriting an even greater responsibility. And it wasn’t like he particularly wanted it, he just knew he was best for the job and it helped the time pass in between missions. It was fun sometimes, too. He enjoyed giving Luthor Corp a good thrashing every now and then.

‘Smartest_Robin’: same as always. im bored, anything interesting going on over there?

‘Underwear_guy’: bludhaven’s my city, dickhead. go do taxes or something

Tim sighs, and puts the phone back down. He had to try, at least. When it becomes obvious you are absolutely not returning from the bathrooms anytime soon, he gets up, adjusts his cuffs, and walks back off into the fray.

He greets and shakes hands, he takes photos and makes deals. It’s all a blur, really. He does it with half his attention, the other focused entirely on you. Amidst all this pomp and splendour an intriguing new mystery has been born. A puzzle to hold his attention, just for long enough till he gets to the next one. And your sudden shift in personality is more than enough. And if he focused on that, he could get through all this politics.

He’s talking up a chairman of a rival company when the lights go out. When the windows shatter inwards, his heart starts to race. And when familiar masked thugs break in through the wide open doors, guns up and ready, he’s already prepared for the fight. People start screaming, scrambling, and even more gunmen follow through the side exits. While guards raise their own firearms, everybody knows they’re completely outnumbered.

The Joker’s here, and he’s brought his army. Well, shit, all this excitement, and Tim left his suit upstairs. Guess he’ll have to improvise.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[enhaheeseung]

BREAK UP - L HEESEUNG

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader

Warnings: crying, angst heartbreak, depression?

Word count: 1,065k

Note: final part to this short series working on the last part of at your service so stay tuned 🫡

Tag @loumin908

Part 1 Part 2

-

Heeseung had stopped counting how many days it had been since you left. There was no need to; he couldn't keep track anyway because every day without you felt like a month, and that's being generous.

The days seemed to drag on forever, with absolutely nothing for him to do besides watch TV or work, and as one could imagine, that got boring fast.

He knew it was dumb, but he even tried having conversations with himself to help his boredom. But the sound of his voice echoing off the walls was a reminder that you also took the paintings that were once there, canceling the noise when you left.

Needless to say, those one-sided conversations quickly came to an end.

Things just weren't the same without you. The bed he'd rest on was far too big. He only ever took up half, and obviously, you would be on the other side, but not anymore.

Another item on his list of things that were too big was the bedroom, the kitchen, and the living room. The whole house was too big now that he had no one to share it with.

And besides, he didn't use anything other than the microwave, and the bed, and rarely the shower.

He lies in bed his whole day off, staring up at the ceiling with his hands clasped over his stomach, his index finger touching the back of his hand as he contemplates where to go from here.

Clearly, you weren't going to reach out to him. His calls went on deaf ears, which was a dead giveaway that you were done with him.

He just needed to get it through his head that you were gone for good.

Cause apparently, the cold bed, the silent home, and the tasteless heat up dinners weren't enough for him to realize that you were actually gone for real and that you were never coming back or taking him back.

He looked to the side, his white sheets crinkling with movement as he peered over at the clock, which read 3:04 p.m.

Right now, you'd both probably be getting ready to go out for lunch or ice cream to the park or maybe even the beach, given the weather.

But instead, he's glued miserably to his bed.

And you?

He doesn't know.

Cause you wouldn't answer him.

Maybe you're off having a family trip.

Maybe you're at home feeling just like him, but that's wishful thinking that you'd even miss him right now after what he's done to you.

Maybe you're doing better than he is. Hopefully, you're doing better because he never liked it when you were sad.

He dryly chuckles to himself he was the one that made you sad in the first place.

Maybe you're working now.

Maybe you didn't even live with your parents and moved out since he's last seen you.

Maybe you're far away in another country.

And maybe in that other country, you've found someone new, a man that treats you better than he did, a man that replaced his spot in your heart, a man that you lov-

At the thought, he quickly turned on his stomach, burying his face in his pillows to drown out the sounds of his sobs.

He hated the sound. It's the only thing he's been hearing for the past months, and he was tired of it.

He was tired of going to bed cold and lonely, tired of waking up to an empty bed, tired of hearing the constant ringing through the home because of how quiet it was, tired of not being able to taste your food, tired of not being able to hold you, and tired of not being able to love you the way you deserved.

And now he was tired of being tired.

Even his body felt tired. He had zero motivation to do anything. It's a wonder he kept his job, but he supposed it was because he had to find a way to sustain life without you somehow.

But it didn't feel like sustaining. It felt draining, depressing, exhausting, and every word in the dictionary was negative.

Nothing in his life was positive.

And as he wept and clutched onto the softness of his pillow countless times, he finally came to the realization that this was it. There was nothing left of him nor this box he used to call his home.

He weakly sat up, wiping the tears away from his face to no avail because they just kept falling.

As you always do.

Instead of continuing to lose himself in this space, he decided he had to get out. There were too many memories of you and him here, and if he stayed, there was no way he'd even be able to get over you.

Not to say leaving would make him get over you, but at least it would be new scenery, new scenery with new floors you've never walked on, things you'd never used or seen, a bed small enough for just him so when he'd pat around for you it'd be nothing but thin air and not the fabric that tricked his mind into thinking he'd touch you if he patted long enough.

Just a fresh start where maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't be reminded of you everywhere he looked.

Since you left, there was nothing here for him, so he left, too.

He packed up his things tearfully, yet another painful reminder of the night you left. However, he shook the thought off, trying his best not to think about the separation anymore.

He packed his clothes and toiletries, and that's it. The bed could stay, and the furniture could stay. It'd be far too sad for him to bring the wooden chair that you always used to sit in with him.

Once his few items were neatly tucked away in a suitcase, he plopped down on the bed, hugging your pillow once last time, almost as if to say a final goodbye.

The plan wasn't to fall asleep, but he underestimated all the stress and anxiety he'd been under the past few weeks, and within a few minutes, he was fast asleep, holding onto the last little piece he had of you.

In the morning, he'd find someplace to go anywhere but here.

There was no reason to stay, not after the break up.

-

Thanks for reading likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated sorry for any typos or errors I hope you all have a good day/night 🤍

[sweetlyskz]

Emerald Gem||Chapter Six

Chapter one|Chapter two|Chapter three|Chapter four|Chapter five|Chapter six|Chapter seven|Chapter eight|Chapter nine|Chapter ten

Hybrid!OT7 x Fem!Reader

Overview: Living away from society has its perks. All natural food from your thoroughly cultivated farm, no nosy neighbors, and peace and security with your animals. But sometimes you did get lonely, having no one to talk to but the cows and pigs. However, when 7 extremely wanted hybrids stumble upon your deserted farm, everything changes.

Genre: Hybrid Au, Strangers to lovers, slow burn, smut, fluff

Warnings: SUGGESTIVE, some language, harsh themes

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: Tags list is now CLOSED! Thank you guys for loving this pic <3 lots more to come soon!

Unedited

Your dinner was getting cold. For some reason, you couldn’t pick up the fork. Your hands were too busy gripping the table, bewildered by the sight in front of you.

“Are you going to come greet us or just sit there?” Yoon teased, showing that gummy smile you missed so much. The others were behind him, Jimin laid on Taehyung’s back. You could tell they had been through hell and back. Jin could barely stand on his own two feet, leaning on Hobi for support.

“I- what are you guys doing here?” You never thought you would see them again. Now that they’re here in front of you, you don’t know what to say. Even after all that time practicing what to say if they came back.

Im sorry. Please stay. I missed you.

Instead, you asked “Where’s Namjoon?”

The smile on Yoongi’s face quickly turned into a frown, telling you all you needed to know. Maybe you couldn’t do anything to convince him to stay, maybe Joon was just a lost cause- that’s what you tried to convince yourself anyway.

“I’m so sorry-.” You tried to apologize but Jungkook quickly shut it down with a quick embrace. As soon as you felt his arms wrap around your waist you were at ease. But once he pulled away, you yearned for more. It was just a second, but you still craved it nonetheless.

“Don’t apologize when you have nothing to be sorry for. He made his bed. Now he has to lay in it.”

“Speaking of beds”, Jimin interrupted, apparently lucid enough to speak clearly. “May I go to mine? I haven’t had a proper sleep in weeks…”The guys chuckle at Jimin lack of consciousness. It made you smile knowing they could laugh in dire situations. It comforted you, hearing Jimin call the bed his. It was his bed.

This is his home.

***

After eating dinner, everyone went there separate ways. They were probably looking forward to having a nice, cozy bed all to themselves. You laid in bed trying to rest, but your mind wouldn’t allow it. Yes, you were happy to have the six wanted hybrids back home, but every time you thought about Namjoon your stomach turned from worry. Apparently you weren’t the only one.

“Hey Y/n?” The Bunny hybrid stood in front of your bedroom door holding his favorite black and blue pillow.

“Hey Kook”, you leaned against the headboard, getting a better look at him. He looked frazzled, like there was something on his mind. You know that look all too well. “Can’t sleep?”

He nodded, making his way to the unoccupied side of the bed. He laid down next to you, getting as close to you as he could while holding his pillow to his chest.

“Worried about Namjoon”, he whispered into his pillow. “Never been anywhere without him. Im scared…”

You gently removed the pillow from his chest, replacing it with your warmth. Jungkook immediately relaxed in your embrace, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. You felt like home- nice and warm. You were familiar to him, someone his could call his. Yes, he had the guys, but he grew up with them so it was different. The bond he built with you was new, and easy.

You placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, rubbing his back soothingly. “I know”, you whispered. You of all people know what it’s like to lose someone. You know the feeling of curiosity, the feeling of wondering where your person may be.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find him… I promise.”

You continued to rubbed Kook’s back, soothing him to sleep. There in the darkness, you both laid. It was quiet- serene.

“How did we get so lucky?” He murmured, eyelids fluttering on the brink of sleep. “What did we do to deserve you?”

He fell asleep before you could respond, before you could find the words to answer him. But his question kept you up all night, looking for the right words. How do you tell the person you just met that you’re falling? How do you explain to him that it’s you who was lucky enough to find seven incredibly selfless people.

“You deserve the world”, you whispered, finding comfort in his unconsciousness. “All of you do..”

“I love you. More than you know...”

***

You expected jungkook to be gone when you woke up, but there he was- still laid in your arms. He looked peaceful. Even with the cuts and bruises on his face, he was beautiful. And there it goes  again- butterflies in your stomach. It was a feeling you haven’t felt in a long time. The feeling was warm and comfortable, but also scary.

But you couldn’t lay in bed all day, admiring all of Jungkook’s features. The farm needed tending to, and breakfast needed to be made. When you went to sit up, a pair of hands quickly pulled you back down.

“Don’t leave yet”, he whispered, sending a shiver down your spine. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Kook”, you sighed, pretending to be irritated. “I’ve gotta go cook and feed the animals. You can come help if you want.”

He shook his head, pouting like a sad little kid. “Hobi already tended to the farm and Yoon made everyone breakfast. Now, lay down with me please.”

“Oh” was all you could say. You didn’t have any other excuse. The guys made sure of that. So you let him cuddle you, the way you did him. And for a while, you laid in his arms peacefully.

“You trust me tight?” Kook questioned.

“With my life”.

He scooted closer to you, putting his head in the crook of your neck. You could feel him breathing on you, making you nervous.

“Just trust me, okay?”

You nodded. “O-okay.”

Taking his sweet time, he placed gentle kisses from your neck to your ear. It had you squirming in anticipation, wondering where his lips would move to next.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now”, he breathed by your ear, running a hand up and down your waist. One hand made its way to your breast, messaging it through your night shirt. You gasp at the sudden feeling, giving him room to connect your lips with his. The kiss was soft and gentle, yet it still made you’re mind go blank. “Namjoon would loose his mind if he knew.”

You pushed away immediately after hearing his name. Namjoon, their pack leader. What would he think about the pack maknae comforting you in your bed? Your stomach turned just thinking about it.

“I should probably go check on the others, it’s a little too quiet”, you thought up an excuse, leaving a dumbfounded Jungkook in your bedroom.

***

As you walked down the creeky stairs, the aroma of pancakes and syrup surrounded you. When you entered the living room, four hybrids sitting on the couch devouring their plate.

“Oh! You’re awake!” Hoseok beamed. “Yoon thought we should wait for you to come down, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s okay”, you smiled. The smell of the morning breakfast was making your stomach growl. Jimin scooted to the edge of the couch, making some room for you to sit.

“Here, grab your plate and you can watch with us”, he offered. The Saturday cartoons were on, Tae’s favorite. Tom and Jerry always made him laugh, and don’t even get him started on road runner.

“Sorry, I can’t. Lots of farm work to do. But let’s play a game outside later!”

Jin, lying down on the other side of the couch, pointed a finger at Hoseok. “Hobi already did it! The silos are full and the chicken coops are clean! I fed the animals too!”

The stairs creaked once more. Jungkook, with his doe eyes and fluffy hair, entered the living room. “Good Morning”, he greeted in his raspy morning voice.

You could feel the butterflies again.

“You sure slept well, didn’t you?” Jimin smirked. “You might want to adjust your self, kook. It’s looking right at me.”

He glared at jimin. “What are you ta- Oh shit.”

If Jimin didn’t say anything, you would’ve never noticed, but now you can’t unsee it- the tent in the bunny hybrids pants. The others laughed at him while you blushed feverishly. 

“What were you dreaming about kookie?” Tae teased the youngest.

“More like who was he dreaming about?” Hobi joined in. You couldn’t even think straight. Instead of joining in the taunting banter, you decided to quietly grab a seat and try to wipe the red off your face.

But Jungkook wasn’t going to let you get away so easily.

“Blame Y/n! It’s her fault”, He exclaimed with his back turned adjusting himself. Suddenly all eyes shifted to your side of the couch, and you could no longer hide your embarrassment. And with the embarrassment was also shock.

“I- I didn’t! We never-“ You stuttered trying to find the right words. Was there any right way to explain how you made their pack mate hard? Probably not…

“You worry too much”, Kook huffed, slightly irritated. “You’re our family now. I’m as just as close to you as I am my pack. You practically are apart of us now!”

You tugged at the loose string on your shirt, eyes on the floor as if you had just been scolded. “But Namjoon-“

“Joon will come around eventually”, Jin interjected. “He knows where home is. He’ll make his way back to us soon.”

***

The room felt cold, ice cold. And even though he hadn’t opened his eyes yet, he already knew where he was.

“No! Please, Not again!” Joon begged, body trembling.

The men in white lab coats laughed. “You’re lucky you still alive. We can keep it that way, too! Just tell me where the others are and no one has to get hurt.”

Namjoon laid on the cold white floors, gripping the metal bars caging him in. If the bars weren’t there, everyone in the room would’ve been dead, by his hand. Just hearing the sinister laugh of the people who hurt his pack made him want to tear them into shreds.

“Fuck you!” He spat. He banged and beat on the cell bars, but It was no use. He couldn’t break them. And now he’s in a situation he cannot escape.

And now he’s silently calling you for help.

Please, he begged. Save me!

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