#hes never been more than an hours walk away even after the divorce

[jelreth]

ough .

[lanadelnegan]

Down Bad

Coach Negan x F!Reader

Song inspo: Down Bad by Taylor Swift 🤍

Summary: You confess your feelings to your gym coach and he shows you how he feels in return. Warnings: 18+, smut, p in v, slight choking, praise kink, age-gap (reader is 18, Negan is in his 40's)

You had stopped dressing out, stopped walking laps, and stopped giving a damn in general. You were graduating high school in a couple of weeks and that meant that you wouldn't see him again. Coach Negan had been your favorite teacher over the past four years, letting you get by doing the bare minimum while still giving you an A+ each semester.

He's been there for you through it all - Your major breakups, the start of your womanhood, even your parents divorce. When you told Negan about your dad leaving during your sophomore year, he became overly protective over you, like he was trying to fill that void in your life. It was clear to everyone that you were his favorite, and that didn't seem to bother Negan. But you wanted him in a deeper way, and it was starting to become more and more obvious to both of you. 

You turned down the volume on your earbuds when Negan sat next to you on the bleachers. The two of you watched the other students walking laps around the gym silently for a few moments before he spoke.

"You know I can't keep letting you get away with doing nothing, doll. It looks like favoritism."

"Isn't it, though?" You grinned, glancing at him with your arms crossed. He copied your body language, leaning back on the bleachers.

"That's beside the point." His jean covered knee rubbed against yours as he smirked. You sighed and his gaze softened. "Seriously, kid. What's up with you lately?"

You could feel your cheeks turning pink as you looked down at your phone, changing the song. Negan took an earbud out of your ear and held it up to his own, curious as to what you were listening to. 

"No wonder you're so down. This music is depressing as shit." He laughed before putting it back in your ear. 

"Maybe that's part of it." I shrugged. 

"Yeah? What's the other part?" He asked, resting his arm on the bleacher behind you and running his thumb over the back of your arm. Chills instantly spread over your skin and your legs discretely pressed together. At least, you thought you were discrete, but the smirk on his face and the way his eyes dropped to your thighs said otherwise.

"You know where to find me if you want to talk." He said, leaving you and heading to his office.

You sighed louder, dropping your head back after watching him disappear. The cologne trail he left behind filled your lungs and broke you at the same time. The thought of never seeing him again made you want to drop from the face of the earth.

You were in love with him. And you had been for awhile now, which would explain the crippling depression and lack of motivation. There was no way it could ever work between the two of you. He was old enough to be your father. He probably wasn't even attracted to you in that way, but you had built this fantasy world in your mind where the two of you could be together. You spent more time in that world than in reality, and music helped you get there.

The bell rang moments later, dismissing school for the day. You sat still, watching the others file out of the gym like they couldn't wait to leave. And here you were, glued to the bleachers like you wanted to stay forever. 

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you gathered your things and went to Negan's office. You'd been there numerous times throughout the past four years. He kept it unlocked and stayed at least an hour after dismissal. You knocked lightly, waiting for his permission before entering.

"Well, that was quick." Negan smiled, showing his pretty teeth while motioning for you to sit in the chair in front of his desk. His arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair and studied you, completely ignoring whatever he was busy with before.

"Sorry, I know you're busy.." You began.

"Never too busy for you, sweetheart. You ready to talk about what's been on your mind?

"Maybe." You began, sounding unsure and feeling sick. This was a bad idea. 

"Maybe? We talk all the damn time, kid. What's different this time?" 

"I think I'm.. in love with this guy.. who probably has no clue. It's embarrassing." 

"You told me about the time you lost your virginity for fuck's sake. We've had these talks before. Why is it embarrassing?"

You felt your cheeks burning, remembering how you sobbed in this same chair a year ago when your first love broke your heart. 

"Because if you knew who, you'd probably never speak to me again." You said, unable to look at him.

Negan tilted his head curiously, holding back a grin. "Doubt it, kid. Try me."

"Okay, well, he's older. A lot older." You glanced at him.

"Okay." Negan nodded. "So he doesn't go here."

"Well, he sort of does.. He's um, not a student though." You felt lightheaded like you could faint any second.

He sighed. "A teacher?"

"Is.. that.. awful?" You asked, cringing at how ridiculous you must sound.

"It will be... if it's not me." He stood, walking around his desk and leaning against it when he stopped in front of you.

"And if it is?" You asked, looking up at him.

"It fucking better be. Come here." He said in almost a whisper. You stood instantly and he moved out of the way, nodding his head towards the desk that he was just leaning on, silently telling you to sit. 

He stepped between your legs, lifting them slightly as he pulled you forward to the very edge of the desk. Your clothed pussy was pressed against the bulge in his jeans and the friction made you wetter by the second. You tried to control your visible shaking.

"Since we're confessing things now, there's something you should know too." He said, thrusting forward. "I've thought about fucking your little pussy every day since you turned 18. How it would taste, how it would feel wrapped around my cock, how you would sound screaming my name. Is that awful?"

"Negan.."

"Oh and, if if wasn't obvious already.. I'm fuckin' crazy about you, too." He grinned.

You pressed your lips to his and felt his smile widen as he kissed you back. He took the lead, deepening the kiss as his hands explored you further. He lifted your shirt over your head and tossed it to the side while his gaze lingered over your chest. His fingers fumbled with the clasp of your bra before sliding it off your arms.

"So fucking perfect." He practically moaned before dipping down and wrapping his mouth around your perky nipple. He teased the other one too before coming back up to capture your lips again. His movements became quicker, and you became more confident, running your hands up his back underneath his shirt. He stood back just enough to take off his shirt and you admired his hairy, tattooed chest, seeing it for the first time. Your gaze followed the happy trail under his belly button to the hair peeking out of his low-hanging jeans.

"If this it too fast, you can tell me, baby. We don't have to rush." 

"No." You said too quickly. "...I want this."

"Good." He grinned, kissing you again as he began unbuttoning your jeans. You couldn't believe this was happening. You were so lost in the moment when a knock on the door made you both freeze. Negan dropped his head, clearly annoyed. "Yeah?!"

"Coach, can I -" 

The door opened and you covered yourself with your hands as well as you could, although Negan's body blocked most of yours. Negan didn't flinch. Instead, he calmly turned his head and stared at the student at the door. "Did I fucking say you could come in?"

"N-no sir." He stuttered nervously before leaving and closing the door behind him. 

"Negan!" You said panicked. "He could tell someone. You could lose your job." 

"So be it, doll. Nothing is getting in my way of this." He said softly, lifting you slightly to remove your jeans and panties. He slipped them off your ankles and spread your legs, admiring your glistening lips.

"Goddamn girl, you are perfect." He leaned down to lick you once and you whimpered at the quick loss of his tongue.

"Don't worry baby, we have all the time in the world for that. Right now? I need to be buried inside you. That okay?" He asked, unzipping his jeans and pulling out his completely hard cock. He was long, thick and much bigger than your previous boyfriend.

You nodded desperately. "Yes, yes, Negan, please."

He slid into you with one deep motion, doing just as he said - burying himself inside you. It was so deep it made your jaw drop slightly.

"Fuuuuuck sweetheart. You feel fucking incredible." His forehead pressed against yours and he began thrusting into you at a steady pace. Blood rushed to your cheeks at how amazing it felt.

"Lay back for me." He said, lightly pushing you to lay flat on your back on the desk. He remained inside of you and pulled you closer until your ass was just hanging off the edge. He placed your ankles on his shoulders as he plowed into you, hitting an even deeper spot than before. Tears filled your eyes at the sensation and you covered your mouth, trying not to scream.

"Uncover that pretty mouth, baby. I want everyone in this goddamn school to hear how good I'm making you feel." Your hands dropped to your sides and you let go, moaning loudly without caring.

"Fuck baby. Look at that." He said, looking down at your body. You lifted your head to look down and your eyes widened at the sight of his cock repeatedly protruding your stomach. You both watched in awe, breathing heavily as his thrusts became faster. His large hands gripped your waist, rubbing his thumbs over the bulge in your belly.

"Negan! Feels so good." You cried.

"I know baby, I know. Fuck." He groaned, pulling out of you, only to flip you over. You turned your head to the side, laying your cheek on the cold desk as he pulled your hips closer to him. He helped you wrap your legs around his waist as he pushed himself back into you, pulling on your thighs as he fucked you harder than before. Your chest pressed painfully against the desk but the sensation didn't compare to the bruising he was giving your cervix.

He allowed your legs to drop to the floor, leaving you in a position bent over his desk. Gripping your hair, he pulled you back and leaned over to meet you until his mouth attached to your neck. He bit down on the sensitive skin next to your shoulder while fucked you.

"This little pussy is mine now. Say it." He demanded, his voice in your ear sending chills through your body.

"It's yours, Negan! Only yours."

He chuckled, reaching around and instantly finding your clit. He rubbed his middle finger over it in circles while his other hand wrapped around your throat with the perfect amount of pressure. You tried to moan when you felt your orgasm approaching, but his hand around your throat stopped them from escaping and left your mouth silently gaping open.

Your eyes fluttered shut and your ears started to ring when it hit you - warm juices flooded his cock and dripped down your inner thighs as you moaned his name over and over.

"Thaaaaat's it, y/n. Good girl." He said the last part with a growl, letting go of your throat and turning you quickly. "Knees, now."

You eagerly obeyed him, dropping down and sticking out your tongue to catch his load. He looked down at you while stroking his cock and you closed your eyes, feeling it shoot across your face in warm, pulsating waves. He grunted louder with each one, until every drop was out of him and on your face.

"And here I thought you couldn't get any prettier, baby." He said, cupping your face and admiring you. You both cleaned up, using the tissue on his desk.

"Negan.. that was.. everything. But seriously, I'm worried about him someone finding out."

"Don't, it doesn't matter, doll. I already gave them my notice."

"Wh-what do you mean?" You asked, pulling your pants up.

"It's my last year here. I got an offer to coach basketball at UGA." He said proudly, smiling at you while pulled his shirt back over his head.

You were speechless for a moment. "Negan.. are you serious?! That's where I'm going."

He walked over, pulling you in for a kiss. "Exactly."

ily: @loganlostitall @chaospossum @negansbabydoll66 @redqueenphoenix @n3g5nx @crustyweirdo @youngpersonaathletebear @sadgirlzluvdilfs @ilovebill-and-gustav @neganscumbucket @manipulatorpoem @im-a-goddamn-cat @raininhell @mahogany-cherry-wine @daryldixmedown @munsonslovergirl @sanctuaryforthelost @thelauraborealis @carlgrimesbbg @c3linesworld @blueheisenbergtragedy @startwinklekitty @darlingmadelinee @oceandeepthirst @jschlattsqtip @lavenderchai @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @neganswoman @n7crophiliac @cats-writing @alldevilsarehere90 @natykacenka @queermilfs @stasiaangelsinner @lupa-03 @sadgirlzluvdilfs @pamago-bb @javier-penas-wifexx420 @motelprincess444 @thatonefroggirl @myhappyplaceofstuff @darlingmadelinee @used2beee @easystreet07 @princess-23-xoxo @twdxtrevor @dilfsandmartinis @sarahhxx03 @minaxcarter @kukka-roo @rinsdesires @6kaja9 @sasiiik9174 @fanficwriter5 @theoraekenslover @lunajay33

[dreamescapeswriting]

Stray Kids Reaction || He Throws His Wedding Ring [Hyung Line] [Mafia Edition]

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - February 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of blood, killing, sex trafficking (not involving the reader) murder and fighting.

CHAN:

You couldn't even remember how the argument had and now you and Chan were standing in his living room staring at one another. Your breathing was rapid as you fought back the tears that were threatening to spill.

"Chan, I can't do this anymore. This life, the constant worrying and danger...Secrets...Not knowing if you're going to come home or not." You were exhausted from fighting with him, it had been going on for hours now and it felt as though he was never going to see your point of view behind this.

"This is who I am, Yn. You knew that when we got married, I can't just walk away from this."

"I didn't sign up for a life where I'm constantly worried if you'll come home alive! Or worried that someone will grab me!" You sniffled a little tears streaming down your cheeks.

"I want a normal life, a family without the fear of losing you every fucking day!" You finally yelled out but Chan scoffed at you like you were a child talking back to him.

"Normal? You think we can just walk away from this and be a normal couple?" He stared you down and shook his head at you, 

"It's not that simple. I have responsibilities, they won't just let us go." He grumbled at you, pouring himself a drink from the mini bar in the living room as you stared at the back of his head.

"Responsibilities?! Chan, you have a responsibility to me, you know...your wife! I won't be a widow before I'm at least 80!" You yelled at him finally losing your last bit of patience.

"You'll always put this life above me...Won't you?" You questioned, waiting for him to tell you that was crazy and that he loved you more than that,

"You knew when you married me that this was our life. Don't go trying to change the rules now." He downed the glass in one and you stared at him, the tears finally stopping as you felt nothing but anger for him now.

"Then maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I never should have married a man who thinks throwing his life away is honourable," The words flew from your lips before you had a chance to process them and the air turned thick and silent. You swore you could hear the faucet in the kitchen dripping, that's how quiet it was in the home now.

Chan silently twisted the ring around his finger before slipping it off and hurling it across the room, the ring clattered against the wall and onto the floor,

"There, happy now?! Is that what you wanted?!" He screamed at you, and your eyes searched him for any sign of your once-happy husband, the one you wanted to spend your life with.

"No, Chan. I wanted a husband, not some mafia boss..." You slowly slid the ring off your own finger and placed it down onto the coffee table,

"I can't sit here night after night waiting for that phone call to tell me you're not coming home." You wiped the tears from your face and walked toward the front door, Chan didn't stop you he just stared down at the wedding ring on the floor, the weight of his choices crushing him down onto the floor.

It had been two days since the huge blowout with Chan and you'd been hiding out in one of your friend's places for those two days, no phone or tracker for Chan to find you with which was why it was surprising to find him waiting for you at the door.

"What are you doing here?"

"Kat called," You scoffed a little, she'd been threatening to do it but you never thought she would. Whatever happened to the girl code?

"I'm not interested in fighting anymore. If you send divorce papers I'll sign, I don't want anything." You explained as you moved around him, unlocking the front door to head inside. You'd been apart and it killed you but anything was better than worrying every day about whether he was alive or not.

"Yn." He called out but you shook your head at him,

"You can keep everything,"

"I have nothing." The words stopped you in your tracks as you slowly turned to face him,

"What?"

"I walked away. Not without consequences but I did." It was then you noticed the sling around his arm, within seconds you were by his arm and inspecting it.

"It's just a minor break," He whispered as you stared up at him,.

"You walked away?" You whispered in shock, staring down at the ring that was back on his finger.

"Given the choice between that life and the love of my life? I needed to." He held out your wedding ring and you stared into his eyes, the mafia life was everything to him,

"But-"

"I'll still work for them but mostly low-level stuff...You're looking at a desk boy." He said proudly to you, it hurt his ego but he'd rather be chained to a desk than risk losing you. You slipped your ring back on before throwing your arms around Chan and hugging him tightly.

MINHO:

The living room was thick with tension as you paced back and forth in front of Minho who lounged on the sofa with a sombre look on his face but it only made you more frustrated to look at him.

"You promised me," You seethed out, shaking your head at him.

"You promised me that you were done with this...Done with all of the killing." You gestured to his shirt which was drenched in blood and then looked at his face. Streaks of blood and skin were dripping down his face as you felt the bile in your throat beginning to come up again. He'd walked through the door all nonchalant thinking you weren't home today only to find you waiting for him,

"I did what needed to be done, Yn!" He didn't yell or scream he just sighed at you. He thought he might have been able to get away with it if he could get home before you and shower before you had a chance to see him. 

Sure he would have been lying to you but anything was better than getting into a fight with you over the same thing you always thought over.

"You told me things were going to change once I got pregnant," Your sight began to blur from the tears that were building up,

"You said you wanted our child to have a father but look at you!" You gestured once again to the state of him,

"If our child sees this what are they going to think!?" You yelled and threw your hands up in frustration. All of this was supposed to stop once you got pregnant, he promised he'd take a step back and leave the dirty work to his minions. 

"You think it's easy for me?!" He finally screamed, getting up from the sofa and staring you down.

"Do you actually think I enjoy living like this?! Killing people?! Sometimes there is no other choice!" He yelled at you, your eyes unblinking as you stared at him.

"There's always a choice! You could have found another way." You grumbled at him, you were sick of this fight. Every time it was the same, he'd promise to stop killing only to pick it back up a few days later.

"I won't raise our child in his environment, Minho. I won't let him grow up to think it's normal to kill people in order to get what he wants."

"Yn. It wasn't to get what I wanted."

"No? Then what was it? He looked at you wrong? Flirted with me?" You listed off all the excuses he'd given to you before and Minho finally snapped, pulling off his ring and throwing it across the room. It skittered across the floor coming to a stop at your feet.

"Whatever. You want something so normal, go on and try it." With that he walked out, slamming the door behind him as you stared down at the wedding band on the floor. Something that had once been a symbol of your commitment to one another now meant nothing as it sat there.

"Changbin told me everything." You told Minho as you sat in the hospital waiting room together. It was deserted since Minho would never let anyone be alone with you,

"Hmm." He answered blandly, staring down at the floor. It had been a week since your fight and despite living in the same house you'd barely spoken a word to one another.

"Why didn't you tell me he was a sex trafficker."

"Would it have made a difference?" He slowly turned his head to look at you, your eyes were already staring into his as you nodded at him,

"Yes."

"I only kill who I have to. It's not something I do for fun." He admitted, his voice shaking a little. It wasn't as though it didn't affect him, he was taking another person's life which twisted him up in a way.

"I try and limit what I have to do myself but sometimes I have to do it." He told you with tears running down his cheeks, you nodded a little before kissing his cheek and squeezing his hand in yours.

"I understand,"

"I won't bring work home with me...Please, just don't leave." He begged, Minho wasn't the type to beg anybody for anything and you nodded.

"Wouldn't dream of it," You whispered before kissing him once more.

CHANGBIN:

You stared at Changbin from across the table with an unimpressed look on your face, Changbin had sweat dripping down his forehead as he glanced down at his phone for the time again.

"This was supposed to be our night," You were pissed at him, you wanted to yell at him for standing you up but you were in such an upscale restaurant you couldn't even do that.

"A simple dinner date and you couldn't even make it on time." You mumbled at him, 

"I got held up. Business came up." Changbin answered as if it made the whole thing better

"Business always comes up. I'm tired of being second best to your business." As you spoke Changbin took out his phone clearly not listening to you as he began texting with someone, probably one of his men if you knew him well enough by now.

"It's not like I enjoy this but it's the life I have." He shrugged his shoulders as you stared at him, his head still in his phone, he didn't even see the tears rolling down your cheeks in a silent cry. 

It seemed that was all you ever did lately when it came to your relationship, you'd be left crying while he pretended he didn't notice or maybe he didn't even notice, you didn't know anymore.

"We're drifting apart, Binnie. You're never here and I need more." Your voice broke as you spoke to him, your frustration getting the better of you.

"I knew who you were when we got married but I didn't sign up to be stood up, or for anniversaries and birthdays to be missed." You'd finally broken, he'd missed so much of married life you weren't even sure you could count each other as a married couple. 

"I want a life with you, not one where I'm always waiting for you to show up and magically decide I'm worthy that day." Changbin stared down at the ring on his finger before he twisted it, throwing it onto the table and gaining attention from nearby diners.

"Maybe you're right. I can't give you what you need." Was all he said before storming off, leaving you to stare down at the ring on the table as people around you muttered about what had happened.

"You know this is getting a little exhausting," Changbin told you as he followed you from the car to the house just like he had been doing every day since the night he'd given you his wedding ring back.

"I want a divorce." You told him plainly as you headed into the house you once had called home and he followed swiftly. 

"You know you can't walk away. I've been trying, Yn."

"I'm not interested in you trying anymore Changbin, I'm tired of never being put first..." Your voice trailed to a stop as you walked into the living room, there must have been thousands of your favourite flowers around the living room in vases and different arrangements.

"A thousand and one flowers...To make up for the dates I missed." He explained once he saw you trying to work out how many there were.

"W-What?" You stuttered a little walking toward them and running your hands on them to make sure that they were real.

"I missed too many to count so a thousand and one seemed fitting." He shrugged his shoulders and you turned around to stare at him.

"You didn't miss anywhere near a thousand." You laughed weakly and he stood in front of you, running his hand gently over your cheek as he stared down into your eyes,

"I won't miss a single one again...If you'll take me back." You wanted to, more than anything but it was going to take a lot more than flowers to make up for all of the time you'd lost together.

"It's going to take more than some-"

"I know." He told you with a smirk on his lips,

"And you're going to have to show me change." He planned on it, he had a plan in place for everything he was going to do.

"I know."

"And I- I wanted to go out regularly, once a week." You told him, right now Changbin would have given you whatever you wanted and one date a week sounded too easy on him in his eyes,

"Okay." He smiled at you,

"Okay?" You frowned as he smirked down at you.

"Yes, okay. Now will you let me kiss you?" You went to speak but it was quickly stopped as Changbin kissed you deeply.

HYUNJIN:

You couldn't believe it was coming down to this, you stared at your husband as he stared back at you with a scowl on his face clearly unamused by what was happening but you were tired of all of this. Tired and hurt about second guessing where you fell in Hyunjin's life.

"I need to know..." Your voice came out shakey as you stared at him,

"Do you even love me anymore?" You finished before he scoffed at you, downing the glass of whiskey he'd been nursing and shaking his head at you.

"What kind of question is that? Of course, I do." It wasn't a silly question, it was something you'd been agonising over for weeks now, months even.

"Your actions say otherwise." You scoffed, staring at him as he poured himself another glass and began to slowly nurse it as you stared at him.

"You're always so caught up in your business and I'm always here wondering if I even matter to you."

"This is the life of a mafia wife Yn. You knew that when you married me." You did, which was a fair point but he'd shown you that while it was a lot of waiting for him it was supposed to be a lavish lifestyle the two of you could share. You couldn't even remember the last time you'd gone out together that wasn't an obligation to the both of you.

"I didn't sign up to be a in loveless marriage! You promised me it would be in sickness and in health, for better or worse." He drank from his glass before pouring a third one for the night, usually two were his cut off so you knew you were getting under his skin a little and if that's what it took for him to see your point then you didn't care.

"I need more than lavish gifts from you every now and again and empty promises that we'll do something eventually."

"I take you out." He defended angrily but you didn't back down. There hadn't been a real date since you got married to one another, everything else was parties you had to be seen at or charity events you couldn't miss.

"To your stupid parties where your presence is required. You never take me somewhere we want to go."

"You don't think I provide for you!? Is that it?!" He finally yelled, losing his patience with you. Hyunjin adored you, practically worshipped the ground you walked on and for you to suggest otherwise was a knife to his chest,

"No-"

"I work like a dog, day and night and I give you everything you could ever possibly need in life!" He shouted out, not meaning to shout at you but he'd snapped that last bit that was holding him back,

"I don't NEED material things, I need you! I need your love! I need your presence!" You yelled at him.

"You know what I feel when we go out to your parties?" He doesn't answer you, instead, he stares down at the liquid in his glass that is burning his throat,

"I feel like a fucking trophy on your arm, something you can show off as the "Ha I got her" look." You started down at the wedding ring on his finger. Hyunjin had no idea you felt that way, his heart broke a little as he stared back at you, how could he have not seen it before?

"If you love me, then show it. Actions speak louder than words." In a fit of frustration, Hyunjin takes the ring off his finger and hurls it onto the table, the metal echoing around the room.

"You don't love me." You barely whispered before walking out of the room,

You'd walked out on him two weeks ago and since then he'd been nothing but sweet to you, showing up every day to walk you to work and bring you lunch.

"Why are you doing all this?" You asked as you stared at the picnic that was on your office floor.

"I'm starting again." He told you as if it explained everything he'd been doing for the last two weeks.

"What?" You slowly sat down on the floor noticing that everything he had was all of your favourite foods.

"You said actions speak louder than words. I'm starting from the beginning with you, more dates, more time together." He held out a glass for you and you took it from him,

"To new beginnings." Your eyes stared down at his hand as you noticed the ring was back in its rightful place.

"New beginnings." You said, clinking your glass with his and smiling a little. Maybe it wasn't the best way to start again but if it was him truly trying to change you were going to give it your best shot.

@chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @toplinehyunjin @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @just-aelia @choisoorin @straykids5star @midnightfrog625 @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @halesandy @junhannies @gothic4under4lord @lixie-phoria @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lensfilm @elizaschuyler18 @piratequeen-impact @kpopsstuffs @chaeyoungs @delulu18 @xyahrinx @katsukis1wife @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @blairscott @4-chan-inpadella @niktwazny303 @moonlight-the-writer @armystay89 @hadassahchan @yxngbxkkie @myyouthdonut @extrhotjne @ca11me3mily @elissasimp @xakx @sleepb @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @kpopmenace143 @minhosify @loveforred @b1nn1e-1s-cut3

[theultimatedilflover]

Mr. Donaldson.

Tw:

use of ‘y/n.’, plot with smut, p in v, begging, riding mdni.

Summary:

He’s a dilf. He’s divorced. He wants you. He’s miserable. He pathetic. Even though he’s a grown man, Some big shot athlete, he still wants a sweet little thing like you to baby him. God he’s so hot. (I’m now reading this and realizing this low key is a sequel prequel to my jealousy story.)

Art is a divorced man. Well.. at least he was. But he doesn’t even consider himself one anymore. Why? He doesn’t think about her now that he has you.

He met you at one of his matches. You were a pretty big fan so of course, whenever he was doing an event afterwards where he is signing autographs, you ask for one. Holding out an old looking poster of his. He grabs the sharpie and slowly looks up at you. Subtly doing a double take. “How are you doing this evening?” He asks while giving you a purse lips smile. You smile back. “I’m doing fine thank you.” You say. You grab the poster and thank him before walking away. Of course he put his number down for you. How could he not? You looked so sweet. He wanted to at least try. Especially after having such a rude wife. Sorry tashi. He thinks to himself like she could still hear him. And after days go past of you not texting or calling due to being nervous or just overthinking. ‘What if he put it down my accident?’ And ‘what if he’s to busy’ and ‘he’s already forgotten about me. It would be embarrassing to say who I am and for him not to remember me.’ You think. But your body moves faster than your brain, picking up the phone and dialing the number. “Hello?” He asks on the other side of the phone. “Hi.” You say. Embarrassed. Blushing. Shocked that he picked up. “Who is this?” He asks with a grin. But he has an idea of who it is.

You guys meet up for coffee. Well… not really. He is too famous to be out and about with another girl. Not for him to brag or anything but there are some real tennis nerds out there who happen to be psychos. So he invites you over to his house. Asking you if you want coffee when you get inside and sit down. You look up at him and gently mutter. “Tea?” You ask. Causing him to smile warmly. He nods. He jerks his head towards the kitchen, silently saying. “Come with me.” You get up off the couch and follow him. You guys get a simple introduction down. But then he starts to ask questions like he’s actually interested in you. “What’s your favorite color?” “Do you like gold or silver more?” “What’s your favorite movie?” “Your into tennis?” (That one he asks like he’s shocked.) “how come you don’t have a boyfriend.. or girlfriend?” He asks while sipping his coffee. And you enjoy answering the questions. After a while you see the sun begin to set. ‘Noo.. I couldn’t have been here for that long it’s only been..’ you look down at your watch. ‘5 hours?’ You think to yourself. You guys wrap things up. He walked you outside and waved goodbye as you drove off.

This happens more and more. It begins to be once a week. Than a few times a week. Than everyday. But this day seems different. The tension is other worldly right now and it doesn’t help how both of your guys days were boring so now there’s nothing to talk about. You stare at him. He’s flushed. How could a grown man be embarrassed right now? He’s avoiding eye contact with you. You stand up and straddle him. Sinking down onto his lap as he swallows. He’s shocked at how non innocent you are. “This is ok?” You whisper in his ear and he immediately nods. “I can’t hear you..” you smile. “Y—yes..” he breaths out shakily as you shift on his lap. “Please just ride me..” he whimpers out while looking down at your guys denim pants brushing against eachother. “Please..” he whines while looking up at you. Your shocked. You’ve never seen him like this. And you enjoy it. He can see that you’re shocked. He doesn’t care. He wants to be vulnerable with you. He wants to spoil you and in return be fucked until the sun rises. Of course he thinks you would look adorable underneath him but he can’t think of that right now since he’s imagining your cute palm wrapped around his length. He watches as you begin to grind on him. Nodding while licking his lips. “I-I’m wet..” you mutter after a while. His eyes widen. He nods while tapping your ass. “Take these off?” He asks. You nod while getting up and shifting out of your pants. He watches you. Doing the same. Your jeans pool at your ankle and you trip trying to get them fully off. Into his lap of course. You straddles him. And he can feel the wet patch of your underwear. “You’re wet..” he reminds you. Like you don’t already know. You nod. “What are you gonna do about it?” He asks. Slowly looking up at you with pleading eyes. You kiss him. Sloppily. He whines in your mouth. You begin to nip at his neck. Leaving little love bites. You reach your hand into his boxers and palm it. He lets out a shaky exhale. “Mm..hm..” he mewls when you begin to trace your palm over his length. “Sit on it..” he begs out airily. So you do just that. Getting him out of his boxers and sinking down into his length. Struggling. And you swear to the lord you feel him get harder when he watches you struggle. He grabs your hips and helps you down to his base. You whine. Exhaling when you do so. You go back up just to sink back down. He whimpers. But what you do is way more fun. You go back up. This time only sinking down half way. Then back up. Then the tip. Then back up. Then halfway. Then back up. Just to the point where you’re simply only taking the tip. He whines. “Please..” he moans. “God I need this so much y/n. I need you.” He grumbles into the crook of your neck. Tracing his hands up and down. “Please?” He says while pulling away from your neck and looking up at you. You nod while sinking back down. He moans.

You leave the house the next morning absolutely shocked. Your hair messy. Your clothes messy. You’re half way back to your house when you realized you left your panties. You groan. You get into the house and detox with a shower. Still stunned at the time you had last night. And you enjoyed it? Usually that would be a turn off for you. Begging? Yuck. But something about how cute he looks underneath you begging to be fucked just has you going. And there were times in the night where you were tired and he wasn’t. So he took control. Kissing your neck and whispering how beautiful you are. God you wish you didn’t have to fall for such a mess. I mean. He was put together. Well he looked put together. But that’s the thing about him being vulnerable last night. He showed you his side that’s a mess. He must have trauma from his ex wife. His daughter taken away from him, only seeing her once a month. But why you? What would a miserable tennis player want to do with you? Art yawns after his shower. Stretching. Itching his tummy like a cat. His lips doing that thing when he has a normal face on. You know that thing. Where they’re straight but his smile lines appear since his mouth is so wide. He walks into the bedroom and sees a cute little pair of Victoria secret thongs. He does a double take and flushed. Walking over to them whilst holding his towel around his waist. He bends down and picks them up. Examining them. He smiles. His cheeks red. A lustful look in his eyes. That’s when he keeps them. Putting them in his nightstand. Tucked in there with his glasses and a book he enjoys reading. And he struts out of his bedroom pridefully, knowing he has a treat waiting for him later tonight. You get out of the shower and dress. He hasn’t called you. And you’re ok with that. Going on with your day. It hits 4:00 and he still hasn’t called you. You forget it. You lay in bed. And he calls you. Apologizing for not calling you sooner. He was busy. Got caught up with tennis shit. He sounds really sorry over the phone even though it doesn’t bother you that much. “I’m sorry baby I’ll make it up to you.” And that’s when that little pet name hits you. God. You guys are dating. Well technically it’s not official. But you guys are seeing each other.

Months go past where you guys see eachother. Not always getting it on. Sometimes just sleeping skin to skin. Whispering to each other. Kissing eachother. But that’s when he says “I love you..” he whispers. And you could swear that you see tears well up. “I love you too..” you say back.

Another month passes when he brings up you move in. And you agree. He enjoys that you’ve moved in. Seeing you everywhere around the house when you’re gone. Obviously not there but he now sees items that you own in his house that remind him of you. There’s pros and cons of when you’re not home. Obviously he misses you and practically waits at the door like a goddamn dog when you’re gone. Then again, he also loves reaching into your panty drawer and grabbing his favorite ones. Burying his face in them while he strokes himself. He should feel like a creep for doing such horror but he’s so inlove with you. Obsessed with you. He could bathe in your sweat and he wouldn’t care. In fact he would probably prefer it over regular water. And when you do come home he’s there waiting. Already hard. You can see the outline through his sweatpants. So you sit down on the couch with him and slither down to your knees in front of him. Sucking him. He’s whining. Mewling as you lick the slit. Squeezing his balls. Teasing him. “Please.. please.. make me come honey I missed you so much.”

This life was amazing. And you loved him. You loved buying lingerie for yourself and watching his eyes widen. His cheeks flush. You loved teasing him. Edging him. Making him wait. He loved it as well. You loved making him shutter with pleasure.

But one day you come home and he isn’t waiting for you. Not sitting on the couch patiently. Not in the room trying to make himself look busy. Not using the bathroom. Not in the kitchen, cooking something. gone. So you think “maybe he went on a quick grocery run.” But after 2-3 hours he doesn’t come back. You call him. “I’m running late baby I’ll be right home.” He says when he answered almost immediately. And after 20 minutes you bet he’s barreling through that door with sweat all over him. Muscles sore. And a bouquet of tulips for you. You get up off the couch and hug him. Wearing his t shirt. “For you.” He then hands the flowers to you. You smile at his softness. Putting them in a vase. “You’re sweet.” You say. “I’m sorry. Intrusive thoughts won. I went on a run.” He says. You nod. “It’s ok.” You say walking back over to him. Leaning up and kissing him. “No no no, let me shower.” He says reluctantly pulling off of you. “No no no, I like your sweat. Please don’t shower..” you say. He smiles lifting you and taking you to the bedroom.

You rode him til the break of dawn. Fucking him over and over again. He’s shuttering with overstimulation. “Good boy.” You cooed. But after hours you got tired and he would get a boost of energy. Pumping into you. “I want you to have my babies. God you would look so sexy with a Donaldson baby.” He whimpers. And you guys tumble after hours of going at it. Sleeping next to each other.

[allurilove]

I don't know if you accept application but please yandare lover x reader where reader is married and yandere is "the other".

This is bit of a short one, I’m so sorry! I’ve been playing this new game called WutheringWaves and I’ve been grinding for six hours already. 😭

Yandere Lover x you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Synopsis: You’re already married— well stuck in one. Your relationship turns for the worst, but thankfully there is a more-than-nice neighbor across the street.

He’s had his eye on you when he moved into the quiet neighborhood, and unbeknownst to him, he never thought it would lead him to having blood on his hands.

He went door to door, being gracious and polite while he introduced himself to his neighbors. He’s been wanting to live in a tight-knit community, and his last residence was quite… horrible? The loud music, constant partying, and it was his fault for living near a college. He sighed as he walked up the white steps, his hand forming a fist and he knocked on your door.

When he first saw you, you took his breath away. You reached out to shake his hand, and he had to hold himself back from kissing it right there and then. He was hoping you would be single, but then he saw your partner come down the stairs.

Your partner isn’t a good person. He would know that. He could see how to tense up around him, how easily you got annoyed, and he could tell that your relationship was on the rocks. There was no love between you as you two wished him farewell, and he walked back to his house with the cookies you handed him. He took a bite of the treat—his tongue tasting the icing on top.

He came over often. Especially when you and your spouse had an argument, and he watched from his house when your partner got into their car and drove away. Every step to your house felt right, it was like he was on the pathway to your heart, and also to your legs. He’s not gonna call you “easy.” But a couple flirtatious words and banter, and you were already pressing him against the wall to kiss him. He kissed you back with eagerness, his hand gripping your hair, and the other one trailed down to grope your ass.

You led him to the bedroom, your hand already have pulled down his pants so he followed you with his cock out. It stood straight up for you, and you pushed him down onto the bed. He watched you straddle him and the rest was history.

He jumped out of the bed after cuddling with you, his hair sticking to his face because of the sweat, and he quickly put his clothes on as he heard the front door slam. He gave you one last kiss before he had to crawl out of your window, and now he was on your roof. He stood still, not wanting to get caught by your significant other as they busted through your bedroom. He could hear you two bickering and he tiptoed off your roof before he hopped down onto the ground. He trips because of his damn pants falling down, and he groaned as he scraped his knee.

He tells himself that will be the last time he fucks around with a married person.

So, he’ll try to convince you to divorce your partner.

You were in his car that was parked at an empty lot, and his hand was already caressing your thigh. He knew you were the one for him. While he loves and cherish every fleeting moment, and quick hookups, he wants to be with you for life.

“You don’t even like them anymore? Right?” Your lover asked, his voice was strained, and he was so upset that you didn’t look at him.

“What’s wrong with me? I’m actually here for you every night, and when they scream and break your heart— I’m there!”

“I’m always there! I’m here for you.”

He leaned in closer, his lips quickly kissing yours as if he was scared that you’ll slip through his fingers. “What’s with the change of heart?”

“All of a sudden you’re gonna toss me to the side??”

You never said anything that night. You decided to just sleep with him one last time before you try to fix your marriage. He saw how you were out of it, not because he fucked you so well, but because you were thinking. And he didn’t like that you had other people on your mind.

He grew tense as he saw you hold hands with your partner. You two were working on your relationship, actually meeting with a counselor, and he sat in his car to see if it was successful or not. And to his surprise…you two started to kiss and when you pulled back— your “lover” saw the shimmer in your eyes. That’s how you used to look at him, you used to look at him like that whenever you came, and you looked at him like that when you tried to convince him to sleep with you again and again and again. Those cute pouty lips, and the fluttering of the eyelashes— are reserved for just him and him only.

He started to devise a plan. He wrote down the times your partner left for work, when they came back, where they frequently went too, and who is in their immediate circle. So far they are a total dud that does next to nothing. Great.

He huffed as he’s been following your partner for hours. All they have been doing is texting on their phone and walking around aimlessly.

Fuck they are boring. What did you even see in them to lock them down?

Finally they came to a stop, probably flying off a quick email again, and all is a sudden he heard creaking. It sounded like it came from above. He slowly looked up to see an AC unit that was installed in the window, and his eyes widened as he saw it be pushed out. He managed to dodge the attack, and the machine breaks apart as it landed on your partners head. Their skull cracked right open, and the body laid flat onto the ground.

He panicked, looking around to see if anyone saw what happened, and he took a couple steps back. He saw the blood seep out, and shit he didn’t want to be seen with a dead body of all things!

He turned around and ran.

And guess who was comforting you at the funeral? He was. He had to hide his smug smile as you cried on his shoulder, he said some comforting words in your ear, and he rubbed your back soothingly. He felt a sense of triumph as he passed the casket.

It’s not like he could’ve saved your significant other. It’s not like he had time to push them away. It wasn’t like he was the one that threw it at them.

Right?

Allure: Lol im gonna go back to playing games and suffering while studying! see yall later!

[pedgito]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄 | Dave York x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Dave was the exception to your rule, fortunately. But, he still wanted to do things the right way, his way.

author's note | @pr0ximamidnight is partially responsible for this, constantly feeding me ideas and tiktoks, which birthed this baby.

content warning | 18+ smut, divorced!dave, soft-ish!dave, age gap (unspecified), dating apps, g*n play (consensual), oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, this has an unnecessary amount of backstory, i wrote this during gremlin hours don't judge me

word count —6k

They never make it past the third date. Ever.

Except for Dave.

You’ll give him credit where it was due–he was older, wiser, and more charming than any man who you’ve swept right for on these awful dating apps you’ve tried out in the past year. And by an even crazier chance, you had met him in person; a run-in at a coffee shop that would have usually ended in one of you spilling coffee on the other, but actually ended in him stealing your drink and you his own. 

He’d only been halfway paying attention when they called out the order instead of the name, subconsciously assuming he was next, he had swiped it up without a thought and left you dumbstruck and being slid a black coffee with a look of apology from the barista who knew he had just walked off with your drink.

Usually, you would brush it off. Spend another fifteen minutes waiting for a fresh drink, but not that time. You had chased him down, a block from the coffee shop and a sharp right and you were on his heels, his face buried in his phone and the coffee cup hanging from his fingertips in his right hand, clearly undrank. 

“Hey,” You shout exasperated, but he doesn’t whip his head around like you expect. You huff, jogging a little closer until you can tap at his shoulder and as if his reflexes had kicked in, he turns on his heels and has a sudden look of annoyance, not much different than the one he held in the coffee shop but his brow was more pinched—until you hold up the coffee cup that belonged to him.

It had a name on the ticket—you looked it over. Dave. Black coffee. Six shots of espresso. 

Your eyes widen at the sheer amount and you pass it over, watching as he stuffed his phone in his pocket, “Six shots? That’s—”

“Not nearly enough,” He grumbles, swapping out the drinks with a surprisingly gentle grip.

He’s dressed for work, donning a charcoal gray suit with a maroon button-up. He looks official, stoic, and serious, intimidating in a way that makes you want to shrink away. 

He takes a peek at your order before he passes it off completely, smirking slightly at the sheer amount of caffeine you had ordered for yourself—not in the form of a straight black coffee and an insane amount of espresso shots, but it was calling a spade a spade. 

You both clearly had your vices.

After that, he’s a familiar face. Someone you see the Monday mornings after a terrible Sunday night date, rubbing at tired eyes as you reach for your coffee, and eventually he finds himself more curious than he should be, wondering how someone at your age could seem so…burdened. Not that it wasn’t possible, but it was clear that you never ended your weekend on a high note, and burying the shittiness under a mountain of sugar and syrup was your way of coping.

Fortunately, the coffee machine had been on the fritz one particular Monday which lent you a moment of conversation that was surprisingly refreshing given your unfamiliarity with each other.

He slaps the back of his phone against his palm as he does a quick glance over your figure, hunched under the protection of your sweater you chew at your bottom lip, staring down at your feet.

“Rough weekend?” He asks casually, looking over at you curiously.

You could smell his aftershave, the rich scent of expensive cologne. 

You weren’t sure why he was speaking to you, but you answered anyway.

“That easy to spot?” You volley with him, glancing up at him briefly before leaning into your hip.

“Comes with experience,” He shrugs, seeming far more approachable than you would have expected. You conspicuously track your eyes over him, how perfectly put together he was, not a piece of his outfit out of place, aside from the prominent tan line on his ring finger.

Married. Or…was married. You didn’t feel it was your position to throw that kind of question at a stranger.

“Oh,” You feign intrigue, feeling the words slip out before you can stop them, “plenty of experience in the field of dealing with men who can’t be bothered to hold a thirty minute conversation and expect you to fuck them after the first date?”

You’re expecting him to balk and walk away, wonder what the hell was wrong with you—but instead, he smirks again. More prominent than the first time.

“Sorry,” You apologize meekly, “that was—It’s been a rough morning.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dave brushes it off, his name sounding in your head again as it comes to you, “and no—I don’t, but still—a bad weekend is a bad weekend.”

You raise your eyebrows slightly as you nod in agreement and it is within that small distraction of conversation that the machine comes roaring to life again, but instead of walking toward the counter to order, Dave slips in front of you.

You have half the mind to tell him to fuck off for cutting, but when you hear your coffee order spilling out of his mouth you stare at him wildly, giving him a look of confusion after he pays, scribbling away at a receipt before he turns and walks silently toward the other side of the shop to fetch his coffee order. You follow wordlessly, obediently as he nods at you.

“Consider it returning the favor for the first time I screwed up with our orders,” He tells you, smiling at the barista she slides the two cups into his hands—he shoves yours into your open palm, receipt tucked against the cup with his thumb as it transfers to you, “and fuck those guys.”

You laugh softly, sipping gingerly at your coffee as he departs with a half-smile, footsteps clicking against the tile floor as he departs with a hand shoved into his pocket as he shoulders open the door. The receipt is long forgotten and tucked into your pocket.

It isn’t until hours later as you're throwing your coat over the back of your couch that the paper floats to the floor, staring at you like it had its own set of eyes. You pluck it up curiously and pull apart the crumbled-up ball, noting the smudged black ink scribbled on the back of the receipt.

Third date is the rule, right?

Followed by his name and a haphazardly scribbled number.

So, not married. Definitely not married.

You text him without a second thought, finding that his response is almost immediate.

Suddenly, you needed to know all about him.

—

And you made that your mission.

Texts turn into calls, sparse and spread out but it was kept light in the beginning. General small talk, and occasional flirting, but still you had far too many questions. The one thing you do learn is that he was divorced, not newly, thankfully. It had been a couple of years and he admits very early on that he doesn’t do this often.

Whatever that meant.

He’s older, but you don’t feel the need to address that. He knows you’re in college, mid-twenties, but beyond that, you’re just a puzzle he’s piecing together on his own. Learning about you over the following weeks with a refreshing interest you haven’t been privy to before.

Your first date happens on a Saturday, a late night and last minute plan due to his often changing work schedule. It was shitty food at a small diner in town but it didn’t matter.

Eventually, he does slip up and admit that his work is freelance—but under what pretenses you weren’t sure, always skirting around the subject. And usually, you would see the immediate red flags, but that doesn’t happen. He seemed like a private person and maybe over time…

He doesn’t ask you the much-anticipated question after your first date, but he does kiss you.

It was soft and quick, fleeting in a moment as he walks you to your doorstep and leaves you reaching for more, but all you’re left with is a smug smile as he climbs into his car.

The second date is fancier, a few weeks later between occasion phone calls that would last longer than they needed, but you didn’t mind, sometimes Dave liked listening to the sound of your voice, he’d admitted at one point—Dave had planned this date out in advance at a nice restaurant in the uptown area of the city, giving you dress code requirements, exceptions, and all of it is entirely overwhelming. 

But, it fades the moment his hand touches your waist. 

There wasn’t a feeling of fear or an immediate urge to run away. It was protection, the warm and steady touch of him at your back just felt safe and it went against every fiber of your being to feel this way about someone so easily. But, the way Dave winks down at you as you fumble with the bracelet hanging loosely around your wrist reminds you that you have nothing to worry about.

The dinner is ridiculous, for you—convoluted meal courses with silly names that have you furrowing your brow in confusion as you look up at Dave who only seems entertained by your amusement, feeding you a piece of the shared dessert with the single fork they had served with the plate. It was intimate and shocking how easily you gave in tointo it and followed his lead. 

Trusted him.

You aren’t sure if it was his original plan, but he ended up at your place later that night.

He does walk you to your door again, but you’re not as easy to let him go this time. A few flutes of wine in your system and you’re far too clingy to let him slip away—begging, pleading for a few extra minutes.

“I’ll give you a quick tour,” You tell him softly, a sultry tone to your voice as your bottom lip pulls between your teeth and your hand's slide off the lapel of his peacoat, dragging him backwardinto the door that leads to your apartment building, “seriously—just a few minutes.”

“Sweetheart,” The endearment slips out despite himself, but he doesn’t thwart you off, his hand twisting and intertwining with your own as you lead him toward the elevators.

“Third date rule, remember?” You tell him, smiling sweetly, “Don’t worry, I’ll behave.”

“I’m counting on it.” 

—

As promised, Dave only stays for a short time. However, the tour was a total lie.

You kiss him gently as the door closes behind him. Quick, closed-mouth pecks that are driving Dave insane, but he grips your biceps, pulling you back with ease.

“Behave,” The gruffness in his voice brings you back to the surface, “you promised.”

Dave has never lacked self-control, but with you, it was nearly impossible.

Luckily for him, you felt like following your self-set rule, but it doesn’t stop you from cuddling up on your couch for a brief time, a hand combing through his thick, perfectly quaffed hair—though the same couldn’t be said now, slightly askew as he squeezes at your thigh when you pull at a few strands too hard.

“Ask it,” Dave says suddenly, seeing the apprehensive look in your eye, “whatever it is.”

“I’m just curious,” You tell him honestly but quietly, your eyes dragging up his face until they meet his own, “about you—I feel like I know bits and pieces, but nothing…real.”

He grunts, a non-committal response.

“I can keep your secrets,” You tell him like a sacred promise, “no judgment, either.”

His thumb drags over your nose in a sweet, gentle manner before it lands at your chin, cupping the side of your face as he begins to speak in the quiet room.

“I have two kids,” He admits, “—two girls with my ex-wife. We share custody but because of work…it makes it harder to see them often.”

You make a face, one that conveys sadness, a feeling of empathy as his gaze drifts off behind you while his fingers massage gently into the back of your neck.

“Don’t do that,” He pleads, “don’t feel like you need to–”

“You are the first guy in eight months that hasn’t tried to fuck me within two hours of meeting me,” You tell him, a soft giggle bubbling in your throat, “There is no need, Dave.”

“It’s taking…a lot of effort on my behalf,” He admits with a soft laugh, his normal monotone and emotionless face cracking with a smile, “I’m trying.”

“I just—I don’t want you to feel like you need to be careful with me,” You assure him, “I won’t break that easily. I’ve shared with you, I want you to feel like you can do that with me.”

“Tell me something else about yourself then,” He waits, your mind trialing away for a moment, thinking.

“I feel like I never have control over anything—my life, my relationships,” You sigh, “it…it is a lot deeper, I think. But, I don’t know how to fix that. Sometimes it feels pointless.”

Dave nods slowly, and thoughtfully. 

“I can teach you control, sweetheart.” Dave assures you, “Do you want that?”

The intensity in his eyes is new, but it doesn’t scare you. Instead, you find yourself nodding obediently. He kisses you that night again, more intensely than he ever has, a hand fisted into your hair, your body curled around him and it is nearly impossible to let him go.

—

The third date is intimate, as you had expected.

He invites you to his place and it takes you a few minutes after hearing him say it for the words to click in your head, until he reiterates it again and you agree eagerly. 

It was how you ended up on his couch after a full, delicious meal that Dave had cooked you himself and the drone of a local news channel playing on the television as you curledl up at his side, taking in the sights of his own apartment. It was so…detached. No family pictures, no drawings, no personal artifacts outside of expensive art and sculptures that had to cost more than a month of your own rent, maybe even two.

“How can you afford this?” You ask harmlessly, eyes dragging up to the gaudy chandelier hanging overhead, “I mean, your living room is the size of my entire apartment.”

“I’m not a starving college student,” He jokes, taking your playful jab in stride, “—this is just a temporary space, sweetheart. I…travel a lot for work, I’m only ever here maybe one week out of the month really.”

It explained why your dates were so spaced out and why phone calls and texts were preferred over an in-person meeting. But, he’s still skirting around the topic and it heightens your worry the tiniest bit.

“My turn to ask a question?”

You nod.

“If I had tried to fuck you on the first date, would you have let me?”

You smirk slightly, knowing the answer despite your distaste for the other men.

“I’ve had…really bad experiences any time I break that rule,” You admit, “it’s another situation where I feel like I’m losing control and it quickly turns into something I’m not interested in. I want to say no, but the answer is probably yes.”

Dave’s eyes go pensive, his gaze dragging to the small gap between you both, the arm slung over your shoulder stopping for a moment, but his touch remains, his fingertips against the slope of your neck and he’s fighting something within himself. You can see it.

“Just say it, Dave,” You find yourself pleading with him, “I think we’re beyond the realm of a third date. Whatever it is, I promise not to judge.”

“I know I told you I work freelance, but it’s…more than that,” He looks around, wondering if he should flee now and escape this conversation, but your gaze is heavy and unrelenting, “I used to work for the government, but things happened. Now, people hire me too—”

The gears are working overtime in your head, putting things together as he speaks, and really—it should have been more obvious, that far disconnected from his personal life, and the unwillingness to share information so freely.

“You’re a hitman?” You break the tension and spit out the word he’s dancing so carefully around.

“More or less,” He nods, carefully examining you to gauge your reaction.

“I mean, you’re not just…going around killing innocent people, are you?”

“Only the people that deserve it,” He doesn’t want to go into detail, already seeing the disconnect on your face, “It isn’t—it’s not something I’m doing often and it isn’t shit that I take lightly. It’s also not at all ethical and if you want nothing to do with me now, knowing that, I can respect that—”

“Would you kill me?”

Dave looks at you incredulously, “No—what kind of question is—”

“Then—” You shrug, “it isn’t my business, unless you want to make it my business.”

“You are…something,” Dave says aloud, his thoughts trickling from his mind to his mouth.

You smile, tilting your head as you rest it against the back of his couch.

“Did you still want a lesson in control?” Dave asks curiously.

You nod silently.

“Do you trust me?”

“So much,” You admit, “it’s a little embarrassing.”

Dave sits up then, nodding toward a far-off room you hadn’t been privy to exploring yet.

“Follow me.”

—

His bedroom is large, but it isn’t anything surprising. It’s dull colors and clean, almost sterile. But, you still wander—and he allows it, lingering as he unbuttons his cufflinks and strips himself of his button-up shirt. You run your hands over the soft sheets on his bed and climb on carefully, feeling your dress ride up with the movement, the cold touch of the comforter bringing you back to reality.

“I wanna try something,” Dave admits, tilting his head to meet your gaze from across the room, “—and I need to hear it again, that you trust me.”

“I do,” you nod easily, “I trust you.”

“Take your dress off,” He instructs and you’re slightly confused, but you follow his direction and pull the dress over your head, bare breasts spilling out with the lack of bra you decided to go without and Dave’s gaze lingers, heats up, his movements only slightly more hurried as he works at his slacks, “lay down—close your eyes.”

You laugh quietly at the absurdity of his clinical tone of order, but the weight of him as the mattress dips has your body pulsing at the thought, cunt throbbing at the smallest hint of his smell that you’ve become so accustomed to.

“I’m going to put something in your hand,” Dave tells you, “only open your eyes when I say so, alright?”

You nod obediently and unfurl your hand, feeling a heavy weight press into your palm and another hand trail down the inside of your thigh, squeezing at the junction where your inner thigh meets your cunt, and then his other hand is grabbing your hand, and curling it around the object and your senses do the work for you, unfortunately—

“Dave, is that a—” Your heart races in a panic as your eyes rip open, “is that a fucking gun?”

“Baby, calm down,” He soothes, and weirdly, it works, “the safety is on.”

He retrieves the gun that has fallen from your grip and returns it, dragging the weight up until your hand is resting between your legs, the barrel of the gun pressing into the skin just above his belly button, watching as his bare stomach flexes against the cool touch of the gun. It was then that you had a moment to admire—you figured this line of work required him to keep some kind of strict regime for himself, but it wasn’t clear until now. He’s wide, and broad, but you already knew that much. He’s not ripped in a sense, but he looks—feels strong, his tight grip on the inside of your thigh an immediate sign and he breathes, pushing against the barrel.

“You want control? I’m giving it to you.”

“Dave, this seems a little—”

He guides the barrel down, down, until the weight of it catches against the front of your underwear and guides your hand in slow, careful circles as the tip of the gun catches your clit and you find your pussy quivering at the action, but not out of fear.

You were turned on and Dave knew it.

“I want you to be comfortable around it,” He admits, and oddly, it makes your heart ache, “but if you don’t like this—we can stop.”

You find the gun dragging back toward his abdomen at his words and the smile on his face is immediate. Dave doesn’t move a fucking inch.

“No.”

“There’s my girl.”

His thumb replaces the barrel, rubbing slow circles over your clothed clit, and his eyes are locked on you, somehow managing to make everything else fade in comparison.

“Can I taste you?”

It sounds lewd, more than it should. Like an animal dying for a taste, He can feel the warm, wet spot forming in the patch of underwear covering your cunt and he needs it, but only if you’ll allow it.

You nod, the barrel slowly crawling up his chest as he lowers himself, fingers hooking into your underwear as he pulls them down, tilting his head up to look at you as his warm breath fans over cunt, “Put it against my head,” He suggests rather than orders, and you’re hesitant for a moment before he’s giving you that nudge, his tongue dipping into your cunt without warning as he’s lapping up the center of your pussy, groaning as the barrel presses front and center to his hairline and your back arches, fingers still carefully off the trigger but tightly wrapped around the grip and you moan, so loudly you find yourself trying to muffle the sound with your hand.

“Soundproof,” Dave notes, “don’t hold back, baby.”

He doesn’t either, his fingertips digging into your thighs as he spreads you wide, broad shoulders giving you no relief as he licks, quick and practiced tongue flicks over your clit until you’re keening, the gun trembling in your grip as he presses his head further into the barrel, leaning down until he can slip his tongue inside of you, grunting at the way you cry out, walls pulsing around his tongue.

He pulls away suddenly, featherlight kisses over your pussy, gentle lips over your mound and it feels like it’s all in an effort to tease—you’ve never gone this far before with him but somehow he was already in tune with your body, and frankly, you’ve been waiting too long for this to allow him to drag out your release any longer than you’ll allow.

He grins as the barrel pressed more firmly at the center of his forehead, a silent demand. But, he’s not satisfied.

“Tell me. With your own words.”

“Make me come,” You order him, another firm press, “now.”

He buries his face into your cunt without another word, nose pressed against your clit as you felt yourself clench around the work of his tongue and fingers, the breach of one, as it pushed inside of you, had you squirming under his touch. Your grip on the handle slips but Dave is there, hand wrapping around your own to keep it firm as he hums, lapping you up greedily. 

Your eyes are half-open, stuck staring at the plain ceiling as your head tips back, gasp caught in your throat as he doesn’t relent, his mouth moving over your clit to suck, alternating between that and precise flicks of his tongue before you’re curling over the edge with a loud moan, all while Dave’s hand slips to the barrel, keeping at steady while he admires you, the strain in your neck as you shout, legs shaking around his head as he finally gives you some relief, trapping him there as he cleans up the mess between your thighs.

He rises slowly then, gun trailing down until it drags against his chest, watching it indent in his skin until you’re pressing it against the bulge in his boxers, the dark material hugging his thighs and you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, and nod as his fingers trace over his waistband, still unmoving despite your eager eyes.

Take control.

“Take them off,” You tell him, the end of the gun tucking itself between the fabric, a playful smile pulling at your lips, “I wanna taste you, too.”

He hesitates, his palms pressing against your knees as he tilts his head slightly, “This is about you, sweetheart.”

“And what I want is your dick, in my mouth—is that too much to ask?” You pout slightly, dropping the gun to the comforter as you pull at his waistband but his hands stop you—maybe you weren’t as in control as you thought, it was all just metaphorical and Dave was into some weird shit.

“I’ve got…plans, for that,” Dave hints lightly, grinding his bulge into your palm as you press it against his clothed cock, “how about—you let me fuck you? I did make it to the third date, after all.”

He wanted you to be selfish—to soak up all the pleasure he was attempting to offer. He knew your past hookups couldn’t have been great; short three-minute fucks on the bed inside some dirty apartment of the man you had selected for that weekend, this was about you. 

He wasn’t trying to control you, but rather guide you. 

“Plans?” Your ears perk up as you lean forward, one hand tucked behind you for support as you squeeze at his cock over the fabric, his hand sliding over your neck to caress your cheek, his thumb rubbing over the curve of your lips before tilting your head up, “Who said I keep things going after the third date?”

He can see the inkling of playfulness in your expression as he surges forward suddenly, getting his hands underneath you and pulling your hips over his own, squeezing at your thighs as you instinctively ground yourself down against him, a wet patch forming in his boxers.

“Grab it,” He nods to the lone weapon.

It feels feeble now, just a prop. Sure, it made your heart race at the weight of it in your hand—that it was real, but you knew there was no real danger. Still, you play along.

You pick it up, examining it leisurely as you move your hips, “Have you killed anyone with this?”

Dave nods silently, his eyes following the line from your abdomen to your cunt, watching as your cunt dragged over the material and he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted something so badly, his thumbs pushing at his waistband, but the jerk of the gun being set effortlessly in your grip and placed at the center of his chest startles him for a brief moment.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” He answers, “I have—does that scare you?”

You nod absently, helping him as you lift your hips and let him push his underwear down his legs, kicking them off haphazardly as you drag your bare cunt against him and his mouth falls open slightly, his eyes still closely following your face, waiting for your response.

“No,” You shake your head, because as much as it should—it didn’t. 

“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” Dave teases, feeling the subtle flex of your fingers into his chest with the hand that you had free, the barrel dragging up slowly until it forced his chin higher, resting just against the center of his throat.

“Maybe,” You reply, “does that scare you?”

“Baby, nothing scares me anymore.”

You flick off the safety in the heat of the moment, but there’s no reaction, not even a flinch. 

“I wouldn’t have given you that if I didn’t trust you,” He ignores the way your face softens, a frown forming on your face, “Don’t—don’t worry. You won’t, I know you won’t.”

He guides your hips up as your eyes stay locked on the weapon at his throat, finger off the trigger but your heart is hammering in your chest, afraid that even one small movement would be a mistake. But, there was something in the way his jaw flexed, pressing his throat even further against the end of the gun as he slid into you, hand fisting his cock as your mouth fell open in a silent gasp, sinking further and further, until he was rooted inside of you.

“Don’t think,” He tells you, “just move, baby—take.”

Take it, claim this. Him. 

It dawns on you in the heat of the moment, mind partially clouded that this was the craziest thing you’ve ever done, especially for someone you were fucking for the first time.

But weirdly, you felt comfortable—and you knew if you wanted to stop, Dave would allow that. Still, you didn’t.

You rock your hips slowly, free hand gripping his shoulder as his own fingers dig into your skin, aiding in the rise of your hips as his own lifted and smacked into yours with a quickly building intensity. No words were shared, just sounds breathed into each other’s skin.

He trails a hand up the center of you, curled around your face as his thumb presses against your bottom lip, pulling until it touches your teeth and you finally understand, taking the digit into your mouth and sucking.

Dave’s thrusts are rough, precise. It hits a spot so deep inside of you that your entire body aches at the feeling, rubbing against your g-spot with every stroke, feeling your eyes roll back in your head as he forces his thumb down on your tongue, a wordless communication as the the gun slips with you fleeting mind, but he’s there with his hand on the barrel to keep you steady.

“Come,” You command, “come inside of me.”

And his sanity be damned, he was. He didn’t care what the aftermath would bring—he’d do whatever you needed him to, silently praying that you weren’t that reckless. 

You wouldn’t have asked otherwise. 

Your nails dig into the muscle of his broad shoulder and his hips jerk at the feeling of you squeezing down on him, your thumb hesitantly pulling back at the hammer of the gun—he knows that sound and he feels the vibration of it against his throat as he comes, it hits him like a force.

He grunts through gritted teeth, rocking your hips with every weakened thrust as he pulses inside of you, still having half the mind to swat the gun away carelessly, his demeanor changing on a dime after you’ve had your fill of him. You shout softly as he rolls, trapping you underneath him with his hips and hands, shoving your palms under the pillow, and settling between your legs.

Your first instinct is to reach out, and touch him.

“Don’t,” He warns, “don’t move.”

You freeze, hands squeezing at the silk pillowcase, fabric bunching on your grip as he reaches for the gun.

“I want you to come again,” He demands, flipping the gun in his grip, the barrel pointed at you now.

“Dave—“

“Again,” His eyes flick down, “—get creative.”

You take a shallow breath, eyes pleading.

But, you knew you could. You wanted to, especially with him looking at you so hungrily, unexpectedly pushing his cum back into you with two fingers as you felt it seep out, a touch so delicate that it gives you whiplash against the dark dichotomy of his tone.

“Hold—hold it against me,” You tell him, “please?”

“You’re asking?”

“Do it,” You sound more steady and he moves with hesitation, pressing the tip of the barrel against your swollen clit, already too sensitive and the moment he presses the cold metal there your entire body shutters, mouth dropping open in shock, “fuck—I’m too sensitive.”

“Or I can fuck you with it, is that what you want?”

There’s a brief moment of intrigue that crosses your features and Dave can’t help but chuckle, his cheeks dimpling with the emotion.

“You’re trouble,” He admits, “so much fucking trouble.”

You rock your hips against the hard, but somehow dull edge, knowing that it would only take a few seconds but you were teetering, riding that line and needing more.

“Dave, please—your fingers,” You squirm, eyes squeezing shut as you grip the pillowcase so tight it might rip under the stress, “put them inside of me.”

Thankfully, he does. It’s the crook of his middle finger and the weight of the gun against your clit that pulls you over the edge a second time, vision whiting out as you came and forcing a broken sob from your chest, finding that the emotion floods you in an instant.

It wasn’t sadness, just a feeling that overwhelmed you.

Pleasure, peace, and with Dave staring at you with such adoration you weren’t sure how you’ve gone this long in your life without him.

You sigh shakily, “Fuck, that was intense.”

“Hey, sweetheart, look,” Dave cocks the gun back and your eyes draw to the weapon, showing that it was empty—it had never even been loaded, “it was all about control, alright?”

You laugh lightly, the absurdity of the situation sending you into a temporary delirium. Dave recocks the gun and flicks the safety back on, placing it on his nightstand before he’s tending to you, pulling at your arms and rolling over onto his back. You cuddle against his chest wordlessly, his soothing hands on your back a constant presence as he fumbles for the blanket, covering you both.

“I’ve never done that before,” You admit quietly.

“Did you enjoy it?”

He doesn’t know why he’s asking, he already knows the answer.

“I trust you, so much,” You admit, “I don’t even know—“

“I wouldn’t have attempted that on a first date,” Dave tells you, “just so you’re aware.”

“Oh, so the gun has a three date rule, too?”

He knows you’re being coy.

“It has a you rule, sweetheart. If you had said no, I wouldn’t have questioned it.” He tells you, feeling your heart swoon despite the absurdity of the situation, “Being behind the barrel of a gun, pointing it—it’s that surge of adrenaline. The control of the situation. I wanted you to feel that.”

You stay silent, lost in thought as you stare at him, watching as his gaze flicks down at you briefly with a knowing smirk, “Plus, I never would have handed you a loaded gun—not when you don’t know anything about gun safety. Was that your first time holding one?”

You nod meekly, wondering if he was going to feel regret.

“Would you teach me? If I asked?” You ask suddenly.

“How to use one?”

“I mean, is there a better person to ask?”

Dave chuckles dryly, a faint smile showing that quickly disappears.

“I’ll teach you, baby. As long as I get a fourth date.”

“You can have as many as you want. Five. Ten—“

“Careful,” He chided, “there’s still stuff you don’t know. About me.”

“I want to,” You assure him, “in your own time—as much as you’ll tell me. I can wait.”

Dave feels like he’s taking advantage of your kindness, your blind willingness to trust him. But, it has been so long since he’s had this—a confidant, someone who he could connect with without judgment. 

He knows you’ll find a reason to run eventually, they always did.

“How do you feel about Paris?” He asks suddenly.

“It’s…pretty? I’ve never been but it seems alright.”

“Are you free next weekend?”

Your eyes widen at the implication.

“Dave—“

“Is that a yes?”

You nod shyly.

“Perfect,” He mouths into your hair, pressing a kiss against the scalp, “pack something fancy to wear.”

“How fancy?”

“Absurdly fancy,” He chuckles.

Because if there was one person who could get you to agree to anything, it was Dave.

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 12 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: When Anna noticed that a new poem by her favorite, amateur writer had been posted, she was afraid to read the finality in his tone. But Bob always managed to surprise her. And maybe she could find a way to surprise Kevin, too.

Warnings: Angst, Kevin is a dick, adult language, 18+

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

After that, it was radio silence. Anna didn't reach out to Bob, and he didn't try to either. He went to the Hard Deck on Friday night and lasted about an hour before excusing himself. Nobody asked him why he was bailing after one ginger ale and a single cup of peanuts, and that was enough to tell him that everyone knew. Everyone knew he slept with Anna. Everyone knew she was married. Everyone knew that they shouldn't talk about it in front of him for fear that the ladies would snap their necks. Even Nat was being very kind and considerate which wasn't really like her at all. 

When Bob was halfway to the door, he felt a small hand curl around the back of his bicep. "I'll see you tomorrow night for D&D?"

He nodded down at Jessica's hopeful face. "Yeah. I can pick you up if you want."

Her face brightened a little bit. "I'll text you in the morning." He turned to walk out, and her hand slid down his arm. "Hey, Bob? Don't give up hope on her, okay?"

He didn't know how to respond, so he just kept walking. He had no idea what to say or what to think. It wasn't like he could stop loving someone overnight. He didn't really want to either. Anna's life was quite frankly messier than he had ever expected. She did a pretty good job of hiding it from everyone, and it seemed like she would have continued down that path if they didn't have sex. And that was the other issue; it wasn't just sex to Bob. Anna knew about the things he tried to hide himself, and she seemed to want him in that moment anyway. 

Her words from the previous night made him ache. 

'You're perfect. You're Sky Writing. You're the handsome man from the bookstore who smells like tea and soap. You're Bob, the guy my friends knew I would fall in love with as soon as I met them.'

If that meant she was in love with him or that she thought she could be someday, then he was afraid to walk away from her. But now he was terrified of getting hurt or somehow hurting Anna like Kevin had. Part of him believed if he could just see Anna's husband with his own eyes, confirm that he was exactly the way she described him, then he might be able accept that she just needed time to settle her divorce and to heal. If that was the case, he wanted to make it work. 

In the meantime, when he got home, he ended up standing in his living room, staring at his bookshelf before going upstairs and staring at his bed. He could still picture her red hair all spread out for him. He could still feel it between his fingers as the silky strands slid along his palm. He could taste her on his tongue. He could hear her telling him what she wanted.

Bob picked up his computer and slipped under the covers, knowing he wasn't going to be able to sleep right now.

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

It had been there since early Saturday morning. A new one. Anna desperately wanted to read it and memorize it like she had the others, but she was afraid to face the finality. Her email alert mocked her every time she looked at it.

Sky Writing has posted a new, original work! Click the link below to check out the subscriber that you follow!

Bob wrote a new poem, and she didn't think she could handle reading exactly how he viewed her now. He'd never be like Kevin, openly belittling her or putting her down, but she knew the shiny packaging had been removed now, and he saw what was really inside. Just a mess of a human. She put off reading it and put off reading it, but when she was sitting at her desk at work on Monday, she made herself decide between reading the new poem or calling Kevin. After a fairly short debate, she decided to read the poem. It was probably so bad, calling Kevin later wouldn't even feel painful in comparison. 

She tapped on the link in her email and was taken to something so unexpected, she gasped as she read it.

There is empty space on my bookshelf,

The one I bought with you in mind.

I didn't know it was for you at the time,

But one night made it obvious,

Before an instance took it.

Reality surpassed intention today.

Your worn favorites and mine pristine,

Should mingle and mix,

Genre forgotten.

Dog eared pages became so endearing.

But I'll never see them on my shelf,

Unless you come back and stay this time.

The format was different from what he usually wrote, but it was so obviously Sky Writing. So obviously Bob. So obviously about her. And he didn't sound angry. Could he possibly miss her after everything she did and said?

She jumped when her phone vibrated on her desk, and for a split second, she believed it could be Bob. Her heart beat faster with anticipation, but it was from somebody else.

Jessica Reed: If you don't come down to this weird tree right now, we're going to come up and get you.

Anna had lost track of time. It was after noon now. She knew that her friends were trying to make sure she was holding herself together after she refused to go to the Hard Deck over the weekend. How could she continue to go somewhere that Bob had the rights to first? It wasn't until she read his Sky Writing poem that she thought perhaps there was a chance he might not only be okay with her presence but perhaps even miss her like she missed him.

With her sad little lunch in hand, she dragged herself down to the quad, trying to decide when was the best time to call Kevin. She was tired of going through lawyers who couldn't seem to get him to budge, and each ninety day window just ate away at more of her soul. She should have been so much more careful with her writing when she had the opportunity, and now he'd completely locked her out of being able to access it. 

No, she was going to have to beg him, plead with him, anything it took to get what she wanted without giving away where she'd moved. Maybe if he agreed to let her have her manuscript, one of her friends would let her borrow money for a flight back to New Jersey to retrieve it. She was getting ahead of herself, but she couldn't help it. She needed to at least get this one thing.

"There she is!"

Anna looked up to see her friends directly in front of her on the bench by the tree, and the fact that they both looked happy to see her made her heart ache. "Hi," she said softly as she sat down between them when they both scooted over.

"Hummus?" her friend asked, passing along a container while she bit into her perfect looking chicken salad sandwich on artisan bread. Anna accepted a few bites of Bradley's gourmet snack, because she was absolutely starving today.

"Thanks," she murmured, and she let herself sink into the background a little bit as the two other women continued the conversation they'd been having. Now that she was down here with his friends, she couldn't stop thinking about Bob again. His soft hair and his kind eyes. The way he always paid attention to her when she was talking. How good he made her feel.

She listened to her friends argue about alumni weekend for a few minutes before she finally cut them off to ask, "Has Bob said anything about me?" Both of them looked at her, and she quickly added, "I can't stop thinking about him."

Jessica smiled softly and said, "Not a word, but I've never seen him look so sad. And I mean that in a good way, because although I know he's confused and hurt, I'm pretty sure he just misses you."

"But," the other woman quickly cut in, "the most important thing right now is making sure you take care of yourself. Even if you are in love with Bob."

"Oh!" Jessica exclaimed. "I have an idea! We could just kill Kevin!"

Anna snorted in spite of herself. "That would actually solve a lot of my problems. Maybe even all of them."

"Only one problem with that," Advanced Calculus said blandly. "You're not a killer, Jessica."

"I could kill someone," Jessica muttered under her breath, and truly Anna almost laughed, because Jessica Reed was one of the gentlest people she'd ever met. The most violent thing about her was her Dungeons & Dragons character. "I could at least probably slap him."

"He wouldn't know what hit him," Anna said, and all three women erupted into laughter. And it felt so strange to feel genuine happiness, even if it only lasted for a few seconds, that Anna almost started crying. As their amusement died down, she asked her friends, "Do you think.... Bob would respond if I texted him?"

Jessica squeaked, and then both women said, "Yes."

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

Bob was back to square one. Back at the bookstore. He was fifteen minutes early. He was already looking through the Classics. He was about to meet up with Anna. He was nervous.

Nat scoffed when he told her where he was going, and he truly did appreciate that his friend wanted him to proceed with caution, but she just didn't understand how Anna made him feel. Being friends with her after sleeping together a total of one time might kill him, but he knew that was probably all he could have now.

It was almost like he could sense that she was there. He looked up from the Shakespeare volume in his hand, and he saw her walk in the door. As he got closer to the loft railing, he saw her glance up and meet his eyes like it was some depraved version of Romeo and Juliet. She mouthed the word Hi before she headed for the stairs, and in less than a minute, she was standing right in front of him. 

Anna looked nervous, but everything else was just the same. Those perfect freckles decorated her face. Her brown eyes were bright. Her pretty hair was in a messy braid. He saw her burgundy nail polish as she fidgeted with her denim jacket. He wanted to know if she still thought he was the kind of person she could love. He wanted to ask her if her husband was any closer to signing papers. Instead he said, "I was surprised when you texted me."

Her eyes went wide, and he wished he could shove his foot in his mouth as she started looking around anywhere but at his face. "I need some books for my feminist literature course, and I just thought maybe you'd like more books for your bookshelf."

Had she read his newest poem? It was a sloppy one that he wrote late on Friday night and posted on a whim. She could have deleted her account by now or vowed never to read anything else by Sky Writing. But that didn't stop the poem from being about her.

"I do need some more books for my shelves," he replied, and her eyes finally settled on his again. "And you don't have to be nervous around me. I know you're dealing with a lot, and I promise I won't touch you or anything."

Now she just looked sad and distraught, but she nodded and turned down the very aisle where they first met. Bob had to fight to keep a few feet of space between them as she said, "I'm looking for Mary Wollstonecraft, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and Elizabeth Cady Stanton."

They worked their way slowly up and back down each aisle, falling into a natural conversation in spite of the awkwardness between them. In spite of the way Bob couldn't keep himself from looking at her as she ran her fingers along the spines. When she wanted something that was on a top shelf, he reached it down for her. When her hands got full, he offered his up for her use. And to his delight and also sadness, she kept recommending books for him along the way. That's how he ended up with Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day as well as The Importance of Being Earnest in his hand when she led the way downstairs to pay.

Bob cleared his throat as Anna reached into her pocket for some cash. "I can get them."

Her brown eyes snapped up to meet his, and her cheeks turned pink. He already knew what Kevin did, and while he didn't think there was any harm in saying it, he could tell that she at least had her pride intact. "The college is going to reimburse me," she said firmly before handing forty dollars across the counter.

"Right," Bob said before paying for his own books. When they walked out into the fading sunlight, he looked down into her pretty face. "Will you let me drive you home? Not because I think I need to, but because I want to?"

She seemed at war with herself as she looked across the street and pressed her lips together. But her eyes fluttered closed and she said, "I would really appreciate that."

The interior of his truck was quiet the whole way as their books sat on the seat between them. Only the soft hum of the radio helped Bob hold his thoughts at bay. The ride wasn't too long, and when they were most of the way there, Anna finally spoke. 

"I'm going to deal with my shit. I promise."

Unsure exactly how he should respond, Bob simply said, "Okay."

When he pulled up in front of her building, he turned toward her, intending to ask if she wanted him to walk her up, but she was gathering her books together as she said, "I don't know how you feel about me now. I don't know if you could want me again. But I am going to deal with Kevin. I am going to fix my life. Because I want to move on. I need to." When he was so flustered that he didn't immediately respond, Anna said, "You know where to find me. Thanks for the ride."

He watched her run up the sidewalk before struggling to open the door with her arms full, and then she ducked inside when he finally figured out what he wanted to say. "I'll find you."

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

If Anna even had a hope or a prayer at a chance with Bob ever again, she needed to work up the nerve. A real chance with him now that he knew all about her disastrous marriage was what she wanted, but she needed to sort Kevin out first. 

As far as she could tell, everything came down to two options: keep her freedom by giving Kevin ownership of her manuscript, or keep her self worth by fighting until she didn't have anything left to give up. And both of them sounded terrifying. The whole weekend passed where she tried so many times to call him. She took her phone out again and again, let her thumb hover over her husband's phone number, and then chickened out. His voice was like a distant memory, and she didn't want to bring it back to the forefront of her mind. He hadn't reached out one time since she up and left without telling him where she was going, and she was afraid to let him know where she was now.

The worst part was, he would know immediately why she was calling. He knew that he had the one thing she wanted. He cut off her access to the cloud files where she should have been able to piece her writing back together. It would have been time consuming, but she would have been all too happy to do it. She should have known better than to let him have so much of her life and so many of her resources in only his name, but there was a time when she trusted him. That was the part that made her so sick. She had trusted her husband, and now look where it got her.

A shiver went through her body as she woke up for work too early on Monday morning. She wanted Kevin's computer where everything was saved. She wanted access to the cloud. She didn't want a damn penny from him otherwise. She was aggressively brushing her teeth, wishing she had more to eat than a granola bar when she spit out her toothpaste and rinsed her mouth.

She hated him. She hated him so much, she was going to call him right now. Without a backward glance, she marched over to where her phone was charging and pulled the cable out. Before she could even think about exactly what she was going to say, she tapped on his stupid name.

Anna was breathing fast and deep, her heart pounding in her ears when she heard his voice for the first time in so many months.

"Anna?" he asked, her whole body cringing after just one word. His voice was scratchy as if she had woken him up, but it was 9:16 in New Jersey. He should be on his way to work if not there already.

"Kevin," she snapped, gripping her phone tighter. She was getting angrier by the second as she listened to him yawn while she looked around her tiny apartment.

His tone was condescending as he said, "Of course you'd call me at six in the fucking morning after I haven't hear a word from you except through a lawyer since July. What the hell do you want?"

She couldn't do this. She couldn't talk to him. While she felt strong a few minutes ago, her resolve was already crumbling. She wanted to tell him that he knew damn well what she wanted, but then she zeroed in on what he said. "What do you mean it's six in the morning? It's after nine."

His voice was suddenly loud and harsh. "I meant exactly what I said. I'm in California for a medical convention. Now get to the point of your call."

Her mouth felt like sandpaper as she carefully put her phone on speaker. She started searching for Neurological conventions in California while she told him, "I just want my manuscript. Please, Kevin. That's all I want, and then you can be rid of me."

The bite was gone from his voice, replaced by a lazy tone, and he spoke to her as if she were a very simple child. "It's not going to happen, Anna. I didn't cut off access to it for no reason. It's worth money. You can pay me for it, or you can kiss it goodbye. I might even publish it myself."

She was gasping for air as she scrolled through her search results, coming up with a conference in Carlsbad that was starting today. As the page loaded, she swallowed and told him, "I'll sue you if you do." But even she knew she was full of shit.

"What what money, Anna? I'm surprised you can still afford your lawyers. I don't even want to know what you're doing to make ends meet right now."

Then she saw it. She saw his name. He was a keynote speaker at the National Neurological Physicians Association conference. He was less than an hour away. She sank down to her knees in surprise and fear. Her mind was swirling with information and ideas, and she couldn't even comprehend what Kevin was saying now.

"What?" she gasped.

"I said come up with some money for me, or I'm not signing shit." Then he ended the call as her hands started shaking. She dropped her phone onto her bed. He was in Carlsbad. Maybe she could surprise him. Maybe she could talk him into it easier in person.

Anna had to run to the bathroom to be sick, but her mind was made up. Once she cleaned herself up again, she tearfully made the decision to cancel her morning classes via email, and then she started grabbing her purse and her essentials. She folded up the newest copy of the divorce paperwork her lawyer had emailed to her and tucked it away. Then she ran for the bus stop, nearly tripping several times as she read through the schedule of speakers who were at the conference this week on her phone. If she caught a bus within the next fifteen minutes, she might make it in time to see Kevin right before he gave his welcome speech.

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

We will meet Kevin in the next chapter. Now is an acceptable time to start sharpening your knives. Bob, please don't give up on Anna. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 13

@thedroneranger

@theamuz

@cherrycola27

@katiedid-3

@yuckosworld

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@callsign-magnolia

@avaleineandafryingpan

@t-nd-rfoot

@eddiemunsonreader

@wintercap89

@the-fever-of-mankind

@sio-ina-bottle

@lovingperfectionsblog

@daisydont-lie

@sappy-seresin

@birdy-bat-writes

@cutelittlefakejourneys

@cottagecori

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@sotalife

@novastories

@xoxabs88xox

@rileyanntoinette

@mannsachds

@midnightmagpiemama

@greatszu

@zetasaturno99

@lovingrobertfloyd

@taytaylala12

@captain-fandomwriter58

@grxcisxhy-wp

@hobireasns

@wolfquake23

@paintlavillered

@seitmai

@noonenuts

@amiets2

@imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog

@lonelysoul50

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@cruelmissdior

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@angelbabyange

@eternallyvenus

@sgt-barnesveins

@kmc1989

@libbyaller

[xzaddyzanakinx]

My Best Girl

Stepdad!Anakin Skywalker x Femme Reader Oneshot

18+ MDNI

Warnings: domestic violence/abuse, non-con/dub-con, oral sex, emotional abuse, manipulation, gaslighting

Info: this is a graphic and accurate depiction of an instance of domestic abuse/non-con. Read at your own risk.

🕊dead dove do not eat🕊

“Don't lie to me," he snarled, his hands gripping your wrists tightly. "I saw you."

He leaned in closer, his ice blue eyes boring into yours, filled with pure undiluted jealousy.

"Tell me the truth." Anakin’s fingers dug into your wrists just like your knees dug into the tile of the kitchen floor.

You were sitting at the kitchen counter, having a wonderful little moment to yourself. A big tall glass of blue koolaid, your favorite snack and your comfort cartoon playing quietly on your phone for background noise while you worked diligently on repairing your younger brother Luke’s loth-cat stuffie.

The poor thing had been through the wringer this week; left all alone in the cold dark cubby overnight in his preschool classroom, ran over by Leia’s tricycle, and his undoing was being left unattended in the living room under the watchful eye of your family dog. The horrible shriek that pierced your ears was enough to burst your eardrums, you went rushing, hoping that you didn’t walk into a bloody mess.

Though the tantrum that ensued after his initial shock was more than enough to wish maybe just alittle bit that Leia had just wacked him upside the head with her toy doctor’s kit again.

You’d sworn on your life that his ‘only best friend’ would have his leg reattached and in it’s rightful place under his arm when he woke up tomorrow morning.

So there you sat, sewing his leg back on when your stepfather Anakin returned home from work. Covered in oil and grease from his day at the garage, he walked past the kitchen and gave you a wave and crooked smile. You gladly returned the gesture, your relationship with your stepdad had begun rocky, arguments and mean words exchanged on a daily basis. But now, months later, you’d finally begun to get along.

He was a good man, a good dad; it wasn’t his fault that he had a bit of an anger issue. He worked hard to keep it in check, attending therapy, taking CBD gummies, he even tried meditating.

You’d quickly come to realize that his anger was a front to hide his vulnerabilities. He was a horribly cocky and arrogant person outwardly. But inside, tucked away in a beat up box, was a messily stored collection of vulnerabilities and insecurities.

Anakin thrived on praise and affection, he was happiest when he was eight inches deep in your poor little fucked-out pussy. Bathing in the sounds of your babbled compliments, the sweet lilt of your whiny voice when you begged him for more. His favorite thing? The best compliment? The quickest way to reassure him of his worth? That was the devastatingly wet *shlck* of his cock sliding home between your thighs.

It never failed to astound him. The way your body responded to him, the way you were tucked under his thumb. When he was pounding into you night after night while your mother worked the late shift; that’s when he truly came to life.

You made him feel needed. Wanted. Valued. But most importantly? Worshipped.

There was nothing else like the rush of warm adoration he felt from every little noise your pretty mouth made. It flowed over his tired, work-worn body and soothed all his stress away. He needed it. He craved it. He had to have it.

You.

You were the only thing that mattered.

It would be an understatement to say that he regretted marrying your mother. Every second of every day he hated her more. She wasn’t you. She could never be you.

Divorce, the hours of research on annulments, laws and stipulations, the legality of things. He’d searched through it all. He had the best lawyer in the state on speed-dial. Set on retainer for the moment he saw his opportunity to snatch up his brand new trophy wife.

But it’s not exactly acceptable to divorce your wife of six months to run off with her freshly 18 year old daughter is it? No. But was he going to do it? Absolutely.

You were his good girl.

You were his good girl, til now.

Anakin crouched down in front of you, getting on your level somehow made you feel even smaller. Any other time you would’ve taken the time to admire his freshly washed hair that stuck to his forehead in little swoops, the scent of his cedar soap, his bare chest and that delicious V carved into his lower abdomen.

But instead all you could see was the hard line of his lips, his knitted eyebrows… he was trying so hard to be angry. But you could tell he was just in pain, those big beautiful blue eyes were holding back tears, and you so badly wanted to comfort him, to make him understand.

“Anakin. Please listen.” You pleaded with him, desperate to get him to hear you out.

“Oh? I’ve been listening.” He stood back up and grabbed your hair roughly, tilting your head back to force you into eye contact. “I just don’t believe what I heard.”

“Just look!” You said gesturing at your phone laying on the counter near him, the screen cracked. “Please just look at you’ll see.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Seeing what I already know is there.” He scowled.

“Am I not good enough for you?” He hissed, shaking your head by your hair. “Is that it?”

Before you could even answer him he grabbed your jaw and pried your mouth open and shoved two fingers down your throat.

“That’s alright. You don’t deserve me anyway.”

Collecting your saliva on his digits, he removed his fingers and flicked the spit on your face, making you flinch.

“Not even gonna waste my spit on you.” His voice tinged with hurt under the grit of his anger.

Your eyes welled up with tears, never had he spoken to you this way. You never imagined that he was capable of being so mean. Of course he had his issues, you’d argued plenty before you both finally allowed the hands of fate to shove you into each other’s arms. But never like this.

“I come home from work, see you sitting all pretty and patient for me.” He starts, his voice low and dark.

“Then I come back from the shower, ready to hold and love and spoil you just like I do every night. I leaned in to give you a sweet little kiss and what do I see?” You weren’t sure if he wanted an answer, so you stayed silent and waited. Apparently that was the wrong thing to do.

“I asked you a fucking question.” He grumbled. “You were so eager to talk earlier, so fucking talk.”

“You saw me decline a phone call.” You said quietly, trying hard to keep eye contact with him through the blurriness in your vision.

“A phone call from who?” He prodded.

“My friend Tyler.” You answered meekly.

“Exactly.” He released your hair by pushing you backwards, causing you to catch yourself with your elbow right on the granite tile flooring.

Pain shot up your upper arm and wracked your body with a momentary spasm of tension as your brain tried to sort out this new pain. Extended your arm gently you breathed in relief that it wasn’t actually damaged, but you would definitely have a gnarly bruise.

Anakin had turned around, his back to you. One hand on the kitchen counter and the other ruffling his wet hair, shaking off water droplets as he did so.

“Why?” He asked, his tone quieter but no less menacing. “Why would you hang up like that if there wasn’t anything to hide?”

“B-because Ani, I was talking to you!” You tried to explain as you stood up and hesitantly stepped closer to him.

“Don’t.” He barked over his shoulder. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

“I was- okay.” You said, backing away.

“Anakin I was just trying to focus on you that’s all. You’d just gotten home, I didn’t want to be bothered while I was spending time with you.” Your whisper sounded cracked, broken.

“Why is a boy calling you at 8:00 on a Friday huh?” He spun around quickly and grabbed your arm.

“They’re not a-“ You tried to speak, to explain yourself but he didn’t give you a second breath.

He stole the air from your lungs and the words from your mouth with a resounding *smack* to your cheek. The impact was so forceful that your head felt like it was on swivel and you stumbled back. Too shocked to even cry, too hurt to look at him.

“Were you planning to cheat? Is that what this is?” He scoffed.

“N-no!” You squeaked. “No I wouldn’t! Never!”

He laughed, not in amusement or cynicism, but in a strangled bout of hysteria.

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” His teeth clenched and bared.

“You think someone else would treat you as well as I do? That they’d be able to put up with your attitude?” He laughed again, pointing his finger in your face.

“You’re a fucking brat you know that? There’s not another man in this galaxy who could love you like I do. You’re a spoiled bitch. But you’re my spoiled bitch.”

You flinched at his choice of words. He’d called you a brat plenty of times, sometimes even as a term of endearment. Bitch though? The thought of him calling you that was previously inconceivable.

“You want me to show you how someone else would treat you? How this stupid fucker Tyler would handle you?” He growled, putting a hand on the back of your neck and forcing you to your knees.

“Anakin wait! Just let-“ He shoved your face into the soft flannel of his pajama pants, fisting your hair to hold you in place while he ground his cock across your tear stained cheeks.

“No sweetheart I’m not Anakin right now remember? I’m anyone but me.” He corrected you.

“Take your fucking shirt off. I want to see those pretty tits.” He smirked as he watched you quickly comply. “There. Not so difficult Hmm?”

You shook your head no in agreement with him, hoping to appease him. You had no idea where this was going, but you knew for damn sure that you weren’t gonna like it.

“That’s right.” He said as he gripped your jaw once more, chuckling when you instinctively dropped your mouth open. “That was the last easy thing you’ll be doing tonight.”

“Pull out my cock.” He demanded, the look on his face giving no indication that this was negotiable.

You hesitated, then steeled yourself to comply with his order. His pretty cock, the beautiful thing that made you feel like you were floating amongst the clouds… was standing tall and proud. This was the only time you’d ever been unhappy to see it and you hoped it was the last time too.

“Oh don’t look at me like that.” He grumbled. “This is what you wanted isn’t it? To be a whore? To cheat on me?”

“No! Anakin Tyler isn’t-“ He scoffed and took advantage of your open mouth and forced your head down around his length.

“Fuck.” He mumbled his stomach muscles tightened momentarily before relaxing again.

“Finally some fucking peace and quiet. I’m sick of your whining. I don’t ever want to hear that fuckboy’s name again do you understand me?” He growled, his eyes filled with jealousy painted red with rage.

Anakin started to thrust quick and shallow into your mouth panting while he glared down at you like you were his mortal enemy.

“You like this?” He asked, watching you shake your head no vigorously. “No? Didn’t think you would.”

“Can’t fucking believe this shit.” He moaned, tipping his head back toward the ceiling before letting his chin fall to his chest.

He growled, seeing you drool down the column of your throat. A fire lit behind his eyes and burst into an inferno after only seconds of this brutal punishment.

“Move your tongue.” He commanded, jerking your head to the side when you didn’t do it immediately. “Fuck, that’s better.”

Your tongue lay flat against the under side of his shaft as his cockhead started to bully its way down your throat, in and out in deep ruthless strokes. Tears pricked your eyes and began to fall, this time from discomfort instead of the horrible emotional pain he’d dealt to you.

“What?” He laughed again, looking down at you with a menacing grin that didn’t meet his glassy eyes. “Don’t wanna be a whore anymore do you?”

You shook your head no to the best of your ability and Anakin nodded in agreement, his breath caught in his throat just like his cock was stuck in yours.

“This is how men treat whores.” He said matter of factly. “Like a stupid little fuck toy. Do you want to be a stupid fuck toy?”

“No of course you don’t.” He tsk’d. “You want to be my good girl, my sweet princess.”

You nodded vigorously, choking on his length accidentally from the quick movement.

Your gag reflex kicked in violently, caused by your choking fit as you tried to cough, your body begging for some control to be returned to you. You struggled to breathe as he continued his brutal assault on your throat. But despite the pain, there was an odd thrill running through you, a sick satisfaction knowing you were pleasing him in this way. You should hate him for what he’s doing right now, but it would be a lie if you said you didn’t find it alittle bit hot.

He was unraveling quickly, his hips snapping fast and deep. You heard the familiar change in breathing that happen just moments before he would cum, the cute little high-pitched whimpers that left his beautiful plump lips.

You tapped his thigh, looking up at him with furrowed brows and pleading eyes. Begging him to relent for just moment so you could breathe.

“No, I’m close. You can wait." he growled back, his pace unrelenting, but his voice becoming shaky.

“I don’t understand.” He panted, looking down at you with a pained expression. “Why would you want to be treated this way when I give you all the love in the world? When I love you so much?

“Seeing you hurt like this baby… it hurts me.” He sniffled, on the verge of tears.

“Just think, imagine it sweetheart; what if you went out there tonight and that horrible guy did this to you?” His eyebrows turned up in a deep swoop.

“You know I’m only doing this to help you right baby?” He let out a choked sob as his cock twitched in your mouth.

“I don’t want you to get hurt! I love you!” He cried out, his own tears freely flowing, salty drips hitting your face as he stared down at you with the face of a broken man.

“Promise me you won’t ever make me do this again.” He whispered, lovingly wiping the tears from your eyes. “I can’t stand it.”

“Promise? You won’t ever do it again? Please baby.” He cried, his chest heaving with a sob as his face scrunched up.

“Can’t do that to me, you can’t! I’d die.” He was practically hysterical, seeing him like this was tearing you apart in ways his rough treatment couldn’t. The pain and torture in his voice was a worse punishment.

“I wouldn’t wanna live without you. I wouldn’t.” He sobbed, his thumbs softly caress your cheekbones made you forget all about the way he was brutalizing you. It made you forget the hurtful things he’d said. You weren’t even sure your throat would be sore after this; how could it be worse than having your heart bruised the way Anakin’s must be?

“My sweet girl.” He sniffled. “My poor baby, I’m sorry. So sorry I had to do this. You understood don’t you doll?

You nodded, crying for an entirely different reason now. If you could, you’d be wailing. Pleading with him as you comforted him with kisses and gentle touches, holding him as he cried over your actions. How could you have done this? How could you be so cruel!?

“Good girl baby.” He hiccuped. “Good girl. I love you. Love you so much babydoll, g-gonna hold you n’ make love to you like you deserve.”

His hips stuttered against your mouth, his stomach tense and his hand tightened around your hair.

“My best girl.” He whined. “Do you want my cum? Those horrible bad men wouldn’t give it to you. They wouldn’t know how much you love it.”

You nodded, eyes rolling back in your head. He’s right. They wouldn’t know, how could they know? No one knew you like Anakin did.

“Mmm… yeah? G-goddamn.” He whimpered, pushing your face deep into his groin, your nose pressed firmly into the curly hairs at the base of his cock.

He sobbed, a full loud heart-wrenching sob as he came violently down your throat. You gratefully drank it down, thankful he’d let you have it after all you’d put him through.

Gently he pulled himself from your mouth, wiping his eyes dry as he sniffled. Tucking himself back into his pants before scooping you up into his arms and rocking you against his chest. Then he walked over to the recliner in the living room and sat down with you.

He let you cry it out while showering you with love and affection and beautiful sweet words in his warm honeyed voice. Finally once you’d calmed down he tilted your chin up to face him. Giving you a slow sensual kiss. The kind of kiss that was almost sticky, your lips wanting to stay connected for as long as possible.

“Are you okay sweetheart? Do you need anything?” He whispered against your lips in a pleading tone.

“No.” You shook your head, still taking shaky short gasping breaths. “M’so sorry Ani.”

“Oh baby. No, it’s okay.” He cooed. “You didn’t know. That’s why I had to teach you huh?”

“Uh huh.” You sniffled.

“You understand now don’t you doll? No body could ever love you like I do.” He squeezed you tightly as you agreed.

“That was horrible wasn’t it?” He sighed. “Those other boys… oh princess it would be so much worse you know that?”

“I couldn’t be as mean to you as they could, not even half as bad.” He said softly as if the information were scary to even say outloud.

“R-really?” You squeaked, not even half as bad? You shivered at the thought that if could ever be worse than he’d shown you.

“Yes baby.” He nodded, a sad and solemn expression on his tear streaked face.

“Th-thank you Ani.” You sniffled. Feeling grateful that he wasn’t even capable of what must be such horrendous brutality.

“Oh sweetheart. Don’t thank me,” he whispered, petting your head. “Just hold me and I’ll hold you okay? We both need alittle extra snuggles tonight after that don’t we?”

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch@cherrylooney@star611

@tahliac11 @exquisit3corpse @jeldog @arzua10

@bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay

@aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn

@illiethefairy @bunnylovesani @offthethirlwall

@slutforhayden @ausskywalker @angelsadmired

@slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie

@starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @no1klet @lethargic

@allhailbuckybarnes @shadowhuntyi

@bobtheturmpetman29 @mortalheartache

@fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot

@joshfutturmansrighthand @chaoticantihero

@vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee

@sweetcheesecakesblog@rga11 @luvskywxlker

@angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled

[7s3ven]

NOTES: angst, reader has divorced parents, Simon and reader lowkey aren’t all that nice to each other, closeted Simon I guess, Simon x Jonny

Simon Riley is a tough lover. You don’t really understand what goes on in that head of his, just that you should leave him alone if he expresses annoyance.

He’s more of a distant partner than the boyfriend you used to spend every waking hour with. You aren’t married but sometimes you wished he’d pop the question. Or break up. Anything to ease the tension that had settled between the two of you.

You aren’t an easy person to love either. You overwork and sometimes you’re a little over ambitious. You’ve made time for Simon in your busy work schedule but he never seems to do the same.

Sometimes he comes home, other times he doesn’t. On the rare occasions you hear him creep into your shared bed, you often feel his arm sling around your waist, pulling you closer in an attempt to deny the feeling that your relationship was falling apart.

You love Simon more than anything, perhaps more than yourself. There is nothing you wouldn’t do for him and that fact alone seems to scare him.

You don’t predict the intense argument between you and Simon after you find him in a bar, looking a little too comfortable with Jonny.

You’ve always known there was a spark between them but you’ve done your best to ignore it.

“You said you were at the gym.” You snap. You and Simon are standing outside the bar in the chilly air, entirely aware of how his coworkers are watching through the tinted window.

“I did. Then I stopped by the bar and ran into ‘em.” Simon gruffly responds but he’s never been good at lying, especially not with you.

“I don’t care if you wanted to go to the bar. You should’ve told me. I would have let you go.” You fold your arms over your chest in an attempt to cover up your freezing limbs.

Simon says nothing for a second. “You don’t like Jonny.” He pauses, “If I told who you I was with, you would have gotten mad.”

“So you thought lying was a better option? Simon, I work in this area. Besides, you know why I don’t like Jonny.”

“I ain’t gay, love.”

You stare up at him through your lashes, quirking an eyebrow. “Then how come you never look at me the way you look at him? We used to be close, Simon. Then you joined the military and I barely hear from you. You disappear for months without telling me and just when I’m ready to give up, you come back. It’s a continuous cycle that I can’t stand.”

“My job is demanding.”

You have the urge to slap him. “So is mine. That leaves you with no excuse. You don’t come home in days where I know you’re at the base. And when you do come back, you smell like him.”

You don’t have to specify who you’re referring to. Jonny’s cologne is strong and sharp, a smell you can’t miss. Even now, Simon reeks of him.

“You aren’t perfect either.” Simon chimes in. You roll your eyes, fully aware of your flaws but at least you don’t brush past them. You acknowledge them unlike Simon.

“Simon, I’m going to be direct with you, we’ve been dating for… well, most of our lives. I don’t want to waste any more years on a man who doesn’t love me back.”

Simon knows what you’re suggesting. Either he pops the question… or he risks watching you walk away. “But I do love you.” He insists but you can’t hear any genuine emotion. He’s always closed off, never open with you anymore.

You’re sure Jonny knows more about Simon than you do. You barely even know his favourite color now.

“Then why don’t you fucking act like it?” The way Jonny is staring at you so innocently riles you up. “Ever since you met Jonny, you haven’t treated me the same. Face it, Simon. Between me and him, you’ll always choose him.”

“I can’t love someone who refuses to love herself first.” Simon harshly retorts.

You furrow your brows. “Think about it, Simon. I care deeply for you… but nothing is stopping me from leaving.”

You’re a few steps away from Simon when he speaks again, always wanting to have the last word. “The reason you can’t love yourself is because you are the product of two people who couldn’t love each other either.”

It takes only a second for you to retrace your steps. You’re standing in front of Simon again, silent. Then, without another word, you lift a hand and punch him square in the nose. “As if your parents were any better.” You sneer. “Don’t bother coming home. I’ll leave your things outside for you to collect.”

You spare Simon one last look. Your lip curls into a frown as you glare at him. “Jerk.”

Simon says nothing as you walk off for the second time, successfully disappearing from his sight. His nose is heavily bleeding but he almost doesn’t feel the pain.

His ears are loudly ringing as he stares at the spot where you once stood.

A few years ago, Simon was over the moon for you, despite not visually showing it. Things had changed; he had changed.

In the end, you were right. Between you and Jonny, he would always pick the latter. Once upon a time, you were his top priority but not anymore.

It was just sad seeing a person he knew so well in the past walk away.

That was the problem with your relationship anyway. The two of you were always stuck in the past, trying to rekindle a flame that had already died, refusing to believe that this was the inevitable end.

[togrowoldinv]

Worth the Wait

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

When Wanda calls you after five years of no contact, you go to her house to talk to her. Some old (and some new) feelings come to light

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, mommy kink, oral (R and W receiving), fingering

Note: Enjoy!

Milf Wanda Masterlist, Main Masterlist

Wanda was a constant in your life until one day she wasn’t. It’s the classic story that is as old as time. She met someone and went off to start a family.

You tried not to let the distance between you two bother you, but deep down in your core it did.

Wanda had always been your friend, your shoulder to cry on, and sometimes even your release for when you both needed to just let loose. You didn’t mean to get attached to her, not really, but she was so beautiful.

Five years have passed since you last saw Wanda. So, when she called you today you didn’t know what to say. Wanda asked you to come to her home and that she needed you. For no reason other than the fact that you have feelings for her still, you drove a few hours to her house.

You stand outside now, ready to knock on the door. Your heart pounds in your chest.

“Y/n!” Wanda says when she opens the door. “Thank you for coming.”

She throws herself into your arms and hugs you. You’re taken aback but you wrap your arms around her waist eventually. You follow her inside once the hug is over.

“What’s going on, Wanda?” You ask her.

“Well, I just wanted to talk to you about some things that have happened,” Wanda says. “Please sit. I’ll get you a drink.”

You nod and sit on the couch to wait for Wanda. You notice the photos on the bookshelves that line the living room. Not one has Wanda’s husband in it.

“Hope you still like white wine,” Wanda says as she walks back into the living room.

“I do,” you say. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Wanda sits a few feet from you, careful not to be too close. You take a sip of the wine. It’s decent, but you’re too confused by this interaction to really care.

“So, I’ll just come right out and say it,” Wanda begins. “Vision and I got a divorce.”

You try not to physically react to her news. And keep your voice steady as you speak.

“I’m sorry, Wanda. That must be hard,” you say.

“It hasn’t been the easiest thing, but it’s better than how our marriage was going,” Wanda explains. There’s a hint of sadness to her voice but she seems otherwise content. “The boys are okay. They’re adjusting to the split custody.”

“May I ask why you guys called it quits?” You ask. “Only if you want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, you can ask,” Wanda says. “I guess we just weren’t in the same place in life. He was working a lot and I wanted to have more kids. It just wasn’t possible for us to get through a day without yelling at each other and ruining everything we built.”

You nod along with her words. All of these things are what you worried about happening to Wanda. You knew she settled back when she got married and started a family. Of course, you never told her that though.

“And I think that I just always wanted something different,” Wanda admits. She moves half an inch closer to you. A small amount, but you notice.

“So you’re happy now?” You ask her.

“I think I’m on my way to being happy, yes,” Wanda says. “Y/n, I’m really sorry I lost touch with you.”

“It happens.” You shrug. “You had a whole family to tend to.”

“It’s no excuse,” Wanda says. “Can I be honest?”

“Yeah, always.”

Wanda now makes a more pronounced move towards you and she sits right against you. Her thigh brushes yours. She looks deeply into your eyes.

“I pushed you away because I think I was in love with you,” Wanda says.

“Oh, Wanda, I-“

“No, you don’t have to say anything,” she says quickly. “I just- I wanted you to know.”

You shake your head. You don’t want her to change the subject. Instead, your body moves on instinct and you place your hand on her face.

“Wanda,” you whisper. “I was in love with you too.”

She gasps just a little bit and you take the opportunity to lean in and kiss her lips. It’s soft at first, slow and gentle as you remember the feeling of her lips on yours.

“Fuck, I need you,” Wanda mumbles against your lips. “I miss the way you used to touch me.”

“Yeah?” You ask. “Wanda, when’s the last time someone touched you properly?”

“The last time you did, baby,” Wanda says. “No one ever touches mommy the right way.”

Her words go straight to your core and you ache for her. Some things never change. You kiss her again. This time with all the fervency you can muster.

Your hands find their way under her shirt and you lift it over her head. Pushing Wanda back onto the couch, you get to work kissing down her neck. Wanda lets out beautiful sounds as you do so.

“God, I missed you,” Wanda says. “I want you to fuck me, baby.”

“I will, mommy,” you tell her.

You move your focus to her breasts. They’ve gotten bigger since you last had sex with her. Your fingers take on one nipple as your mouth plays with the other.

“Suck on them,” Wanda says. She pulls your head further into her. You do as she says.

When she starts getting sensitive, she whimpers at your every suckle.

“Y/n, fuck, that feels so good,” Wanda moans.

Eventually, you move down her body and slip her pants off. She’s not wearing any underwear, so you dive into her. You lick a long stripe up her wet pussy. Wanda shivers at the feeling.

“Oh, I’ve missed this. All for me,” you say before you lick at her again.

“All for you, sweetheart,” Wanda says.

You take her clit in your mouth and use your fingers to make her feel good. Wanda moans as you move your fingers in and out of her.

“I’m going to come,” Wanda says, her head thrown back in pleasure.

You pick up the pace and Wanda coats your fingers with cum. Letting her body relax, you slowly stop your movements.

When you sit up, you bring your fingers to Wanda’s mouth.

“I know you want to suck on them, Mommy,” you say.

Wanda’s mouth opens in shock but also to suck your fingers. She takes her time licking every digit clean. You feel heat pooling in your underwear at the sight.

“It’s your turn,” Wanda says.

She kisses you and practically rips your clothes off. You let her take control. Wanda lays back and pulls your hips to position your center over her face.

She licks you as her hands grip your ass. You move your hips at a quick pace to fuck yourself with her tongue.

“Wanda,” you gasp out as you get close.

“Mmm,” she hums against you, perfectly content.

You come hard against her and she cleans you up. Wanda moves back to an upright position and pulls you into her lap. She kisses you and runs her tongue along yours.

“You’ve always had my heart and my body,” Wanda says. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize that sooner.”

“We have each other now, Wanda,” you say.

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you too.”

You kiss her lips and you both are ready to taste each other again.

From that day forward, Wanda is a constant in your life again. And so are her two boys. Sometimes love just takes its sweet time, but Wanda was well worth the wait.

[myfriendofmiseryyy]

Random 90s Jason newsted HCS!!!

He’s not exactly opposed to settling down,he divorced Judy not to long before you met,but when you do meet OH HE IS DOWN BADDD! He constantly flirts with you and always wants to be around you,if you are a roadie he will always “accidentally do something to his bass” so he can spend time with you,you guys end up talking for hours on end about your music influences and how the other guys kinda get on your nerves.

He won’t ask you out straight away,he will probably wait a few months to figure out the feelings he is feeling for you,weither its lust or he actually likes you,once he does figure it out though…he’s a gentleman,he will take you out to your favourite restaurant and you guys will go on a typical first date followed by either walking around the city for a bit or him taking you up to the edge of the city so you can see the sunset on the skyline,he would actually be so nervous,he’s constantly stuttering over his words and doing that shy smile which you think is adorable! By the end of the night you end up in his arms,he really wants to kiss you there and then but he waits until at least the second date,he manages to sneak in a peak on the lips when saying good night though.

He’s not to much of a big spender,more of a small thoughtful gift kinda guy,he will take mental notes of your favourite food orders and drinks even before you were together,and always brung them to you on a hard day,he also almost every week buys you flowers “because you deserve it” he will make mixtapes of the songs you listened to together,he has about 50 of them in total,all kept safe in a box.

When the time comes where you two get intimate,he can be either quite rough or very very loving and soft…it honestly depends on the situation you guys are in,if he has just come home from a long tour,with the guys constantly bullying and being mean to him,he can sometimes be a bit rough,saying stuff like “your mine,you belong to me and only me” as he sets a rough pace,or he can be the opposite and just want validation of how much you love him,and you spend the whole day under the sheets making sure he knows how much he means to you and how much you love him. On special occasions,he always pulls out the big guns,roses on the bed,candles,bubble baths,you name it he’s probably done it for you at some point.

He always will let you borrow his hoodies (even if they are too small for you) if you are insecure about the fact you are bigger than him he will always find a way to make you not feel insecure about yourself,he loves you and he will constantly tell and show you that.

He will always let you run your fingers through his hair when he had the long hair,he knows how much it grounds and calms you down after a long day

He’s always so goofy,you guys could be having a serious conversation and he will turn it into something funny,and you love that about him,he’s never failed to make you laugh after a hard day,or make you laugh until you are crying over something stupid you both somehow found funny. There has even been times where you had to stop mid sex because he was making it so hard not to laugh…

That’s all I can think of right now 😭 I love him sm

[milfsloverblog]

Stood Up (Part 2) (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x Fem!reader

A/N: Thank you SO MUCH for all the love you showed to the first chapter of this fic! I was honestly so overwhelmed, I just had to write a second chapter which I hope you’ll enjoy as much as the first one!

Just a quick reminder that my requests are open and I would love to write for any of Gwen’s characters <3

~2k

You didn’t want to admit it but since meeting Larissa at Ellen’s you had barely stopped thinking about her. After leaving the restaurant you’d told yourself that it had only been a one-night stand and you probably wouldn’t see the woman again, and you were sure Larissa thought the same about you.

And yet, the tall woman had been on your mind almost constantly. Even as you were composing a bouquet of white lilies, you couldn’t help but smile as you wondered if Larissa liked receiving flowers. You shook your head a little. You should not be having this kind of thoughts, who ever thought about giving flowers to a one-time lover? Or perhaps…No. No, it wasn’t anything more than that. You wouldn’t allow it to be more than that.

You couldn’t help it. When you sat down at your usual table at Ellen’s on the next Friday, you couldn’t help but wonder if Larissa would come. You had no way to find the tall woman. You knew she was a school principal but that was about it. She, on the other hand, knew you would dine at Ellen’s every week on the same day.

“The usual ?” Lydia asked as she stopped by your table. You nodded absentmindedly, your eyes glued on the booth where the tall woman had sat the previous week.

“Thinking about the lady ?” Your friend pushed a smile and you rolled your eyes in response.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lydia.” You groaned before quickly adding “Has she booked a table, though ?”.

The waitress shook her head and told you that she had not, but you never knew, she could show up to the restaurant without a reservation.

And it was ridiculous really, to feel disappointed when after over an hour the booth had remained empty, and you had just finished eating your food. But then again you couldn’t help it.

Switching your attention back to the cheating man who was, as expected, dining with his mistress, you wondered if the young woman knew that he was married. Had he told her that he was divorced? Or perhaps he had promised her that he would, that he didn’t love his wife anymore and would leave her so the two of them could live happily ever after. Foolish girl.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when a hand landed on your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, your breath hitching in your chest as you noticed the perfectly manicured fingers.

“Is this seat taken ?” Larissa asked with a soft smile and all you could do was shake your head in response. She took her jacket off before sitting down in front of you, your lips pulling in a smile as you contemplated her beauty.

“You came.” Was all you could say, earning a small chuckle from the tall woman.

“Of course I did. The wine is exquisite.” Larissa waited a few seconds before adding “And I knew you would be here.” And that alone was enough to make you melt.

Lydia appeared by your table to take Larissa’s order. A glass of wine, she had already had dinner. The waitress gave you a wink as she turned around and walked away after scribbling down on her notepad.

“So I take it that you came back for more ?” You asked and took a sip of wine.

“More ?” Larissa raised an eyebrow. “More what? Sex ?” She grinned a little seeing your pupils dilating, how good it made her feel knowing you wanted her.

“Yes, sex.” You nodded, biting your tongue at the thought of asking if maybe, just maybe, she wanted more than sex.

You doubted someone like her would ever want to be seen with someone like you. And it wasn’t just about the age gap. No, Larissa was simply so much more than you, in every way. But perhaps you could settle for this, casual sex with the woman, no strings attached.

There was a flash of something in Larissa’s eyes, it was quick but not quick enough for you not to catch it. She seemed almost…Disappointed? No, you were probably imagining things.

But you weren’t. Larissa pushed a smile but her heart squeezed in disappointment and she mentally scolded herself for being such a naive woman. You had spent the whole week haunting her mind, your voice whispering in her ear when she was typing out emails late at night in her office, the ghost of your hands brushing up her thighs when she was in an important meeting.

Larissa had stopped believing in love a long time ago when she was still a teenager. But you had looked at her in such an intoxicating way, like she was the most beautiful woman you had ever laid eyes on, and she had thought that maybe…But of course not. You were too young and she was far too old, you were pretty and full of life and she was-

“Hey!” Your voice snapped her out of her thoughts and you leaned in a little, gently placing your hand on hers. “We don’t have to.” You said “Have sex. We don’t have to. I will gladly sit here with you for hours, just chatting and learning to know each other as we empty a bottle of red wine.”

And that’s exactly what you chose to do. For a little over an hour you two talked about everything and anything, Larissa asking most of the questions, seemingly eager to learn more about you but also not divulging too much about herself.

The hands on the clock were close to midnight when Lydia approached your table again. She apologized for interrupting your conversation but the restaurant was about to close.

“The bar next door is open until two, though.” She added as she handed you the bill and you paid for both Larissa and yourself.

-

“Night Lydia, see you next week!” You waved at your friend and pulled the door open for Larissa before quickly following her outside.

“So, where is your car parked ?” You asked, burying your hands in your pockets.

“Oh just a little down the road.” Larissa gestured with her left hand and you start walking that way.

“It’s late, I don’t want anything happening to you out there in the dark.” You simply said. Truth be told, you knew Larissa would have no problem overpowering a potential attacker, but you didn’t want this moment to end.

“Let me drive you home ?” She offered once you’d reached her car and you immediately declined, it was late and you didn’t want to bother her.

“I live nearby.” You said. “Really, I will be home in less than-“ Your words were suddenly cut off by her hands on your cheeks. She grasped your face in her hands and knotted her fingers in your hair, tipping your head back to press her lips against yours.

She kissed you hard, her mouth was hot and urgent and needy. It was a desperate kiss, her lips hungry against yours as she drew your bodies together. And you took it back: you wouldn’t settle for casual sex with her. It would never, ever be enough.

Larissa eventually pulled back from the kiss, breathing heavily as she pressed her forehead against yours. You could feel her chest moving up and down, butterflies blooming below your navel when she started laughing.

“Let me take you home.” She whispered, and it wasn’t a question this time.

“Fine.” You agreed “But only if you come in for a minute.” You added, making Larissa laugh again.

She gave a nod, you had a deal.

—

You barely had stepped foot inside your apartment when Larissa was all over you once more. Her eager mouth back on yours. She knew she was kissing you too hard, going too fast, but she simply couldn’t make herself slow down. She’d been hurting too much for too long and she wouldn’t take the risk of letting you slip through her fingers.

On any other day, or with any other woman, Larissa would have been embarrassed by her behavior. But there was something about that night, or about you, that made her feel confident. Beautiful. Invincible.

She had you pressed against the wall, one of her hands snaking down between your bodies until she made quick work of unbuttoning your trousers.

“Say it,” She whispered. “Ask me to fuck you.”

You caught her mouth in a kiss but she pulled away, leaving you craving for more.

“Say it.” She said again, more demanding this time.

“Please, please, fuck me.” You whispered barely audibly, a wanton moan escaping your lips when Larissa’s fingers slipped between your folds and slid right into your soaked sex.

“Look at me.” She demanded and you obeyed, finding her blue eyes unabashedly filled with lust. She pulled her fingers out only to push them back deeper inside you.

“God!” You cried out when she curled her fingers inside your cunt and raked her fingertips against your g-spot. The tall woman let out a low chuckle and reminded you that her name was Larissa, she wouldn’t let God or any other man take credit for the pleasure that she was giving you.

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you ?” She purred as her free hand pushed your shirt over your head only to let it fall to the floor. She nipped at your neck, leaving lipstick marks on your jaw and slowly moving down to your chest.

Her lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking on it almost painfully and making you whine, writhing against the wall.

“Please, Larissa…” You begged, hips bucking against the tall woman’s hand to meet her thrusts. “I need, please…” You mumbled, knowing your words weren’t making much sense.

“I know, sweetheart.” Larissa purred in your ear, her thumb coming to draw lazy circles on your clit, making you whine even louder. You were close, so close you could feel yourself contracting around the woman’s fingers.

“Look at me.” Larissa demanded again, grabbing a handful of your hair and giving it a gentle tug so you would look up at her. “Will you cum for me ?” She whispered against your mouth, capturing your lips in a heated kiss to muffle your moans as you were pushed over the edge.

Slowly you came down from your high, moving your hips away from Larissa’s hand when your sex throbbed from the overstimulation.

“Let me tuck you into bed.” Larissa smiled and pressed a quick kiss on your lips.

“But-“ you started, ready to argue about wanting to make her cum.

“Another day.” She said, carrying you to your bedroom. “I need to go back to Nevermore. But we will meet again, plenty of Fridays to come.” She whispered as she tucked you in and kissed your forehead.

You tried your best to keep your eyes open, wanting to keep Larissa by your side as long as possible. But exhaustion and alcohol had worked their magic on you and you fell asleep in less than a couple of minutes.

Larissa took a last look at you before walking out of your bedroom. You looked at peace, she noted, like you had really enjoyed your time with her.

She pulled a pen from her handbag and borrowed a sticky note from your kitchen. Thinking for a moment before writing you a note.

“Here is my number, use it wisely! To (hopefully) many more Friday evenings spent together. Yours, Larissa. Xx”

————————————

Tags @weemssapphic @larissaoftarthweems @mistressweems :)

[slaymitchabernathy]

Staking the Claim

| “Nothin' happened in the way I wanted, every corner of this house is haunted. And I know you said that we're not talkin', but I miss you, I'm sorry.” |

Coriolanus Snow has sat in many offices.

It’s a way of life. He’s sat in front offices at school, doctor’s offices, work offices.

He’s never sat in a lawyer’s office until today.

Because today the divorce is being finalized.

He drums his fingers against the mahogany desk, thinking of where it went wrong and how this divorce will affect him and his reputation for the rest of his life.

He tried to be good, a good husband, a good partner, a good father. But he wasn’t and neither of them could try anymore, try to make it work.

Divorce is highly frowned upon in their elite circles, only occurring in cases of abuse but never has he laid a hand on his wife. But he’s definitely said things and she has too. It’s better this way.

It’s better this way.

“This will be quick,” his lawyer, Mr. Nimbus promises him with a polite smile, “we’ve already gotten all of the hard work out of the way. All that’s left is to sign the last few papers and it’ll be done.”

Eight years down the drain, boiled down to a few sheets of paper and scribbles from a pen.

Coriolanus still remembers the first time he ever laid eyes on his wife. He had been walking to the library when he caught a glimpse of her bright blonde hair headed to the courtyard. He was suddenly very interested in the courtyard.

He followed her there and couldn’t help but notice how the scent of vanilla seemed to follow her everywhere. After watching her for a few days, he worked up the courage to properly introduce himself to her.

Soarynn Nightingale was beautiful. She was kind, talented, generous, and so thoughtful of others. She was one in a million and he was one lucky man. She stood by his side through everything, through graduation, through University and until the last two months, his aspiring political career.

Coriolanus plans on becoming President one day.

This wasn’t something he had ever mentioned to Soarynn who never yearned for a place in the spotlight like he did. No, she was more than content to start their own little family and live a quiet, comfortable life.

That wasn’t good enough for Coriolanus though. He wanted more, needed more and in the end, it drove her away.

At first he didn’t understand why she’d ever suggest separating. They had a family, a daughter. How could she put their little girl through that?

But after reading through her file, her statements and reasoning behind this divorce, he understood where he went wrong. He pushed Soarynn to the edge with the late nights, long hours, high expectations and little reward. He became less affectionate, more cynical and critical.

There were days where he didn’t even see his wife or daughter and Soarynn eventually had enough of it.

It had caused quite a stir in their circles. Their wedding had been a high society wedding, watched by all and admired by many. Soarynn had been a beautiful bride and it had been a very expensive wedding.

He can’t believe it’s over.

The door opens and he sits up straighter, refusing to look over his shoulder, to look at her.

Their lawyers greet each other, he knows her lawyer, he’s been the Nightingale’s lawyer for years now. Once Soarynn filed for divorce, her father, Glen Nightingale made sure that his daughter demanded and received everything she deserved.

Soarynn and their daughter Ceraphina have been staying with Glen since then, leaving Coriolanus with an empty penthouse to come home to every night.

It’s an eerie, terrible feeling. To walk into his daughter’s room with all her toys but find it empty squeezes his heart. To walk into their bedroom and not see Soarynn lying on their bed or sitting at her vanity goes against everything he’s ever known.

He even finds it strange not to see Petunia prancing around their apartment, leaving little tufts of white fur wherever she goes.

Soarynn’s lawyer takes his seat next to Mr. Nimbus and Soarynn takes her seat next to Coriolanus. The scent of vanilla washes over him and he glances at her from the corner of his eye. He hasn’t seen her for a few weeks, he’s been busy with his campaign and she’s been busy doing her best to care for their daughter while dealing with this divorce.

Coriolanus isn’t a glutton for punishment and neither is Soarynn, which has led to this being a rather quiet and civilized divorce. There have been whispers about it of course, it’s not everyday a prominent Capitol couple calls it quits.

But Soarynn hasn’t run off to the tabloids to sell their secrets and he’s so very grateful for that.

She’s never been one to kick others when they’re down.

“Let’s get started then,” Mr. Nimbus grunts, opening the file in front of him, “I believe we are here to discuss the custody of Ceraphina Snow and who will be taking possession of the Snow penthouse on the Corso.”

Soarynn’s lawyer opens up his briefcase, pulling out his own documents.

“Yes, Ms. Nightingale has filed for her to have sole custody of their daughter, Ceraphina Snow. Visitations will be permitted, unsupervised as long as they are properly scheduled and approved by Ms. Nightingale.”

It feels like there’s water in his ears.

Coriolanus can’t imagine not seeing his daughter every day, not hearing her laugh, not seeing her smile up at him like he’s the greatest man in the world.

The masculine, dominant part in him wants to fight for her, to demand that he be given full custody or at least half.

But can he do that to his little girl?

He still remembers the night he came home to Soarynn packing her things into a suitcase, how livid he had been when he saw her packing Ceraphina’s things too.

“You can’t take my daughter away from me,” he had claimed, filled with anger and frustration.

“She’s my daughter too Coriolanus,” Soarynn had reminded him, closing her suitcase, “and it won’t be any different, you barely see her as it is.”

She was right.

Coriolanus has been offered a handful of opportunities to see Ceraphina since they moved out and he’s only taken a few due to his busy schedule. From what he’s heard, she spends every second with Soarynn, going shopping, going to the park, out to eat with friends.

Should he fight for custody of her, she’ll grow up with a nanny rather than her mother and he can’t do that to her.

He loves her too much.

“Give her full custody,” Coriolanus says to Mr. Nimbus, clearing his throat, “I’ll pay whatever child support the court decides on.”

Mr. Nimbus looks puzzled by his sudden and clear decision but Coriolanus knows what needs to be done. If he loves his daughter, which he does, then he’ll let Soarynn raise her. And he’ll visit when he can, take her out for little dates, remind her how much he loves her and how much Soarynn loves her as well.

She’s a spitting image of her mother in both looks and kindness and he’d be a monster to take that spark away from her.

He finally gains to courage to look over at Soarynn and he can see the relief in her face, the tears in her eyes. Her hands are shaking and she nods, blowing out a deep breath, “I agree to those terms,” she says softly.

Coriolanus wants to reach out to her. He wants to grab her hand and wipe her tears because she shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t have come here prepared to put up a fight to have custody of their daughter.

But she did and he can’t.

Nothing has happened in the way he wanted.

Mr. Nimbus scratches several things out on his documents and warily eyes Coriolanus, “Then it’s come down to the penthouse which might I remind everyone, is an ancestral home to the Snows, dating back to the beginning of Panem.”

Coriolanus remembers the day Soarynn moved into his penthouse. How she transformed it, made it into a home. He remembers their first night together, baking cookies in the kitchen, dancing in the living room. He remembers brining Ceraphina home from the hospital after she was born, just a tiny little thing.

Every corner of that penthouse is haunted.

“He can keep it,” Soarynn tells her lawyer who is now the one who looks surprised. Coriolanus is shocked as well, she put so much time and effort into transforming the penthouse, making it more timeless, a space to pass down for generations.

She tears her gaze away from the desk and looks at Coriolanus, taking his breath away, “It’s yours,” she says, “we’ll live with my father in my own ancestral home.”

Coriolanus doesn’t quite know what to say, while Soarynn came prepared to fight for their daughter, he came prepared to fight for his home.

It seems that they’re both full of surprises today.

“I agree to those terms,” he finally says, swallowing down a lump in his throat.

Their lawyers probably came here prepared to throw down and put up a nasty fight but neither parties seem interested in watching the other person bleed.

They’ve both been hurt in different ways.

All that’s left is to sign the papers.

“Sign here, here, and here,” Mr. Nimbus says to Soarynn, pointing at several dotted lines on different documents. She looks at her lawyer who nods, all terms have been looked over and agreed upon. He’ll keep the penthouse, Soarynn will keep Ceraphina who will be able to see her father whenever she pleases. Soarynn will inherit the money she’s entitled to and Coriolanus will keep the rest.

She signs the last line and holds out the pen to Coriolanus who slowly takes it from her hand.

He stares down at the papers in front of him. He can’t believe it’s come to this. He wishes he could go back, change the past, be a better man, a better father, a better husband.

But he can see how tired she is, how exhausting this has all been for her. Coriolanus hasn’t stopped loving Soarynn and he knows she hasn’t stopped loving him either but if you love something, then you let it go.

He signs the papers, finalizing their divorce in black ink.

After documents have been filed away, everyone stands. Their lawyers shake hands and whisper things to their clients who are both quiet.

Mr. Nimbus gives Coriolanus a pat on the shoulder, “Good luck with your campaign, Mr. Snow.”

Coriolanus nods, watching him leave the room.

Soarynn’s lawyer gives her arm a friendly squeeze and follows Nimbus out into the hallway. Leaving Soarynn and Coriolanus alone in a room for the last time.

“Here,” Soarynn says, sliding off her wedding ring, “you should have it back.”

Coriolanus shakes his head, doing his best to act nonchalant, “No, keep it.”

But Soarynn takes a step closer, a persistent look in her stormy blue eyes, “It was your mother’s, please, take it.”

She’s right. It was his mother’s wedding ring and it was the perfect fit for Soarynn’s ring finger.

He takes it from her and slides it into his pocket, “Thank you. Thank you for everything,” he says, hoping she picks up on what he really means.

She does. She does because she knows him like the back of her hand and she sighs, carding a hand through her hair, “We had a good run,” she decides, “good times, good memories. I hope we can keep it that way.”

Coriolanus smiles, a real smile, the first one in weeks, “I’d like that. I’ll see about scheduling a time to see Ceraphina.”

Soarynn slides her purse onto her shoulder, nodding, “Good, she’s been asking about you.”

He looks at her differently now. Soarynn is no longer a woman he’s expected to protect, to love and cherish and yet, he still plans on doing all of those things. Not out of guilt, but out of respect for what they had and what she’s given him.

She gave him eight amazing years, unconditional love and a family.

She gave it her all.

He sighs, this is it. No longer will they be known as the Snows. Death will not do them part.

“Take care of yourself,” he tells her even though he knows that Soarynn is more than capable of taking care of herself.

Soarynn smiles, “It was nice knowing you.”

He misses her already.

“It was nice knowing you too.”

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @strawberriicakes @kickmybark @melodyoflovee @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @erensrealgf @wonderlandbound111 |

[piratefalls]

another long list, except it's a day early because this is how i give thanks.

list one. list two. list three. list four. list five.

No Sense or Sensibility by inexplicablymine

“When and where was your first kiss.” Oh shit. The thing is… Alex actually has an answer to this one, it’s just a matter of admitting that it happened. ____________________ Kennedy’s. 7pm, Pub Quiz and Ice Cream. Every Monday ‘til death due us part. Alex liked his little routine, until Derryl got it in his head to host The goddamn Newlywed Game instead.

I'm Rememberin' I Promised (to Forget you Now) by Angelwithwingsoffire

It's been six years since Alex Claremont-Diaz graduated law school. And he's made a good life for himself, working with a firm he enjoys and making a difference in the world. Until a part of his past he'd thought he'd gotten over seven years ago walked back into his office asking for his help. To get a divorce. Which Alex has never done before. But he's never been able to say no, and he's willing to put his heart back under the bus for the chance at one more smile.

Rogue's Gallery by OrchidScript

Loathe as Alex was to admit it, Henry Fox was going to be a legend someday. He already was in the bureau depending on who was answering. Tied to art theft, jewel theft, one or two little sweet confidence schemes, and an alleged counterfeit Super Bowl ring, but caught on three counts of art forgery, the blond Brit had run circles around the Art Crimes division for six years. He was quick, smarter than the average bear, and more detail-oriented than a nuclear chemist. He had a penchant for nice suits, silk ties, and gin tonics with lime. He wrote letters to agents in taunting poetry, tucking them under windshield wipers or posting them to the office directly. Once, he managed to drop one directly into the pocket of a plainclothes officer without them seeing his face. _____________________ Henry Fox is a famous art forger, and Alex is the FBI agent who caught him three years ago. When one of Henry's aliases comes up attached to a new case, can the two put aside their cat-and-mouse past to put the copycat away?

Queer little ducks hold a special place in my heart. by anarchyat4am

Henry’s at a local Hispanic Heritage Month event browsing the art stalls when his gaze catches on a kid looking around with both purpose and nervousness. She’s fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt with one hand while she bites the nails of the other one, eyes alert and searching. Lost, then. And oh, Henry recognises her. She’s a regular at his bookstore, even at only six years old, and is there at least weekly with her dad—Alex, who she’d introduced to Henry as her papi—or various aunties and uncles, most of whom Henry doesn’t think are actually related to her. Keeping one eye on her, he lets his gaze sweep the vicinity but doesn’t see anyone else he even remotely recognises. Shit. He has to do something. “Sirena?” he calls gently. * Henry... is more than a bit useless around hot guys. So when he finds the lost kid of the gorgeous dad who frequents his bookstore, he pulls himself together until they reunite, only to then be devastated by the revelation that the man thinks Henry hates him. And, well... courage always rises, and all that.

just say you won't let go by viciouslyqueer

After dancing around each other for months, Alex and Henry finally get together. The morning after comes with a slight misunderstanding and comforting words.

We were supposed to find this by kiwiana

Still, half an hour after shaking Prince Henry’s hand for the first time, he finds himself back in his hotel room with one shoe and sock hurriedly tugged off and his right foot resting on his left knee. Just to check. Just in case Alex is somehow, by some miracle, about to become the first documented case of Surprise! You Can Totally Have A Different Soulmate, We Fucked Up And Your One Kind Of Sucks. No such luck. The words are the same as they’ve always been, etched into his skin in a careful, calligraphic font. The kind of handwriting someone might have if, for example, they came from the sort of family that valued tradition and etiquette far higher than letting their children write like normal human beings.

Sit. Down. Please Stay. by politics_and_prose

Alex adopts a dog he found abandoned on the side of the road. She's nervous and he wants to make sure he knows how to give her the best life possible. Enter Henry Fox and his beagle David.

muscle memory by stutteringpeach

It's been ten years since Alex was in London to stage a PR friendship with Henry after ruining the royal wedding. It's also been ten years since Alex dropped to his knees in front of Henry in a Kensington Palace kitchen. But now Henry's in the Hamptons for the summer, and who should he bump into? None other than Alex Claremont-Diaz, who happens to be working in New York all summer long.

The Perils of Midsomer Residency by clottedcreamfudge

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that care should be taken, given the Mountchristens' local influence?" Liam nods. "Sir." Luna then turns to Alex. "Do not piss anyone in that family off." Alex throws his hands in the air. "So many aspersions have been cast on my good character this morning that I could start a fucking farm. An aspersions farm." Luna narrows his eyes. "Correction," he says, "have another coffee and then do not piss anyone in that family off. Don't make me regret fast-tracking you through the ICI Development Programme." * After getting shot in the line of duty back in Texas, June forces Alex into a change of scenery. Because how much can really be going on in the quaint little English county of Midsomer?

something that feels like forever by dearestalez

“You’re crying,” she pointed out. Alex choked on a laugh, wiping his eyes. “I’m just-” he sniffed, holding her so delicately Henry felt herself melt into the touch. “I’m so happy for you, baby.” — alex and henry are so in love it makes me want to rip out my heart and stomp on it but slash pos

behind brick walls by weather_stained

After Henry and Alex move in together, it takes quite a while for them to fully adjust to their newfound freedom. Alex very much enjoys watching Henry grow more comfortable in his own skin after a lifetime of looking over his shoulder.

It's a (Birth)date by Celaestis

5 times Henry is oblivious that they're dating and 1 time he isn't.

Save a Horse, Ride a Princess by affectionatelyrs

“I have to say, this is all quite literal, don’t you think?” Alex wouldn’t know literal right now if it hit him in the head. “Huh?” Henry points at Alex: “Pillow Princess,” and then to himself: “Cowboy. Ready to ride and all that.” Alex nods dumbly. “Right.” - Or, Alex and Henry dress up as the ultimate couples costume for Halloween — themselves — and they both feel some kind of way about it

baby boy by smc_27

It starts as a joke. Alex taking the piss about how much money Henry has. How he could have anything he wanted, from anyone he wanted, if only he just asked.

My Songs Know Secrets You're Sick of Keeping by ma_lark_ey, paythe_piper

"How about this," Alex offered, "If I win AOTY, I announce Henry and I in my acceptance speech. If I don't, we do it your way." OR: Alex is a world famous pop punk star, Henry is still the Prince of England, and the public is onto them.

Au Naturel by cmere

The French doors leading to the office are thrown open, so he has a moment to take in the scene in front of him: Alex, lying on his stomach on the floor, feet kicked up and crossed at the ankle, surrounded by books, papers, and two open laptops. None of that, however, catches Henry's attention as much as Alex's hair, secured in a small, messy knot on top of his head with nothing but a single wooden chopstick. Henry blinks rapidly several times. "Alex," Henry says, somehow hoarse. Alex's head whirls around. There's a single, perfectly curled tendril over the apple of his cheek; his scruff has hit the mystical, magical point where it's more soft beard than prickly shadow; his reading glasses sit atop his adorable nose; and Henry realizes with sudden gravity that he's not entirely in control of his physical responses anymore—something has to give. Alex hasn't really been bothering with some of his usual upkeep, and Henry is kind of extremely into it.

You deserve my love by whateveridk

“I’ll leave as soon as you tell me to." Henry had turned towards him, stealing himself, sticking his chin out, and said “leave.” Alex has been picking up the pieces ever since. Two years later, living with Nora and June in NYC, it still haunts him, but it's fine. Whatever, he is fine. And then... Breaking News: Prince Henry comes out as gay So it's not fine, Alex is not fine.

sex ed in 6 steps by coffeecatsme

“Please tell me you used a condom, Fox,” Alex drawls out, leaning against the wall, and Henry chokes on his next breath.“Excuse me?”“You’re gonna tell me all about this tomorrow, but for the love of God, tell me you used a condom and we won’t have mini Henrys on campus anytime soon.” Or, 5 times Alex thinks Henry's straight and 1 time he finds out the truth. Or, 5 times Alex jokes about Henry's sex life and 1 time he gets to be a part of it.

More Than A Makeover by everwitch

The Fab Five—Alex, June, Nora, Liam and Spencer—descend on a New York based shelter for disenfranchised queer youth to give the place a much needed makeover. As the week progresses, sparks start to fly between Alex, the culinary representative of the queertastic quintet, and Henry, the sweetly charming founder of the shelter. It’s a deeply emotional week full of unexpected realizations, and certainly a week that strengthens Henry’s friendship with Pez in ways that neither of them quite knew they needed. As the week comes to a close and the Queer Eye team say their goodbyes, it remains to be seen what will become of the warm connection between Alex and Henry. Will it last, or was it too much of a perfect miracle to ever grow into something real?

The Royal Wedding by DracoWillHearAboutThis

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE HENRY OF WALES AND MR ALEXANDER CLAREMONT-DIAZ ARE ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED HM Queen Mary is delighted to announce the engagement of Prince Henry to Mr. Alexander Claremont-Diaz. The wedding will take place in the Spring or Summer of 2025, in London. Further details about the wedding date will be announced in due course.  Prince Henry and Mr. Claremont-Diaz became engaged earlier this week during a private holiday in Paris. Prince Henry has informed The Queen and other close members of his family. Prince Henry has sought and received the blessings of Mr. Claremont-Diaz's parents.  The couple will live in Nottingham Cottage at Kensington Palace. 

A Toast to the Night by allmylovesatonce

Henry looks up from his drink and swears his jaw drops. Standing in front of him is one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen. From his dark brown curls to the way his deep eyes gleam as he stands there, an awkward smile on his face. Henry is nearly sure this man is going to ask for his seat. He probably has some woman with him, scouring for a place to sit. “Uh, hi,” the man says. “Hi.” “Look, this is really awkward,” he says and Henry feels the confirmation in his gut — also maybe disappointment. “My ex-boyfriend just walked in and I really don’t want to talk to him. I was wondering if I could sit here with you so that he won’t talk to me.”

That's What You Get For Waking Up in Vegas by bleedingballroomfloor

The bartender slides Alex the whiskey and shot of water before turning her attention to the person behind him. He turns around at the same time as the person speaks, “Gin and tonic” in all rounded vowels, a distinct English accent shining through, and he swears his heart stops. “Holy shit,” Alex says before he can stop the words from slipping out of his mouth. “Henry?” When Alex is celebrating June and Nora's bachelorette party in Vegas, the last person he expects to see is his ex-boyfriend Henry, who moved back to London nearly a year ago. Waking up next to him the following morning, naked and sated with a marriage certificate poking out of his pocket, he starts to wonder if he's truly over Henry.

hang on 'til the chaos is through by ShyAudacity

David is lounging on his spot at the foot of the bed when Alex comes in. He opts not to turn on the light, not wanting to disturb Henry, but then quickly finds that the light is on in their bathroom. Henry must still be getting cleaned up before bed; Alex can say hello and check on Henry when he steps out. It’s weird that he’s still up. Henry was awake well before Alex was this morning and… come to think of it, Alex can’t remember him ever coming to bed last night. Alex has only made it through the top three buttons on his dress shirt when he hears a terrifying crash come from the bathroom. Clutching his chest, he steps towards their shared bathroom, afraid to see what’s on the other side. “Henry? …H, what was-.” Alex stops short in the doorway, startled to find the love of his life in a miserable heap on the bathroom floor.

Sad Again (Don't Tell My Boyfriend) by lucy_in_the_sky

After proposing to Alex, Henry writes a letter to his father reflecting on all the moments he’ll never get to share with him. AKA Alex comforts a mourning Henry and promises to be there for him, forever and always.

monster mash by matherine

None of Henry’s answers to “Who are you supposed to be?” are particularly funny to anyone but him, especially in his inebriated state, so he’s completely given up on making any sense when the latest person asks him, someone who he assumes is yet another sorority girl in a skimpy costume from the glimpse of a cheerleading skirt he gets while they brush past him to open the fridge. “George Villiers,” he offers. “Deep cut, England,” a decidedly male voice snorts, and Henry can’t help the way his head snaps up, eyes wide.

Take it Down Low / Make Me Get High by Mags (sparklepocalypse)

“Henry,” Alex rasps wonderingly, sounding almost entranced, “I want to eat your ass.” Henry’s train of thought screeches to a halt with such force that for a moment, he thinks he might’ve had a stroke.

how did a middle-class divorcé do it? by Time_Sequence

Not really concerned, Alex watched the typing bubble appear – disappear – appear again, like Henry couldn’t quite find the words to say what it was he was thinking. Most likely, he was trying to find the perfect sarcastic quip in response. What came through made him genuinely pause. HRH Prince Dickhead💩: You complete and utter moron Then, HRH Prince Dickhead💩: Royalty can’t marry divorcees If Alex had been having a good time before, he definitely wasn’t now. - When a joking interview reveals that Alex and Nora drunkenly married ten years ago, suddenly Alex's upcoming wedding to Prince Henry is jeopardised.

discreet packaging by demigodbeautiies

“Please, please, please explain to me,” Zahra says, finally, sounding more than a little bit long-suffering. “Why I had to have the head of the Secret Service sit me down and tell me to give you a talk about avoiding bomb scares with unidentifiable packaging.”

the world watched (and the world smiled) by fangirl6202

"Oh,” Alex says finally, faintly, touching one hand to his lips. Then: “Shit.”  His mind catches up then, realizing that Henry is walking away and he doesn't even think twice. He begins to quite literally chase after him, trying to get to him before he can get away or, God forbid, try to fly back to England and ghost him.   Henry is very pointedly not looking at him, stuttering apology over apology until Alex has to quite literally throw himself in front of him to get him to stop. Alex doesn’t know what to do. But the answer is simple, isn’t it? So fucking simple.   He takes Prince Fucking Charming’s lapels into his hand and kisses him back.  Or; it's New Years, and Henry stays.

Rabbit Hole by TuppingLiberty

Some sort of non-famous au, don't worry, there's not really a plot. Alex has been going down a research rabbit hole for hours and Henry comes to rescue him.

Let Loose Your Glow by athousandrooms

“Seems like my liege was caught in a situation where he’d rather the ground swallow him whole.” Pez nods towards a spot to the side, and Alex follows his gaze. He spots Henry easily – a tall lighthouse of tousled blond hair – talking to a girl who is clearly into him. His expression looks perfectly polite, but he’s subtly leaning away, and he looks tense. So, Alex makes an impulsive decision. Whatever happens, this is going to be fun. *** Or: Alex is so very definitely straight, so pretending to be Henry’s boyfriend to get him out of an awkward situation should just be a fun little pastime - except that he doesn't really want to stop, and he has no idea why. But maybe it's okay to not think too hard and let himself go with the flow, for once.

Things I Cannot Accept by SprigsofViolets

In 2016, Ellen Claremont lost the presidential election. In 2019, Alex Claremont-Diaz is not the first son of the United States, so he’s shocked when his path crosses with Prince Henry for the first time in almost four years.

How well you play...that's up to you by happinessofthepursuit

Treacherous (adjective) guilty of or involving betrayal or deception; (of ground, water, conditions, etc.) hazardous because of presenting hidden or unpredictable dangers. Or, how to describe surgical residency in a single word. A Grey's Anatomy inspired AU.

In Accord by absoluteaudacity

Pursuant to the establishment of an ongoing relationship between The Crown and the Office of the President of the United States, the representatives of the The Queen and Her interests are authorised to establish a contract of marriage between His Royal Highness Prince Henry of Wales and Alexander Claremont-Diaz.

A Heart Even More Your Own by chaa_kiao

“Guess you’ll be writing those poems after all.” He swallows. "I should go." Henry’s mind— every part of him, really— his heart, his body, his fucking soul— is screaming at him to take it all back. To hell with the monarchy, the American presidency, damn it all. This is the man he’s spent his entire life loving and he’s throwing it away for a legacy he doesn’t give a single fuck about. He forces out a rough “I think so,” but he can’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. “I love you.” “Alex—” “I know,” Alex says. “I just had to say it.” _______ Or: Alex and Henry getting back together takes a little bit longer this time.

you are my mountain (you are my sea) by alasse

Five times Alex and Henry have important conversations in houses, and one time they have a very important conversation in a castle.

Down For the Count by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates)

Alex came to Las Vegas to count cards, not feelings. Henry came to win it all. Is it possible to find something real in Sin City, where nearly everything isn’t as it seems? OR Goodbye reality, hello Vegas (the blackjack/poker AU).

Let Them Eat Cake by rohruh

“I wanna eat you out,” Alex’s voice comes out raspy and intrepid through the phone pressed against Henry’s ear. Henry lets out a soft whine at the admission, his breath up-ticking in synchrony with his hips as he thrusts up into his hand. “I’d like that,” he tells Alex eagerly, cradling the phone in his palm as though he could materialize Alex right there in front of him if he presses it against his ear firmly enough. “I’ve never done it to a guy before,” Alex confesses. “Is it… different from eating out a girl? I bet you’d taste so good, baby. Fuck.”

A Thousand Words by Thunder_Cakes

After that Han/Leia mural both their accounts go silent for a while. For months, actually. They’re both in therapy after Alex tried to post a selfie with June after election night and had a panic attack before he could hit “Share.” Suddenly the thought of sharing the details of his life and loved ones with the world is paralyzing. Wonder why. or: Alex, Henry and what they choose to share of their life

All for a Taste of the Honey by chamel

“So you’re telling me you’re not in favor of this plan,” Henry says eventually. “No, I’m fucking not,” Alex huffs, glaring at him. “It’s stupid and dangerous and unnecessary.” Henry cocks one perfect eyebrow at him. “You have another idea for how to get access to the room where he does his deals? The one that only ever admits Vega, his associates, and the strippers who entertain them?” (Or, an FBI agent!Stripper!Henry fic. Henry goes undercover at a strip club, and Alex has a lot of feelings about that.)

in the mood for... by carzla

Henry knows that he’s the one who said “casual”, and it had been a reminder to himself that that was all it could ever be between him and Alex. So, telling Alex that they should “make love” is probably a mistake in syntax bigger than he could safely afford. But they’re in Paris and Henry is feeling terribly, terribly maudlin.

something good and right and real by HypnosTheory

“This is pretty expensive for a high school trinket.” “Everything is bigger in Texas,” Alex jokes. Henry looks up at Alex, who’s standing with his shoulders relaxed for the first time since October. The relief of his mother’s victory has made him loose-limbed and calm, his smile easy and lovely. Henry looks down at the crown in his hands and back at Alex. He imagines the gold half-buried in Alex’s hair, heavy on the man’s brow, decadent and royal. Henry swallows, face heating, and holds the crown out to Alex. “Put it on.” -- After the election, Henry explores Alex’s childhood room. He finds trinkets of a young Alex that intrigue him, including a crown that gives him some ideas.

In His Wildest Dreams by myheartalive

Once Alex has pulled out, Henry turns over to face him. He strokes the hair softly away from his face and Alex smiles at him. “So… that happened again.” Henry leans forward and kisses him on the forehead. “Indeed.” There’s a sort of thoughtful pause, where Henry can see Alex working to pull together the right words. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you that… thirsty?” “Oh, bugger off,” Henry says, but he’s laughing. It’s a fair description. “No, but I mean it. You were like… urgent. It was hot.” “It felt hot. I liked waking up like that. With you up against me, trying to have your way with me.” — Set in and around the Henry bonus chapter, this is a story about Henry and Alex’s hectic schedules, family appearances etc. pulling them apart, and about what starts to happen between them, in the quiet of night: their sleeping bodies turning to each other, finding their sweet spots and opening up. And Alex and Henry learning a lot about each other in the process — Mind the tags, y'all. That particular tag features prominently and it’s a major plot point, so if that’s not your jam, just hit the back button.

until next time!

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 7

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,120

A/N: Really appreciate everyone's patience these last few weeks! I've been bounced around to a bunch of doctors, the holidays are always busy, and we got some tough news about my FIL, so it's been rough. But I'm so happy to come back to this series and look forward to continuing it 💜

“Ok fine, I get it now.” Dean huffs as he rests his hands on his hips, taking in the valley below him that glows in the early hours of morning.

You step up beside him, your stance mirroring his as the last ascent was definitely the steepest of the climb. And mixed with the sharp morning air cutting into your lungs, you were feeling it. But as you take in the view, the start of the day shimmering off the bare branches of the forest below you, it was absolutely worth it. Even with all of Dean’s moaning and groaning along the way. 

You close your eyes, the warmth of the winter sun a slight reprieve against the bracing breeze. You take in a deep breath, letting it settle deep inside you, feeling as the inhalation travels through you, winding all the way down to your toes. 

You breath in again, your fists clenching as a familiar pang of sorrow begins to overtake the relaxation. In the quietness and warmth, you feel her. Your Aunt Rose. Your teeth clench as you feel tears prickle at your eyes. But as you take in another breath, you won’t let them fall. Because you’re happy to have her here with you. This is exactly what she would want for you. She would be happy for you. Proud, that you had taken a giant leap out of your comfort zone, and that warms you more than any sunshine. 

You open your eyes again and take in one more deep breath as you look out past the vally, the tears drying without having fallen, and you let it all out in one big sigh, your body humming.  

“Good?” You turn to Dean, who offers you a gentle smile, and you swallow down the lump in your throat and nod, your lips soft but upright.

“Well,” he shifts to fully face you, his stature casting a shadow over you. “If you’re done with all you’re breathing,” he raises his eyebrows. “How about some breakfast.”

The diner clock reads 10:34 when you and Dean walk into Billies, him once again holding the door open for you before you step inside. You’re still surprised by the gesture, even though this is the second time he’s done it, but you appreciate it nonetheless. 

Once Dean steps in behind you, you start to head for your usual spot at the counter, but Dean catches you by the elbow and points to a booth towards the middle and against the opposite wall. It’s the same one, or at least close to, the one he sat at a few weeks ago when you first ran into him here. 

You really enjoy sitting at the counter, but after all the nice things Dean’s done for you the last few days, you figure you can let him pick the seat. Plus, something tells you this man has a routine, and you’re not going to try and mess with it. So you lead the way to the spot he pointed out and throw yourself onto the fading vinyl with a slow whoosh as it adjusts to your weight as Dean settles in across from you.

“I’ve never actually been here for breakfast.” You comment as a middle-aged woman steps up to your table and places down menus and automatically fills Dean’s coffee mug before she motions to yours and you nod. You haven’t seen her before, so you’re assuming she must do the morning shift. 

“Thanks, Denise.” Dean shoots her a smile that leaves you feeling slightly jealous of the woman before he wraps a large hand around the mug, and brings it up to his full lips, closing his eyes as he enjoys the first sip with a hum. Your breath catches. 

God damn why are even the simplest things with him so hot?

“You’ve been missing out then.” He says as he opens his eyes and sets the coffee back on the table. It takes you a moment to remember what he was talking about. 

Breakfast, right. 

You reach down the table and grab the tin of creamer as he continues. 

“As good as the lunch is, Lloyd back there makes the best damn eggs you’ve ever had.” You nod your head as you stir your coffee, watching as it lightens to your preference – like milk chocolate. 

“I’m actually not a fan of eggs.” You place your spoon onto your napkin, the liquid saturating the paper as you take your own sip, your shoulders scrunching up towards your ears as the hot liquid settles in your chilled body, even after Dean kept the truck well heated on the drive back. The last few days had been the coldest since you arrived, and the weather was calling for snow soon. 

You almost miss Dean’s wide eyes and gaping mouth before he quickly shakes it away.

“Who the hell doesn’t like eggs?” His nose scrunches and you can see the visible confusion on his face. 

You just shrug.

“Never really been a fan. Especially when I go out for breakfast. If I’m going out, I want something I don’t normally have.” 

“Which is?” Dean raises a brow as he takes another sip, this time keeping the mug in his hand instead of setting it down, and your heart rate spikes again.

Down girl. You remind yourself. It’s breakfast, not a date. Nothing was going to happen after this.

“Pancakes.” You grin. “With strawberries and cream.” You watch as Dean’s lips part at your answer, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head but he swallows his comment down with another sip of coffee. 

“Fair enough,” he settles on instead. 

Only ten minutes later, Billie makes her way over, your breakfast orders in hand – Your pancakes, complete with a whipped cream swirl, and Dean with the “hungry man” platter, filled with three eggs, two pieces of toast, a few slabs of bacon, and finished off with a side of hash browns. Your stomach feels queasy just looking at that much food. 

“I see you made it out alive.” Billie smiles down as she places the dishes on the table and looks between the both of you. You let out a laugh, remembering your conversation from a few days ago as Dean’s brows knit together.

“What now?” He looks between the two of you. You purse your lips, trying to bite back your smile.  

“I had Billie vouch for you before we went hiking.” You pick up your fork and make the first cut into the pancakes, appreciating the perfectly golden brown fluff. “Had to make sure you weren’t going to throw me off the cliff or anything.” You smirk at him as you take your first bite, and your body slumps as you moan as the food hits your taste buds, the perfect combination of vanilla and strawberry.

“Oh my god, this is so good,” you say over the food, not caring that it’s impolite. Dean wasn’t kidding about the breakfast here. It was heavenly. 

It takes you a minute to realize both Billile and Dean are staring at you with wide eyes, so you push yourself back upright and swallow your food down, heat rushing up your neck and cheeks. Billie gives her head a slight shake and a smile appears over her shock. 

“I’ll pass along your compliments to Llyod.” Billie pats you on the shoulder then heads back towards the counter, and you shoot her an embarrassed smile as she goes.

“Told ya breakfast was good.” Dean points at you with his fork, a gleam in those gorgeous green eyes before he turns back to his plate before he can see you lick your lips, wanting something sweeter than what you ordered. 

“So you thought I was going to kill you?” Dean looks up at you before taking another bite. You smile over your food, swallowing it down.

“Look, we obviously didn't get off to the best start.” You raise your brows at him. “In case you forgot, you did point a gun at me, which I really didn’t appreciate.” He clears his throat and looks down at the table, heat brightening his cheeks.

“Yeah I might have forgotten that part.” You just smile even though he’s still avoiding your gaze. 

“So yeah, I asked Billie if you were a psycho who would kill me if I went hiking with you.” That gets a huff out of him.

“Really?” He holds his hands out in front of him, gesturing to himself. “Do I look like a serial killer?” His eyes find yours, astonishment shining in his irises. 

“A girl can never be too careful.” You smirk.

“Fair enough.” 

A couple forkfuls of silence later, you clear your throat.    

“Know if anything fun is happening this weekend?” You ask as you watch Dean take a massive bite of his eggs, which were almost gone already. 

You asked to make small talk, but you were also curious. The town turned out to be pretty quiet, quieter than you thought you would appreciate, and loneliness was starting to grate at you. Turns out, four weeks alone wasn’t as relaxing as you expected it to be. It was nice at first, but now it was starting to get boring. Hence the hike this morning. But now that was done, and you’ve read, meditated, shopped, and ticked off every checkbox of your relaxation reset this trip was meant to bring. Though it sounds like the town is bustling with city tourists during the warmer months, there is not much going on while there’s snow on the ground. Really, the only thing you could think of was to head to Max’s. But truth be told, you didn’t feel like sitting at a bar alone again. You were missing your friends. 

“No clue,” Dean swallows down his bite and chases it with some coffee. “I’m headed up to Bolton for some work.” He puts his fork down and leans back as he rests his hands on his thighs, a near empty plate shining up at him. 

Bolton. That sounded familiar, but you weren’t sure why.

“What’s Bolton?” You ask before you take another bite from your still half-full stack of pancakes.

“Town ‘bout an hour from here. I have some work I gotta take care of.” You raise your eyebrows as you swallow down your food before you open your mouth. 

“You’re a traveling mechanic?” You can’t stop the smirk that starts on your lips. It sounds a bit ridiculous. Especially considering he had his own shop here. 

He sighs and rolls his eyes as your smile grows. 

“If you want to put it like that, sure.” He draws out crisply, though his smile matches yours. “There’s a few classic car collectors up there that have me on retainer to keep their cars in good shape. A lot of them buy and sell them for investments.” He picks his fork back up and stabs at some lingering potatoes. “So they have to be in working order if they want to make back a profit.” He shoves the scoped food into his mouth. 

Well that was a surprise, and your eyebrows show it. You hadn’t expected pick-up-truck-Dean to be a closested classic car maestro. 

“That actually sounds cool.” You match his bite with one of your own, each mouthful of pancake just as good as the first. 

“And being a regular, small-town mechanic doesn’t?” He shoots back and you breathe out a laugh as you lick your lips. 

“I didn’t say that.” But Dean just rolls his eyes again with a smile. 

Grumpy Dean may be a pain in the ass, but this Dean was starting to grow on you. He was actually, dare you say, fun?

“There’s a car auction on Sunday and one of my regulars wants me to check out a few of the cars he plans to put up beforehand.” 

“Sounds fancy,” you comment absentmindedly as you take the last bite of pancakes you can manage. You’ll need a box to take home the rest. “I’ve never been to a car show before.” You put your fork down and sit back, happily full. 

“If you want, you’re welcome to come.” Your eyes shoot to him. “Can’t imagine you’re into cars, but,” he shrugs as he trails off, like he’s not inviting you on a weekend trip with him.

Your mouth falls open and he looks at you when you don’t respond. 

“What?” He asks genuinely, but your voice is stuck in your throat.

“How’s everything over here?” Denise suddenly appears, hands on her hips and a smile on her face. 

“Perfect as always,” Dean beams up at her and she just rolls her eyes at him before she looks at you.

“Such a schmoozer.” Denise smirks at you and you tighten your lips with a quick nod, still in a half state of shock by Dean’s invitation to go away with him this weekend. 

“Anything else I can get you kids?” Denise turns back to Dean. 

“Just the check.” He reaches down for his mug and tips it back, finishing it off. 

“And a box.” You jump in, your voice suddenly back. 

Denise reaches into her apron and rips off a piece of paper from a pad and drops it on the middle of the table.

As soon as the check lands, you reach for it at the same time Dean does, but you’re quicker, and you snatch it up and pull it to your chest as he grapples for it. 

“What are you doing?” Dean stares into your eyes, clearly asking you to give him the check, but you have no intention of doing so. 

“I’m paying for breakfast.” You explain simply and you reach over to your hiking pack and pull out your wallet, grabbing your credit card and handing that and the bill back to Denise.

“Be right back.” 

“You don’t have to do that.” Dean falls back into his seat. You smile.

“I do. Consider it a thank you for fixing my car, and taking me hiking.” And you mean it. Because the truth is, you owe him a hell of a lot more than just a breakfast, but considering he won’t let you pay for the new battery or the gas from today’s trip, it was truly the least you could do.

“Here ya are, sweetheart.” Denise returns a beat later with the receipt and a to-go container. You accept both, and you’re sure to leave her a 25% tip as you usually do with morning waitstaff since you know for a fact they earn a lot less than the afternoon and evening crews. 

After you sign your name, you throw your card and wallet back into your bag.

“Thank you,” Dean’s voice from across the table gets your attention. You smile at him.

“Of course.” And he smiles back at you.

“Just don’t let my mom know I let you pay. She’ll have my ass for it.” A laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it and your head falls back with it. 

“Deal.” You lick your lips as your laugh dies down. “I promise not to tattle to your mom.” You pick up your plate and dump the rest of your pancakes into the box, taking a moment to push down the edges around the lid. 

Once it’s secure, you scoot out of your seat and grab your bag, throwing it over your shoulder and picking up your leftovers as Dean also stands. 

“After you,” He holds his hand out and you give him another smile, your body warming from toes to ears as you brush by him, the heat following you out into the cold and into the bed of Dean’s truck as he drives you home.

“Ugh this feels so good.” You moan as you sink further into the tub, bubbles tickling your chin as your body relaxes into the near scalding water, but that’s exactly how you like it, especially after having spent your morning in the bristling cold. You had stretched out once you finally got home, but you could already feel the start of soreness in your glutes and calves from the hike.

Your phone pings next to you, briefly interrupting Vance Joy. You grab the wash cloth hanging off the edge of the porcelain and wipe your hands off before you grab it off the floor, your home screen illuminating with a text message.

Dean Winchester.

Your heart rate spikes at his name as you sit up straighter and quickly open the notification, curious what he could be texting you about.  

If you do want to come up to Bolton this weekend, just lmk. I’m leaving Saturday morning. 

You squeeze your lips together and throw your head back against the pillow behind you, a smile spreading on your lips. 

Before you can even think about what you want to do, your phone pings again. You hold your phone up, a new message appearing under the last one. 

Probably should mention, I’m staying at my mom’s place as she lives up there. She has a couple spare rooms and she wants you to know she’d be happy to have you.  

“What the fuck.” You whisper to yourself as you stare at the words. His mom. You had no idea this was going to involve his mom. Your excitement starts to fizzle. 

“This is weird, right?” You ask out loud as you dangle your arm and phone over the tub’s edge and rest your head back, letting everything sink in. 

It wasn’t enough to just be going away for the weekend, but now you’d be meeting and staying with his mom. 

Who the fuck goes on a trip with a man they barely know, to stay with his mother of all people? 

Aunt Rose would. Your inner voice answers the question you had no intention of responding to. 

Hell, she would have jumped at the opportunity for the chance to meet new people and enjoy a fun weekend at a fancy car show.

You blow out a slow breath through puffed cheeks. 

If you were being honest, it did sound cool. You’ve never been to a car show before, not that you know much about them, but you do “ohhh” and “ahhh” whenever a nice car drives by. You can at least appreciate them. And what were you going to do this weekend? Spend another evening alone at Max’s with the hopes of maybe finding someone to go home with? 

But you know that’s not what you want to do. 

Oh god, Sydney is going to murder me. 

You bring your phone back up and open a text.

I’m in. 

Keep reading Forever Tag List

@iprobablyshipit91  @likesiriusly @kittyque @findingfitnessforme @wonderange @captainemwinchester @xtina2191 @smoothdogsgirl @mogaruke @chin-up-love @tsunadesenjuuchiha @lyarr24 @globetrotter28 @krazykelly @roseblue373 @k-slla @stephv213 @kaydallas21 @nerdymuffinbonkcloud

[eliotquillon]

FIC REQUEST: cameron and rowan talking during cursed. i beg

first fic of 2025 lets go

“All this hate,” Cameron says. “It’s toxic.”

“Then stay away,” Chase suggests, flat and tense, except she’s never been any good at that.

*

She is not starstruck, exactly, to meet Rowan Chase—nearly a year with House, and Cameron knows better, by now, than to trust other doctors based on reputation alone—but there is a part of her, the same part of her that had to be pinched when she cinched her Mayo Clinic internship, that is secretly thrilled. This is the big time, she thinks; these are the big names. Unlike Foreman, Cameron did not get into medicine to rub shoulders or make contacts, but in med school she slept with a copy of Rowan Chase’s textbook underneath her pillow before every rheumo exam. It is difficult not to be excited. He is the autoimmune version of Elvis, after all.

Before that, though: he is Chase’s father.

The thing is—Cameron knows Chase. She knows his embarrassing med school stories, knows his ears turn red when he blushes, knows that he’s allergic to strawberries and that he has season tickets to the local rugby team and that he arranges his clinic duty hours around his favourite nurses. She prides herself on being the sort of person who, in an emergency, would be able to rattle off all the relevant information about a coworker: blood type and next of kin and religious preferences. She prides herself on knowing people, full stop. She knows that she fulfils the stereotype of being a woman who cares, sometimes hates herself a little for it, but it has never been a good enough reason to stop caring. The world would be a better place, Cameron thinks, if more people took her lead. If more people smiled at babies, and held doors open for each other, and remembered people’s names.

She knows Chase, but she knows nothing about his family. Broad strokes, a first-draft sketch: born in Sydney, moved to Melbourne before his mother’s death, child of divorce. Even that much had been like pulling teeth; she’d had to feign ignorance about basic geography to get him to be more specific than just ‘Australia’, and he’d spat out the divorce anecdote, ashamed, when she asked him if 30th wedding anniversaries called for pearls or silver while planning a gift for her own parents. But it isn’t as if he knows much about her family, either. Cameron dislikes hypocrites—her own hypocrisy keeps her up at night—and she is not rushing to tell Chase about her husband, or the shouting matches she used to have with her father, or the way she went fleeing to Arizona for residency. She knows enough to know pushing isn’t worth her time. She knows enough, she thinks. But she is wrong.

“Where’s Chase?” Cameron frowns, walking into the conference room; she is back from clinic duty, flustered and rushed from the urgent trill of her pager. CODE RED CHASE, it had read, which would have been slightly more concerning if not for the fact that she received an identical message last week, just for the code to be about Chase misplacing his car keys and House wanting everyone to line up so they could point and laugh. “Is everything alright?”

House, smiling serenely around his coffee mug, makes a sweeping gesture towards the kitchenette. “He’s right here. Dr Chase,” he says, pointing at the stranger lurking by the sink; he’s older, distinguished looking, and giving Cameron a genial, if not bemused, smiles, “meet Dr Cameron. She’s an immunologist; I’m sure she can keep you entertained while I get an urgent consult.”

“But Gabe isn’t—“ Cameron starts on autopilot.

“Not that patient,” House scoffs. “I have it on good authority that the world doesn’t revolve around this department. Although I prefer it when she’s playing bad authority, if you know what I mean.” He gives an exaggerated wink. “Do stick around, Dr Chase. I’m sure Robert will come back to catch up—“ House waves his hands vaguely, “—eventually.”

It’s the repetition that makes it all click. “Oh,” Cameron blinks. “You’re—“ Chase’s dad, is what she means to say, but what comes out is, “You’re a big deal.”

Rowan keeps smiling. Knowing what she does now, she tries to pick out things that remind her of Chase: the white teeth, she thinks, and maybe the set of his shoulders. Not his nose, or his jaw, but perhaps the eyes. “That’s very kind,” he says. “I believe Robert has gone to search the patient’s house, if you were looking for him.”

“I have some time,” Cameron says. “I can give you a tour, if you’d like? Unless you and, uh, Robert—“

“A tour would be wonderful,” Rowan cuts her off. “Please. Lead the way.”

*

There is something that Rowan reminds her of that she can’t quite put her finger on. He is polite, which she likes; he makes a point of calling her Dr Cameron, and walks a careful half-step behind. In the Oncology wing, he hesitates for a half-second, and Cameron says, “Sorry, it’s always very busy in here—“

“Not at all,” Rowan says, with another pleasant smile. “Please, continue.”

She figures it out by the time they get to the cafeteria, Rowan opting for mineral water and a salad—he is exactly what Chase has modelled his bedside manner after. Uncanny, once she puts a name to it: Cameron gets the foreboding sense that he’s about to ask her if she has a family history of autoimmune disorders at any given second. But he doesn’t, of course. Instead, he smiles again and says, “So, Dr Cameron. What made you want to become an immunologist?”

It isn’t a question that Cameron gets asked very often these days; patients are often oblivious to her specialty, see her only as an extension of House—which, she supposes, is a fair assessment—and dates very rarely get to the point where they know the specifics of her job beyond just doctor. Why did you want to become a doctor is an easier question, one with a canned response: because I wanted to help people. Why did you become an immunologist, though—

It’s harder. Harder when she’s sitting at a cafeteria table with, if not the father of modern rheumatology, then at least its uncle.

“I was a pretty stubborn kid,” Cameron says at last. “Always had to have things exactly the way I wanted them. Then I went to med school, and we had this lupus case study, and—the idea that my body could just turn against me like that. It scared me. And I didn’t want to be scared.” It is not quite the whole truth, but it is close. She has never told Chase this; he never asked. There’s a pang of guilt, but it soon subsides when she makes eye contact with Rowan. He is pensive. He is smiling.

“The immune system isn’t the only part of our bodies that can turn against us,” he says thoughtfully. “The same applies to cancer, for instance.”

Cameron had the same thought process, too. Only in the opposite direction. Cancer had been something she’d been so desperate to get away from, but that feeling of betrayal—that the body of someone she loved could produce something that killed him—never quite left. “For instance,” she agrees now. “But immunology is what stuck. What about you? Why rheumatology?”

It has always been something she’s been curious about, how Chase ended up in such a different field of medicine to his father; people die of rheumatological conditions, of course, sometimes even quickly, but it is world away from the ICU. It is why Cameron took this job, really: immunology is a wide universe, but often a slow one. She had seen too many slow deaths, spent too much time rotting in her department. She’d been ready to move on. Change of pace. Change of life.

“My father was a trade unionist,” Rowan says. “I spent my boyhood in Czechoslovakia. Years of hard labour and arthritis left him bedbound. I wanted to find a cure.”

He is lying. There is no big giveaway—he doesn’t duck his head, or scratch his neck; his voice is still low and even and amiable—but he is lying, Cameron thinks, with a strange sense of detachment, like she is a child who cannot be trusted to know the truth. She wonders if this was Chase’s whole childhood. It isn’t enough to hate a person, she thinks, but perhaps enough to resent them.

“That’s very noble of you,” Cameron says. “Devoting your life to research like that.”

Rowan smiles. He says, “Robert is far more hands-on, of course. He took a different path.”

She thinks of Chase scheming to get Gabe out of the room with his parents, silently pleading with her not to contradict him. Coming up with obscure ways to find tapeworms. Volunteering to interrogate the pharmacist for their patient with colchicine poisoning. Foreman, silently fuming over Chase’s perfect patient reviews; Chase dimpling and saying, sucking up still requires suction.

“He likes to get things done,” Cameron agrees. She says, “He’s a good doctor. I count him as a friend.”

“You’re lucky,” Rowan says. She imagines him adding: I don’t.

*

“This thing with your dad,” Cameron says the next day, when he’s asking her to let the others know that he’s re-rescheduled his clinic duty, “you can’t just ignore it. He’s asked to consult on the case properly; he’s going to be around.”

Chase, fussing with his clinic paperwork, hesitates. “There’s a saying amongst kids with divorced parents,” he says at last. “Every deadbeat dad says it at some point or another. The phone goes both ways.”

Cameron frowns at him for a moment. “To extend the metaphor,” she says, “he’s ringing now.”

Chase closes his eyes. Steels himself. She sees Rowan in him, just a flash. “Doesn’t mean I have to pick up.”

*

Back in the MRI room:

“Then stay away,” Chase says, and Cameron has never been any good at that, but this time it isn’t her phone line to cut.