#i gotta be honest i have no idea where it was going but writing the characters in a new context was fun

[zepskies]

Ahaha that is a great gif @lamentationsofalonelypotato! Diving into the rest of your lovely comments...

I mean, I'm sad that it's coming to a close, but I'm hoping that in the future there might be a fic with a little Elijah (or a little Jude) running around. 😏

I was also sad to get to the end, but tbh I still had ideas even after writing the ending. So you might be on to something there with a little Elijah... 😘

I love the little details about him and Benny pranking each other, but it really just made me sad because Dean left them 😭 But at the same time they are opening up with one another and sharing their life stories and I couldn't be happier.

It's bittersweet, isn't it? 🥲 On the one hand, bonding. On the other hand, it's a memory of everything Dean's left behind.

Again I stan a strong woman and Mila is just so stinking badass that I love her so much. Also yes girl, PROTECT 👏🏻 YOUR👏🏻 MAN👏🏻

Hahaa I love her too!! 🥰 100% She's gotta protect her man, even if she's not totally sure he should be her man yet. 😝

Love that you're referencing the honorable choice title here, and showing that Dean is a man of honor and that he did make a choice that maybe messed up his life, but he cared more about doing the right thing. And I think you did a great job of titling the series and the chapters in general. Each one corresponds beautifully to the themes in the chapters so you should be proud!

Aw thank you so much!! I try my best to create meaningful story titles and chapter titles, and making room for those moments that reflect the major themes of the story. "Choice" is of course the biggest theme in this story, as it could be for every story--characters making decisions that push the story forward and help define their character.

I know that something dramatic is about to happen and that I shouldn't be thinking about this right now, but I just love height difference so much😭. When a guy is bigger than his girl oh wow it sends me to the moon. I think it's so cute and goodness the cuddles must be so fun.

LOL I love it!! I absolutely love the height difference thing too. 😏 I'd imagine the spooning is the best!

Again, devastating moment, but... SHE SAID HIS NAME FOR THE FIRST TIME! And the running her fingers through his hair?!?!?!?!

She said his name for the first time!! That moment after the river was probably my favorite scene to write, since it's the first time they truly explore their connection. 🥰

I'm cackling. I love Mila so much. The sass, the teasing. Oh goodness they're so cute and I am so scared that there's going to be a last minute perilous situation and somebody is gonna die.

Ahaha don't be too scared! I'm all about happy endings, and I'm so glad you're loving their dynamic. 💜

Also him respecting her when she said that she doesn't have sex before marriage is just so HONORABLE AND WORTHY and why can't there be men that respectful all the time? Dean Winchester is really just ruining other men for me everywhere. 😭

Ughh right?? Dean is just a Good Man, no matter how much he doesn't see it in himself sometimes.

So... the face squishing is a family trait I see. But man, Dean standing there while a random lady just squishing his face while his eyes are wide in horror is so funny to me.

Ahaha I'm so glad you caught that! It was such a funny visual to me too, and I felt like it was something that would happen to Dean. 😂

This bit is so good. It's so true and honest and a little heart breaking, but it's such a wonderful thing for them to talk about, because Mila knows that he's thrown away his life to save hers. And it's so wonderful that he's able to give her that confirmation and reassurance that he doesn't regret the choice he made. Because it was the right choice, the -AHEM- Honorable Choice lol 😂

Aww thank you. There are a lot of bittersweet moments in this, and this is one of them. But like you said, I felt it was important for them to have this moment where she acknowledges what he's done for her, as well as gauging if he holds any resentment. Of course, Dean doesn't regret his choice. 😉

Oh this chapter was so good my sweet friend! I'm a little sad to see that it's ending, but it was so wonderfully written and neither of them died. I was really scared about that 😅. AND it ended with a wedding (sort of?). Now little Elijah can run around the camp helping his mother and learn how to break in horses with his father. ❤️

Thank you very, very much my wonderful friend!! 😭 I'm too much of a hopeless romantic to have either Dean or Mila die. I researched into wedding customs for the Lakota people at this time, and apparently until Christianity reached their culture, they didn't have formal "weddings" in the sense that we know them today. It was more of, as long as the man got the blessing of the woman's father (and gave a nice gift), the couple would pair off and from then on live together as husband and wife.

Safe to say, Dean didn't get the chance to go about that custom lol, but there are other cultural elements I would want to explore in future chapters--along with them having a kid!! I LOVE the idea of Dean finding his role in the tribe by helping take care of/break in the horses. 💕💕

Thank you again so much for reading!

The Honorable Choice - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: The last chapter! Hold on, it's about to get bumpy...

Disclaimer: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

**Pronunciation guide at the end!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Dean, survival situations, smut (mutual masturbation, fingering, and more), angst, and fluff.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 3: Worthy

They travel together for two more days. Dean isn’t really a talkative man, but inevitably, he finds himself speaking to fill the comfortable stretches of quiet plodding across the grasslands.

He tells her about growing up on his family’s farm, where his father was firm but fair, and a larger-than-life presence when Sam and Dean were kids. His mother though, she was the only one who could ever go toe to toe with John Winchester and win.

“She tamed him,” Mila remarks with a smile. Dean’s lips quirk in response.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he chuckles, “but he knew he couldn’t pull a whole lot of shit with Mom. She’s a real pistol when she’s gotta be.”

Talking about them makes his heart heavy and sobers his mood, so he deflects with other stories, other chapters of his life. 

He talks about going through basic training alongside Benny Lafitte. As privates, Dean pranked his friend by filling his lumpy old pillow with raw eggs and chicken feathers. In retaliation, Benny swapped Dean’s morning coffee with actual dirt and hot water. Their boyish games escalated until they were nearly kicked out of the military.

Dean managed to smooth things over though. He’s always had a way of charming people, even the gruff Sergeant Major, Bobby Singer.

Mila admits that she and her cousin Šóta used to sneak out of the village when they were younger. He taught her how to climb trees, how to fight and protect herself, and how to ride a horse astride, like a man. He was the only one who ever encouraged her to have the “free mind” her mother dreamed about.

The more she confides in him, her eyes sparking with life and her hands gesticulating along with her words, the more Dean listens.  

On the third day, it’s nearing mid-afternoon when Dean slows Baby to a stop. After miles and miles of forest and grassland covered, they’ve finally approached a large, wide river. Mila stops beside him.

“My tribe lives beyond the river,” she says, “but the current is strong now.”

Dean looks over at her. A question he hasn’t wanted to ask crops back up. He feels that now is the time to voice it.

“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”

Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.

“I will protect you,” she says.

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Mila…”

“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

He’s still not convinced, but at this point, he really doesn’t have many options. It’s either take his chances with her tribe, or become a vagabond. He’s not sure how long he could survive in wilds of the West alone, especially while trying to dodge military patrols.

In the past three days, it’s taken Dean all that time to come to terms with a simple fact. He’ll likely never see his brother again, or his mother. It’s a pain that cuts into him deeply, down to his bones. It stings behind his eyes.

But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be.

He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.

With that decision made, Dean expels a long, somewhat faltering breath. He locks away the rest of his uncertainty, his apprehension, and even his grief. He hides deep inside, where she won’t see it. 

“All right, the current doesn’t look too bad over here,” he says, pointing to farther north along the river. “The horses can make it.”

Mila nods in agreement. She still looks uneasy, though she tries to hide it too. She ventures ahead into the river. Dean follows close behind.

The water is shallow at first, but it all too quickly gets deeper. The horses plod over the river stones and vegetation under the surface, and the humans are led deeper, until they’re submerged into the water up to their waists.

It’s good that Mila rides that giant mustang; if she were on a mare, like Dean, she’d already be sunk up to her shoulders. Baby’s a big girl, to be sure, but Mila is nearly a foot shorter than him, with a smaller frame. He watches her carefully as she makes her way ahead of him.

That’s why he’s able to act fast when Mato slips, dunking Mila under the water. She gasps and tries to cling onto him, but the current is fierce. It pushes Mato down the river no matter how much he scrambles and kicks at the water, braying wildly in distress.

Shit! Dean tugs sharply at Baby’s reigns and strives to catch up to them. He grabs Mato’s reigns and pulls and pulls, until he and Baby are able to drag him to the other side of the river where he can get a foothold with his hooves.

Mila is starting to fall off his back. She struggles to cling on while the river pushes at her, with her wet hair falling in her eyes. Dean leans back as far as he can to try and pull her up.

“It’s okay, I’ve gotcha,” he calls out, even though his heart hammers with alarm.

She reaches out for his hand in turn. Just as his fingers begin to close over hers, a wave from the current crashes into her. A short scream tears from her throat after she loses her grip on Mato’s neck. Without her weight, he’s able to pull himself back up onto the bank along with Baby.

Damn it! Gut-wrenching alarm spears Dean into action. He leaps down from Baby and removes his gloves, his hat, and his uniform jacket, so he can dive into the water. Thank God he’s a strong swimmer.

Mila seems to be too. She carves through the water against the current the best she can and tries to keep her head above the waves, but Dean can see it’s a losing battle. He manages to grab hold of her arm, and then wraps an arm around her waist to keep her close. Both of them work together to try and cling to any passing rock or low-hanging vine as the current sweeps them out toward an ultimate end.

A waterfall.

Of course. Goddamn it. Dean doesn’t know how steep it is on the other side, and he doesn’t want to know. All he’s trying to do is keep himself and Mila above the water.

She hooks her hand around a sharp rock. It bites into her hand, making her cry out, but she clings to it for all she’s worth. She holds onto Dean just as tightly, even though the current wants to take him. She tries to pull him closer, close enough for him to get a hold on the rock as well.

This time, it’s Dean who loses his footing. The rocks slip beneath the soles of his feet when he attempts to gain some leverage.

A shout of surprise escapes from him when he fails, and it gets swallowed up by water rushing down his throat.

“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.

The river takes him over the edge of the abyss, and he falls.

He never expected that he would get to open his eyes again, let alone to the sight that greets him. Mila’s familiar face, framed by the dark, drying waves of her hair, is bright with firelight. It dances in orange-gold across her features. Her eyes are warm like rich molasses when she looks down and finds him awake.

She smiles in relief.

He realizes that he’s lying on soft grass with his head pillowed in her lap. She’s taken off his boots and half of his white undershirt; she tore one of his sleeves to wrap around a mercifully shallow gash in his shoulder.

The horses are drinking from the river nearby, with a pile of apples split between them. There’s a fish roasted over the fire, but all Dean cares about is the way her fingers are running through his hair. She sings a soft song under her breath while she passes her other hand over his injured arm without touching it.

He doesn’t understand the words, but he thinks she might be trying to heal him. He’s heard plenty of stories about the Sioux people, most he’s taken with a grain of salt. He does remember Cas saying that their healers are different from doctors.  

Dean’s never given their hoodoo much thought, but right about now, he hopes it works.

“Mornin’,” he croaks.

Mila’s relieved face becomes touched with amusement.

“It’s night,” she says. “You slept for a long time.”

Dean wants to sit up and take an inventory of his injuries, but he can’t make his body move just yet. He’s too tired and bruised. He also likes being in her arms. He likes her fingers in his hair, now moving to his cheek. He sighs through his nose in contentment as her thumb drifts over his overgrown stubble. 

“Thank you,” she says. Emotion is thick in her voice.

Dean meets her eyes again, and he smiles. He raises the back of his hand to touch her smooth cheek, gently. He lets his fingers glide across her tan skin, down the column of her neck. Her breath hitches.

She takes his calloused hand in her slender one. Her long hair falls like a curtain over her shoulder, almost like it’s shielding them from whatever is left to come for them beyond the forest. Dean wraps an ebony strand around his finger, just to feel it fall loosely again.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says.

Mila graces him with another smile from her lips. He wants to know what they taste like.

“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly.

Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown.

“Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says.

Her brows raise. “No?”

“Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man.”

“Toothsome. I don’t know this word,” she admits. “Am I supposed to eat you?”

Dean resists the urge to say the first incorrigible thing that pops into his head. Instead, his body shakes with laughter.

It’s difficult at first, all his muscles pulling at him in protest, but he raises himself into a sitting position. He cups Mila’s cheek, dragging his thumb across her lower lip. Her lashes are dark and long. They move when she looks up at him. He knows the look in her eyes, wanting, desiring, but also unsure of what she should allow him.

Dean leans in slowly, giving her time to decide.

She tilts her face up to his. He noses at her cheek, his eyes falling closed along with hers.

He finds her lips with his own on instinct and feeling alone. Soft and tender movements, testing, asking.

She answers him. Her fingers tangle in the front of his tattered shirt as her lips begin to move against his. Dean wraps an arm around her waist and gathers her against his chest. His other hand glides down her arm, down her side and along every soft curve. Her clothes are still damp, and so are his.

“It’ll be faster to dry our clothes if we’re not wearing ‘em,” Dean rumbles. His voice is deep with desire. He presses kisses along the side of her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck and shoulder. He earns her pleased hum, her heavier breaths, and her fingers once again in his hair.

“I can’t,” she gasps. She says something in her native tongue, too fast for Dean to even register. He slows down so he can meet her eyes.

“What was that?” he asks. Her face falls, and she starts to trip over her words.

“I am not…how you say, married. I have to be…”

Dean smiles ruefully, sliding a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Chaste?” he offers. She nods, her brows furrowed. Her grip on his shirt tightens.

“Yes,” she says. “In the eyes of my people, it is…”

“I get it,” Dean says. When she still seems conflicted, he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Really, I understand,” he says.

His problem is that he stares into her eyes too long, and at her kiss-swollen lips. He dives back in for another taste.

This time, he’s a little less gentlemanly than he promised. His tongue sweeps along her lower lip, begging entrance. She makes a sound of surprise, but she opens up to him. Her gentle hands slide up his chest to hold his face, and her thumbs stroke his cheeks. He holds one of her wrists to keep her there as his tongue dances with hers. She tastes like the river, and like salty tears.

Had she cried for him? How long did she sit with his body, waiting to see if he would wake up?

Despite those worrying thoughts, Dean knows this feels right. More right than he’s ever felt.

It’s harder than he might’ve imagined, but he still pulls away, before he won’t be able to stop himself. Mila pants for breath. She seems to feel she should let him go, but also doesn’t show any sign of wanting to. Smiling, Dean caresses her cheek one more time before he turns to the fish she roasted.

“This looks good,” he says, clearing his throat. “What kinda fish is this?”

With a sigh, she attempts to steady herself and moves to join him by the fire.

That night, Mila dreams.

She dreams of wings, white and beautiful. She hears the cry of an eagle before she sees his great wingspan take off in flight. He soon finds his mate, and they dance together in the sky. 

When she wakes, the fire has gone out and it’s still dark in the night. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s safe. Finally safe.

And she’s lying securely in Dean’s arms.

She’s no longer conflicted when she stares up at his face.

She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize…

Her heart has already chosen.

“Kimmímila, what have you done?” her uncle asks in the language of their people.

He is Tahatan, Chief of their tribe.

Mila’s father, Chatan, and her cousin Šóta have tied Dean Winchester to a post in the center of the Chief’s large tipi. Dean kneels with his head bowed in respect, even though he keeps sneaking looks at Mila to try and gauge what’s happening. He doesn’t understand a word of any of it.

“You’ve brought this outsider into our village, this White Man!” Tahatan shouts, his voice deep and resounding.

Mila steps forward, despite her mother’s embarrassment and her father trying to grab her shoulder. For the second time in her life, she defies her father for what she believes is right. The first was to rescue a member of their tribe—because even a horse’s spirit should not be broken by greed.

“Uncle, I’ve told you the story, though you don’t want to believe it,” she says. “Dean Winchester saved me when he could have killed me, or worse. He defied his own people. He is dead to his own people, for me, and because of me. You may think they lack all honor, but this man is different.”

She looks over at Dean, and he meets her gaze. He wears an anxious frown as he looks between her and the chief, but she has a feeling that his fear is for her, not for himself.

She kneels beside him, then looks up at her uncle with all the stubbornness she’s ever possessed in her life. She feels it’s led her to exactly this moment.

“And we are one,” she says. Nerves trill up her spine as she says it. She predicts the way shock falls over the room. The way her father curses out loud, angry. The way her mother covers her mouth in dismay. The way the Chief takes a step back, tilting his head at his niece.

“You would take it that far?” he asks.

Her face doesn’t change. “It’s already done.”

Tahatan is beside himself, both angry and perplexed. He goes back to his chair of wicker and wood that lies centered in the room. He drops heavily into it. After a long while, in which he thinks in silence…he releases a heavy sigh. He gestures for his brother and his son to untie Dean. The men do so, but they don’t let him go free. They force him to stand and bring him forward to kneel again before the Chief.

“Dean Winchester,” Tahatan says.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies.

“You prove yourself to be a man with honor,” he says in English. “Kimmímila has chosen you. She claims you have chosen her in return. Do you deny this?”

Dean glances over at her. She bites the inside of her lip, a bit worried about how he’ll react. She’s not sure he completely understands what Tahatan is telling him, but he nods, regardless.

“No, sir. I don’t deny it,” Dean says.

“Then, you will be allowed to stay, and live among us,” Tahatan declares. "We will see for ourselves what you are. We will see if you are worthy."

Dean gives a nod, crossed with a bow of some kind. He obviously isn’t sure of what he’s supposed to do, but he does say thank you. Mila wraps her hands around his uninjured arm and helps him to his feet. She smiles at him to let him know that the worst is over. He blows out a breath in relief.

“Is that it?” he whispers. He expected more of a thrashing, if he’s honest.

“Almost,” she replies. The two of them stop short before her father, Chatan.

Dean straightens up and holds out his hand. “Sir.”

Chatan glances down at the white hand extended toward him. His gaze raises back up to Dean. 

He grunts in acknowledgement, but he turns on his heels and storms out of the tipi. Her mother comes forward next. She examines Dean from all angles. She takes his face in her hand, somewhat squishing his cheeks, so she can look deeply into his startled eyes.

She seems satisfied by what she finds, and she lets him go. Afterward, she takes Mila’s hand and heaves a deep sigh.

She kisses her daughter’s hand and says nothing else, leaving them to find her husband and calm him down.

Dean turns to Mila with a look that says, please tell me that’s it.

She smiles more genuinely.

“Come,” she says.

She leads him by the hand out of the Chief’s tipi and through the village. Dean takes in the rows of other tall, cone-like structures covered in buffalo skin, as well as all the faces that turn to stare at him in a mix of curiosity, wariness, and even fear. Some of them whisper to each other, taking their children by the hand and keeping them close.

Dean’s still on guard himself, even when Mila takes him to a smaller tipi. It’s been closed up for a while now, by the look of it. Weeds have grown right outside the entrance. 

“This one’s yours?” Dean asks.

She pauses, giving him another small smile. “Ours.”

Dean raises a brow. Ours. Really?

She opens the flap in the front and beckons him inside. There’s still enough daylight to shine through the outer lining. Inside, his gaze flits over the old pile of stones in the center for heating, clothes folded in the corner, some cooking pots and utensils, paintings on wood and clay, and a couple of beaded decorations. Buffalo skin bedding is laid out on the other side with a couple of soft looking furs. 

Son of a gun. Dean doesn’t even blink as he processes it all. He’s in a damn tipi. This is really about to become his life.

Shaking his head a little, he forces himself to focus on Mila. She’s his anchor, and she seems to sense that he’s reeling. She guides him to sit beside her on the bedding, holding his hands in hers. After a moment, he reaches up to tuck a curling strand of hair behind her ear.

“You didn’t get in too much trouble because of me, did you?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No. My father and uncle are very similar. Strong to anger, but it is quick to run out. At least with me.”

Dean thinks he understands. Short fuse, quick fizzle.

“There is just…one thing,” Mila says. Her eyes fall away from his, like she’s embarrassed. He squeezes her hands.

“What?” he asks, his brows furrowing. It gets her to look at him again, but she seems worried to tell him.

“To convince my uncle to let you stay, I told them that we…” she trails, trying to find the right words in English. “That we are married.”

Dean’s brows raise high. His heart trips up faster. Okay, “ours” makes a lot more sense now.

“I am sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want you hurt—”

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”

In fact, this is a best-case scenario, as far as he’s concerned. He leans in to kiss her, and it doesn’t take long at all for her to sigh in relief, melting against him.

“We’re married, huh?” he asks. “No ceremony? No white dress?”

“We are bonded,” she replies, nodding as she meets every one of his kisses. “Or, we will be.”

She tugs him closer and revels in the feeling of his hands beginning to roam her body, sliding down her waist, her hips and thighs.

“Guess that means we have to seal the deal,” he grins. His lips drift away from hers to burn a familiar path across her cheek. He takes to nibbling her ear, making her flinch and laugh as it tickles.

“Seal-the-deal. What does that mean?” she asks.

Dean chuckles lowly in her ear. “Oh, I think you know.”

He guides her onto her back, over the comfortable mess of furs. He wants to take his time exploring every inch of soft, tan skin, but he first sweeps her hair away from her eyes, the back of his hand brushing against her cheek. She smiles up at him softly.

“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?”

Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others.

It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life. 

“No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”

He bows his head toward hers, and he proves it to her. His lips capture hers, fueled by passion and wanting. Mila’s hands slide over his shoulders and down his back. Maybe without her realizing it, she implores him to let go of the weight heaped on his shoulders.

When he begins to bunch up the hem of her dress, she sits up to help guide his hands. Her quickening breaths mesh with his as the first layer of clothing drops beside the bedding. His tattered shirt joins her dress, along with pants and shoes and boots, until all that’s left is skin against warm, bare skin. He lays on his side right beside her and explores wherever she lets him begin.  

“Beautiful,” Dean murmurs, as his lips follow the column of her neck, down between her breasts. Her breaths rise to meet him, especially when he begins to toy with a dark, pebbled nipple. Her fingers slip through his hair, and his name falls from her lips. He palms one breast while kissing and gently teasing the other, exploring sensitive flesh and grazing her sensitive fleshwith his teeth.

“No man’s ever touched you?” he asks, despite knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, her fingers gripping his hair tighter as his lips and tongue move against her skin.

“No,” Mila gasps a reply. Her hand slides down the back of his neck, and the more he teases her, her nails soon create faint red lines down his back, her thighs squeezing together. She feels a throbbing ache at the very center of her. Despite her inexperience with men, she knows what it means, and she knows what she wants.

Dean’s mouth drags away from her breast. He pulls back so he can meet her eyes. A smile curves his lips, and he takes one of her hands from his shoulders. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asks. He guides her hand down her body, brushing over a wet, sensitive nipple, down her stomach, and between her legs. This time, Mila nods in answer. She stares up at Dean with eyes like molten honey. He leans in to kiss her neck.

“Show me,” he says.

She shudders at the depths in his voice. It increases the flood of wetness she already feels, even before she slips two fingers between the folds of her sex. She gathers some of that slick and circles it over the source of her pleasure, the small nub above her entrance.

Dean takes his hardened length in his hand. While she writhes by her own hand, he drinks her in with his eyes. A soft groan falls from his lips as he pumps himself a few times, sliding a thumb across the weeping head of his cock.

He can’t be a spectator for long though. He nips tantalizingly at her neck, creating a zing of added sensation across her skin. She whimpers, though she tries to stifle it, her knee bending further.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dean says. “Let me hear you.”

He releases himself and replaces her hand with his own. He slips two long fingers inside her drenched entrance, earning a gasping moan from her. She latches onto his shoulders and buries her face into his neck. She whispers fervent things he doesn’t understand, but it only spurs him on.

His thumb circles insistently over her clit as his fingers pulse inside her. Her hips buck a needy rhythm against his hand, until her thighs begin to shake, and her inner walls squeeze even tighter around his fingers.

“Shit, that’s it, baby,” he pants gruffly against her cheek. “Let go for me.”

Warmth snaps and floods from her throbbing core, and she cries out near his ear, her nails biting into his skin. Her release coats his fingers.

Mila drops her head back against the furs underneath her. Her chest rises and falls quickly while she tries to catch her breath, her eyes tightly shut. Dean surprises her with a soft kiss.

“Mila,” he prods. He wants to see her eyes again, so pretty and wanton when she comes. He veers away from her lips to kiss her cheek, and then the other side of her neck. “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

She huffs a small laugh. Opening her eyes, she gestures to her bare body. “This is not enough?”

Dean’s lips tug at a smile. He shakes his head. “As a matter of fact, no.”

He shifts over her, finding his place between the cradle of her thighs. His elbows come to rest on either side of her head. She feels trapped by his body, even as she welcomes his weight and the feeling of his arousal, long and heavy and hard, trapped between their bodies. This man fills every corner of her world in this moment.

“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection.

“All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.” 

Dean chuckles. “You sure about that?”

She smiles in satisfaction, and her lips claim him this time. One kiss turns into many, each one mounting in passion and desire. Dean groans into her when she begins to touch him. Her hands are soft, but direct in their seeking; they caress his shoulders, run down his chest and stomach, and then, more tentatively explore the now painfully hard length of him pressing against her.

He makes a grateful sound of pleasure when her hand wraps around his cock, squeezing gently. His fingers bury themselves in her hair.

“I want all of you,” she says, this time a plea and a demand all at once as she strokes him.

Dean nods in agreement. He’s come this far. He can do that for her too.

He spreads her thighs a bit wider and encourages her to adjust the angle of her hips for him. His hand glides down her plush thigh and gets a healthy grip. Then he slides his hand under hers and guides his cock through her folds, first just holding himself at her warm, wet entrance.

He manages to wait for a second, in order to meet her gaze. She’s already holding onto his arms tightly, like he’s become her anchor. Her thighs wrap around his hips and beckon him closer.

Slowly, he pushes inside. He takes care in how he works her open. She winces at the sting of his girth stretching her, but his fingers once again massage her clit, stroking her arousal back into a keening flame. He swallows her gasps and moans as he bottoms out inside her, fully sheathed. Tears prick at her eyes, but not from pain.

Mila’s dream flashes like a waking vision behind her eyes. Wings take flight, along with the gleam of a golden beak and a sharp eye.

She blinks, and the image disappears. She’s left with the man who has become hers, making love to her with every stroke of him deep inside her. She presses grateful kisses across his neck and shoulder, wherever she can reach while she clings to his strong arms.

The thick head of him brushes a sensitive place over and over, one that tightens the coil in her lower belly and makes her core tremble again with warmth, until her body convulses against him, pulsing in pleasure, gripping him tight from the inside. Mila’s fingers clench in his hair just as tightly as her release hits her in a powerful wave; even her voice becomes lost to it.

Gritting his teeth, Dean grips the soft flesh of her hip and chases his own end. The way her inner walls choke his cock, he has no choice but to come hot inside her, his spend mixing with her own release. A strangled shout tears from his throat.

He has to brace himself before he crushes her. With his forearms resting on either side of her head, he lowers his forehead against hers. Her legs slip from where they’ve been tightly molded to his hips, her feet meeting the floor. Eventually he slips out of her. He watches his seed drip out and create a mess on the dark furs. The sight of it satisfies something primal deep inside him.

Later he’ll ask her about washing up (and about supper), but for now, he just turns onto his back beside her. She inches toward him, and he raises an arm so she can splay out against his side. They both lay there for a moment in the quiet, just catching their breath together. It marks the end of a long journey, and yet, the start of one too.

Mila turns to raise onto her elbow. She reaches over to wipe the sweat from his brow in a tender touch. Dean smiles up at her. He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm.

“I could get used to this,” he says.

Her eyes widen in surprise, but then she laughs softly. “Yes.”

Her hand moves down to his chest, over his heart. She sobers as she considers her people, and how much trust has yet to be bridged���not only her own father and uncle, but the entire tribe. When she led him through the village, they called him wašíču.

Fat-taker. Greedy White. Not one of us.

“It will be hard for you here,” Mila says. She worries it will be too hard for Dean.  

He just squeezes her hand, earning her attention through tumultuous thoughts.

“I’m not afraid of a little hard work,” Dean replies. His usual confident charm is infused in his smile, but she has a feeling he’s just trying to reassure her.

Sensing she’s not convinced, Dean reaches up to hold her cheek, guiding her to look at him and not the floor.

“Listen. I made my choice, and I’m sticking it out, come hell or high water,” he says.

Mila’s brows knit together. “Hell-or-high… What does that mean?”

Dean sits up on his elbow along with her. He takes her chin between his fingers and meets her gaze.

“It means if you want me, you’ve got me. The rest, we’ll figure out as we go along,” he says.

A smile slowly lightens Mila’s face. She tilts her chin up to meet him with a kiss.

“I will be with you,” she says. It’s a promise.

Dean smiles back.

“Good,” he says. “Because that’s just about all I need.”

AN: There we have it, friends. 💜 I really, truly hope you enjoyed this mini series! To be honest, I have more ideas for this little world (like how Dean might try to assimilate into this culture), but I'll leave it to you guys to let me know if that's something you'd be interested in reading.

Until then, I would love to know what you thought of this chapter! 

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew")

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[lycocarpum]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Discworld - Terry Pratchett Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes Characters: Samuel Vimes, Havelock Vetinari, Other Character Tags to Be Added Additional Tags: Case Fic, v/v is subtle i'm so sorry, at least that's the plan and if that changes. well Summary:

"Are you a superstitious man?"

Vimes took a moment not to consider his answer, but to ponder where this train of thought could be leading. "No, Sir. Not at all."

"Not in the slightest?"

This felt like the kind of question Vetinari would have asked him in the past, and Vimes could not remember what kind of response he gave at the time. "No, Sir. Wouldn't do me any good to be, Sir." ---

A completely spur of the moment fic idea that hit me while listening to Disco Elysium bgm. No idea what an upload schedule will be; my apologies.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Author's Note: I had a comment left on my post HERE. The person who commented brought up this scenario of Simon being dared to kiss you and you think that he won't, but he actually does and sparks end up flying. So, of course, I had to write it because... I mean... Come on... (lol). And here it is.

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader, Soap

Summary: During a game of Truth or Dare, your lieutenant is dared into giving you a kiss, but something about the way he has been acting lately may mean this is going to be more than a quick ordeal. And the way you have been feeling towards him won't be helping.

Word Count: 4k

Part 2: READ HERE

The night has started innocently enough: you and your fellow officers sit around together in the rec, blowing off a little steam after another successful mission. Some nice, simple fun of playing cards and shooting the shit like you usually do when leaving the base to go down to the bar isn’t an option. Everyone happens to be here tonight, including that brooding, mask-faced lieutenant that you can’t seem to keep your mind from drifting to as he stands against the wall behind you. 

Maybe it’s just your imagination, but you’ve noticed that the lieutenant’s presence has become more and more common lately, especially when you’re around. He keeps mostly to himself, staying on the edge of the fun by just watching, yet you swear that if you are stealthy enough from out of the corner of your eye you can catch his gaze lingering in your direction. 

Whether it’s just a trick of your mind or the truth, either way it makes your pulse race. And tonight is no exception.

All has been pretty calm so far, nothing too rowdy or out of hand. At least, it was until now as the night has waned on and inhibitions have fallen. What was once an innocent bit of fun has turned a bit more risque as Soap decides that cards aren’t enough to keep everyone entertained. What game is it he always seems to pick when everyone is more loose? One where the consequences always end up interesting: Truth or Dare.  

Several rounds have passed already where the truths have consistently gotten more honest and the dares even more spicy. No one is ready to call it quits just yet, but there is one person that hasn’t had a turn after all this time and that just won’t do, not if the Scottish sergeant has anything to say about it. Taking matters into his own hands, Soap turns his attention to the big man standing with his arms crossed, watching quietly. 

“Oy, Lt. Come on, you’re already ‘ere. Ya gotta join us,” Johnny says through the raucous laughter to drag the silent lieutenant into the merriment. “Or are ya chicken, hmm?”

As much as you want Lt. Riley to join in, you would rather him stick around and something like this could get him to walk out; you don’t want that to happen. “Fucking can it, Johnny,” you say as you strike him in the bicep with your fist. “You’re talking out of your ass, alright? Knock it off.”

To everyone’s surprise and yours, after a momentary pause, Lt. Riley steps up closer to the table with his arms still crossed. “ ‘s fine,” he dismisses your concern. “But, one round is all you’re gonna fuckin’ get from me, sergeant, so better make it count.”

Johnny nods his head in agreement, actually caught off guard that he is even able to get this far with the ever stoic and cold-shouldered officer. It all seems a bit too easy, but Soap isn’t going to pass up an opportunity like this to get the lieutenant involved. He’s gotta make this good whatever it is that gets chosen and so he pauses a minute to think of an idea for either scenario before speaking up. “Alright Lt, ye know how it goes. Truth or dare?”

Truth is never going to be an option for Lt. Riley, not with the level of secrecy he keeps to at all times when it concerns his life; he knows if he gives Johnny an inch he will take a goddamn mile. So, there is only one other option and though he tries to hide the fidgeting in his hands, he picks it.  

Maybe it’ll be something that’ll help him strike up a conversation with you later. “Dare,” he says. 

The grin that lights up Soap’s face instantly lets the entire table know that he is up to no good and the words that follow are a testament to that fact. You thought you knew Johnny well enough by now, but not even you could have been prepared for what came out of his mouth then. “Alright, I dare ye ta kiss our sassy little sergeant right here,” he says as he looks at you with an unwavering gaze. 

You meet his blue eyes and hold them in stunned silence. Is he fucking serious? As if Lt. Riley would ever go for something so fucking dumb as this. Johnny has to be out of his goddamn mind to put you in this position; it’s like he knows something he shouldn’t. Again your immediate reaction is to sock him in the arm, this time a bit harder to drive home the point that you are done with his bullshit. 

And yet… shockingly… you hear the lieutenant speak up.

“Fine,” Lt. Riley agrees to everyone’s amazement. 

You turn your attention to face him. “Are you sure? Johnny’s just being a dick, you don’t have to listen to him, sir,” you reassure as you shoot a glare that has the Soap nervously shifting in his seat, worrying about what is going to happen to him later for pulling such a ridiculous stunt.

“Said it’s fine,” he repeats, his gruff tone metered. “But I ain’t doin’ it ‘ere though; you’re not gettin’ a free fuckin’ show if that’s what you’re after Mactavish.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll give ya that,” Johnny concedes. Those blue eyes scan the room for a solution. “How about ‘round tha corner there.”

He points to the bend in the wall a few feet away; far enough from the group that they won’t be able to tell what’s happening behind it. Since there are now stipulations that the lieutenant has set, Johnny is going to add his own as well for good measure. “However,” he pipes up, “since it ain’t in front a us here, ya gotta stay in place for 10 minutes. I doubt ye’ll actually do anything, but might as well make ye both have ta awkwardly stand there for a bit. And don’t think yer gonna pull a fast one; I’m gonna be countin’.”

You look back at the lieutenant and he gives a nod. “Fine,” you agree as well. How you are able to keep your voice so steady when you feel that jolt deep in the pit of your stomach is a mystery, but you pull it off just fine.

With the rules set Lt. Riley stares at you as if waiting for you to get up from your seat first before he moves. You do and he immediately follows close behind as you make your way over to the wall just past the corner amidst the sounds of whistles and whoops. With a quick flip of the bird back over your shoulder to the group, you both vanish around the side and come to a stop a few feet from the edge. 

You lean your back up against the wall as he comes to stand in front of you, watching you intensely through the opening in his thin balaclava. As you wait to see who will speak first, you notice a tension in his broad shoulders that hadn’t been there before. This is the first time you both have ever been this close to one another and you can’t overlook the fact that he seems even bigger now that you are standing so near; you can’t help but admire how small you feel next to him.  

The longer he stares at you with those golden eyes, studying your face as if he is deciding something, the more rapid your heartbeat thumps heavy in your chest. He takes a step closer and then another before coming to a stop again. Now there is less than a foot’s distance between your bodies and suddenly there is a shift in the atmosphere around you both, a thick tension that is growing harder to ignore. 

The sounds of laughter filters over to the both of you, breaking you out of the haze of your thoughts. “You know, we don’t have to do anything. If you want me to lie, it’s fine, sir,” you speak before he has a chance to. “Fuck Johnny for putting us in this situation. We can just stand here in silence until we get called back.”

He clears his throat. “Who said anythin’ ‘bout lyin’?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrow that you can make out through the mask. “Just don’t wanna, is that it?” 

Something in the way he says the statement catches you off guard. Why does he sound slightly disappointed? Did he want to actually do this? You couldn’t really believe that; no, you must be reading this all wrong. “No, that’s not…” you stumble over your words; why is it getting harder to speak? “I just… didn’t think you’d want to… but… if you do then…”

“Yes or no?” he cuts off your string of stammering.

“Yes,” you confirm. 

Nothing else needs to be said other than that. His hand moves to his face, his fingers finding the bottom edge of his mask, and now you can’t breathe as you wait to see what’s under there. This is the first time you’ll be able to see more than just his eyes and that leaves your mind reeling.

Okay, you prepare yourself, it’s just a kiss, right? Nothing to it; you’ve been kissed before. This will be no different. Just breathe and we’ll get through it.

The mask is wrenched up above his nose so that his mouth is revealed and spread across waiting for you is a subtle, cocky smirk. Your cheeks flush as your eyes are drawn to the facial hair covering his jaw and outlining his lips; short, light brown outgrowth from not having shaved today. It accentuates his strong jaw perfectly and though you try, you can’t look away.

Still focused on his face you miss the warning as a strong hand suddenly finds its way onto your waist as he moves against you. His broad chest is pressed up to yours, you can feel it through the thinner fabric of his shirt, and you can’t tell whether it’s your own pounding heartbeat or his that you feel. That tension is suffocating now that he is this close, the air so thick it feels like you can cut it with a knife. You wait impatiently for the moment to finally break.  

It feels like you are holding your breath when after a few more seconds he finally speaks. “Good,” he says with a bit of breathiness to his voice, “cause I’m no liar.”

Leaning his head down slowly to reach you his lips inch ever closer until you can feel their warm, ghostly presence brush over your mouth causing your eyes to flutter shut as the ecstasy from the anticipation of them making contact overwhelms you. They are there, right there, and you plead with the universe to finally let them touch. You feel him inhale sharply and with that they are crashing against yours. It is with such an automatic, visceral intensity that it knocks the wind from your lungs.

Simon had been certain until the second your lips made contact that he could keep himself under control, that this was nothing more than sinless fun, but as he breathes in the hot, moist air from your mouth while he captures it again, he already knows that this is not going to end how he has intended. There is an immediate magnetism that you both cannot pull from and what is supposed to be something quick, turns mind-numbing in an instant.

Time stands still as your lips twine together in that familiar back and forth and what can only be a few short seconds extend out into an eternity. It’s like flicking on a switch how easily you melt into his embrace, like acquainted lovers, like your lips have always meant to be pressed tightly together. 

How can this be the first time you have ever kissed?

The stubble covering the exposed half of his face pricks along your cheeks the more he advances; the skin around your lips and your jaw growing more raw each time he moves, but the way it makes your face burn is far from painful. His breathing has become more strained, muscles tensing as he risks nipping carefully at the skin on your lower lip.

You inhale a sharp breath through your teeth and then it happens: an unconscious reaction to the pleasure surging through your veins like liquid fire. You can’t stop yourself as a sneaky moan creeps up your throat and before you can swallow it back down you hum it into his mouth. 

That low, alluring sound leaves that hulking military officer hungry to hear more. Those large hands of his desperately want to paw at your body, to caress all those silky curves against the coarse skin of his palms, to let his fingertips linger at all that delicately soft flesh for as long as he can. A deep, gnawing ache settles itself in his chest as he takes your lips with more feral aggression; Simon has never craved something more in that moment than to keep you like this entangled with him. 

The longer he goes, the more there is nothing tentative about his movements; he kisses you like he owns you. Lt. Riley steals from you as if your lips are air and he will suffocate without them, his desperation is the kind that feels like this is life or death and he needs you to survive. You are unprepared for the fucking bliss of it all, the raw, unbridled passion that his lips create as the friction abrades the tender skin of your mouth. 

And your thoughts scream for him to keep going.

You match his intensity with your own, kissing him back with everything that you have in you. He opens his mouth slightly and without thinking your tongue moves in and presses against his, trying to shove its way into his mouth. Fuck, he is not prepared for you to be so keen and it throws him off for only a moment before he leans into that passion and comes back with his response.

The lieutenant braces one of his large hands near your hip, pinning you to the wall while his mouth engulfs your own as he slides his tongue in between your teeth to fill the cavity full. It slithers over the surface of your tongue towards the back of your mouth, the taste of you intoxicating so that he cannot get enough. The pleasure is so intense that it severs his connection with reality and everything outside of your joined mouths fades away into background noise. His other hand moves from your waist and is suddenly wrapped around the back of your neck, his thumb holding steadily against your jaw to keep your head securely in his grip so that he can pull you as tight against his face as he can stand. 

Your head is reeling from the potency of those hot, feverish lips that are suck yours into their desperate embrace. Then his knee forcefully pries its way between your thighs and you are sure that you will not come back from this. It’s too much to handle and you’ve lost all control… no, that’s not right. You’ve yielded everything completely to him without even having to think about it and he has taken every single ounce of what he has been given as if it has always been his. 

Leaning up into him, you stand up on the balls of your feet as he guides the movement of your head by tilting it from one side to the other in that natural dance that happens when lips play. You are both insatiable as that carnal need to devour the other makes it impossible to not relinquish yourselves to the ecstasy that overwhelms in that moment. 

Never in your life have you wanted a man to possess you more than you want your superior to right now. Images of him picking you up and slamming your back into the wall, making you encircle his waist with your legs, his cock straining and throbbing between your clothed sex as you plead with him to take you, fill your mind until they make you light-headed. 

Lt. Riley is not faring any better and he has to focus his entire will into keeping his hands engaged so that he can resist the tingling in his fingertips to find the button on your pants and undo them. If you were alone without the threat of interruption, you might already be half undressed by now, but just as that urge reaches its peak and his fingers are moving in, you both hear the words that make your hearts sink.

“Eh, you two,” you hear Soap calling out from a distance, “times up.”

It is torture to pull away from you; Simon is on the verge of combusting from being forced to stop before he is ready.  But he has to or else he might be found out and there is still hesitation to admit that he might actually want more of this. Even after the ecstasy you both had just shared he isn’t sure how far he should let this go and so with a sigh of defeat he releases your lips from his own. 

By the time he lets you go and moves out from between your legs, your stance is unsteady and your mind fuzzy. The sudden lack of pressure against your mouth leaves you feeling empty and you have to stop yourself from whining aloud. As your eyes slowly flutter open you look up into his face and are met with that chocolate brown gaze lingering on you. There is something swimming in the depths of his eyes: a question, a statement, you’re not sure, but he doesn’t say it aloud. The need to say something yourself eats at you, but you close your mouth tight and bite your tongue to keep silent. 

You can’t bring yourself to risk admitting that you don’t want him to stop; what if he doesn’t feel the same? The pressures of putting it all out there at this moment is too much to handle. Instead, you let the moment die away quietly as you breathe deeply through your nose.

“Times up,” Lt. Riley repeats the phrase softly as he situates his balaclava back down under his chin to hide himself from you once again. The others are cheering for your return, giving you no time to collect yourself, so you simply sigh and stride back to the group together.

Heads turn your direction as you reappear back into the main room. “Well?” the heavily accented voice of the bastard that has orchestrated this whole thing questions you both. 

Trying not to stumble back to your seat, you play it off as if you hadn’t just had your soul sucked out through your lips. “Well what?” you return as the lieutenant passes you up and takes his place back behind the group.

Soap’s brow furrows. “Don’t play dumb with us, lass,” he chides. “Was he any good?”  

You cautiously take your seat back where you had been as everyone waits for your answer, trying to give yourself more time to calm your pulse that is still racing like wildfire through your tingling limbs. “It was fine,” you say, hoping you are collected enough to pull off such a bold-faced lie. 

“Oh really?” Johnny asks skeptically as he eyes you up and down to read your body language. Your heart leaps in your chest as you think you’ve been found out, that the bloom in your cheeks is still too noticeable, but he continues like nothing. “I think yer full a shit. Probably didn’t even get a peck, knowin’ LT. I bet ye did nothin’ back there, but stand in silence.”

You snicker at him, carefully adjusting yourself in your seat so you can squeeze your legs together to relieve the throbbing in such a way that it doesn’t draw attention. “Aww... Guess that’s only for us to know and for you to spend all your time worrying about, bitch. It’s gonna eat at you, isn’t it? Gonna lose sleep thinking about me and the lieutenant, hmm?” you pick back, which seems to get him off your case. 

“Ye wanna add anythin’ here?” Soap asks as he turns to the mask officer.

You risk a glance over your shoulder back at your superior, knowing that this could undo all your progress at regaining your composure, and you catch him completely lost in thought, not having heard a word that Soap just said. Quickly he recovers, clearing his throat. “What’re ya on about, Mactavish?” he questions back. 

“I asked if ye had anythin’ to add to her account of events,” Johnny chuckles. “Or are ye too stunned ta speak?”

The lieutenant shoots him a glare before pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Don’t push yer fuckin’ luck, yeah?” he answers it like a threat as he flips open the pack and places a cig in between his fingers.

Soap holds up his hands innocently with palms facing out in agreement not to start any trouble. “Ye must a been terrible, lass,” Soap picks as he turns his attention back to you to keep the jovial atmosphere up. 

You slug him hard enough to make his chair squeak from the force before joining in the others laughter to disguise the heat still burning through your cheeks. Simon takes the opportunity to slip out unnoticed, though you let your eyes follow him one last time. It is a monumental task that he has to perform to actively put one foot in front of the other, to calculatedly focus his breathing to stay calm, and make it out of the door without anyone noticing that his composure is clearly broken. 

Once out of sight he hurriedly steps out into the cool night air and immediately rips up his mask as he lights his cigarette, taking a long, heavy drag off it as he leans up against the brick of the building. The nicotine tingles his throat and he hopes it’ll be enough of a distraction to stop the intense pounding in his chest. Breathing the smoke out in a weighty sigh he adjusts the crotch of his pants as they have suddenly become too tight for his comfort. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath as he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, desperately trying to focus on anything in a vain attempt to calm himself, but he already knows its no use.

The second his eyes are shut all he can think about is that kiss: he can still feel his arm around you, detect the ghost of your lips against his, sense the warmth of your breath in his mouth. He tries to push the delectable sensations from his mind, but they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon and he knows it. 

Opening his eyes he stands back up off the wall with a need that compels him, making him move strategically so that he can peek through the door without being seen. Sneakily he stares back into the building, those brown eyes catching the sight of you smiling and laughing, those full lips making his blood pressure rise as he watches them move about as you speak, still red and swollen from being claimed. 

This is a problem, a big fucking problem. Now the only thing that that hardened military man can think about, instead of keeping his distance, is how he can recreate that exact scene with you again.

And maybe, just maybe, take it even further.

[ellecdc]

Helloo Elle!

I have a request for a James fic, basically in class they get to see the mirror of erised and when James looks he sees reader and goes “can you move?” Or something??

Love ur fics<33

this was such a cute idea! thanks for the prompt, lovie <3

James Potter x fem!reader who look into the Mirror of Erised [1.4k words]

CW: friends/classmates to lovers, partners on a school project, reader is not in Gryffindor

“Potter! You’re going to get us into trouble.” You hissed quietly, though you stuck dutifully behind him under the invisibility cloak as the two of you carried on down the corridors.

“You’re going to get us into trouble if you don’t keep quiet.” He countered, though he wasn’t sure he really wanted you to be quiet - he found himself to be quite fond of your voice if he was being particularly honest. 

“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” You whispered, and he was sure that the point of his neck where your breath brushed against would feel tingly for the rest of the evening.

James scoffed at your question, though he knew you could tell there was no real heat behind it at the way you swatted playfully at his arm. “What’s the point of writing about the Mirror of Erised if we’ve never even seen it?”

“People write papers on things they’ve never seen all the time, James.” You responded firmly. “Merlin, the Philosopher's stone, the existence of nargles…” Your voice trailed off at the end, and James didn’t even have to turn to look at you to know that your brows were furrowed and your nose was scrunched up in confusion as you recalled Pandora Rosier’s last presentation in your Care for Magical Creatures class. 

“Would you like to do the honours?” He asked you then, pulling the cloak off the two of you now that you were stationed in front of the unused classroom that the mirror was being stored in.

You rolled your eyes at his grandeur but cast an alohomora at the door with a smile on your face nonetheless. 

The candles that lit up automatically at your arrival did nothing to quell the almost cold greyness of the room - the candles, the two of you, and the cloth covered object being the only things seemingly radiating any warmth.

“Feels like I’m about to look at a boggart, not the Mirror of Erised…” You muttered quietly, peering around the room with your arms locked around your middle as you subconsciously leaned closer to James’ side. 

“Where’s your sense of adventure, gorgeous?” James teased you, causing you to narrow your eyes at him in what he was certain was your best attempt at a sneer. 

“We tend to leave that up to your kind, Mr. Gryffindor.” You volleyed, but your attempt at an insult merely caused James to beam a smile at you. 

He might have been imagining it, but he was sure that you didn’t seem too disappointed at the outcome. 

“That’s gotta be it there, yeah?” You said then, gesturing towards the tall blanket-covered piece of furniture standing along a wall opposite of stacked chairs and desks.

“What do you say? Ladies first?” James asked as he stood beside the mirror, holding the blanket in his hands as he raised his eyebrows at you in wait.

“Alright…” You said, clearly trying for levity but James couldn’t help but notice that you rolled your shoulders in an attempt to ready yourself.

James pulled at the cloth covering the mirror with a flourish, which he immediately regretted when the room became a cloud of dust that was only enhanced by the gentle candle light.

“Merlin's tits, sorry angel.” James coughed as he tried to fan the dust away from his face. 

With a flick of his wand in an attempt to vanish the dust, James also accidentally vanished the cloth meaning whoever put it in here would be aware of someone interfering with the magical artefact.

James took off his glasses and used his shirt to wipe at the lenses (ignoring the internal berating he was receiving from both his mum and Remus for not using the cloth specifically made for just this) before returning them to his face.

With the dust gone and James’ glasses righted, he spotted you standing in the centre of the room staring at your reflection with a slightly furrowed brow and your mouth hanging open in a silent gasp.

You schooled your expression quickly in a way that James was certain had he not lived with the likes of Sirius “I don’t have feelings for Remus” Black and Remus “I don’t have feelings” Lupin for as long as he had, he wouldn’t have noticed it at all.

“What d’you see? Anything good?” He asked, leaning against the golden frame with all the blaseness he could muster; he was really quite excited to look in it himself. 

You smirked over at him and James told himself that the thump in his chest was from his excitement at getting to lock eyes on the infamous Mirror of Erised. “I see us getting nothing short of an Outstanding on this assignment.”

“With that beautiful brain of yours? There was never any doubt.” James replied haughtily. “Okay, my turn.” He continued quickly, moving in front of you to peer into the mirror. 

He waited for the image to shift; to see himself winning the Quidditch World Cup, to see himself with a partner and children in an idyllic countryside house, to see himself pulling off the biggest prank that the Marauders ever imagined.

But you wouldn’t move.

“Y/N, can you move, please?” He asked quickly, eyes not moving from the mirror as he waited for you to step out of the reflection.

“What do you mean?” You responded, voice sounding far away, and James felt his heart fall right out of his arse when he realised that your lips never moved in the reflection as you said it, and what exactly that meant for him. 

Sure enough, you appeared in his field of vision, moving to stand beside the mirror before gently leaning against it as you stared James head on; he moved his nervous gaze back to the mirror only to be accosted with much the same view in his reflection. 

“What do you see, James?” You asked quietly then, and if James wasn’t currently having a bit of an existential crisis, he may have picked up the taunting in your tone.

But the reflection of you was looking at him with nothing short of love, while the real you was looking at him with something that looked…knowing? And also full of mischief. 

“What is it that you desire most?” You continued; tone taking on a nearly sultry quality as you slowly made your way over to him.

But he wouldn’t look at you, couldn’t look at you; not when he had the image of you standing beside him with eyes full of care and admiration, not when he’d be looking away from that and towards what might be disdain, discomfort, or even disgust. 

“I think the mirror kind of said it all, didn’t it?” He whispered back, knowing he’d essentially outed himself. 

You hummed in acknowledgement as you finally made it to his side. “Why won’t you look away, James?”

“This is preferable.”

“Preferable?” 

“Right.”

“She’s looking at you with love, isn’t she?” You asked gently. 

James finally closed his eyes at that. 

“That’s how you were looking at me, too.”

His eyes flew right back open as he turned to stare at you - the real you.

And there you were, the real you, looking at him knowingly, and accusingly, and nervously, and…lovingly.

“You saw me too?” He whispered.

“I saw you too.” You agreed softly. 

“Oh thank Merlin.” James groaned as he pulled you in tightly against him and rested his forehead against yours. “I thought this whole thing was about to go tits up.”

You snorted in laughter as you linked your arms around his middle in return. “The rest of this assignment would’ve gotten really awkward.” You agreed, and the two of you stood there in front of the Mirror of Erised, neither of you looking at the mirror, but rather breathing in exactly what it was that each of you desired most. 

“Think we got what we needed, James?” You murmured into his chest, referring to your extra-credit work of actually experiencing the magical artefact that the two of you were writing about.

But as he relished the warmth of your body which was slotted against his as though the two of you were puzzle pieces created to fit together, he had no problem agreeing that, yeah, the two of you got what you needed.

[seventeenpins]

a slight miscalculation - pt. i

pairing: Joel x F!Reader

word count: 8.3k

summary: Sarah is off to college, and Joel is about to be living in an empty nest. They road trip out together, and as she spends her first night in her new apartment, he's staying in a nearby hotel. Letting go of his inhibitions for the first time in a long time, he tumbles into a one night stand that becomes very complicated, very quickly.

content/warnings: smut, age gap, mycologist!reader, dick sucking, implied pussy eating, fingering, no outbreak au, reader likes to hike, reader also infodumps, joel miller has a big cock, he also has anxiety, reader has anxiety too, and a cat, reader is in early 20s--exact age not established, one (1) use of daddy, alcohol and weed consumption, joel is a diligent condom wearer, set in present day, discussion of girl scout cookies, joel is sweet and soft and hasn't been eviscerated by the death of his daughter

a/n: I'm intending this to be about five parts. This may change, but right now it's looking like five. I've been struggling to write for a while, unable to focus, but I think I'm back at it? as always, your feedback is hugely appreciated, and i'm kissing all likers and commenters and rebloggers deeply and with tongue 🩷

check out pt. ii

For the first time in nineteen years, Joel is completely adrift. Sarah's starting college in just two months.

It's the kind of realization that hits him like a bucket of ice water, a sudden shock and then an unpleasant trickling of anxiety wrapping about him in nasty tendrils. And then he feels guilty, because he's so, so happy for Sarah because he knows that she's thrilled, but fuck she's gonna be two time zones away and now what's Joel meant to do on Thursday movie nights when he's here without her?

It's terrifying, and it's new. And it's not that he's new to anxiety. He's usually anxious, and he has the Sertraline on his bedside stand to prove it. But if his general anxiety baseline usually hovered around a 6.4, where he was at now far surpassed a 10. It felt exponential, and totally exhausting.

When he voices his fears to Tommy, to Joel's horror, Tommy just doubles over in laughter.

"Jesus, Joel," he wheezes, wiping fake tears from his eyes in exaggerated movements, "You looked so serious I thought you were gonna say you'd killed someone."

Joel scowls. "The fuck you laughing for?"

"She's going to college, it's not like she's dying!"

"How'm I gonna be there for her? What if she needs me? What if-"

"Joel-," Tommy pats him gently on the shoulder, "She can always call you, and you can always call her. And we both know she's got a good head on 'er shoulders."

Joel snorts in concession. "Yeah, yeah. Better than yours and mine put together, and then some."

"Exactly." Tommy agrees, "And if there's ever anything that really goes wrong, you got me. We can drive out together and make sure she's okay."

Joel nods and feels the tiniest bit of tension leave him. One step at a time.

Just over nineteen years ago he found out he was about to be a dad. Suddenly, he had a purpose. Having a kid at twenty-two wasn't something he'd ever intended, but somehow he knew he loved his baby girl from the moment he knew she was a possibility. He spent a solid seven months running around, hustling, doing everything he could to get the very best for his kid. He'd take on doubles, working himself to the bone to make sure they had the best crib, and the best stroller, too. He was thrilled and terrified and so, so green.

Now, his heart feels so big he doesn't know how to handle it. His baby girl is an honest-to-god adult, moving out and going to college, and he has no idea what he's gonna do with his time now.

He has work, of course. But beyond that? He's really gotta to widen his circle, he realises, because who's he gonna hang out with? His brother?

He'd only just turned forty-one and had absolutely not come to terms with an empty nest--the few friends from high school he'd kept in touch with were so much further behind than him. The ones that had kids had them later in their twenties and thirties, and now they're raising middle schoolers while Joel's kid is a real fucking person, leaving home and everything. All the scrapping and saving he'd been doing since before Sarah was born–for his little girl to be able to follow any dream she chose–it was finally paying off. The precocious young woman she is, she graduated early and spent nearly a year working retail to save up some cash. She'd applied to colleges all across the country, and a few international ones, too. Joel had been crossing his fingers for months, hoping she'd choose something near Austin, but cheered with her all the same when she got her acceptance letter from Oregon State University. The previous summer, just before she'd started her applications, she and Joel and Tommy spent a miserable, wonderful week hiking round the Pacific Northwest. She fell in love with it, and the university offered a few of the majors she wanted to consider.

Joel didn't know what he'd do with his baby girl so far away, his life, his reason, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna tell her that. He will not clip her wings. His baby's gonna change the world and he's not gonna hold her back. He is, though, gonna require regular phone calls and check-ins and god they grow up so fast.

"Y'all should road trip out there," Tommy suggests one night over the dinner table.

Joel knew the conversation of how Sarah would get to the West Coast would come up, and it oughta be sooner rather than later. He was half afraid that she wanted to head out on her own, that she didn't need her dad anymore. Worried she would say she wanted to get a plane ticket, or take the Amtrak all the way to Corvallis. But he knows he needs to loosen his grip a little, so he braces himself when he turns to her.

"What'dya think, Sarah? You wanna be stuck in a car with your old man for a cross-country trip?"

Sarah rolls her eyes, but her face breaks into a grin. "Can we, Dad?"

This was too good to be true, he knew, but he wasn't gonna give up one last opportunity to spend some time with his girl till winter break.

"Course, baby," he tells her, and that flicker of anxiety quells just the tiniest bit.

The next few weeks fly by, and the knot of anxiety in Joel's chest feels like it's consuming him from the inside out. He's taken some time off, more than Sarah or Tommy can remember, but he's constantly trying to suggest ideas for activities to Sarah. For the most part, she's a good sport, understanding how much it means to her dad. She took pity on him, and let him drag her to places that ideally she would've gone to when she was little, but she humored him and he appreciated her dedication. He did his best to step back when she was heading out to spend time with friends--her time here was limited, after all, and she was always a social butterfly.

There are five weeks till classes start, four weeks, three, two, and in the blink of an eye, they're loading up the truck with all of Sarah's things, and Tommy is hugging Sarah goodbye, teary eyed. He gives Joel a hug, too. Joel would never admit it, but fuck he had really needed that hug.

They would take the scenic route. Make a memorable trip of it. Joel would make sure she settles in safe and sound, and then he'd head home.

6am Sunday.

You wake with a start. It's just over a week before term starts and your entire body aches. Fuck, you think to yourself, definitely overdid it with that last hike.

(The hiking part wasn't itself a problem, but one of the trails had washed out. You thought you'd found your way, but the "easy" three and a half mile hike took about five hours, leaving your calves bruised and your heels blistered.)

You roll over in your hotel room bed and, at the sound of a slight yelp followed by a gentle thud, realise with a sudden start that you just catapulted your cat off the corner.

"Shit, sorry goblin," you tell Spatula, who glares up at you with disdain as he licks at his paw. You reach down and, despite your inadvertent cat launch, he immediately rubs up against your fingertips and lets you scratch behind his ears.

"I'm sorry, baby," you soothe.

He meows, loudly. Howls, really. You take it as an apology accepted.

You sit up properly and look at your phone calendar. Nothing immediate. You don't need to get keys to your new apartment till tomorrow, nor do you meet your roommates till then–they're both moving in today, and moving is already horrible without having to navigate around the belongings of two other people. No, thanks. You can afford one more night at the hotel, and it'll make everything go that little bit more smoothly tomorrow. Besides, you have a bit of reading you'd like to get through, maybe stock up on non-perishables till you have a full-sized fridge, and get to know the city just a little.

You move gingerly, testing the ache in your muscles as you unfold yourself from the position you've been sat in and pull yourself from the bed. It hurts, but not something that won't be fixed with a little movement.

A plan forms. First, a walk, to try and loosen up your tight muscles. Then, errands. You have a whole list, with everything categorised by store, but then you enter IKEA and exit fifteen minutes later, only to find that five and a half hours have passed and it's evening now.

How was it that IKEA harnessed such a malicious power. How could anything harness that?

You need a fucking break. And a goddamn drink.

"Hey Dad," Sarah calls from the adjacent bedroom as Joel sweats, hauling another box towards her. The drive has been good, but it has been long. His legs ache. His back aches. There are parts of him that he didn't know existed that now ache.

"Yeah?" he calls back.

"Are you sure you're okay with me staying here tonight?"

Joel lets out a breath. He wants to be okay with it. And there's no way his nineteen year old would want to hang out with her dad when she could be spending the very first night in her brand new apartment. But he also wishes she wanted to spend one last night, hanging out in a hotel room with her dad. They could watch shitty movies together. Make the most of the final night before this cataclysmic shift.

But no.

That'd just be him being selfish. He can handle a night by himself. He's gotta handle a whole lotta them soon enough.

"O'course baby," he nods, hoping the smile he's plastered on his face looks totally genuine. "But we're still doin' breakfast in the morning, right?"

She nods, vigorous, and then waves her phone around. "I was looking up places! There's a diner called Tommy's," she laughs, "Wanna try that? 9:30?"

"Let's do it," he smiles, and this one is a little less forced.

"How much more do we have?" Sarah asks, nodding towards the box Joel's still holding.

"Last box," he grunts, "What else can I help with?"

He places the box down and lets out a slight, almost silent whimper. Sarah catches it, though.

"Maybe you should take it easy the rest of the day, Dad," she tells him, "We both know you have old man back."

He rolls his eyes but nods. "Guess you're right," he shrugs, "That my cue to take off?"

Sarah blushes but turns to him sheepishly. "Yeah, I-"

"No need to explain," Joel assures, "I know you must wanna get unpacked and settle in, get to know your roommates an' all."

She jumps up and, almost startling him, wraps her arms around him in a bear hug.

"Love you, dad," she grins, and she squeezes just a little tighter than usual.

He squeezes back, and they both pretend there aren't tears in his eyes.

As you step through the doors of the hotel bar, you decide you like it. The lighting is comfortably low. It's not loud, but it's not quiet, either. Colorful bottles line the shelves, the light of the filament bulbs glinting off the glass in rainbow prisms.

You take a seat at the bar and give a nod of thanks as the bartender passes you a small menu. It's unsurprisingly extortionate, hotel bar and all, but it'll do.

"Old fashioned, please," you tell the bartender, who nods in response. A minute later, he hands you a glass, delivered with a twist of orange and a cherry on top.

With your first sip, you feel your shoulders start to relax and some of the tension loosen from your body. The warmth of the burn envelops you and your stress starts to unravel, leaving only the buzz feeling good.

You order a second, and as the glass is handed to you, a voice to your right catches your attention.

"This seat taken?" a man asks.

You shake your head and offer a quick smile, gesturing towards it, "All yours."

"Much obliged," he nods, and slips into the backless stool next to yours.

The bartender comes over and passes him the same menu, but without looking at it he asks, "Could I get an old fashioned?"

You smile and catch his eye, tipping your glass towards him. "An excellent choice," you praise, "Though if you don't have a sweet tooth, I'd recommend asking Jeff there if he can go easy on the simple syrup."

"Oh yeah?" He asks, and then he leans in conspiratorially. "T'tell you the truth, I do have a bit of a sweet tooth."

You raise an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Suddenly, he breaks into a grin and it's dazzling.

"Yeah," he laughs, "I've got cookies stashed in secret locations all through my house."

You raise an eyebrow. "If I keep 'em in my pantry, my brother'll find 'em and eat 'em all," he explains, "But ever since my kid was a girl scout, I always get cravings for girl scout cookies, so I buy an armful o'boxes and try and preserve 'em throughout the year, till I can replenish."

"What's your favorite girl scout cookie?"

"Caramel deLites, hands down."

"Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely," he nods.

The bartender, Jeff, sets the man's drink down with a clink. You catch one another's eye and both erupt into a fit of laughter.

You're not even sure what's funny. Maybe it's just been a long day? Maybe the whiskey was getting to you?

Whatever it is, it feels good.

The man takes a sip of his drink and lets out an aaaahh and it's goofy and charming and then he extends his hand.

"Joel," he tells you, "Joel Miller". You shake his hand, introduce yourself, and then take a sip of your own drink.

"So, tell me about yourself," you smile, "You coming from out of town?"

"Yes ma'am," he nods, "Come up here from Austin."

"Texas?"

Joel nods.

"That's a long trip."

"Yeah," he laughs, "It really is."

"So, you're a nice Southern boy, huh?"

"Well," he swishes his glass and tries to bite back a smile, "I don't know that I'd go quite so far, but my mama did raise me to be a gentleman."

"That so?" you ask and his blush deepens.

"I... have been known to get up to some trouble, but I like to think I've mellowed in my old age." He gestures at the beautiful little smatterings of silver at his temples, and you cackle.

"Okay, that's hot," you tell him and he chokes, but you keep going, "Old age, though? What are you, like, forty?"

He exhales, chagrined. "Forty-one."

You roll your eyes. "That ain't old."

"It feels it sometimes," he smiles, "My kid is grown. My little brother's married with a kid of his own on the way. My back hurts, pretty much all the time."

You snort. You also notice, without trying to look, that he doesn't have a wedding band. Doesn't have a tan line for one, either. Interesting.

"But more than that," he continues, "I guess I feel- I don't know. A little... aimless?"

"Yeah," you nod, and you let the moment sit. "I get that."

He lets out a little breath, and then turns back to you, focused.

"What about you? Where're you from?"

"Oof," you exhale, "All over. Spent a bit of time on the East coast. The Midwest. Lived a few months in the South, even," you tease as you bump your shoulder into his and he laughs. It's a surprisingly familiar gesture, but miraculously comfortable.

"Ever make it to Texas?"

"Naw," you shake your head, "My time in the South was all in Mississippi. After that I moved out to California, and I've been slowly working my way up the West Coast."

"And what have you been enjoying about the West Coast?" Joel asks.

"The mushrooms," you grin, and Joel frowns.

"Like, the kind you get in a little baggy from the dealer down the street, or-?"

"No," you laugh, "Or, well- Okay, sometimes. Gotta say it is great out here for that, too. But I mean fungus as a whole--mushrooms, mold, yeast, lichen. But I'm most interested in mushrooms. They're just really fuckin' cool, and there's so much we don't understand about them. And, they're delicious."

"Huh," Joel ponders, "T'tell you the truth, I've never thought much about mushrooms, besides enjoying 'em as a pizza topping."

"Most people don't," you agree, "But fuck, like-- Okay, so we know there are over five million types of fungi on Earth, but we've identified less than two percent of them. Some fungus aids decomposition. Some fungus is bioluminescent. Some are known worldwide for their delicious flavours, and others are known by the slow, horrible ways they kill you."

Joel raises his eyebrows, and suddenly you feel a little self conscious.

"Sorry, I do this," you laugh, rubbing at the back of your neck, "I get very excited about fungus and manage to alienate everyone around me."

You half expect him to stand up and walk away.

Instead, though, he leans in closer. "Don't apologise," he tells you, "I'm learning something new. Tell me more?"

"No, I should stop. Otherwise I'll never stop talking," you wince.

"How about just one more fungus fact?"

You sit for a minute, pondering. "This is- well, I guess this is one of the reasons I find fungus so fascinating. So, fungus can't photosynthesise the way that plants do--they can't produce their own food from sunshine, and water, and carbon dioxide. Instead, their mycelium-- they're these thread-like networks--they branch out beneath the earth, seeking out food, growing in the direction where it can find the nutrients it needs and breaking down organic material all around them, sometimes living organisms, as a parasite, and sometimes dead organisms as a decomposer, or both. And it's just- It's this hidden world, that exists right beneath the surface even in some of the extreme places on earth, temperature-wise. And most days, we don't even think about it."

You punctuate your thought with a large swallow of your drink, which is half-watered down now that the ice is melted, and doesn't hit quite as hard as you'd hoped, but then you look up at Joel and he's smiling at you, pensive, and--

"That's- That's actually really interesting."

Before you can respond, though, Joel glances at his watch and balks. It is getting late. "Shit," he shakes his head, "I think I oughta call it a night," he says, pulling back. "Early morning tomorrow, and if I stay at the bar I'll just keep drinkin'."

Fuck. That's a dismissal. Of course you went on too much about mushrooms. You'd fucked this up. You'd thought this was going well, but now it felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. "Oh," you nod, matching his posture, and try to swallow down the sudden wave of disappointment. "Of course. Have a good night, Joel."

Joel stands up and then looks you up and down, considering. It's not brazen, but it isn't shy, either. And then understanding flashes across his face.

"Wait- Sorry, that's not how I meant it." He reaches out towards you and you melt into his touch. "I'm messin' this up." He chuckles, but it sounds pained. "Now look, I don't wanna make any presumptions. And I'm really hopin' I'm not coming off as some--dirty old man. Jesus, I haven't done this in a while. But I'm in room 308."

Your eyebrows shoot up. What you'd taken for disinterest was just--nerves?

"I reckon I'll be awake for a while yet. You're welcome to... drop by."

The disappointment melts, making way for a fluttering in your stomach.

"Twenty minutes," you assure him, "308?"

He nods and he brakes into a sheepish grin, shedding what you now realise had been something of an anxious wince. "308."

You watch him leave. When he's out of sight, you toss back the rest of your watery drink and go to pay your tab, but Jeff tells you it was already settled. You thank him and tuck your shaking hands in your pockets. You feel an electricity running through you as you take the elevator up.

When you get back to your room, you hop into the shower, just to freshen up--you keep your hair dry but scrub your body. Once you're clean, you brush your teeth.

Stepping back out of the en suite, you survey the hotel room. Spatula is lounging on the corner of the bed, entirely uninterested in your movements. You top up his dry food bowl and place a kiss between his ears before slipping out.

When you knock at Joel's door, you hear a slight rustle and clatter and then the door swings open, Joel's staring a little wide-eyed, like he didn't actually expect you to show. He's wearing grey sweats and a Johnny Cash t-shirt that looks like it's been around nearly as long as you have. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, an anxious tell that's desperately endearing.

"C'mon in," he smiles, and you step in, closing the door behind you.

You reach out to cup his face, delighting in the feeling of coarse stubble beneath your fingertips. Your first kiss is chaste. You both lean forward and press your lips to one another gently, exploring.

Then, you let out a little moan and Joel shudders. Heat surges between you, and his hands are cradling your head and brushing your cheek and he's pinning you against the closed door. You're kissing again, nothing chaste remaining, learning the taste of him, his rhythm, the crashing waves of give and take between you.

You wrap one leg around him and smirk when he lets out a throaty groan as you grind against his hard cock. You're pretty sure he's not wearing underwear, the thick bulge seemingly unconstrained in his grey sweats, the whole length pressing against your thigh.

Your head falls back and you let out soft, breathy noises as his lips trace along your collarbone, up your throat, and against that tender little spot behind your ear. When he puts your earlobe between his lips and presses his teeth gently against the skin, your knees go weak and he chuckles, strong arms wrapping around you, holding you up.

"Bed?" he asks, and you breathe yes and then, with a yelp and a throaty chuckle, you're lifted up and spun around and both tumbling into the duvet.

You're grasping at each other, desperate to keep your hands on one another. The only times you part is when you undress, and even then, you're helping each other--pulling the hem of his shirt over his lifted arms, pressing into him as he reaches around and moves to unhook your bra, but then he realises you're not wearing one and lets out a groan, his thumbs brushing alongside the tender skin along your ribs, moving gently as if to cup your breasts, but then he pulls back.

Normally you might wait, do this part slowly, draw out the tease just a little bit longer.

Tonight, though, you're ravenous.

As you fiddle with the buttons of your pants, you tug at the drawstring keeping Joel's sweats on his hips. The bow comes loose in one smooth motion, and he lifts his hips and you pull the sweats down.

Your mouth immediately waters seeing him bare, laid out for you. You watch a bead of precum drip down the head and pool on his belly. The coarse hair of his happy trail glistens with it. He's thick, uncut, and looks painfully hard, his cock head ruddy. "Fuck, you're beautiful," you tell him, and his cheeks redden but he grins. It's boyish, the way he grins, and devastatingly charming.

And, what you're saying is true. His body is gorgeous, something you wish you could sketch. Soft flesh over hard muscle, visible tan lines where his chest and shoulders are noticeably lighter than his arms. The muscles and veins along his throat are driving you absolutely fucking insane as he swallows and looks up at you.

He's got freckles on his shoulders, too, and without thinking, you lower yourself down to kiss at his shoulder. He shakes, just a little, and lets out the most beautiful gasp. It's addictive, pulling these noises from him. You follow the curve of him, giving him a taste of his own medicine--tracing feather-light kisses along his collarbone, up the tendons of his neck, behind his ear. You can feel the blood pulse in his veins as your lips brush along him. Joel goes from panting lightly to full on groaning, rutting his hips up towards you and, frustrated, meeting only air.

"Can I taste you?", you ask, and Joel lets out a half-strangled sound and nods, vigorous.

You scoot back, lower yourself, poke out your tongue and, without any preamble, lick at the slit of his head, tasting the salty, tangy precum.

Joel tips his head back and groans and you decide to be kind. You grasp onto his hips and take him in your mouth, slowly sinking down, inch by inch by inch and now you can feel him at the back of your throat, your saliva dripping down the shaft and collecting in the hair between his thighs.

You bob your head up and down, taking him deeper with each thrust, but your throat is full and there are still inches to go. You relax, doing everything you can to take him deeper, and he starts to thrust up gently.

You let him fuck into your mouth but release one of his hips, allowing him to move as freely as he needs and freeing up your hand, which you shove into your underwear, rubbing furiously at your clit.

It doesn't take much to lose yourself in it, to focus only on the sensation. You're so wet, slick coating your fingers, making the glide that much smoother as you touch yourself. Joel tastes so good, too, the intrusion of his cock the most delicious thing, feeling the way he shudders when you moan, the way he moans when you shudder.

"Fuck-" Joel gasps, and then there's a hand guiding you gently off of him.

You raise an eyebrow. "You okay?"

He swallows, hard, and nods. "More than okay. Felt too fuckin' good."

"Oh yeah?" and you lean down, as if to take him back in your mouth, but he chuckles and pulls you back again.

"It's been... a while. For me. And-" He drags his palm down his face, wearing an almost pained expression. "Christ, you just look too fuckin' good down there, mouth stretched 'round me while you touch yourself. An' it feels too fuckin' good, too. I ain't ready for this to be over yet but if you keep lettin' me fuck your throat like that it's gonna be over real quick. And I wanna feel that pretty pussy myself."

You sit back up and he pulls you towards him so you're straddling him.

"You gonna fuck me, Joel?"

"Yes," he breathes, "Yes, baby, please-"

You do an awkward wobble and then stand up, shedding your pants and letting your panties drop, stepping out of them, one foot and then the other, and the way he's watching you is addictive. He watches you with beautiful eyes, drinking all of you in, and suddenly the moment has changed into one of those quiet, intimate moments where you both exhale a laugh.

You straddle him again, and lean down to kiss him, and the electric current surges up. He grabs you by the jaw, meeting your desperation. His lips on yours are exactly the balm you need and you can taste the whiskey on his breath.

"Feels fucking good," you tell Joel as you slide up and down his length. He's not penetrating you, not yet, but the lips of your pussy are spread and you're gliding along him, feeling his head at your clit and thrusting back till you're nearly seated on his balls.

He watches you, nearly unblinking, drinking it all in. Then, he lets out a groan, and half-sits up, suddenly focused.

"Shit," he closes his eyes in frustration, "I don't have any condoms. Shit shit shit-"

You push him back down and kiss him again. Then, you hop off the bed and sift around in your jean pockets.

"Ah-ha!," you exclaim, once you've found your treasure. Joel raises and eyebrow and you wink. "Saw they were selling them in the lobby. Figured it might be a good idea."

"Shit," Joel laughs, and presses his lips just to the side of your mouth. "Clever girl," he tells you, and a shiver goes up your spine.

He leans to help, but you shoo him away and he watches, entranced, as you neatly open the condom wrapper and, with a small amount of difficulty, roll it down his cock.

"Feeling okay?" You ask him, "Shit, I shoulda gotten the Magnums. Is your dick okay? It's not being choked to death by an inappropriately sized rubber, is it?"

Joel snorts. "We'll manage," he says, and then he grips you by the hips, lines himself up. He draws his knuckles along your cunt and groans, "Fuck, so goddamn wet for me-" and, the moment you look at him and nod, he holds the head of his cock against your drooling lips and presses into you.

It's a big stretch as he lowers you down onto him, the intrusion almost painful, but before you can even take a breath, it melts into absolute pleasure. You've fucked people with longer cocks before, and you've fucked people with girthier cocks before, but never have you fucked someone with a cock that's both this long and thick and it feels like you're being split in two and it's perfect and you realise, with a sudden flip of your stomach, he isn't even fully seated inside you yet.

Then, you manage to focus on the words Joel is saying-that had really just been background noise for the past ten seconds or so-and suddenly you're tuning back in for "Tha's it," his voice low and hoarse, surprisingly gentle, "Good girl, takin' this cock so well, look at you."

His brow is furrowed and he's looking at you with such dark eyes, nearly black, the pupils are so blown. "Just a little more, that's it, just one more inch, you can do it, christ, look at you, takin' all of me."

His tone is reverent and it sets a fire through you. You can feel more slickness build and drip out of you, and from the way he moans, you're certain he can feel it too despite the condom.

"So fuckin' wet," he groans, "Soakin' my cock- grippin' me so nice-Fuck--"

He leans towards you and cradles your head in his hand, kissing you hard.

When you both pull back, you know your lips must be kiss swollen and red. His are--they're soft and bright, and you want to eat him whole.

"You're gonna be the death of me, woman."

He's thrusting into you lazily, holding you in place, but you need more, you need all of him.

You push forward and move his hand from your waist to your clit. As you manoeuvre him, his nostrils flare, and you'd wonder if he was angry, if not for the way you felt his cock stiffen even further inside of you. You start to move your hips, to rub up against the thumb on your clit, and to feel every fucking inch of him.

Urged on by the way he groans, you start to ride him, properly. Holding each other close, you fuck down onto him and he leans back, awed.

"Enjoying the show?" you ask.

"Damn- right- I- am-," Joel breathes, every word punctuated with a shuddering breath after you drive back down onto his cock, "Jesus- you- look- so- good- like- that."

You like being watched. Being admired. It sent an extra thrill through you, and your hips stutter, just a little, and now you're following a new, faster rhythm.

"Fuck, that's it, baby-" he praises, "Shit, yes- bounce on it."

You lean forward and kiss his throat, and then he makes this noise, half-strangled and beautiful.

"Shit, honey-- honey, honey, hold on-," he holds you still and you're glad he has, because your brain hadn't quite processed his words.

He's looking at you so earnestly.

"Baby, if you keep ridin' me like this I am gonna blow my load in the next twenty seconds and I don't wanna end this quite so soon."

You hum, a moment of consideration. You stare into his eyes, and part of it is calculated seduction, but another part is getting genuinely lost in the way he looks at you. The crinkles round his eyes. The way he seems able to focus on you, in a way that feels as frightening as it is exhilarating.

"How about this," You smile, "You get yours, and then you can eat me out till I get mine. And if you're ready to go again by the time I've come, we can see where we're at then. Hmm?"

You see a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, and take a moment to appreciate how much he's clearly trying to control himself.

After a moments of avoiding your eye, he looks at you again and he looks utterly wrecked. "You- talkin' like that?" He shakes his head and tries to even his breath. "Fuck, I nearly came right there."

"It's okay," you soothe, and you cup his jaw and resume you movements, riding him like you had before. "You can come if you need to-" your fingertips stroke the stubble of his chin, "You're close, huh? It's okay, daddy, you can let go."

Joel lets out a strangled noise and busts immediately.

You savor the way it feels, the pulse of his cock as he spills into you. No, into the condom, you correct yourself, but you can always pretend-

After his balls relax and you can feel him start to get soft, you hold the condom down as you pull yourself off, and you're nearly unseated when there's a sudden squelch noise that sends you both into tumbles of laughter.

It takes a while to calm down, and you find yourselves heaving, tangled in the sheets, and wrapped up in each other. The condom is hanging limply on Joel's now-soft cock and it's oddly cold and gooey as you accidentally roll against it, and that sends you both off again.

"Fuck," Joel snorts, and tugs at the condom, starting to roll it off his length, "I'd almost forgotten the weird texture of a used condom. Fuckin'... Slug-like."

"That-" you declare, "Is visceral. And I hate it. Thanks."

He snorts, and you suddenly have a question.

"Condoms not making too many appearances in your life?"

"Not many, no."

"What, you usually fuck raw?"

"Just haven't been sleepin' with anyone," he shrugs, nonplussed.

"Well, I gotta say, the good people of Austin have been missing out."

Joel shrugs again, and it comes off as casual, but you notice the way his ears tint pink. "Just- not been something I did. But now, I guess, I can. And with way less guilt."

"Why guilt? Are-" you venture, dread pooling in your stomach, "Are you married?"

His eyes flit up to you sharply, and then soften immediately. He lets out a breath and shakes his head. "No. Nothin' like that. I was married, but I've been divorced nearly twenty years now."

The tightness immediately uncoils and you realise how tense you were only a moment ago. I am not a cog in the machine of a collapsing marriage. Thank fuck.

But now your curiosity is piqued. "So... why the guilt?"

"Sorry, I- I really didn't mean to get into it. I'd rather not get into it. It's- complicated."

"Of course," you shrug, and it isn't a problem because this is just a hot fantasy hookup that you'll remember fondly, and it'll be wonderful masturbation fuel for probably the rest of your life, but you don't wanna make the poor guy go into his life's trauma, especially when he's looking at you so fucking earnestly and you are actually really fucking fascinated but no, you would not let this become a problem.

"Thanks," he says, and then steps out of the room. You hear the clang of the bin as he steps on the pedal, then drops the condom, takes a piss and washes his hands.

"You hungry?" He asks, and you realize very suddenly, you're absolutely famished.

"Yes," you jump up and he laughs when you run, bare-assed and shameless, over to the corner of the room filled with brochures and traveller info and finally, you raise it in triumph when you find it, the list of nearby takeaways.

"Okay," you look at the list, "There's one place at the top of the list here that's apparently highly rated, but I actually have plans there soon and I wanna wait till then to eat there. Hope that's okay."

Joel comes over to you and rests his head on your shoulder. "No problem."

"But... alright," you continue. "There's pizza. Or... more pizza. Or, look--there's a Southern-style place, that'll make you feel right at home!" Joel pokes you in the side and you swat at him as he grunts a laugh.

Suddenly, a warning sound starts playing on loop in your brain. It was dreadfully domestic, wasn't it? This was an absolute stranger you'd just met in a hotel bar? But... it also felt... nice? And it felt nice in ways that you'd never found yourself enjoying before. Even with long-term partners. Maybe because this was so low-stakes, you reasoned, such an inevitably temporary situation, so you weren't putting the same kind of pressure on yourself.

As soon as you think that, the eternal curse of overthinking shows itself and you suddenly feel desperately self conscious. Before you can pull away and make some excuse, though, Joel's arm wraps around you and his thumb starts rubbing little circles into a tender bit of skin between your hip and your tummy. The anxiety spiral you'd been teetering on the edge of suddenly vanishes.

"How about-," he nods at the list, "Pizza?"

After Joel calls in your order, the pizza delivery service tells you to expect your food in about thirty minutes. You remember you have a little box of edibles. You ask Joel if he minds if you take one, and he doesn't. You offer him one, and he automatically declines, but then as he starts to explain, he pauses and pivots, goes "Wait, actually. Yeah. Why not?"

A freckled kid who looks no more than sixteen pulls up with a short stack of pizza boxes and a two liter bottle of root beer. He raps awkwardly on the door after exactly thirty five minutes, and it swings open.

The room looks utterly wrecked, clothing strewn along every surface. Joel answers the door wearing a robe, his entire face smelling of sex, and his moustache still shining with the slick of your release.

"Thanks, kid," Joel nods, and hands him a small wad of cash. The kid eyes him and shrugs. "Keep the change," he tells him, and the door swings back shut.

The edibles have hit beautifully. You're both blissed out, comfortably hazy, lost in the sensation of bare limbs on bedsheets and the flavors of the pizza and it's assorted sauces. You lay together on the bed, paper plates strewn between you. In the background, an X-Files rerun plays.

"Ooh!" You sit up as you catch the premise of the episode, "I love this one! See the goo? There's a giant fungal... entity.. that's working on digesting them, and giving them hallucinations as they die."

"You and mushrooms, huh?" Joel laughs, but then looks back at the episode and contemplates the viscous yellow goo. "Jesus christ," he frowns, and sniffs, now contemplating the mushrooms on his pizza slice.

You spot his glare and snort. "I think you're safe."

He takes another bite and shakes his head as if to clear it.

"I'm getting tired," he admits.

"Me too," you agree.

"No pressure, but in case it wasn't clear, you're welcome to stay the night here."

"That's sweet," you tell him, and think it over. "If I took you up on that, would you be offended if I slip out early?"

Joel raises a brow.

"I have a cat," you explain, "And I'm working on moving into a new place, and meeting a friend for breakfast, and then I need to check out after breakfast because I won't be able to get my keys for the new place until the breakfast but I can't take my cat to a diner-"

You take a breath.

"Basically, I've got a bunch of things I need to do in the morning, but if you don't mind me slipping out around, maybe, 5-ish, then I'd love to stay."

He stares at you.

You regret saying as much as you said. You don't need to over-explain yourself to this actual stranger. He doesn't care. There's no reason for him to care. He's probably in it just for the fuck, and it was fun and if you stay then there's a chance the two of you will wake up at some point in the night, still horny and lustful and you might fuck again and you'd be lying if you said that wasn't part of the draw. You realise, though, you'd also be lying if you said you didn't care what he thought of you. All of a sudden, you are overwhelmed with caring what this man thinks of you.

How fucking inconvenient.

"I wouldn't be offended at all," Joel chews, swallows, wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin and speaks again. "What's your cat's name?"

You don't know what you'd expected he'd say, but it wasn't that. You buffer for a moment. "It's- Spatula."

"Spatula?"

"Yep." You feel foolish.

"Huh. Spatula."

A silent moment between you.

"Got any pictures?"

You weren't expecting that, either. "I... do? Do you want to see them?" He nods. You pull out your phone to scroll through.

Joel, suddenly scrambled around for his phone, too. It was late and he hadn't checked it for hours. Had it been on silent? What if Sarah had called and he'd missed it?

His panic eased when he saw he had only two notifications. Both from Sarah, but neither were bad. He hadn't been neglecting any crises. The first text was a selfie of Sarah and an unfamiliar person, which she'd texted to him with the caption New roomie!! The second contained an address to the place they'd have breakfast tomorrow along with Just wanted you to know I've invited a friend to join us tomorrow morning! Is that okay? Realized I should maybe have checked with you? 😬

There was an ache in his chest. He wanted to keep her to himself, get to spend one last day, just the two of them. It was the start of a whole new chapter, but more than anything, he wished he could hold onto the moment for just a second longer.

But Sarah was stressed, he knew this, so he wasn't gonna make it worse and put this burden on her. He could handle it. He had to handle it. He typed back- No problem, baby. Can't wait to meet your friend.

After a moment, he followed up with another text. Gonna turn in now. Good nite!

The less he texted right now, the better. He did not want Sarah to know anything about the night he was having.

His screen lit up a moment later. Night Dad! He takes a deep breath and wills some of the tension away.

He slips his phone aside and you scoot into bed next to him.

"This," you announce, "Is Spatula."

Joel scrolls thru, his brows raising higher with each image.

With a single nod, he opens his mouth and instead of speaking, he collapses into laughter. It comes out a wheeze- "I-- I know this won't make any sense, but your cat looks just like my goddamn brother."

You're laughing now too, both of you almost hysterical, even though you have no frame of reference. You cherish the absurdity.

Then, Joel pulls up a picture on his phone and shows you, and now you're doubling over again because his brother looks exactly like Spatula.

You don't remember falling asleep. You curse your body's internal clock because you wake up right at 5am, and even though you know you should get up and leave, you wish you could have just a little bit longer.

It's such a comfortable way to wake up. One arm is folded under your pillow, and the other is slung over Joel's hip. He's asleep, snoring softly, and strands of his hair are mussed along his forehead. Your hand is holding his tummy, but you realise there's something pressing against the heel of your hand, and then realise, with a delicious jolt, that he's hard and straining against his boxers.

It's so fucking hard to get out of that bed, but with enough barely-effective reminders--you're gonna fuck up your whole day if you're late, gotta make a good impression, Spatula's gonna be so disappointed if you're late with his breakfast--you manage to bully yourself out of the warm and wonderful bed containing blankets and absolutely fantastic dick, and you tiptoe through the room, dress quickly, and, after making a note and leaving it on his bedside stand, you slip out.

Joel wakes up with a jolt, and then rolls over to see that the alarm clock (which he dared not contemplate the number of times he must have snoozed) was telling him it was 9:13.

He was late. Really fucking late. And then the panic made his brain spin faster and that's when he noticed the note on his bedside table.

I had a really good time If you're in town for a little longer, don't be a stranger?

It's followed with your name and phone number, and a rather detailed mushroom sketch across the page. He wasn't sure what kind of mushroom it was, but it was beautiful, and clearly hand-drawn, and for whatever reason you'd decided to tear it out of, presumably, your sketchbook? And you gave it to him, and he's gonna read that note and replay last night for the rest of his fucking life. It felt incredibly precious. He placed it in a book so it wouldn't get creased or folded. Made sure it was all contained and neat, totally flat in between the pages.

Then, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower.

After scrubbing the smell of sex off of his entire body, he dresses quickly and checks his watch again. 9:28.

He texts Sarah and lets her know he's a few minutes behind. She responds with an eye roll emoji.

Joel settles in his truck and pulls up directions. It's only a few minutes away. He won't be too late.

When Joel steps into the diner, he's charmed by it. It's old school, with a checkerboard floor and bright red vinyl seats. He scans the room till he spots Sarah in a booth in the corner. She's laughing over a hot chocolate, and her friend must be in the seat opposite her.

He catches Sarah's eye and she grins at him, waving him over.

You've been at the diner about fifteen minutes, and you and Sarah are already getting along beautifully.

You'd met on a university message board and had become fast friends, but meeting someone in person was always a little terrifying. On top of that, you'd already committed to spending at least one (academic) year with this person, so you were damn sure gonna make it work.

Sarah waves over her dad. You can't see him yet, the back of the booth too high.

But then he's standing right there.

You already have a hand outstretched, but when he sees you and you see him, your stomach flips and dread runs through you. All the color drains from his face. He looks like a deer in headlights, and you'd be surprised if you didn't look the same.

Sarah looks between you, not quite concerned, but definitely confused. Sarah smiles and tries to diffuse the situation.

"Hi dad!" She grins, "This is my new roommate! Well, the other new roommate--the one in the picture, their name is Ellie, they weren't able to make it this morning. BUT. Breakfast seemed like a great time to hand off keys!"

Joel is still frozen and white-faced. Your brain whirs, and you know you've just fucking catapulted yourself into a disastrous mess, but you do your very best to save face.

Reaching your hand out further so he can't possibly miss it, he gives into some familiar social instinct, takes it and you shake. You think of his hands, how they dragged along your body last night, touched you, felt you, wrecked you.

You introduce yourself. He nods, avoiding eye contact.

"Joel." He grunts. "Miller."

Sarah frowns at him, but turns back to the menu.

This- was unexpected. Problematic. Arguably, really fucked up. All of those things and more. But it'll be fine.

All throughout breakfast, you repeat that to yourself, letting the words bounce around your head. It will be fine, you repeat your mantra, it will be fine, and you try not to feel too hurt at the way Joel's avoiding eye contact as if simply looking at you will cause him unimaginable disgust.

Everything will be fine.

Note: The fic's premise is loosely based on the book Mistakes Were Made which is a fucking excellent sapphic romance novel that utilises this trope. Would strongly recommend the book if you're into smutty queer stories.

[seventiesweetheart]

𓆩♱𓆪 party monster.

dark! ex bf! rafe x pogue! fem! reader

SUMMARY. in which y/n and the infamous rafe cameron once shared a secret relationship, one that she knew the pogues would be heavily against. and so eventually, after a series of events, y/n decided to break up with him and be done with his toxic behavior once and for all. but while sneaking into some kook’s house party with the pogues, she’s caught by the one person she was hoping not to find.

WARNING. smut, dubcon, a bit of violence, implied toxic relationship, oral (reader receiving), choking, manipulative behavior, jealousy, tons of swearing

A/N. this is the first ever fic i’m posting yaaaay >< just a note that this definitely ended up being way longer than i planned, so i might write a part two tomorrow since it also still feels kind of lacking :( but hope you enjoy!

it wasn’t easy sneaking in. but with sarah’s help, they managed to slip through unnoticed. and of course, jj wasted no time diving into the kitchen where bottles of booze were scattered like treasure, hence why y/n found herself struggling to maintain control of the situation, fearing that at any moment, someone would eventually realize who they were and the fact that they completely weren’t supposed to be here.

to be honest, y/n never wanted to come here. if anything, the last place she wanted to be after her recent breakup was anywhere near the kooks. yet, as soon as john b and jj heard about the party, they couldn't resist the temptation to crash it in true pogue fashion.

as usual, y/n and ki couldn’t bear the idea of those boys getting their asses kicked again, especially after the millions of times that that happened in the past.

“jj, seriously, that’s enough. this is absolutely no place to get wasted right now. please.” she begged her best friend who was now downing his third bottle and moving along to music.

“god relax y/n, no one’s gonna figure us out, alright? just drink, dance, and we’ll be out of here as soon as possible.”

her eyes bored into him, clearly not believing a word he said, “uh huh, you say that now but—“

“c’mon! just dance with me.” before y/n could protest any more, jj had her by the hand, dragging her out of the kitchen and into the living room. the air was thick with the scent of flavored smoke and alcohol. loud trap music pounded from the speakers, the bass vibrating through the floors and walls, matching the rhythm of her racing heart.

“jesus christ…” the girl muttered, watching jj get lost in the music, his head swinging and hair flying as he danced amidst the throng of bodies.

y/n's eyes scanned around the room, her anxiety mounting with each passing second. sweat slicked her forehead as she continuously looked around the crowd for any familiar faces who might recognize them.

and then she saw him.

his pair of piercing grey-blue eyes locked onto hers, sending a jolt of fear through her body. those same eyes flicked between her and jj, and before she knew it, she felt a chill run down her spine.

rafe cameron lounged on a plush couch, arms draped over the backrest with the usual unreadable expression on his face. next to him was some girl who was bent forward towards the glass table, snorting a line of powder. she raised her head back and pinched her nose, waiting for the rush to hit.

but y/n’s focus was solely on rafe. whoever the girl was didn't matter. either way, rafe’s attention was fixed on her, and she couldn't tell if that excited or terrified her more.

snapping out of the daze, she turned to her best friend again, “jj, we gotta go. rafe’s here.” she desperately tried to tug on her friend’s arm.

“jj!” she yelled over the music and that finally caught his attention.

“what?!” he yelled back, irritation flashing across his face at the sight of her anxious expression.

“we have to go! now.”

rafe never liked jj. throughout their secret relationship, he always thought of him to be a little too loud, violent, and far too carefree. on top of that, he also thought jj was always too close to y/n for his liking.

and y/n knew this. she knew both of them well enough to understand that she needed to act quickly before things escalated and this night became another reminder of why sneaking into this party had been a terrible idea in the first place.

her hand wrapped tightly around her best friend’s wrist as she moved as quickly as she can through the crowd in order to find an exit.

but almost immediately, she felt jj's wrist slip from her grasp. her heart dropped as she pushed through a dense cluster of bodies, the press of people making it hard to move.

"fuck, jj—" she started, her voice barely audible over the pounding music.

but it wasn’t jj behind her anymore. instead, she found herself face-to-face with the same pair of ominous blue eyes she saw earlier. she barely had time to think as she shoved past more bodies.

finally breaking free from the crowd, she found herself at the foot of the stairs. without hesitation, she dashed upwards. it didn’t matter, she was going to find a window and get the hell out of here. kiara would find jj, y/n was sure of it. and pope had to be somewhere downstairs as well.

reaching the second floor, her heart raced even faster. she frantically looked left and right, searching for a room to hide in. she pushed open the first door she came to, only to recoil at the sight of two strangers making out.

“fuck, sorry,” she mumbled, cringing as she backed out and moved to the next room.

she hurried down the hall to the last room, cautiously peeking inside. finding it empty, she slipped in quickly.

but the door couldn’t close behind her.

she attempted to push it again, but it wouldn’t budge. y/n stumbled backward as the door pushed back against her efforts, her breath hitching when she realized it wasn’t any problem with the door—it was rafe on the other side.

“closing the door on me again? i’m starting to think you love doing that.” a mischievous smirk played on his lips as he slowly stepped into the room, his presence making the space more suffocating as he closed the door behind him.

the silence in the room was deafening and the growing tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. y/n definitely did not miss the sound of the lock clicking into place.

she could still hear the music blaring from downstairs, the bass vibrating through the walls and floorboards. or maybe this time it was just her own heart, pounding in her chest as she kept her eyes locked on his. every fiber of her being braced for his next move.

rafe took a step closer, his gaze never wavering from hers. the dim light cast shadows across his face, making his expression even more unreadable.

she never expected for this situation to happen again, wherein they would be both locked in a room and none of her friends were even slightly aware of the fact that they were alone together. every instinct screamed at her to run, but she stayed rooted at her spot.

“not running this time?” he inched closer, his voice a low and threatening.

“i know you won’t hurt me.” it sounded like a whisper, as y/n back slowly to the desk behind her.

rafe scoffed, “you say that but i see you still trying to escape from me.”

y/n glared at him, defiance flickering in her eyes “well, what do you expect? for me to run to you?”

his glare intensified, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he moved closer. but then, in a flash, his expression softened.

“i missed you, you know?” his tone turned manipulative, a tactic she recognized all too well from their relationship. she had fallen for it many times before, but she wasn’t going to this time. “i really did, y/n… we were so perfect together and you-you just left without giving me the chance to explain myself.”

“well, i don’t think any more could have been said after you beat the fuck out of my best friend, don’t you think?” y/n's voice grew more aggressive, her anger flaring.

“yeah well he hit me too! and what’d you do? nothing!” he yelled, and she flinched at every word, her body tensing as she tried desperately to find an escape from the suffocating situation.

his breathing grew heavier as he looked at her with pain and frustration in his eyes, “you said you loved me but-but you didn’t even come to defend me.”

“rafe… you started that fight and i-i told you if you laid a hand on any of my friends then that would be the end for us.”

“god, fuck!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the room. rafe's hand shot out, knocking the floor lamp until it crashed to the floor with a loud shatter, fragments of glass scattering across the hardwood.

y/n flinched, raising her arms to shield herself as she inched closer to the corner where the bed was.

“it’s always you and those fucking friends of yours.” he spat, his face contorted with rage.

and before she could even process his movements, his hand was on her throat, pulling her forcefully towards him. she gasped, feeling the pressure against her windpipe, her fingers clawing desperately at his chest in an attempt to break free.

but even in her panic, she couldn't ignore the familiar sensation of his solid chest beneath her hand.

“and now, let me guess, you’re moving on to that fucking blonde you claim to be your best friend.”

“jj really is just my best friend! p-please, rafe. let go of me.” y/n pleaded as she fought the urge to look at how close his lips were from hers instead of holding the weight of his intense gaze.

“see, that’s where you’re wrong, y/n. i’ve never let you go, and i’m not fucking letting you go now or ever.”

his lips crashed down on hers, the kiss intense and demanding, leaving her gasping for air as she struggled to keep up with his pace. his other hand found her waist, pulling her closer against his body.

“r-rafe…” the moan she tried to hide escaped freely from her lips, coming out as a breathless whisper as his lips trailed down to her neck, no doubt leaving a trail of marks.

“god, l-let me go.” y/n weakly pushed him while he backed her up towards the bed.

“you say that, but your body tells me otherwise. you’ll have to tell me what you really want, sweetheart.”

he continued to suck on her skin, marking her with dark red and purple bruises as his hands trailed down to the hem of her floral sundress. slowly, he slipped his fingers underneath the fabric until he was hooking one side of her lacy underwear.

“still haven’t answered my question, y/n. or do you seriously want me to fuck it out of you?”

his eyes locked onto hers with growing frustration and need, “just fuck me, rafe.”

finally, the mischievous smirk returned to his face, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he leaned in closer.

despite her initial reluctance, y/n lifted her hips, allowing him to easily pull her underwear down until it hung around her ankles.

her hand grew clammy as she clutched the sheets beneath her, her breath catching in her throat as she lay staring at the ceiling.

meanwhile, rafe moved his hand back up her thighs, brushing her skirt up slowly to tease her until the fabric pooled at her waist. she could feel the air around them mixing with his breath against her skin, making her exposed wetness grow colder.

“d’you let anyone get near this after you left me?” his voice came low and deadly as his fingers played at her entrance, sliding against the slick liquid between her lips.

y/n whimpered at his touch, trying to hide her face with her hand while she shook her head in response.

“use your words, princess.”

“n-no, i didn’t.” she stammered out, her breath hitching as she felt his finger plunge through her hole.

satisfaction evident in his voice as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin, “good girl.”

her eyes shut tightly as soon as she felt his lips wrap around her soft bud, tongue lapping over and over it, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body.

“w-wait, rafe! slow down!” she groaned, her hands moving to tightly clutching his hair, her body trembling with the overwhelming sensation.

but rafe didn’t slow down, his hands holding her legs firmly in place before they tried to snap shut and he continued running his tongue over her clit, his warm saliva mixing with her wetness, making his actions even sloppier and faster.

“sh-shit, i’m close—rafe, please.” she begged, her voice thick with desperation. her hips moved involuntarily, seeking more friction and intensity, driving her to buck her hips against his face, urging him to keep going.

her fingers pulled his hair as she arched her back, and rafe buried his face deeper between her legs, his hands gently and possessively molding her thighs like they were lovers. like they never broke up and she had always belonged to him all this time.

“come for me, princess. c’mon.” he voiced breathlessly, the tip of his tongue tracing maddening circles around her bud, pushing her closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

it was all too overwhelming for y/n. she felt her orgasm building up, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to engulf her completely.

“fuck, rafe!” she moaned, her entire body tensing as her release crashed over her in waves, leaving her breathless and shaking.

rafe wasted no time in savoring all her juices, his lips and tongue eagerly lapping up every drop as they poured onto the sheets of some stranger's bed.

with gentle kisses kisses trailing along her inner thighs, he moved up to face her, delicately wiping the sweat off her forehead and gently brushing her hair out of her face.

still recovering from the intensity of her climax, y/n struggled to catch her breath as she locked eyes with him. the full weight of her actions had yet to sink in but she pushed the thought aside for later as his lips came down again to meet hers, softly grazing the bottom with a gentle nip.

“finally remember who you belong to, sweetheart?”

© 2024 seventiesweetheart | do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work.

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Hi Mo! I hope you are doing well! I really love your writing and the way you capture the duality of Alfie's character. I saw that you were looking for ideas so I thought I'd send one in (please feel no obligation/pressure to write it, this is just spit balling). Maybe something with reader being protective over Alfie. Maybe they're unaware of the infamous title the Camden King holds or they are but they have an overwhelming sense to have to protect him when the two are placed into a dangerous situation. Thanks so much, and again no pressure to have to write this ♥️!

Hi my friend!! You are so sweet, I hope you’re doing well too!! Thank you so much for this prompt! I gotta be honest, for some reason I had a hard time trying to figure out how I wanted to write this! I hope you enjoy it though, and if it isn’t hitting the way you were hoping, message me and maybe we can come up with something together!! Sending my love!!! - Mo

Change of Plans

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

Warnings: fighting, blood, stitches

This was NOT how the night was supposed to go.

Alfie was going to have a late night at the office, finishing up some business with the Shelby boys. Fine enough, you could make his home coming sweet. A fresh chocolate babka would be fresh out the oven, ready for him to cut into and devour. Candles would be lit all over the house, with curtains drawn in to protect from peering eyes and the creeping in cold. And you. You were dressed so pretty, just waiting for him. Hair loose and free, just how he loves it. You had put on that soft pink dressing gown he likes so much. The silk one with the delicate lace at the ends. You even put lavender oil on, extra, just to entice him.

It was SUPPOSED to be a nice surprise. It was SUPPOSED to be an evening where you spoiled him. It was SUPPOSED to be a romantic evening.

But no… here you are. Sitting next to Ollie in the car. Being driven across town to a bar. A bar, where your husband, along with the idiots Tommy, Arthur, and John Shelby, were fighting. Being that Ollie was concerned enough to grab you from home, you could only imagine how bloody it was.

Ollie looked over at you, eyeing the hem of your dressing gown, nervous as to how the pink fabric would be received, “Uhm.. Ma’am, I have a coat in the back… don’t you think maybe-“

“No Ollie I don’t think I want it. If Alfie wants to pull me out of my house this late at night, he can deal with the consequences.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea-“

“Ollie you know I love you so very much but I will need you to not speak again until we get to the bar. Yes?”

Ollie nodded, but the stress never left his eyes. You know he meant well. He was only ever looking out for you and Alfie. He was very very sweet. But frankly, Alfie did not deserve to have Ollie looking out for him. He did not deserve common courtesy tonight.

You slam open the doors, and it was exactly as you assumed it was. Regular patrons of the bar were lined up at the edge of the walls, watching the gladiators in the center tear each other apart. There was blood all over the floor. Broken glasses and spilled liquor scattering the floor mixing with the red. Tables and chairs discarded and destroyed in the wake of the brawl. You assumed, that the fight started as Alfie against the brothers. But it looked from your stance now, that it was every man for himself. All four of the men were sporting black eyes, bruises and cuts all over their faces, necks, and hands. You heard Alfie’s laugh above the sounds, “C’mon now!!! You want some more?!”

He didn’t see you yet, but you could see him. He looked like absolute shit, and his mouth was bleeding despite the toothy grin he gave with every punch he gave and received. You rolled your eyes, and felt your rage rise. He was getting far too old for this shit, reveling in his strength and the destruction he could so easily cause. The honor he wanted to protect with the force of 50 men. In normal circumstances you find it honorable. Sometimes even charming. But the way it was going… someone was going to get killed. And if anyone was going to kill Alfie it was going to be you.

You motioned for Ollie to follow you, as you stomped over the bottles, blood, and water. The yells for more blood by the men at the edges slowly turned to whistles as they gave witness to your bare legs, the thin dressing gown, and your steaming rage barreling through. With strength mustered from God himself, you grabbed the collar of John and yanked him back quickly, tossing him onto his back, “What the! Oh, Mrs. Solomons…”

Ollie managed to rip Arthur off of Alfie’s back, and he too looked incredulous at your appearance at this disgusting scene. All that was left was Alfie and Tommy, still attempting to rip each others throat out, entirely oblivious to your presence.

“ENOUGH. STOP IT.”

You screamed, but to no avail. They were entirely focused on one another, on their mutual blood lust. Seeing no other option, you motioned for Ollie’s gun, snatching it from his hand, and shot three rounds into the ceiling.

They finally stopped, looking up to find you as the source of the noise. Where they initially looked like big men, they suddenly reminded you of naughty children.

“Alfred Solomons. Thomas Shelby. Just what in gods name do you think you’re doing.”

Silence. Utter silence. “WELL?! I’m waiting Mr. Solomons!”

Tommy tried to get up, but paused when you pointed the gun at him, “Do not make another move Mr. Shelby. Not only did you ruin a night with my husband, but you also nearly killed him. I have half a mind to shoot you dead right now.”

Not moving from your initial target, you address Alfie, “Have you finally found yourself speechless? Say something.”

With a swollen eye and bloody lip, he manages to smile sheepishly, “Just… just business love. Just… a bit of a quarrel darling nothing more… put the gun down my love, you look beautiful. A right vision darling. ”

“I will decide when I put the gun down Mr. Solomons.”

You begin pointing the gun at each of the four men, “I think we can all agree… that we are ALL a little too old to behaving this way yes?”

Tommy was watching you intently, as was Alfie. John and Arthur hung their heads. Embarrassed for both their behavior and their deep seeded fear of you. You motioned for Alfie to get up, “My husband and I are going to leave now. Mr. Shelby, I expect a handwritten note apologizing for ruining my evening. And Monday you all will convene together, to discuss the issue like fucking adults!”

Alfie winced as he got up, cane nowhere to be found. You walked back out into the cold, with Alfie close to your heels. You push him into the car before you, and slam the door shut, telling Ollie to take you home.

You can’t even look at Alfie. So overcome with irritation and worry. Irritated that he acted so recklessly, and worried about his injuries. As you always are. Alfie fiddled with the coat on the seat, “Coat is back here and you still decided to come out in your dressing gown eh?”

“Be quiet I do not want to hear you.”

“Oh you will hear me though won’t you yeah? You will hear me, because now, all of fucking London saw my wife’s bare legs! I mean what the fuck is wrong with you.”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?! You want to know what’s wrong with me Alfie Solomons? I wait all day for my husband to come home. No no not just wait. I SLAVE around the house all day, make myself look nice, hoping HOPING that my husband makes it home! I worry sick ALL DAY that maybe this will be the day my husband doesn’t come home. And instead of coming home, he goes and acts like a COMPLETE FUCKING MORON and starts a fist fight with the Shelby boys!! You are getting too old for this kind of reckless behavior Alfie! And I cannot let you keep destroying your body like this!”

You begin to feel the hot tears fall down your cheeks, and Alfie’s heart starts to crack, “Aw.. darling I- treacle don’t go worrying about old Alfie now. Your husband is like an ox yeah?”

Your tears keep flowing, harder now, “No Alfie! No i do worry! It’s not about you being strong!! It’s about you being healthy! About you being safe! I’ve never told you to stop the business! I’ve never asked you to leave it! All I’ve ever asked is that you show wisdom! Not to go around picking fights! I can’t see you like this Alfie! You don’t deserve to get cut up and beaten for nothing! For a pissing contest! I shouldn’t have to see my husband like this just because of some… some pride!”

Alfie just placed his bloodied hand on your knee, patting and stroking your thigh trying to comfort you. Once Ollie got you and Alfie home, you silently walked up, freezing and covered in the smell of booze and violence. “Get to the bathroom Alfie. I’ll be there in a minute to clean you up.”

You changed out of your soft pink nightie, and slipped on of Alfie’s night shirts over your body, breathing in the smell of his left over cologne. With a sigh you lugged the medicine kit into the bathroom, where Alfie sat at the edge of the tub, shirt off, hot water running and steaming the room. Silently, you began cleaning the wounds on his hands and chest. Once the tub was sufficiently filled, you nodded for him to get in.

With a grunt he lowers himself in. It was getting harder to get into the tub. His muscles tighter than they used to be. You begin your work, stitching up the deeper cuts on his chest and face. It was like nothing to you now.

The first time you stitched him up, he had to talk you through it, giving you more comfort than you could him. It was a rough first try, the scar is still pure white between his shoulder blades, and you can feel it under your fingers at night. But now, you know your way around the needle and his skin, it’s a familiar ritual to you now, though you wish it wasn’t.

“You look as beautiful as you did on our wedding day.” Alfie says suddenly, eyes glossy, and forehead sweaty.

You shake your head at him. Of course he’s trying to flirt with you while you’re stitching him up, “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re delirious.”

“Nah. I married an angel darling. You make those shirts look like them French magazines.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Damn him, he knows how to sweeten you up. You finally finish up the stitches, 10 different gashes in total, and you begin putting on the salve and bandages when he finally speaks again, “My sweet heart, you should not have gone down there. It would’ve been ok. You don’t need to be involved in all that.”

God he’s irritating. Throwing your hands in your lap you bite back, “Alfie don’t give me that. One of us has to have some sense! One of us has to care about you.”

“You are making a bigger deal out of this than it is. Or are you forgetting what it is that I do! I ain’t a soft man treacle.”

“Do not even try to spin it Alfred Solomons. I will not be made to be looked at like a hysterical and stupid house wife. You will not make me feel crazy Alfred Solomons. I am your wife and you will listen to me.”

A beat of silence. And two blinks from Alfie are your queue to keep speaking, “Never. Never have I ever told you to stop. I told you that I would always support you. That your people are my people. You want to continue the business. Absolutely. You want to drop it all and go to Margate. Beautiful. I will always be here for the aftermath. I will always be there to discuss. I will always be there to stitch you up. But this Alfie… this type of… reckless nonsense… you got slashed in the chest Alfie! I will not be made a widow Alfred Solomons. Especially in the wake of something which was preventable. I refuse to watch my husband kill himself for a fucking pissing contest.”

He stared at the water in the tub, losing its steam and washing away the grime from his day. In this moment he wasn’t the King of Camden. That mask left the moment he walked through the threshold. Right now he was Alfie Solomons. Your husband. The man who was to love and protect you.

“Alfie… don’t you see how much I love you? How much I want you to be safe? I hate seeing you in pain, it makes me sick. I don’t know what I would do if you were suddenly not here. I think… the sky would turn black. I would not be able to breathe.”

Alfie hummed, and began to rise out of the tub, “C’mon… let’s get to bed yeah?”

With a sigh you nodded, helping him out, and cleaning up your tools before leaving him to dress for bed. Already bundled in between the soft white sheets, you look above your book to watch him limp into bed, and your heart breaks. He grunts as he gets in, but then pulls at your shirt to bring you closer, “C’mere darling. Need you.”

You toss your book to the floor, huddling closer, letting him guide your head to his bare chest. He hums put a tune from his childhood, stroking your hair as he thinks. After a bit he whispers, “Do you know what would happen if you weren’t next to me anymore?”

“Hmm?”

“The world would stop spinning. Lose all its color. Food ‘d lose its taste. Music would be horrible. I’d stop breathing. There’d be no reason to breathe. No reason at all.”

You begin to feel tears fall again, but he kept continuing, “I love you my darling. You add meaning to all this… I’m sorry I made you feel… as if you didn’t matter. As if your feelings didn’t matter. They do treacle. Your husband is stubborn, and it ain’t right. Ain’t right to make my wife cry and worry. You’re the best a man like me could ever ask for. You put up with so much… I promise not to be such an ass yeah? Start using my head before I start up some nonsense. Deal?”

You nod, clutching his chest, kissing him wherever you could reach, as Alfie hums again, kissing the top of your head. “Now Treacle. Tell me all about these plans you had for tonight.”

[samuelsdean]

If you won't do it, I will.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: you were so engrossed with images of you kissing Reid and him kissing you back that you forgot one detail—the man could wake up at any moment without you noticing. and he did wake up. You just failed to notice, too busy ogling his pink lips.

genre: fluff & angst

word count: 3.7k

author's notes: another tooth-rotting spencer reid fluff because i said so! you can listen to watch you sleep by girl in red & out of my league by fitz and the tantrums while reading this because those were the songs i listened to while writing this and i think they fit really well with this fic.

THAT DARN SUNLIGHT, YOU SHOULD GET YOUR BLINDS FIXED WHEN YOU’RE FREE—THEN IT HITS YOU. You just got it fixed about two weeks ago. You are definitely not in your room.

Scrambling to get up, you were about to jump off whichever bed you ended up in last night when you felt a warm, lithe arm tucked underneath yours, clasping you in a soft embrace like a lover. Now that you think about it, you could feel this person’s hair tickling your chin and their warm breath against your neck.

This is seriously freaking you out. You have no idea who you are cuddling with. Jesus Christ, how many shots did you drink last night? Why would the team let you go home drunk with some guy? 

Gently, you removed the arm wrapped around your waist and slowly pushed away the brunette positioned snugly between your head and shoulder. No way.

The person you are cuddling with is none other than your genius coworker.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

Like any other normal person would do—no person in their right mind would sleep with their coworkers, literally and figuratively—you checked yourself for any presence of clothing. Thank God, you did not completely lose your mind last night and slept with Reid. But it still doesn’t explain why you were wearing his faded Star Trek shirt and one of his pajama pants.

Fucking hell, did he change your clothes for you? You were ready to catch the next plane and disappear at this point.

You were about to start berating yourself for getting into this mess when you noticed how the sunlight made the man beside you look more angelic than usual.

The sun seemed to caress every freckle on his face, the slight pink tinge from the cold morning air, and his hair—although unruly from the tossing and turning during the night—could pass for that of a shampoo model. Pretty.

And his lips.

They looked even more inviting right now, pink and full and parted slightly, as he breathed in and out small puffs of air, finally sleeping soundly following a week of sleepless nights tracking down an unsub. You roamed your eyes once more on his face, starting from his hair and down to where his upper body was covered by an old shirt and the blanket you shared—forgetting your initial dilemma as to how you ended up in bed with your coworker (whom you have a big crush on).

Thank goodness you did not have sex with the one guy you were practically in love with for years. It would be nice to remember every detail of that rendezvous—if that ever happens. You groaned inwardly. This is not the time to fantasize about your coworker, Y/N! You need to get out of bed and out of his house.

But a part of you longs to keep pretending that this is real. That sleeping next to—cuddling, let us be honest—Reid is a usual occurrence. Pursing your lips, you closed your eyes and willed yourself to go back to sleep. Let the future version of you worry about how you will handle waking next to your coworker. Except you could not.

You wished you could tattoo what Reid looked like in the early morning light when he was asleep and without that crease between his brows that seemed to be etched permanently from all the stress of chasing unsubs around the country.

You gotta admit, some days, you yearned for Reid’s eidetic memory. You wished you could have memories of him engraved in your brain that no matter what you do, you could not help it. He would be there. A persistent thought. But then again, you were in too deep with your feelings for the man that you think, even without an eidetic memory, you could definitely recount all your favorite memories with him in a heartbeat.

So, you chose to stay awake.

This is not looking good for you. How else would you explain to someone—your coworker, of all people—who just woke up why you were staring at them while they slept. God, you are down horrendously.

He looked so peaceful like this. Pink cheeks, freckles, and messy hair. He looked so adorable you wished you could pepper his face with kisses and bury your face in his chest. And he is snoring lightly. He is endearing.

You are never getting another chance like this. This will not hurt anyone, right?

Hence, you took in every tiny detail, every freckle, every mole, and every scar you could see. You committed to memory every inch of skin your eyes could reach before the man beside you woke up. You tried to learn by heart what this man looks like when he is untroubled and at peace—what he looks like in the eyes of his future lover when they wake up next to him because that would never be you.

It would never be you.

And that could happen any day now. Reid was bound to find someone who would love him. He was the easiest person to love. He was not a prince charming nor the male lead of a romance novel kind of guy, But he has this boyish charm.

Let us be real. Reid was probably the most uncoordinated guy alive and the most socially awkward person ever. But you were taken by him. The moment he started spewing facts and statistics about anything and everything under the sun, you were done for.

He could talk to you about why worms were called worms and the probability of people dying on their birthdays. And you would listen to him willingly. You were that taken by him. Not to mention, it does not help your case that Reid was probably the prettiest person alive. Well, not literally, but he was that close to being the prettiest person—in your opinion of course.

He had messy, brown curls that looked like they barely experienced the touch of a comb, but you knew they were soft. You knew because every time Reid did something endearing—everything he did was endearing, for you—you always ruffled his hair. This would make him grumble about how he had to fix it again and to which you would reply with a cheeky, You know what a comb is? And Reid would roll his eyes at you.

He had hazel eyes that reminded you of a puppy dog. They were mostly brown with a tinge of green. Most days, it reminded you of being cozy, drinking hot chocolate by the fire. They looked like you were coming home. They always looked like they were pleading for you to stare at them. And you admit you have lost count of the many times Reid had to flick his fingers in front of you with a matching Earth to Y/N and a mini history lesson starting with a Did you know that the history behind that phrase comes from science fiction movies showing people on earth sending messages to people in space?

And Reid always wore the fluffiest cardigans and sweater vests, reminding you of your teddy bear collection at your childhood home. It was crazy how if you saw anyone else in the law enforcement track having the same fashion sense as Reid, you would probably think of them as ridiculous. He wore a pair of black converse sneakers, among other things. For heaven’s sake! Come on! You have to go after seasoned criminals—you at least have to look the part. Right? You have to look imposing and menacing to intimidate them in interrogation rooms. However, the teddy bear look—as you’d like to call it—works so well for Reid. 

What is more, is that Reid fits your ideal type. He is probably the poster boy for it. Ever since you were never into the macho guys and their big muscles. No offense to them because those are their bodies. They look good, but you like your men a little scrawny. You liked lean and really tall men. And Reid is definitely that. He may have failed his fitness test a gazillion times, but the man was in no way, shape, or form, unhealthy. He had the right muscles at the right places and besides, he literally goes after serial killers. He is fit alright.

Lost in your thoughts, you were damn near ogling the man beside you and ended up looking fixedly at his lips. You always thought he had kissable lips, minus the fact that it is probably because you were practically in love with the guy.

You wanted to kiss him so bad it is killing you right now. But in your good conscience, you couldn’t and you wouldn’t. You were completely aware of Reid being a germaphobe, and he has mentioned countless times, kissing is more hygienic than shaking another person’s hand, kissing a sleeping person was out of the books for you. One, the person couldn’t consent because they were unconscious. Two, you were not his lover. Kissing him while he was asleep would be a violation to him. Not to mention, unwelcomed and creepy as hell. Imagine waking up and someone has their lips slobbering your face. Icky!

You were so engrossed with images of you kissing Reid and him kissing you back that you forgot one detail—the man could wake up at any moment without you noticing.

And he did wake up. You just failed to notice, too busy ogling his pink lips.

“If you won’t do it, I will.”

You froze in place.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, you rushed to leap out of Reid’s bed—almost toppling over on the floor in an unladylike fashion. You probably would look worse than Reid when he was huffing and puffing during his last fitness test mandated by the bureau.

But before you could jump out and run away from the man beside you, Reid had all but effortlessly pulled you towards him. You ended up burying yourself into his chest face first as you clutched his shirt to break the fall. It is not even 8 am in the morning yet, and you have managed to embarrass yourself enough for your parents to cut off all ties with you. You would rather dig yourself a hole to die in than be here.

Knowing you have nowhere else to escape, you believe it was time to lie on the bed you made. Sluggishly, you pulled your face away from the lean chest you descended on and peeped up at the angelic face you’d been staring at for the past hour with a sheepish smile.

“H-hi, Reid!”

This is just pure torture. Reid probably knew why you looked like an actual tomato with how red you are, at this moment. He is smiling at you like a cat who ate the canary as he suppressed a laugh.

“I didn’t know you had a clumsy side to you, Y/L/N,” Reid snickered.

What?

“What?” You frowned, which made Reid chuckle some more, shaking his head.

“Nothing,” you scrunch your brows as you tilt your head in confusion, “You just seem so formidable on the field and interrogation room. I’d hate to be the one you’re tracking down,” Reid responded.

“Oh, um,” you grinned as you thought of the perfect rib for the man in front of you, “Just because I’m an FBI agent doesn’t mean I can’t be uncoordinated every now and then. I mean, I know plenty of agents who are quite the klutz on the daily,” you peered at him while he gawps in protest.

“Hey!” He argued, scowling at you.

God, he’s endearing.

“I didn’t mention any names,” you chortled, raising your hand in defense, which made him roll his eyes.

You cracked up at his juvenile actions. In turn, Reid smiled in amusement.

God, you can’t believe that you’re laying on a bed beside Reid. With Reid—like it’s an everyday thing. The smiles. The banter. The laughter. This is crazy. You could get used to this. Sleeping next to him and not just next to him—like the ones you have during your cases where you get to be roommates. No, sleeping on one bed, next to each other. Waking up next to each other. Hearing his gruff morning voice.

You could get used to this.

You can’t.

You shouldn’t.

Reid is your friend. A coworker. You shouldn’t be fantasizing about sleeping and waking up next to him, that is unprofessional. Not to mention, you would be breaking one of the golden rules of the bureau. Never fraternize with a fellow agent on the same unit. 

Seemingly lost in thought, you retreated from the man beside you, as you grimaced.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Reid,” you smiled glumly, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” you patted his cheek gently.

“Is this about you waking up in my bed? I swear no—”

“I know, Reid,” you sighed, “You would never hurt me. I was drunk last night. I’m sure you brought me here because you were too tired to take me home. We just got back from a case and I shouldn’t have drank a lot of shots after all the sleepless nights,” you were slowly sitting up now, “But thank you, Reid. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always, Y/N.”

This made you smile.

Trust Reid to always make your heart flutter at the tiniest gestures. He’s probably the most genuine and compassionate person you know. It breaks your heart every time you remember that his actions might make you feel butterflies in your stomach, but he does them not because he sees you romantically—he just does them because that is just how he is—caring.

“I’m gonna get up now,” you muttered.

“So, that’s it?”

This made you pause.

“What do you mean?” You looked at him, to which he scoffed.

“You know what I mean, Y/N.”

“No, I really don’t, Reid,” you scowled, growing irritated at this whole situation, his riddles, and him, for being so perfect, “So, you better tell me because you scoffing at me is slowly infuriating me.”

“You spent an hour, eighteen minutes, and thirty-eight seconds watching me sleep,” Reid shared as matter-of-factly, as if to say "You aren’t slick, Y/N, " which made you sputter in indignation. At this rate, you wouldn’t be surprised if Reid would be considered by the Guinness World Records as the first omniscient person on earth with his brilliant mind. The man has an IQ of 187 for Pete’s sake!

“If that doesn’t tell you anything, then I don’t know what will,” he finished.

“First of all,” you started, “I did not watch you sleep.”

This made the man raise one brow at you. Liar.

“Second of all, if I did watch you sleep and you felt it,” you continued pointedly as if to tell Reid you weren’t watching him sleep. “Shouldn’t you have called me out on it? Why did you let me be then?” 

“I don’t know. Okay?”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” You pushed, crossing your arms.

“I woke up just a few minutes after I felt your stare,” Reid began rambling, “Did you know the reason why we feel someone is looking directly at us is that we have this system called the gaze detection system? I woke up a few minutes after I felt you staring.”

You smiled fondly at the man prattling facts from the back of his brain. This was your favorite version of Reid. The one who knows anything and everything under the sun and can probably talk about them if you asked him to. But right now, you have had enough of that. You won’t allow him to distract his adorable babbling from knowing why he let you stare at him.

Maybe he shares the same feelings with you.

“Reid,” you exhaled, “that still doesn’t explain why you let me watch you sleep.”

This made the man’s cheeks start dusting with pink. You were aware of the fact that it should have been the questioning done the other way around. You literally breached his privacy in his own home but you couldn’t help it. You wanted to know if he feels the same way as you. You wanted to know everything now rather than later. You know you’d probably get rejected but you wanted to get it over with.

“I wanted you to kiss me.”

This made you gasp, eyes widening—you think they were about to come out of their sockets. Reid blushed some more with your shocked expression. 

“I didn’t know what to do,” he continued explaining, “so I pretended to be asleep but I wanted you to kiss me. I thought that you would kiss me but you didn’t. So, I waited.” He looked down at his lap and bit his lip.

With your initial shock wearing off, you practically looked like a wild animal pouncing on the bed. Reid yelped at how quick you moved from where you originally stayed put. Without further ado, you reached for him. Thumbs caressing his rosy cheeks, you stared at his hazel irises.

“Are you sure about this?” You asked gently, wanting to be sure that he wants this just as much as you do. Before you could say anything else, Reid pressed his lips against yours.

As soon as you felt his lips against yours, your eyes closed. His lips were warm and soft—a little chapped but you didn’t mind. It feels perfect against yours. You didn’t want this to end but you want to see him—feel more of him. So, you did. You buried one of your hands in his curls as you caressed his chiseled jaw. Warmth blossomed in your chest as you realized you were kissing the guy you’d been pining for years and he is kissing you back.

You could taste your shared breath and feel the flutter of his long lashes against your cheeks. He tilted his head slightly in the opposite direction and nudged his nose against yours as your lips parted slightly, allowing him to slip his tongue inside.

You wanted to open your eyes. You wanted to see the faint constellations on his face, admire the slight scrunch of his brows when he’s focused—you had a feeling after this kiss is over, being with him won’t be as easy as it was before. You would be ruined knowing what it was like to kiss him. But you were so tired of longing for him. And his mouth was the softest mouth you have ever kissed. And nobody has ever kissed you like this before—loving and warm.

You didn’t stop kissing Reid until you felt like you were running out of air from running. So, you held his shoulders and distanced your face from his. He tried chasing your lips but you dodged him. Instead, you looked down at your lap. You felt your tears and willed them to not fall. Not here, not now, not in front of him. You wouldn’t want him to pity you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Reid placed his warm hand against yours, “What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?” His thumb caressed your hand soothingly.

“That’s the thing, Reid,” you explained, looking up at him right now as he flinched, noting the tears glistening in your eyes, “Nothing’s wrong. The kiss was perfect. You’re perfect.” You could see his shoulders sagging in relief after what you said. “And because of that, I can’t just pretend that what happened was normal because it isn’t. I know it won’t happen again so I can’t get used to it. And you know I’m not the type to kiss someone unless they mean that much to me.”

You were about to explain some more when you felt Reid pull you. You gulped when you felt the tickle of his breath in the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I really like you, Y/N. If it isn’t obvious,” Reid muttered shyly, “I’ve liked you for quite some time now.”

“Oh.”

If this was difficult for you, it was difficult for Reid as well—if not more—to be vulnerable about his feelings. You knew about how difficult it was for him growing up, being the only twelve-year-old prodigy in a public high school. He’s been through so much with his dad leaving and having to take care of his mom. He’s never had a proper experience with just about everything from making friends, being a normal kid, and in this case, harboring romantic feelings for someone—you.

So, you did what you thought could convey that the feeling was mutual. You gently wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face into his brown locks. He smelled of crisp pages of a book with a hint of pine. If you thought your favorite version of Reid was him rambling about facts and statistics, you’re probably going to give that version a run for his money. Because this version of Spencer Reid right here—the one who chose to be vulnerable, the one who chose to open up to you not knowing if the feeling was mutual—is probably your new favorite version of him.

“If it isn’t obvious to you, Dr. Reid,” you began, “I’ve liked you for quite some time now too.”

With that, you pulled him away from being tucked into your neck and kissed him again. You felt him grin widely, as you showered his pretty face with pecks, and you could not be happier. Before you could shower him with more kisses, Reid started spouting statistics about office romances.

“One in ten heterosexual couples in the United States meet at work.”

“Lucky for us,” you said as you tried to bury your nose in Reid’s neck, which made him giggle. "We are that one couple in the BAU. Now, shut up, so I can kiss you some more.”

This made Reid guffaw.

You couldn’t be happier waking up next to your coworker.

[grey342]

Hii! I’m so glad to see someone currently writing bradley cooper fics because honestly PHIL CAN GET IT. i wanted to request maybe a jealous!phil where reader goes on a friends bachelors trip and knowing Phil’s past he gets all angsty, as smutty as you’d like :) honestly anything you’d write id love!!

Don't leave me

Jealous! Phil x reader

synopsis - Phil's girlfriend goes on a trip for a bachelorette party and he's not happy about it.

warnings - MDNI 18+ content, Phil being dramatic, Phil being jealous (Obv), lingerie, slight handjob, P in V, riding and praise.

authors note - Thank you so much for this request and the sweet compliment! I gotta be honest i'm not a huge fan of angst so I made Phil a lil more dramatic and kinda sassy. I still hope you like it :)

please do not steal my work - belongs to @grey342

This man is gonna be the death of me.

The main thought running through your head whilst packing. His remarks and whines can be heard from the next room.

Your close friend was having her bachelorette party this weekend but, she also wanted to spend a couple of days with the bridal party before her wedding. So you all decided to spend a long weekend in Vegas. And Phil is not happy about it.

"I mean, I don't get why you have to go," you roll your eyes at him, "it's not like she's your best friend."

"Oh yeah? And who is?" You retaliate, smirking.

"Me." He scoffs, as if this is obvious information, walking into the room. You take one look at him and start laughing.

You're not stupid, you kind of guessed why he was so mad about you going but now. He's made it really clear for you.

"What's so fucking funny?" He says confused, placing his hands on his hips. A gesture you would usually find attractive but right now, it's making you laugh even harder.

"I just, uh, I can't believe it," you say in between wheezes, " I mean. I had an idea but now it's so obvious." You quietly chuckle.

"What? What is? You're not making any sense." He declares, clearly getting frustrated. After calming yourself down you finally say-

"You're jealous." Apparently, it's now his turn to burst out laughing.

"What? Where the fuck did you get that idea?" He managed in between laughs.

"You're jealous. You're so insistent on me not going, you're trying to tell me all the bad things about the girls. I mean you literally just said "she's not your best friend, I am." You're SO jealous." You clarify.

He's silent just staring at you. You can see the clogs turning in his head to try and come up with a good response. You swear you can see the light bulb appear on top of his head.

"You're just saying that to make yourself feel better about leaving me. For a whole weekend might I add." He says almost sassily and walks out of the room. Clearly proud of himself.

"Sweetie," you sigh, "it's only three days. I'll be back before you know it. We can text throughout the day and call every night." You try to deal.

"Or I have a better idea... don't go and we can talk all day and all night. Face to face."

You groan in frustration. You cannot believe this is the type of conversation you were having with your grown ass boyfriend. Pick the sassy men they said. You internally roll your eyes.

You walk into the living room to see him practically pouting on the couch. Scoffing, you go to walk away when an idea pops into your head.

"Hey Phil, if you stop complaining right now you can have your present early." He looks at you confused.

"What the fuck do you mean "present"?"

"Well since you are so predictable," you emphasise the last word, " I knew you would act like this when I said i'm going on a trip. So, I bought you something as a "sorry for leaving you, you big baby" gift."

"You did?" You can see the glint of excitement in his eyes.

"Yes my little princess but, clearly you are a lot more upset than I anticipated so i'm willing to give it to you early. If you want it that is." You wager. There's a long pause where he's weighing out his options.

"Okay," he clasps his hand together, " I have decided that I would like my present early. BUT I still want one for when you come back." He leans back on the couch, glowing with pride.

"Fine. I'll be right back." He rubs his hand together in anticipation as you leave the room.

Moments later you're shouting down the hall, "close your damn eyes." He grunts in disapproval.

"Okay and open." He does and your met with a groan that also sound like a moan.

"Oh baby." You're stood in front of him in a lingerie set, barely covering anything. Plus it's in his favourite colour.

"Am I forgiven?" You say, moving down to straddle his lap.

"Yes. A million times yes." He exclaims instantaneously as you giggle.

His mouth meets yours passionately, with your teeth and tongues clashing. His hands make their way down to your ass and yours to his chest. Pushing him lightly so his back meets the couch.

His slowly starts to kiss your jaw, then down your neck and finally the top of your chest. He looks up at you, almost pleading, and you give him a look of approval. His hands move around your back to unclasp your bra.

He slides it off at an agonisingly slow pace. When the bra is fully off he stares at your chest in awe. He moves his head down taking one nipple in the mouth and groping the other. You let out a content sigh.

He switches over, repeating the same process as you began to rock slowly, back and forth, on his lap. His moans vibrate on your chest as your breaths turn into pants.

You reach down in between you and start pulling at the waistband of his grey sweatpants, indicating you want them off. He knows what you want and immediately begins to pull them down. You look down and eagerly take him in your hand. You swipe your thumb over the tip and began pumping up and down.

"Fuck.." He groans. You push your panties over to the side and slide onto him. Both of you moaning in unison. You'll never get used to the way he feels, filling you up perfectly.

Once you're both ready, you begin to move back and forth, riding him. His hands take sanctuary on your hips, slowly guiding you. You lean down, placing your mouth on his, capturing his groans in your mouth.

"You're doing so good. Riding my dick so well baby, my good girl." He says against your mouth. He reaches down and starts to rub slow circles on your clit. You whimper at the contact.

"Oh fuck, do that again." Obeying his orders you do it again. He uses his other hand to begin assisting you in bouncing up and down. Your movements begin to change pace, going faster.

His groans and your whimpers becoming louder. He dick twitching inside of you, indicating he's close. You ride faster and bounce harder. He in turn, quickens his movements on your clit and his fingers dig into your hips, leaving bruises for later.

"Oh shit, Phil.. I'm close."

"I know honey, I know hold on a lil longer." He pants. Your cries being the response. Your head thrown back, eyes screw shut.

"Hey, look at me. I wan't you to look at me when you cum." He demands. You immediately open your eyes and stare into his. His gaze possessive.

"Oh fuck, Phil." You whine.

"Let go baby, give it to me." That send you over the edge. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, the pleasure taking over and your body began to shake.

"Oh shit, oh shit." He says as he fills you up, head resting in the crook of your neck.

Coming down from your highs, he lifts his head and smiles at you.

"What?"

"You're so beautiful." He places a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Mhm, i'm still going." You stand up and start walking towards the bedroom.

"Ah! Come on honey, i'm the love of your life! You can't leave me!" He calls out, following you.

[itsfuntobeavampiree]

《☆Bath time☆》

Brahms heelshire x fem!reader

I'll get round to doing a male reader don't worry

Fluff? I mean they'll be non-sexual nudity and a few dirty thoughts from our rat King 👑 🐀

Warnings: nudity,dirty thoughts from brahms, mention of breasts ,hoes in a tub.

Not proofread. I was half asleep writing this.

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎

You undressed yourself, tossing the dirty clothes to the corner. 'I'll pick them up later' you thought. As you tested the temperature a creak in the floorboards caught your attention. You turned around slowly seeing brahms stood there awkwardly with his arms behind his back. "I thought you said you were going to undress?" You said, placing your hands on your hips. Having zero shame of being in complete nude. "This was your idea anyway..." you mumbled, stepping into the bath careful to not spill any bubbles. You adjusted to the heat and sighed as you got comfortable.

Brahms waddled over and shakily slid off his cardigan. After a while being with brahms you decided that his wardrobe needed an update and brought him all this lounge wear. So seeing what he was wearing under the cardigan, it being a long sleeve t-shirt and some sweats for leg wear you got him,made you softly smile. "Don't you look handsome in your new clothes mister!" You said, as brahms cheeks tinted pink at the compliment. Not like you could see with the mask on his face.

He was now fully naked aswell, bashfully stepping into tub. He sat (uncomfortably may I add) cross-legged inbetween your legs. You chuckled as he squeezed himself together so he could fit. "Brahmsy cmere!" You laughed as you spun him around so he had his back pressed up against your chest. His eyes widened as he could feel your breasts pushing up against him, his mind went through every naughty thought he could think off before being snapped back into existence by your hands gently coming round to pull his mask off.

He sprung his arms up, causing a bit of a splash, to stop you from going any further. You let out a tsk and soothed him by rubbing his shoulders. "Do you want to be a clean happy boy?we gotta make sure your face is all fresh and handsome aswell silly!" You giggled as you rested your chin on his shoulder. His breathing hitched. He wanted to be a clean happy boy, He wanted to be all fresh and handsome, just for you. "I want to be a clean happy boy....for you" he muttered but loud enough for you to hear. You let out an aw at his adorableness and slowly but carefully removed his mask. "Now show me that gorgeous face of yours!"You cheered as he hesitantly turned his head. You looked at how handsome his face was and gave him a smile just to let him know that everything was ok.

You had washed brahms' hair which was extremely difficult as he was too big for the tub and it was harder because you were smothering the poor boy with your boobs, which I doubt he minded. You had scrubbed him clean and made sure no part of his body was unwashed. He enjoyed the part where you had to wash yourself ,watching you intently as you scrubbed your chest. You had firstly gotten yourself out the bath before brahms. You wrapped a towel around yourself and grabbed one for brahms. He snuggled himself up in the towel, shivering at the noticeable draft that was always in the mansion. "Cmon brahms let's get you ready for bed" you ushered him out the bathroom and into your bedroom.

He sat comfortably on the bed , waiting patiently for his clothes to be presented to him. You placed a pajama set on his lap as you went to go find your own pajamas. He looked down at the grey long sleeve shirt and the blue tartan pajama bottoms. He dried himself and put the pajamas on looking into the mirror in the corner, he looked up and realised he had left his mask in the bathroom and to be honest he couldn't be asked to go get it.

He turned around and watched you put on your matching pajama bottoms. He grinned happily and made his way over to you, wrapping his arms round your waist as he buried his face in your hair. "Don't we look dashing, let me just put my hair up then we can get into bed "you said reaching up to kiss his cheek. "Don't take to long y/n" he muttered as he made his way into bed still watching you intently.

You hopped into bed next to him getting ready to close your eyes until you felt a hand gently tap your shoulder. You opened your eyes confused, waiting for a response. "My goodnight kiss" he pouted as his eyes tried to stay open. You mentally punched yourself for forgetting something so important. You wiggled over to him and massaged his cheek as his eyes fluttered close. You gave him a loving peck on the lips before snuggling up into him. He reacted to this and wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you in more.

"Goodnight my baby boy"

"Night love"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am severely touch starved.

PLEASE REBLOG THANK YOU

[handsomewickerman]

Some thoughts on Eddie Diaz vs. Fanon Gay Eddie

I wanna preface this by saying that i'm latino, gay, raised catholic, heard the phrase "you gotta be the man of the house" my whole life. So on paper the idea of "repressed gay Eddie Diaz" should be appealing to me, right? well not exactly and here's why:

when I started watching the show I was aware of buddie, but I never engaged with the fandom. It wasn't until Buck came out that I started interacting with it.

when you join any space online the algorithm feeds you the most popular stuff, in this case, all my 911 recommendations were buddie, at the time I saw the vision, after all I love queer rep! but after the date episode and all throughout the hiatus I realized something very quickly:

most buddies don't actually care about queer rep, they just wanted their ship to go canon.

this realization came after weeks of seeing them spew bi/homophobic rhetoric and claiming it didn't matter as long as they got buddie, some examples:

- saying they wanted Buck to play into the bisexual cheating stereotype.

- calling Tommy a groomer, creep and predator.

- being unable to fathom the idea that Tommy was just hanging out with Eddie as friends

- claiming Eddie being a pos shit to women was ok "as long as he's gay".

- the insistence that Eddie should only be read as gay (not even bi).

- the idea that Buck and Eddie should only be "gay for each other" and no one else.

(these talking points still get repeated and if anything they have gotten more hateful the more time has passed).

Buddies insisted that they could've made buddie canon every ep, but that's simply not true, even leaving the GA and network aside, if you watch the show without shipping goggles you'll realize how much work they'll need to write that arc for Eddie as well, and if you care about queer rep you would want him to have his arc too, right?

they also claimed that his religious guilt is "clearly tied to queerness" when in reality Eddie is one of the most stagnant characters in the show as his religious guilt is tied to his inability to secure a "traditional family unit" and be the "man of the house" he was told to be. He drove Shannon away (something he admitted), then lost her forever and hasn't been able to move on for 6 seasons. It all circles back to that guilt about Shannon, the expectations put on him and his feelings of failing her, his parents, his kid and himself. Could there be an space for queerness too? Sure, but that's not what the show has portrayed at all so far.

the heavy mischaracterization of Eddie, the choice to strip him away from all his flaws or excuse them, the character assassination and malicious reading of Tommy while engaging in homophobia, their inability to allow Buck to be his own character with his queerness having nothing to do with Eddie and the desire to have him play into negative stereotypes told me everything I needed to know about where these people who want to gaslight you into thinking that "gay Eddie and buddie is the only correct answer" actually stand when it comes to queer rep.

it is not inherently wrong to find relatability in Eddie as a queer person and read him as such, but it is incredibly dishonest to claim that's the only valid way to read him.

in the end, I should find Eddie more relatable as a character and truth be told? I do, but I find Ryan's desire to tell a story about men being vulnerable, emotionally open and close without having to question their sexuality or masculinity far more realistic and honest for the character and Ryan himself.

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

stancest prompt :3 teen! stans getting handsy in the locker room after a boxing match

another one im combining together and um anon sorry this took soooo long, im gomma be honest this was my most excited to write but it turned out sm more experimental than i expected. not sure about the end result but i suppose i could always write a second version because i just had too many ideas for this one in particular lmaooo I went with Ford having some secret sadism he is very badly repressing so thats where the freaky style comes in

And uh, another ford pov. ive gotta write one in stans eventually lmao

~~

Ford never liked boxing lessons.

He never liked that the air was rich with sweat and dust barely ventilated through the hotbox of a gym, leaving every kid melting into pools of themselves. He never liked the sounds of rubber gloves meeting skin in vicious smacks. He never liked how their god awful, shitty coach would pit his favorites against the littlest guys of the rack, watching the big kids pummel new and inexperienced in some sick delusion that he was honing their skills but really, he was nothing more than a bully letting other bullies have a sick little power trip. Ford has been on the opposite side of those fists, in and out of the ring. He knows how this works, he knows how it plays out.

If there was one thing to like about boxing lessons, it was how getting called a "freak" im the middle of a match had gotten him a couple unsavory wins (but wins nonetheless) himself through sheer rage. Ford hadn't cared about playing fair then— he doesn't have anything to prove. Not to them.

Stan would usually agree, but this is where another one of their most fundamental differences rises: Stan loves boxing.

Ford doesn't know why, nor can he truly begin to fathom how. Back when they were children, Stan had a bigger target on his back for their instructors to send their seasoned trainees after. He was tempermental, but he didn't have Ford's wit and only ever swung his fists around desperately. He got provoked into losing his focus so easily, one second he's standing, the other he's being pinned on the mat. He was always the stronger twin between them, sure, but what's good with being a strong kid in a room full of stronger kids? Most of all: he was an emotional wreck after losing, which happened really often.

Stan fell hard and cried harder. And he was beaten down for it even more in the ring, and even outside of it. Moses knows their father didn't take Stan 'embarrassing' the family very well.

And Ford knows the way he used to have swab cotton and disinfectant onto his brother's swelling face.

Ford never liked that. Ford hated that.

But Stan didn't. Stan always came back, barely healed and raring for more

And now—

"And the winner— Stanley Pines!"

The name call catches Ford off guard, dragging him back into reality as the crowd around them whoops excitedly. Up in the ring, Stan is pumping his fists in a little victory lap while his opponent slinked off to the opposite corner. Ford scans, his attention on Stan's body, seeing the usual bruises that would litter his sweaty chest and broad shoulders, some landing even on his jaw. Stan rips his gloves off and spits out his mouthguard and that's when Ford sees it.

There's a cut on his top lip, small but red and angry, bleeding into his mouth. Stan's eyes meet Ford's and he grins, not bothered by the injury as soon as he saw his brother, teeth stained red and wet with blood and spit.

For whatever unholy reason, Ford's stomach stirs at the sight of it, an aching need popping but not that Ford knows what that need actually is. The need to take care of Stan again? The need to strangle Stan because even though he clearly doesn't need these classes anymore, he still keeps going? The need to take Stan by the shoulders and—

Then Stan winks at Ford. And that makes Ford's body stiffen, skin burning, making the quiet twist in his gut deepen further.

"And you're going to drop out after this, right?"

They're in the locker room, lucky to have it all to themselves after everyone else has packed up and left after the final fight. Something had come up in shop and their parents hadn't been able to watch Stan's match, but Stan was excited to retell his great victory or whatever it is. That's not Ford's priority, and hell it shouldn't even be Stan's.

"Wha?" Stan asks incredously, to which Stanford immediately muffles with a damp towel pressing against his lip. The bleeding has slowed down enough for Ford to finally focus on after checking the other bruises and inspecting the rest of Stan's body for any more injuries before he showers. There wasn't any more, thank God, but Ford hates having to check in the first place. His brother's casual confusion ate at his nerves now too, as if Ford said something ridiculous, or he just didn't hear Ford right.

Well, Ford has no issue repeating.

"You're going to stop taking boxing classes, right?" Ford say again. Stan's brow furrowed in confusion, which Ford ignores, as he carefully dabs at his lip. "I mean, at this point it's just pointless to keep it up when you've been going for years."

"Pff, as if. I ain't stopping now," Stan replies, and Ford frowns. "Why would I?"

"Stan... you're bleeding. You're hurt."

Stan chuckles. "Yeah? I always am after a match. Earth to Super Genius Poindexter: the point is to hit each other."

"You shouldn't be bleeding this much," Ford says, gesturing to his brother's face, the cut open lip.

"Aw, Sixer, you've seen worse on my face than that, and look at it. Still prettier than yours."

"Ha, ha. Very funny." Ford huffs, annoyed that Stan clearly isn't taking this seriously. Of course Ford has seen worse, has taken care of Stan when it was worse, but it doesn't mean he likes it. It doesn't mean he likes watching Stan get pummeled even if he wins. Doesn't mean he likes that Stan is sore and winded out after a match. Doesn't mean he likes seeing his brother sweaty and exhausted and turning to Ford's hands for care and comfort, malleable into whatever Ford could want.

He doesn't like that. At all.

Stan chuckles. "I got a match next Thursday, I can't stop now!"

Ford pouts, not understanding how that could possibly more important to Stan than his own brother's request. As if he's saying he doesn't believe that stopping his lessons, stopping this, is what Ford would actually want. Which is—

"Besides," Stan interrupts his train of thought, leaning into Ford slightly, palm on the bench they occupied. "You know I ain't mind the pain, whatever it is you're freaking out about. I'm used to it."

"Stan—"

"In fact," Stan continues, using that voice he pulls to mock Ford's use of that very phrase. He grins that bloody, toothed grin again. "I kinda like it."

The twist in Ford's gut tightens once more, and all he can think is fine. Fine.

Taking his free hand to the back of Stan's neck, he crushes his mouth against Stan's, ignoring his twin's pained gasp when the split lip comes in hard contact with Ford's. He doesn't push or pull away, and doesn't protest when Ford doesn't let up, kissing him and sucking on his lips like a man on a mission. The rich, rusty tang of blood lands on his tongue, filling up his mouth and Ford moans against Stan.

Stan barely exhales out of amusement. "I knew you were into freaky stuff like that."

"Shut up."

Smashing their mouths again, Ford drops the towel in his hand to run hands through the sweat drenched hair. Practically crawling onto Stan's lap, his warm, meaty thighs under his ass. God. Ford's been waiting for this. If anything was worth sitting through another one of those matches it was seeing his brother, dripping with sweat and bulging with muscles.

And having him all alone in his hands for 'immediate care'.

And feeling his hips grind against Stan's own underneath him  or having Stan's hand around his leaking cock while they finish each other in the confines of the locker room like they have so many times before.

Cupping Stanley's face and craning his neck up, pulling him into a deeper kiss while Stan's hands go under his shirt, calloused hands on Ford's back and belly and squeeze. Ford makes a sound at the back of his throat, making him ache for some kind of retaliation. Instead of allowing Stan's prodding tongue access, Ford pulls back, taking Stan's bottom lip in his teeth and biting down. Hard. Stan jolts underneath him.

"Ow. Fuck, Ford."

"Oh, I though you liked that?" Ford sarcastically quips, not waiting  to hear the "yeah, yeah, keep going" to continue kissing and abusing Stan's already injured lips. Blood is in his mouth again from the earlier cut, and damn it it tastes good and it feels good. It's raw. Violent.

For a second Ford almost felt the appeal of the sport itself. The primal and animalistic need to hurt someone asking for it presents itself in Ford in hearing the pained moans Stan makes the more he roughly grinds his hips and presses fingers into bruises and nip at his lips and pull at his hair. It's cathartic, and it twists sparks in him like a lightning bolt, setting nerves on fire.

And this time Ford caused it to Stan. His dick is straining against his pants, begging for release, with Stan's hand rubbing against him through the fabric. Ford's own were running over his bruised, sweaty skin and sore muscles that he hadn't realized that Stan hadn't even showered yet. But Ford is going to need one too when they're done anyway, so he pulls the band of Stan's shorts enough to release his hard cock. Stan unbuttons his own pants, eyes on their cocks now, licking at his red, abused lips while Ford steadies himself on his shoulder, touching them both into completion.

"Ford..." Stan mutters adoringly and Stanford just loves the way he lets Ford take care of him like this, loves the way he goes weak in Ford's hands. Loves the way he shakes while he comes Ford's hands, and loves the way Stan obeys while Ford drags him to the shower, ready to arrive home late after another good match.

Ford liked that. Ford loved that. And he dislikes boxing lessons a little less everytime.

[grapejuicebrat]

“Was it real or just for show?” TEASER

PAIRING: famous!harry x famous!y/n

SYNOPSIS: baby i just gotta know how long has this been going on?

NOTES: be nice english isn’t my first language and this is my first work! I personally recommend listening to this song while reading “How long” by Charlie Puth. If you have any thoughts or ideas, I'm waiting for you in the inbox. or just to talk because I'm bored. feel free to do whatever you want x

WARNINGS: smut but not really (maybe some hints, but nothing like that will happen cause i’m not in the right mood), swearing, flirting, kinda friends to enemies to lovers, kissing, harry and reader being stubborn. i think that’s all if you found something else comment please.

“Harry, how do you feel about miss Y/n?”

Harry already knew how to answer. In fact, it had been the first question asked at almost every interview Harry had attended for the past few months. Jeff always said it's good for PR because all the fans are sure you're dating. I mean, isn't it? You flirt with each other on social media, write comments to each other on Instagram and hint at some kind of relationship on Twitter. Sometimes it seemed to him that it was so. You're just playing the game, waiting for the other person to give in and confess their feelings. Harry remembers the first time he mentioned you in an interview talking about celebrity crushes. Fans literally went crazy when they heard your name. For another week, the Internet was buzzing with rumors that the famous singer was dating an actress Y/N.

Of course, he didn't mention your name for nothing. By this point, you've been talking for a few months, almost immediately starting flirting via text. Surprisingly, it never devolved into anything more than just sex jokes.

“I mean she’s an incredible actress, you know? Have you seen her new movie? It’s amazing. I already told her that I wouldn't mind playing with her in the remake of "The Notebook". Personally, I think that we would be perfect for the main roles.” he laughs.

“So we should wait to see your chemistry on screen, am I right?” asks the interviewer and Harry shrugs.

“We’ll see”

“Y/n, please tell us more about Mr. Styles”.

You laugh and playfully roll your eyes. It seems to you that you will never get tired of playing this game. You flirt with each other in public and in private when no one is looking. At the same time, you have never been caught by the paparazzi together somewhere in a restaurant or on vacation. In fact, it's because you never went anywhere together. Harry never asked you out and you didn't have the guts to even ask him out for coffee. You didn't have any contact that required you to play couple in public. Personally, you did it because it was fun. It's fun to read some news about yourself, where you are married or pregnant. It's fun to watch fan speculation that isn't true. It's fun to pretend you don't understand anything at an interview and talk in riddles.

“I have no idea who are you talking about”

“Oh come on! You do know who is Harry Styles. In his last interview he told us that he wants to do a movie with you”

“Ok, I'm just kidding. Harry is a cool actor and singer. He is very talented. Have you seen his latest movies? To be honest, I watched "My Policeman" three times. It's not every day you see Harry shirtless, you know. Therefore, I would also not mind playing in the same movie with Mr. Styles. If anyone is looking for actors for the main roles, give us a call!” you smiled, looking at the people in the hall. Apparently, many of them are fans of your couple, because when they heard the name Harry, they literally went crazy.

What you didn't know was that this innocent game of flirting would turn into a race of hate and love. Both of you will have to come face to face with your fears and anxieties. You will have to learn to live with mistakes and without people with whom you planned your old age. You will have to meet again someone who was once everything to you. And will you be able to say "Goodbye" again?

Patiently waiting for your thoughts

[scuttling]

Flicker in the Dark - Jacob Black/Reader

Fandom: Twilight Saga Pairings: Jacob Black/Female Reader Word Count: 12,598 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Pining, Unprotected sex, Slightly aged up (Jacob is 20), Fix it fic Summary: My take on New Moon, if all of the characters were a bit more mature and Jacob got his girl. A/N: This is a third-person story that pairs Jacob with a girl who isn't Bella but who fills her role in the story; Bella doesn't exist in this universe because I find she's not as interesting to write as an original character, for me personally. The character has no name and no physical description, so treat her as an OC or a "reader," your choice there. :)

Keep reading below or link to AO3!

Bringing the idea of fixing the bikes to Jacob was the best thing she’s ever done: the best, and one of the dumbest, by far. 

They both have adult obligations now—she has class, and a part-time job, which are thankfully both online, and Jake works full time—so when the stars align and they’re free at the same time, they spend every moment in his garage like a couple of bored kids. They listen to music on his dad’s old radio, eat pizza and tacos standing up much more often than they should; Jacob isn’t twenty-one just yet, but they’re on the rez, so they sip beers sometimes, especially on the rare warm days where the sun shines into the garage and sweat prickles at their hairlines. 

He’s taller at twenty than he was when he was younger, broader and more filled out, like he’d said back on her birthday; she notices, sometimes, things like the tightness of his t-shirts stretched across his back, the way his jeans fit just, extraordinarily well. Those kinds of things you can’t help but notice, even if you’re emotionally, physically, and mentally unavailable, the way she is. 

He pokes fun at her age—forever a sore spot, especially when Edward is and will be twenty-two forever—but she catches him noticing her, too, sometimes, so she’s not a total embarrassment at least.

It doesn’t happen right away, like magic or anything, but hanging out in his garage does make her feel better; he makes her feel better, if she’s being honest with herself. He quiets the chatter in her brain, the anxiety, the self-doubt, and she smiles more when she’s with him, laughs more, gets out of her own head. She’s happier when she’s with him, too, bikes or no bikes—though the roar of the restored motorcycle engine certainly doesn’t hurt—and he’s good for her, there’s no denying that.

She remembers her dad’s advice, even more meaningful now that she’s moved out of his house and living on her own—sometimes, you gotta learn to love what’s good for you—and she even thinks she could, some days. 

That’s easy enough to say to herself, but so, so much harder in practice. She can tell Jacob is… interested, when they go to the movies, with the way he lays his hand on the armrest, palm up, in case she wants to hold it. Part of her wants to, really wants to; part just thinks about Edward and she clams up, can’t do it. She feels guilty, like she’s doing something wrong, even though he left her and not the other way around. 

She still loves him, will always love him, but Edward made his choice; she just wishes she felt free enough to make her own.

She feels guilty when they ride, too, because the one thing he’d asked of her was not to be reckless, and now she goes out of her way to find a rush wherever she can. Anything legal, be it motorcycles, rock climbing, running, skydiving, really, really big roller coasters—you name it, she’s done it, and though none of it ever worked as well as she’d hoped it would, she never stops trying. 

She knows better than to give herself over to things like drugs or binge drinking or meaningless one-night stands, but aside from that the limits to what she will try are almost non-existent. She loves the thrill of it all, loves feeling brave, feeling strong; In the end, she may wind up with a few cuts and bruises, but as long as she’s hurting no one but herself, she doesn’t feel too bad.

When she hurts Jacob, she feels awful, terrible, and she does hurt him—he’s so hurt for a while that he doesn’t want to see her, doesn’t even return her calls. She feels weak for the first time in a long time, like if she’d just been able to be what he wanted, to hold his hand, to kiss him, to get over herself, they both would have been happier. Now she just feels sad, and selfish, hurting the one person who has always been there for her, who’s always eased her pain.

She wants to respect his space, can’t bear the thought of hurting him more than she already has, but her anxiety gets the better of her; no amount of kickboxing or rock climbing has been able to take her mind off of him since that night at the movies, when he left in such a hurry. Even Edward has shifted to the back of her mind, though she has no idea when exactly that happened.

So she goes to him. Against his wishes. In the pouring rain. 

She’s so, so stupid.

He’s so, so shredded, even more so than usual; it’s the first thing she notices only because he’s soaking wet and shirtless and that makes it pretty obvious. The second thing she notices is his hair, no longer long and pulled back with a cord of leather, but cropped short, though inky black as always. The third thing she notices is the tattoo, a large, tribal design on his shoulder that looks well-healed even though she saw him less than a week ago.

She catalogs all of that, and then she remembers he’s avoiding her and that she’s here to ask for forgiveness (she’s willing to beg, but it’s sort of a last resort.)

She calls his name, but he doesn’t turn around at first, not until she’s right in front of him, fists balled angrily at her sides.  

“Jacob, I’m sorry… I’m sorry about the movie. Can we talk about it?” He huffs an unamused laugh, takes half a step closer; that kind of thing used to be playful, but now it seems almost menacing, between the muscles and the tattoo and the deepening frown on his face. 

“This isn’t about that. You–you need to leave. Now.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument… but then again, that’s never stopped her before. She steps closer too, more of a challenge than anything.

“Well if it’s not about that, what is it? What happened?” He turns away as if to leave and she reaches for him, fingers latching onto his wrist. She knows right away that when she tugs, and he turns, it’s because he let it happen; there’s no way anyone could force him to do anything now, not with how big he is, how strong, how solid beneath her hand. “Is it Sam? Did he get to you too?” 

“I was wrong about Sam. He’s helping me through it—just like he helped the others,” he says, but it sounds odd to her ears. If something was wrong, if he’d needed help, he would have come to her… right? “I can’t do this right now—you have to go. Please go.” 

Before, he was stern, but this time he’s pleading for her to leave, and that’s just not Jacob—they’d hash it out before he cut her off without so much as a word, instead of ghosting her and making his father lie for him and keeping secrets with Sam Uley.

“Jake,” she pleads too, but instead of tightening her grip on his wrist she brings her hand up to the nape of his neck, to brush through the short hair that lays there, drenched in rainwater. “Please don’t do this to me.” 

He closes his eyes like it pains him, and it very well might; she knows the similarities to the night Edward left are becoming almost too much for her to bear. 

Maybe that’s why she came here, after all, because she could, because at least she still knew where she could find him. Because even if he didn’t want to talk to her, at least she’d know he was okay. 

“I’m not doing this to you, I’m doing it for you. I’m not who you thought I was, I’m not good for you. You can’t be around me anymore.” 

Fuck that, she thinks immediately, because she is so absolutely tired of people telling her what she can and can’t do, what she’s strong enough for, what’s safe. 

She doesn’t want safe. All she wants is Jacob. 

“I decide what’s good for me; I decide,” she says, voice raised and rough, jabbing a finger in his direction, and he grabs both of her forearms and holds them between them. He looks like he wants to shake her, he’s so frustrated, but his grip isn’t tight. “You think you’re going to hurt me, or something? Because look at us, Jake.” Her gaze moves to his hands on her, holding her still but doing it gently, carefully. “It’s okay. You won’t hurt me, I know it.” 

He drops her arms like she’s burned him, like he didn’t even realize he was holding them, and takes two steps back, away from her.

“You’re right, I won’t—because you can’t ever come here again.” 

He turns and runs to Sam and the other guys, leaving her standing in the rain, soaked and alone, her stomach in knots. The chatter is back, the self-doubt, louder than ever now; if they could both do this, both leave her so easily, would she ever be enough for anyone?

She’s not sitting around her house moping about this, not again. She did that with Edward and it got her absolutely nowhere, so this time she resolves to just skip to the front of the line. She packs a bag for the trail and goes hiking, plans to take a long path deep into the woods, away from the bear attacks or whatever’s going on out there. Her dad would have her head if she walked headfirst into danger, and she knows better, anyway, isn’t going to actually risk her life just to get Rocky Mountain high. 

She hadn’t planned on risking her life, anyway, but how was she to know the formerly peaceful Laurent was back in Forks, red eyes and all, and that he was working with Victoria? That wasn’t on her supernatural drama bingo card, that’s for damn sure. 

She listens to him do the villain rambling for a moment, but irritation wins out over fear and she loses her temper, slips up and says that Edward is gone and he’s not coming back, and if he wants to kill her, well no one’s stopping him! 

He looks amused by her outburst, but the smile melts off of his face when an enormous black wolf steps out of the trees, followed by several others of all shades, shapes, sizes. She doesn’t get a chance to count them, just runs like hell in the other direction, but when she risks a look back they are going after Laurent with a precision she wouldn’t expect from wild animals just looking for dinner. 

She tells no one about the wolves—who would believe her anyway?—just runs back to her truck until she’s breathless, goes home and takes a steaming hot shower to rinse away the cold clamminess of his touch. She makes a cup of tea and changes into a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, then parks herself on the couch with her laptop for the rest of the night. 

Until the knock at the door that comes around 1 AM. 

It’s Jacob, and she’s so happy to see him that she forgets all about her day up until that point and wraps her arms around him, hugs him where he stands in the doorway. He hugs back, thank god, his embrace tight and warm and comforting, and then she ushers him in, offers to make more tea while they talk. 

“About the other day,” she begins, filling the electric kettle with water and plugging it in, but he cuts her off, panicked. 

“I wish I could explain,” he says, and he’s almost got those puppy dog eyes that always get him his way; he doesn’t even do it on purpose, just looks like that, and it’s incredibly hard to resist. “But I literally can’t.” 

“No, I know, I… I mean, I think I know.” She has a box of tea in her hand and she’s gesturing a bit wildly with it, so she sets it on the counter, walks closer to him, so there’s about a foot of space between them. “First rule of fight club is you can’t talk about fight club—wait, it’s not an actual fight club, right? Because you’d dominate.” 

He laughs, a real one, with his head thrown back, and she all but grins. There he is. Her Jacob. 

“No, it’s not a fight club, but you’re right. I can’t talk about it, I can’t tell you anything.” His tone of voice hurts her, because it’s clear this is something he wants, needs to share; she moves closer, eyes on his.

“And what if I guess? Is that against the rules?” He shakes his head fervently, rests his palm on the counter beside him.

“No, no—in fact, that’s exactly what I need you to do. Sam can’t stop you, and I know you, you’re smart, won’t stop until you figure it out.”  He reaches out with his other hand, tentatively, and links their fingers together like he did at the movies; when he brings their hands up to his chest, this time, she doesn’t pull away. “It would be so much easier if you knew.”

His face is so soft but so serious, his brow furrowed, and she squeezes his hand.

“I’m going to feel really silly if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. I’ve been working on it all night.” With her free hand, she pulls her phone out of her pocket, shows him the same screen she has up on her laptop in the other room. It’s a list of all the facts she has, her own speculation, and finally, in size 42 font, one very important eight-letter word. “You said before that Sam was collecting disciples—a pack of them, Jacob, right?” 

“Yes. Fuck,” he breathes, and though she’s heard him say it in the garage many times, this one is special because it means she’s right. He slides down to a seat on the tile floor, looks so relieved it makes her chest feel tight, and she kneels in front of him, hands on his bare shoulders. 

“You’re a werewolf, Jake, just like the legend—your tribe is descended from wolves. Tell me I’m wrong.” 

He doesn’t say a word, and at first she’s afraid she is incorrect, but then he reaches out and pulls her close, crushes her to his body. He breathes hard into her hair, holds her tightly, and she can’t help it, she cries, hot tears leaving tracks down her cheeks.

He brings his hands there after a moment, wipes the tears away with his thumbs, then holds her face like she’s something precious, lips turning up into a half-smile.

“Thank you. I knew you could do it.” He tips forward, presses their foreheads together, moves his hands to her waist. “You don’t know how badly I wanted you to know.”

“Oh, Jake. I’m sorry—I should have caught on faster. It’s obvious, when you put everything together, when you… You know. When you’ve seen what I’ve seen.” He nods his head and swallows, presses his fingertips into her side. She shifts closer, or he does, maybe they both do, so their breath mixes between them, soft and warm.

“It’s okay, you’re here now. You’re here, it's okay,” he repeats, and she pushes fingers through his hair, softer now that it’s dry. 

“I’m here, and I don’t have to stay away.”

They don’t quite kiss, because she’s still nervous, maybe even more so now—they were so close to being separated, and now that he’s back in her life, in her house, she doesn’t want to risk breaking this delicate, fragile thing between them. His mouth just brushes over hers, more a swipe than a press of lips, and she turns her head so the rest of it catches her cheek instead. 

He sighs, but he’s not upset, and he lifts a hand to smooth through her hair before dropping it altogether. 

“I should go,” he says, but she can’t bear the thought of losing him again already. She stands when he does, takes his hand the way he did before. 

“Can you stay the night? Please?” She squeezes his fingers, tries her hand at her own version of those sad puppy eyes. “I understand if you can’t, but I’d feel… I want you to,” she’s clear to say, and eventually, he nods. 

She makes up a bed for him on the sofa, intends to head upstairs when he’s comfortable; she doesn’t know what stops her, but she stretches out on the other end of the couch instead and they put on a movie, something black and white, volume low. She couldn’t say for sure who’s the first to fall asleep.

She’s the first to wake up, so she takes a quick shower, does some work, brews some coffee. He’ll probably head out the moment his feet hit the floor, so she prepares herself for that—she just hopes that the rest of his pack knows he’s there, that they aren’t worried, or frantically searching the preserve for signs of him like she would be. 

She asks him that when he pads into the kitchen an hour later, eyes sleepy, bedhead evident, and he pours a cup of coffee and sits across from her at the table. 

“Nah, they knew I was coming,” he assures with a sip. “They know by now that if they can’t find me, I’m probably here with you.” That makes her smile, though she looks down into her mug and tries not to show it. He takes a few more quick gulps despite the temperature and sets down his empty cup with a smack of his lips. “Speaking of the pack, I think you should meet them. We gather at Emily’s—that’s Sam’s fiancee—sometimes, and they’ll be there today.”

“Will they be angry that I figured it out?” she asks, genuinely curious. She wants to meet them, wants to know more about the group of guys Jacob is now supernaturally entangled with, but she’s not so sure a house of angry werewolves is somewhere she’s ready to be so soon after her last brush with death. He breathes a laugh and shakes his head. 

“They won’t be angry. They’ll probably be irritated with me, because I couldn’t just let you go…” Their eyes meet, and she thinks of reaching out to touch his hand across the table, though she doesn’t in the end. “But as for you, they’ll probably just be impressed.”

The pack is both impressed by her and slightly irritated with Jacob, but stern glances and eye rolls quickly turn to laughter and playful shoving, as they pile into Emily’s small but cozy kitchen and make introductions around a batch of fresh muffins.

She gets official confirmation on things she’d only read about—like their ability to hear each other’s thoughts when shifted, the accelerated healing, their speed, their power—right from the wolves' mouths, and they learn from her too, everything she knows about vampires like Laurent and Victoria. She doesn’t talk much about the Cullens, mostly because their secrets are not hers to tell, but she can see Jacob’s brain working as she mentions Victoria’s vendetta, as she shows the group the pale, silvery bite mark on her arm. 

“If she’s here, she’s here for me,” she tells them, and Jake tenses, his jaw tight, veins visible, shoots Sam a look that conveys they have a lot to talk about when she’s not around. 

Later, she suggests to Jacob that he take a walk with her, because she can tell how all of those stories have put him on edge. Together they amble slowly toward the beach, close but not touching, and this time she does take his hand, leans in so their forearms brush. 

“It’ll be okay,” she murmurs, tilting her head to look up at him. “You guys are strong, fast. You took down Laurent—I have no doubts you’ll get her too.” 

“Before she hurts you?” he says, staring ahead, voice rough because he’s been mostly silent all day, listening closely to her and taking everything in. “Because if she does…” 

“She won’t. The others are watching her,” she says, hoping like hell that’s still true, “and even if she finds me… I trust you to protect me.” He stops there, on the wet sand, and she turns toward him so she can see his expression, to get a better idea of what’s on his mind. 

“If they come back, I’m not allowed to fight on their land—I’d be breaking the treaty,” he says with a pained look. She understands the words he’s not saying: if they come back, I wouldn’t be able to protect you in your own home.

“They’re not coming back,” she whispers, because she can’t say the words any louder than that, even though they’re true.  “He made his choice, and that’s—that’s okay.” 

“Is it?” Jacob asks, leaning in, and she gets it, gets why; she hasn’t exactly been positive about Edward’s departure, how his choice affected her, took his family away from her too, and now suddenly she’s okay with it?

It isn’t sudden, though, not really. It’s been a gradual acceptance, something she’s been coming to terms with since the day he left. She knows Edward’s decision wasn’t made easily; she knows he didn’t leave because he didn’t love her, but because he loved her so much he put aside his feelings for her and did what he thought was right. 

He went about it all the wrong way, removing every trace of himself from her life, banning his family from communicating with her, taking her choices away, but in the end his heart was in the right place, and she’s found a way to respect that, despite everything. 

Maybe it’s just Jacob. He brought her out of her post-breakup shell, made her smile again, laugh again, feel important and wanted and cared for. Maybe he filled in the cracks of her broken heart so she could use it again, without the need for exhilaration and adrenaline to cover up the pain of what she’s lost; maybe it’s just Jacob, bright like the sun they so seldom see, special and rare and wild. 

“It’s okay,” she assures him, voice steady with her conviction. She raises their conjoined hands and presses her lips to his knuckles, just briefly, before dropping them back to her side. 

Jake nods, accepts her answer, and they walk further along the beach until the sun goes down in a hazy blend of blue and orange and red.

He offers to drive her home, and even though it’s impractical, and she’d usually put up a fight, she wants that extra time with him. Wants to be that close to him. She sits in the middle of the bench seat, neither up against him nor really on the passenger’s side, but close enough for Jake to throw an arm across her shoulders, and they listen to the radio and talk about his pack while cruising down the road. 

“I better go,” he murmurs before she can even unlock her front door, and she tries not to let her face fall; she’d been hoping he’d stay over again, or come inside for a little bit, at least. 

She must fail at controlling her expression, because Jacob smiles softly, like he’s pleased with himself, and leans in, brushing his fingers over the line of her jaw. 

“We’re patrolling tonight—got a vampire to kill. But I’ll call you tomorrow?” 

She nods beneath his touch, and he pulls back and turns to leave, jogging down the street and toward the forest that’ll lead him back to La Push.

He does call the next day, but it’s brief; Victoria’s back, just as Sam expected, so they’re running all night, all day, trying to catch her off guard, taking breaks only to eat and sleep when they absolutely have to. Jacob promises to check in when he can, but after three days with no contact—and a voicemail from her father about locals spotting wolves in the woods—she’s on edge again, less concerned for her own safety, more worried about Jake’s. 

She’s an absolute idiot for doing it—going to the beach, to the tall cliffs that loom over it—but she needs the rush again, doesn’t feel right when it’s just her own troubled voice in her head. She needs to hear the purr of an engine, the hum of a plane, the crashing of pure, white water against rocks… or maybe Jacob’s heartbeat. But the cliffs are the simple option at the moment, and all she can think about until she’s actually there, looking out over the ocean, the gritty scents of sand and salt in her nose. 

She takes several deep, long breaths. That’s the key to these things that bring her so much excitement—using all of her senses, so she’s not just herself but everything around her too. She needs to see the sun on the horizon, taste the spray of seawater and clean, crisp air. She needs to smell the damp earth, touch the frothy bubbles that lap at the shore, hear…

She hears a wolf, actually, howling solemnly in the distance, but doesn’t register the sound until after she’s already jumped. 

The waves are choppier than they’d appeared when she was looking down at them, and it knocks the breath out of her lungs when they crash into her body, pulling her down into the dark vastness of the icy sea. Her arms and legs move instinctively, fighting to bring her back to the surface, but the water is deep and heavy and she’s already so tired of trying. 

She’s so cold all she can feel is cold, her teeth chattering, so even when she hits her head on a boulder and it starts to bleed, she doesn’t realize what’s happened until everything turns black.

She’s warmer, suddenly, that’s all she knows, though the ground beneath her back is rocky and wet, uncomfortable. She thinks maybe it’s a blanket that feels so warm, but quickly realizes it’s Jacob above her, soaked to his bones, a sigh of relief passing his lips. 

“Oh thank god. Can you hear me?” He cradles the back of her head in his palm and helps her sit up, then presses his fingers tenderly to the sore bump beneath her hair. “Your head’s not that bad, but I bet it hurts.” 

“Hmm. Hurts,” she mumbles, her throat raw, temples throbbing. She’s cold and tired and thirsty, but ashamed above all else; maybe she really does need someone making the decisions for her, if this is the kind of stupidity she gets up to when she’s alone. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” he answers quickly, and he runs his hands over her arms and legs, her neck, her face, checking for further injury. “I’m just glad you’re alright. The waves are bad today; you could have been swept away.” 

“I didn’t realize that until it was too late,” she admits sheepishly, and when he brings her closer she rests her cheek against his chest, feels tears stinging her already tired eyes. “I’m sorry, Jacob.” 

“It’s okay, I’m here. It’s okay.” His voice is as soft as his hands as they curve around her, holding her against him, and they sit like that for a couple minutes, until Sam runs over and tells him to get her home. 

He drives again, but this time she’s even more grateful, because there’s no way she could have done it herself. She feels so much at once—dumb and scared and childish, but also brave and calm, while somehow her mind races with thoughts of the wolves howling and Jacob’s hands in her hair. Her focus is shot, and even though she’s wrapped in one of Jake’s thick, fleece lined hoodies, she trembles, heavy and cold, as she peers out the passenger side window, watching the trees go by.

“Hundred and eight degrees over here,” Jacob says eventually, with a half smile, and she blinks for a moment before giving in; with a sigh, she scoots closer, wraps an arm around his waist. She can feel the heat of his body even through the layers they wear, and she shivers involuntarily at the pleasant but abrupt change in temperature.

“You still want me this close? Not afraid the bad decisions will rub off onto you?” It’s a joke, a self-deprecating one, and an apology all bundled together. “What I did was stupid, I know. I could have gotten really hurt, and you should have been out there with the pack, with Harry, not saving me.” 

He tilts his head, leans closer so his cheek rests against her hair.

“Well it wasn’t smart, but we all have our moments. And you couldn’t have known about Harry—don’t be too hard on yourself.” A long beat of silence passes, and she turns toward him, pressing her icy nose to his neck with another sigh.

“Mmm. You’re so warm. It must be nice, never getting cold.” 

“It’s a wolf thing,” he says with a shrug, but it’s not, not really, and she can’t let that stand. 

“Maybe, but trust me, it’s a Jacob thing too. You’ve always been warm.” She just sits there, breathes him in, lets him warm her hands and nose, so content she almost doesn’t notice when he pulls up in front of her house.

“This is better. Now that you know about me,” he says, tipping his face down, after he turns off the truck. She pulls back just enough to look into his eyes, to try to gauge his intent.

“But?” He swallows hard, looks away for a moment before returning to her face.

“You saw what happened to Emily. Sam got angry, lost it for a split second, and Em was standing too close. He’ll never be able to take that back.” He shakes his head, as if imagining the two of them in the same situation. What he could do to her. What she would think of him. “What if I get mad and I hurt you?” 

“You’re new to this—even if you are a natural,” she says, remembering a comment Embry had made when they’d last spoken. “You’ll learn how to control it, how to read the warning signs, and you’ll either stop yourself from turning or get somewhere safe. We’ll be okay,” she promises, resting her hand soothingly against his neck, and he sighs softly.

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m gonna disappear. Like one day it will be all wolf and no Jake.” He leans in, close enough that their noses just barely brush, and the way he looks down at her is something like… 

Yearning, she thinks to herself after a beat. It’s a powerful emotion, but she’s never seen it look quite so beautiful before. 

“You’re not going to lose yourself. I won’t let that happen.” 

“How?” he asks, bringing a hand up to cover hers, and she wets her lips, shakes her head to clear it; it’s swimming again, in this small space, so very close to him—especially when he’s looking at her like that.

“I’ll tell you all the time… how special you are to me.” She looks up, feels like she’s showing her soul to him, like this incident has stripped her down to bare bones and she’s letting him see her, once and for all. He stares into her eyes for a long moment, then leans in slowly, tentatively, and this time she doesn’t stop herself from meeting him in the middle, from pressing her mouth to his. 

She can actually feel the relief wash over him when she doesn’t reject his kiss, like he’s been tightly coiled and tense and can finally relax because she wants the same things, feels the same way.

She expects his lips to be warm, soft, but he is scorching against her skin, even more so when he moves his hand to her cheek in a gentle caress. With the palm against his hip, she pushes up his t-shirt, gets her fingers on his body, and they both gasp softly into the kiss, deepen it. 

“Jacob,” she sighs when they part for air; he seems okay, if a little shaky, but she feels flushed, eager, almost vibrating with the need to keep kissing him. She wants more, even though her throat burns like the last time his lips touched hers, when he forced the water out of her lungs and saved her life. 

That’s what he does best, her Jacob—like a flicker in the dark, he always pulls her away from the dangers of her own making and brings her back into the light.

“Is this real?” he asks, his breath a ghost on her lips; his other hand, on her lower back, pulls her closer to his body, and she turns her head and kisses the palm resting on her cheek. 

They kiss again, hands a bit less careful, hers sliding up his back, his weaving into her hair to control the tilt of her head. She gives in to it all, lets him set the pace, gripping him like a life preserver and letting his heat warm her from the inside out. She feels like she can’t get possibly close enough, wants to be pressed skin to skin, but she settles for sliding into his lap, ducking her head so she doesn’t hit it on the metal roof of the truck. 

He groans as she twists fingers into his hair, as she pulls him into her and feels the long, hard line of his body against hers. She kisses faster, harder, and he matches her fervor, wraps an arm around her waist and catches her chin with tight fingers. 

They kiss for a long time, and the cabin heats, windows fogging up as they share breath and saliva, as they murmur each other’s names like prayer. Her lips are red and raw when she finally needs to pause, and she rests her head against his chest and listens to the thunderous, wild beating of his heart. 

“Will you stay the night? Please?” she asks, voice a little broken—rough with need, and soreness from nearly drowning, and breathlessness caused by the most intense kiss of her entire life. 

Jacob nods, and he sets her carefully back on the seat, removes the keys from the ignition and climbs out of the truck. She slides out behind him, and he closes the door, takes her hand in his just like she did on the beach.

He locks the front door behind them when they’re finally inside—as if that will stop anyone we need to worry about, she teases with a soft laugh—and she takes the lead, walks up the stairs toward her bedroom with Jacob trailing behind. 

Despite his surreal body heat and the thick, warm sweatshirt he’d given her to wear, she’s still cold down to her bones, and wet like a drowned rat, so she pulls off her shoes and socks and sets them down by the radiator. Jacob watches her every move from a couple steps away, eyes lingering as she shrugs out of his hoodie, then pulls her damp sweater over her head. 

There’s nothing sexy or seductive about it, it’s not a striptease by any means, but he doesn’t look away when she’s down to her bra, and she doesn’t want him to. He bends down to take off his boots, to line them up next to hers, then bridges the distance between them and leans in for a deep, slow kiss. 

It’s not long before they both sink down onto the bed, and her fingers slip open the button of her jeans, then hesitate, wait at the button of his. She looks up at him, and the confirmation is all but written there, in the darkness of his eyes, the swipe of his tongue over his lips, but she needs to be sure. 

“I want you, all of you,” she murmurs, and then she brushes a hand through his hair, leans in to just rest her mouth against his. It’s delicate like the first time, but full of meaning, and he presses up into her kiss. “Do you want this?” 

“I want this. You. All—all of you.” He nods, licks his lips again, eyes softer but no less hungry, and she flicks open the button and kisses him like she did in the truck: hands on his body, in his hair, her breath all his. 

They don’t part, not really, just fall back against the pillows and tug at clothing, pressing kisses to throats and palms. His t-shirt drops to the bedroom floor, then her jeans and underwear, his, and the room is quiet except for the sounds of eager, wet kisses and soft, needy moans. 

She sits up, reaches back to unclasp her bra, and Jacob drags the strap down her shoulder, helps her take it off, leaving it somewhere in the bed; his mouth moves to hers, then down her neck, over her collarbone, and finally caresses each nipple with a gentle reverence that makes her ache all over.  

“You’re still sure?” he asks when she is shaking beneath his touch, strong arms wrapped around her back, and she nods and shifts up into his lap. 

When their lips meet, the kiss is hard, and she curls an arm around his shoulders, weaving a hand into his hair. They’re both panting when she leans up, guides him inside her, and when she sinks down it’s like a flash of tingling heat takes over her entire body. 

Jacob groans, holding her securely, thrusting up as she works her thighs above him. They kiss, deep and messy, graceless but passionate, her fingers tugging, his pressing hard into her skin. 

It’s not at all how she’d expected her first time to be; she’d imagined it would be with Edward, of course, and slow, but she can’t get enough of Jacob and it seems like he can’t get enough of her either. She’d imagined a cool, pale body above her, but it’s Jacob’s deep, rich, hot skin she presses her lips to, her fingernails against. She’d expected Edward’s hard, marble arms around her, and while Jacob is strong and firm he’s still soft, skin slick with sweat as they move together. 

“Jake,” she murmurs, the taste of him on her lips, his scent in her nose, woodsy, clean. “Jacob.” Her body trembles and he holds her tighter, presses his face into her neck. 

“I’ve got you.” She sighs happily at that, grabs his hair more roughly, rides him faster. 

“You’ve got me. You’ve always got me.” 

Jacob looks up at her, eyes fiery, liquid, then pulls her in with a hand on the back of her neck and kisses her like the first time—soft, nervous, sweet. The juxtaposition of that gentle kiss and his possessive grip makes her dizzy, and when he pulls back his face is all she can see, all she wants to see, all she needs.

“I’ve always got you,” he promises, his gaze tender, unflinching. “Always.”

He’s got her when he comes, holding her tightly with one thick forearm and dragging his free hand over her breasts, then lower, to rub her clit as she bounces herself to climax in his grasp. “Oh, god,” she breathes, voice like a shiver, and her fingernails dig half-moons into his biceps as they both slow, slow, slow, then stop altogether.

He eases them both down against the bed, arms around her, their legs entwined, and they catch their breath, just look at each other until the exhaustion of the day catches up to her. Her eyes flutter closed, and pressed so close to him, so warm, all she can do is sleep.

When she wakes, it’s still mostly dark, and she desperately needs to clean up in the bathroom and get a glass of water. Jacob’s t-shirt is the first piece of clothing she sees—or the first she wants to see—and she pulls it over her head and pads to the bathroom for a human moment—a very human moment indeed. 

She pauses, while washing her hands, to look over her reflection in the mirror. Rationally, she knows nothing has really changed, but at the same time everything has. 

The bathroom water is never cold enough to drink, so she treads down the stairs, across the kitchen, turns on the tap and lets it run until the water is icy and crisp. She fills a glass, takes a couple of sips, then almost drops it when a cool hand is suddenly pressed to her shoulder. 

It’s Alice, and she uses her other hand to catch the glass before it can hit the floor and shatter. 

“Relax. It’s just me.” Her eyes are soft, and it’s clear she is happy to see her, but there’s something else in her expression, something inquisitive. “You’re alright.”

“I’m fine. I’m… good, actually.” She shrugs, which bares her shoulder, in the large t-shirt she wears, that she’d forgotten she was wearing. She freezes—she knows how she must smell to Alice, like Jacob and like… Jacob—but her friend just shakes her head. 

“I couldn’t see you; well, I saw you jump off a cliff, and then you were gone. I thought you died.” 

“Alive and well,” she says with a tone that’s hoping for lighthearted, but… 

She has no regrets about being with Jacob, not one—she just hadn’t expected to be confronted with a vampire she once considered a sister almost immediately after. She doesn’t know what to say right now, how to act. Who to be.

“I was cliff jumping, recreationally. It was fun... for a minute.” Alice rolls her eyes, but it’s clear she’s happy she’s unharmed—though perhaps irritated by her tendency toward life-threatening idiocy.

“That doesn’t explain why I couldn’t see you, why your whole future went black.” Her golden eyes stare seriously, unblinking for a moment, and then she looks away. “Though maybe I owe that to the wolf in your bed.” 

Of all the nights for Alice to come back to Forks, she thinks, a suddenly uncomfortable pit in her stomach. Then she hears footsteps on the stairs.

“Not in her bed anymore,” Jacob says, voice low, from the doorway to the kitchen; he takes half a step forward, an aborted move, like he wants to put himself in between them. 

“This is Alice, Edward’s sister. Alice, this is Jacob,” she explains, trying not to focus on his shirtless torso, or the pained expression on his face. She blows out a deep breath. “It’s okay. She won’t hurt me.” 

“She’s hurt you before,” he counters, no doubt remembering every heartbroken, aching expression she’d worn in the months prior. He takes a step closer, so he is next to her, his forearm grazing hers, and Alice takes a step back. “I’d like to stick around, if it’s all the same to you.” 

He’s posturing, that much is clear, but she can't find it in herself to be irritated, because at least he’s giving her the option, letting her choose.

“I thought you couldn’t protect me here,” she says, turning her face up to look at him, and Jacob’s response makes heat pool low in her belly, just like the night before. 

“There is nowhere in this world I won’t protect you—treaty or no treaty.” 

She wants so badly to kiss him, but Alice is there, Alice, right in front of her after all this time, and she’s conflicted. Torn. He can tell, she knows, but he doesn’t take it personally, just reaches up to scratch his head, sighs. 

“So are more of you coming? Is–is he…?” 

“I came alone. And no,” Alice replies after a moment, but she’s looking at her instead, probably knows that he’s just saying what she’s too worried to ask. “He only calls in once every few months. Says he wants to be alone.” Jacob scoffs.

“Great. He wants to be alone, so you all leave her behind, unprotected? That red headed vampire is after her because of him.” 

That gets a reaction out of Alice, whose eyes darken protectively.

“Who, Victoria? I haven’t seen her.” She stares off into the distance, like she’s searching for memories, visions, sifting through what she’s seen and trying to piece together what she hasn’t. “Just like I didn’t see you get pulled out of the water. There’s a lot I haven’t seen, apparently,” she adds under her breath, and the other girl presses her lips together, sighs. 

Not the time or place for this discussion, and they both know it, but that doesn’t mean it’s avoidable for long. 

“So you can’t see around Jacob. The wolves,” she guesses. “I’ve been with them a lot lately.”

“With him a lot lately,” Alice corrects. Jacob huffs, but it’s not untrue, so she lets her think what she wants. Her silence must speak volumes, because Alice takes a deep, wholly unnecessary breath, and gestures toward the door. “Should I go?” 

“Please don’t,” she says quickly, nearly begging. It’s the first she’s seen of Alice in almost a year and she cannot let her leave as abruptly as she’d shown up. “If you could just give us a minute…” 

“Take two,” the vampire says, and it’s with a half-smile that turns into a smirk. “I’ll go Febreze the living room while I wait: it smells like wet dog.” She turns to leave, a bounce in her step that the other girl can’t help laughing at, shaking her head. 

She sobers up when Jacob turns toward her, takes a step that moves the both of them, so her back is pressed up against the kitchen counter. He looks so serious, and her heart beats for him everywhere. 

“Do you believe her? When she says she came alone?” he asks, and she tilts her head, nods softly. 

“Of course I believe her. She just had to make sure I was okay, that’s all. There’s… there’s nothing for them here.” 

Even as she says the words, she hopes they’re not true—hopes that, even if they really aren’t meant to be together, that she and Edward, she and the Cullens, can still be… Friends isn’t really a strong enough word, but she wants them in her life, potential bloody accidents be damned. 

“So if he came back,” Jacob says, leaning in closer, his lips hovering over hers, “you wouldn’t go to him?” His tone is light, but she understands the weight of his question, takes a moment to find the right words to answer it. 

“If he came back, I’d want to see him. Just like I want to see Alice.” She reaches out to touch him, his warm, bare skin, places her palm over his thumping heart. “But I wouldn’t go to him. Not like this.” 

It’s true, and she wants to say more, to promise him, reassure him, but just after she says it, the landline rings. Jacob sighs, his breath on her cheek, and reaches out a hand to answer it. “Hello?” The person on the other end speaks in a low tone she can’t make out, but she can see the tick in Jacob’s jaw, a hard set to his eyes. “He isn’t here right now, but that’s not who you really want, is it?” 

There’s another moment of conversation she can’t hear, and Alice walks into the room looking stunned; Jacob hands the other girl the receiver, and she looks from him to Alice and then speaks into the phone. “Hello?” 

“You’re alright.” 

It’s Edward, his voice cool and smooth but thick with emotion. It makes butterflies flutter around in her stomach, just like it used to. 

“I’m alright.” She doesn’t give him more than he asks for, doesn’t take more than he offers. She’s aware of two sets of eyes on her, feels more nervous than before, in her oversized t-shirt and sleep-mussed hair.

She’s glad he can’t see her and wonders exactly what that means.

“Good. Rosalie said Alice had a vision…” He trails off, but they both know what he’s not saying: everyone thought she’d given up and killed herself. She crosses her arms.

“The vision was incomplete. I’m fine. Stupid, but fine.” Edward huffs a laugh down the line, and she can imagine the exact cant of his mouth, the glimmer in his eye that always seemed to be reserved for her.

“You are many things, but stupid is not one of them.” There’s more he wants to say, she can tell; as a man of few words, many of their conversations were punctuated with heavy, meaningful silence. Part of her wishes she could see his face, at least. That always helped. “Who answered the phone? Jacob?”

She looks up at him involuntarily, notes the tightness of his mouth, his arms folded in front of his bare chest. 

“Yes, Jacob. He’s the one who pulled me out of the water, the one Alice didn’t see.” 

“Hmm. He still doesn’t seem to like me much.” Her lips turn up at that—understatement of the century—and she wonders if Jake can hear him too. Based on the stoic expression he wears, he either can’t, or he’s not paying attention. 

“No he does not.” A beat passes, then two. “You should call your family more often, go see them. They miss you.” 

“It’s difficult,” he says, swallowing, and she nods at no one. 

“I know, but don’t punish them. Please.” She knows how it feels, to be totally cut off from people she loves, to constantly wonder, always fear the worst; she doesn’t say it because she knows he knows.

“I’ll consider it, if you don’t go jumping off those cliffs any time soon.” She laughs softly, surprised at his humor; this was not how she would have ever anticipated a call like this to go, but she likes it. Likes them, like this. 

“Deal. Alice is looking at me like she’s going to steal the phone any moment,” she warns, which is putting it mildly. “So I’m going to put her on. You can call when it’s not life or death, you know,” she adds quietly. “It would be nice to hear from you. If you ever want to talk.” 

She doesn’t know if he responds, because Alice takes the receiver, winds the cord around her arm, and scolds her brother with love in the way only a sister can manage. 

While they talk, she walks toward Jacob, then past him, toward the staircase, but she takes hold of his hand as she goes, and he follows just like the night before. This time, he closes the bedroom door behind them. 

“I’m sorry this happened like this,” she says, sitting down on the bed, one leg beneath her and the other hanging over the edge. “I’m not sorry Alice is here, but I’m sorry that’s what you woke up to. If you were… worried.” Jacob takes the space next to her atop the rumpled duvet. 

“I was worried when I smelled a bloodsu- vampire,” he corrects quickly, “and you weren’t beside me.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again, this time leaning closer. “But thank you for giving me the phone, letting me talk to him. I’m sure that wasn’t easy.” He shrugs, like it was no big deal, even though she remembers how angry he’d looked at the sound of Edward’s voice. 

“I almost didn’t. I mean, technically, he didn’t ask for you.” She rolls her eyes—definitely guy logic—then stands up, scoops his jeans off the floor and hands them over to him. Her face heats at the memory of removing them in the first place, but she snaps out of that for her own sake and grabs fresh clothes, steps into the bathroom to make herself presentable.

When she’s done, she heads back to her bedroom, where Jacob is now clad in jeans and boots, sitting shirtless on her bed. She deposits the borrowed t-shirt onto his lap, and when he thinks she’s not looking he brings it to his nose, inhales long and slow, before pulling it over his head.

That action does things to her, and she wishes for a moment that she had his senses, so she could smell the two of them the same way he does, their scents deeply saturated and blended together.

They head downstairs when they’re both dressed, and while he rummages in the refrigerator for something to make them for breakfast, she treads into the living room and sits down next to Alice on the couch. 

“So,” Alice says, and then she gestures to a cup of tea. The other girl picks up the mug and thanks her, brings it to her lips. “How long has that been going on?” 

She feels her cheeks heat, and she hides behind another sip of tea. 

“Really? I haven’t seen you in almost a year and that’s what you want to talk about?” 

“Oh, forgive me for being curious about what it’s like to date a werewolf when last I saw you were grieving the loss of my brother.” Alice’s tone is more playful than it would seem, and her eyes smile even if her lips don’t. 

She always knew that Edward wasn’t telling the truth when he said he didn’t want her. He just couldn’t bear it, knowing that being with him put her in so much danger, caused her so much pain. She knew it was worth it, but if he didn’t… there’s nothing she could have done to change his mind, she knows that now. She can’t feel guilty for moving on when it’s exactly what he’d wanted her to do in the first place. 

“Okay, you’re right. Let’s talk about how I’m going to comb the woods, find Victoria, and rip her into confetti for threatening to hurt you.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” Jacob says, walking into the room with… a cup of tea. He looks over at the mug in her hand, then sets the one he brought her down on the table without a word. “The pack’s got it covered.” 

“All due respect, but if the pack had it covered, she wouldn’t be a threat anymore, would she?” Alice tosses over her shoulder. The other girl sets her tea down and sighs. 

“Alright, can we not do this? The age-old vampires versus werewolves thing? Especially if I’m in the middle of it. Maybe you guys could work together for a change; Alice can’t protect this part of the territory all by herself.” She picks up her drink—a drink, the one Jacob made, this time—and takes a long sip, looks up at them over the rim of the mug. 

“The pack could help, if you give us the authority to amend the treaty,” Jacob says to Alice, though he’s kind of looking at the ceiling, his arms crossed. “But wherever she is, I’ll be.” 

“You can’t be with her every second,” Alice counters, and her exasperation makes it  sound like an argument she’s had before. “It’s not good for either of you and could put her in danger; if Victoria picks up on it, she’ll be able to use your scent to track her anywhere. Trust me, yours is a lot stronger than hers is, and it’s all over her.” 

She thinks Jacob makes some kind of noise, like a low growl in the very back of his throat, but it’s hard to hear. Alice raises her eyebrows like she’s trying not to roll her eyes. 

The three of them discuss potential ways to coordinate with the pack, and Alice mentions calling in Emmett and Jasper to see if they could help with the search; the sooner Victoria is gone, the better, is the general consensus, and Jacob thinks he can get Sam on board with that as well, even if it means more Cullens coming back to town. 

She finishes both cups of tea, then a plate of eggs and toast Jacob put together from the bare-bones contents of her kitchen—she reminds herself to make a shopping list, then absently wonders if she’ll have a grand escort to Trader Joe’s. 

“I’ll make some calls while you’re gone,” Alice says as she is taking her last bite; she looks up from her plate, confused, and Alice waves a hand. “I saw a glimpse of you at the grocery store, but then it went dark; I assume that means he’s going with you.”

“I thought about it for a split second, as a joke,” she clarifies with a huff of laughter. “I don’t think I need a bodyguard in the produce aisle at eight AM.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Alice and Jacob say, at the same time, and her lips twitch in amusement. 

Looks like they’re not so different, in the end.

She gives in and allows Jacob to drive her to the supermarket, though not without a long look from Alice as he walks her to the truck with his hand on the small of her back. 

They breeze through the store thanks to the list in her head—she buys a little more than she usually would, because it seems like Jacob plans to be around. She likes the thought of that even more than she’d expected, likes choosing things solely because she knows he’ll enjoy them.

“I think we should talk about last night,” Jacob says, voice low, when they’re nearly back to her house. She cringes internally, because that’s never a sentence a girl wants to hear after a night like that, and he clears his throat. “I know cliff jumping ended up being kind of traumatic for you, and it didn’t feel like it last night, but if I took advantage…”

He looks over at her, his expression pained, and she shifts closer and wraps her hand around his forearm.

“God, no, Jake—that’s not what happened.” He brings the truck to a stop in her driveway, puts it in park, and she presses her palm to his cheek so he’ll focus on her instead of fixing his gaze out the window. “I wanted everything, every moment. I still want it,” she murmurs, and he looks over her face like he’s still not quite sure he believes it.

“You do? Even after… after you spoke to him, and everything?” It’s a fair question, and again, one she answers very carefully.

“I think we needed to talk, he and I, but it didn’t change anything. You’re the one who changed everything,” she admits softly, tentatively, wetting her lips. She hopes her eyes convey the certainty her voice can’t seem to. “Do you want to kiss me?” she breathes, leaning closer, her fingers winding a path through his hair, and he nods his head and presses his mouth to hers. 

She gets up on her knees so she can be closer to him, but she doesn’t climb into his lap like before—she does have some self-restraint, despite what it may seem. She curls one arm around the muscles of his back, pulls him in for more contact with the hand in his hair, and it’s a few minutes later when she remembers they’ve got bags of perishable groceries in the back and a vampire with excellent acoustic abilities just inside her home. 

She pulls back, smiles a little at the soft, unfocused look on his face, then runs her hand down his chest before lifting it away entirely.

“I know we’re kind of at DEFCON 1 right now, but more of that a little later would be nice.” 

“Hmm. Very nice,” he agrees with a nod, his voice slightly rough, and he turns off the ignition and carries all of her groceries into the kitchen with one strong arm. 

Emmett and Jasper do come back, with Rosalie and Esme, to her delight and Jacob’s discomfort. Between the pack, who comes to get the vampires’ scents so there’s no friendly fire, and the family, who split time between her house and the one they left behind, the place is a revolving door of the supernatural for the next few days. 

All of them take turns watching over her house at night, while the others patrol the woods. She catches up with everyone she’s been separated from—even Jasper gives her a crushing hug, so at least the time away was good for something—and it’s wonderful, but it means there’s not much time to be with Jacob aside from planning sessions and the occasional quick check in. The most time she spends with him is when they attend Harry’s funeral, something somber and intimate, with ethereal music and a glowing campfire and endless stories about the Clearwater line. 

She is introduced to Leah and Seth, Harry’s children, and while Seth seems welcoming and friendly his sister is cold, standoffish—though not without reason, she soon learns from the pack. 

“She’s not always like that… mostly just when she’s around Sam,” Embry says where they stand on the edge of the forest, away from the thick smoke that burns her very human eyes. She looks over at the pack leader at the mention of his name. “Now that she’s part of the pack, we have to live the Leah/Sam/Emily painfest all over again.” 

She turns back to him, to Quil, who’s standing beside him, and tilts her head, curious.

“I don’t think I follow—Sam left Leah for Emily?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not what you think. He hates himself for hurting her, but he couldn’t help it. Emily was ‘the one.’” Quil says it almost sarcastically, with air quotes for emphasis, and she frowns.

“The one?” She doesn’t mean to sound skeptical, but these days she’s not as big a fan of providence and destiny as she used to be.

“Sam imprinted on Emily. It’s kind of like… soulmates, but bigger. Cosmic. They were literally meant to be together.”

“Like fate,” she says, filling in that blank, and then a large, warm hand is splayed across her back, fingertips pressing into the fabric of her dress. 

“We make our own fate around here,” Jacob says tightly, and she looks up, regards him curiously. He’s not just upset about Harry, or Victoria… there’s got to be something else making his jaw tense, his eyes hard. “And I think that’s more than enough of the pack soap opera for tonight. Are you ready to go home?” 

He turns his gaze to her, and it softens, for which she is grateful; he is her guardian on duty tonight, and despite the solemn evening—or maybe because of it—she wants to spend the night as close to him as she possibly can.

She nods, and after they say their goodbyes he walks her to the truck, opens the door for her, closing it carefully when she’s safely inside. He takes the spot behind the driver’s seat—his usual, now—but doesn’t drive straight to her house like she expects. 

“Ice cream?” she asks when he turns off the engine outside of a mom and pop shop selling sundaes, cones, and shakes. She exits the car at his indication, and the two of them walk hand in hand up to the illuminated window that says Order Here. An older couple is ahead of them, pointing at the chalk menu board, and Jacob leans in to speak in a hushed tone. 

“This place was Harry’s favorite. You like chocolate, right?” 

“Has anyone ever answered ‘no’ to that question?” she asks softly, playfully, and it works as intended, lightens the mood just enough to bring a brilliant smile to his painfully beautiful face. “I think this is a wonderful way to remember him, Jake.” She wraps a comforting arm around his, and Jacob nods, lips pressed together, eyes sad.

“Just kind of feels right.” 

He orders for them when it’s their turn, two waffle cones with two scoops of chocolate ice cream each, and they sit at a picnic table on the side of the building, eating their tributes with heavy hearts and looking up at the stars.

The ride home is quiet, contemplative, at least for her; by the time they arrive she has been running through thoughts of mortality, finality, how short life is and how very precious. 

These are all normal thoughts for a person to have, and certainly after a celebration of life like the one on the reservation tonight, but she thinks seriously for the first time about Jacob and his desperate need to protect her, the way he puts himself in danger—stupidly, recklessly, completely—every day to keep her safe.

When they’ve made it inside, she exhales deeply, looks up into earnest, curious eyes, and wraps her arms around him, presses close so she can bury her nose in his clothing.

She breathes him in long and slow, his usual scent of crisp air and rain and oak dulled by the smoke of the bonfire, and then his hands are in her hair, tipping her face up for a decadent, passionate kiss. 

God, how is he so good at this? she thinks as he sips at her lips, glides his own down the tender line of her throat. She sighs and grabs for his arms, something to ground her as her desire threatens to take over, to leave her a whimpering, begging mess beneath his hands. 

Jacob turns them so she’s got her back to the kitchen table, sets her on top of it, and she parts her knees for him, pulls him closer. Her fingers itch with the need to touch his skin, so she tugs at the hem of his shirt and gets her hands beneath it, skims them over the taut muscles of his bare back. 

“I can take it off,” he murmurs against her neck, and she nods breathlessly and helps him pull it over his head. His hands bracket her hips, palms flat on the table, and her arms curve up around his back, bringing him closer; she kisses him eagerly anywhere she can reach—his throat, shoulders, face, everywhere.

She whispers his name into his own skin, presses her lips to his biceps, scrapes her teeth over the lobe of his ear, and he shudders at her touch, tilts his head to look up at her, his eyes dark and almost… dangerous.

What does it say about her, that she finds that look so goddamn attractive?

“I’m sorry, I—I need a minute,” he says, panting through gritted teeth, and she lets her hands fall away, leaning back a little to give him space to breathe.

“Take all the time you need,” she assures him calmly, patiently. It’s the first time she’s ever seen his wolf so close to the surface, and she’s completely unafraid, would hold him and help him ride out the tension in his body if she thought he would let her. “It’s just us, Jake, just me and you.” 

“Just us,” he repeats, his fists clenching and unclenching, taking a long breath with his eyes closed. She breathes with him, has always found that helpful when she herself is overwhelmed, and after a few moments he presses closer and she runs a soothing hand over his chest. “I’m okay,” he says eventually, leaning in slowly for a kiss as though he’s afraid it will be rejected. She brings her hands to his face, deepens it, so it’s still soft and easy but with enough meaning behind it to convey her thoughts. 

“I know,” she murmurs, just to be certain he believes her. “You did so good; so good, Jake.” He nods, pulls back a little so he can look into her eyes. 

“It’s not that I can’t control it, I can, but…” He looks away for a moment, swipes his tongue over his lips. “The instincts are so strong and I don’t always want to fight them. Sometimes when I’m with you, I want to let the wolf win.” He says it like he’s ashamed, and she puts her arm around his shoulders and brings him down for another kiss, this one just a gentle press of mouths.

“I understand that more than you think I do.” His breath on her lips makes her crave more of his heat, but she knows it has to be slow now, or he’ll get too in his head and never let himself enjoy their night together. “I may not be supernaturally inclined, but sometimes making decisions with my body is all I want to do. Especially with you,” she adds, just a sigh between them, then touches their foreheads together. 

They stay like that for a moment, embracing in their own way, until he initiates a kiss that is so thorough it makes her toes curl. She brings her hands to his waist, guides him closer, and he rests a broad palm at the base of her throat and kisses her, again, and again, and again. 

Her arms curl around his body the second they separate for air, and he lifts her from the table, carries her up the stairs with an ease that makes her long for more frequent displays of his strength. 

Getting his clothes off is quick enough, since he’s already shirtless, and his hands are tender and gentle as he sweeps her hair away from her neck, pulls down the zipper of her dress, slides it off her bare shoulders. 

Neither of them bother to pull back the covers, simply lay back on the bed, her knees apart again, Jacob hovering between them and letting his eyes move over her like he’s committing her body to memory. It makes a wave of heat rush through her, and since tonight is less hurried she does the same, lingers over every curve of muscle, every sharp line of bone. He leans in, lays an arm behind her head, glides his lips over her jaw, her cheek, her mouth.

“I was right, before,” she says after another satisfying kiss, letting her fingers press into the flesh of his hips. He looks into her eyes, tilts his head curiously, and she smiles a little, can’t help herself. “You really are beautiful.” 

Jake breathes a laugh, even blushes a little, then kisses her until they’re both panting; her fingertips press harder when he pushes inside, then glide up his back to keep him close while the two of them move together. 

Jacob feels so different this way, is so much deeper, filling her in a way that makes it so she really can’t tell where she ends and he begins. He is heavy on top of her, but not uncomfortably so, and when her body shifts up the bed with every thrust it’s thrilling, incredible—she’s never felt so much in her life.

His face is serious, eyes focused, and she weaves her fingers into his hair and catches his lips in a kiss, moans into the end of it when he finds a spot inside of her that takes her breath away. 

“Oh, god, Jake.” He leans in for another kiss, deep and wet, nods against her lips. 

“You’re perfect—so perfect,” he huffs, breathless; he moves his hand to her hip, runs it over her stomach, then presses his palms to the bed and repeats his previous motion, over and over, her body coiling tight with pleasure. “Can’t believe I get this.” 

“We get this,” she corrects in a whisper, won’t let him think for one second that she’s not as completely in awe of him as he seems to be of her. She skims her nails over his lower back, his ass, tightens her thighs on either side of him and tips her head back just as he makes her come. “Don’t stop, Jake, please,” she whines, shaking, holding him so tightly with her entire body—she never wants it to end, never wants to be separated from him again, and he agrees, if the way his body presses down on hers is any indication. 

“Can’t stop… need you,” he groans, pushing her leg up further, so he feels almost impossibly thick and deep. Her arms wrap around his back, pulling him closer, holding him there as he ruts into her, scorching flesh pressed against flesh. 

“Yes, oh—”

Before she knows it she’s quaking again, gasping when he brings his teeth to her throat, scrapes them over her throbbing pulse. He growls in her ear, a deep, low, animalistic rumble she can feel in her stomach, then comes inside, claiming her with a broken, raspy, “mine.”

He lays half on top of her, half on the bed, after, their skin soft and damp with cooling sweat. She can’t stop looking at his face, his dark eyes, sharp jaw, and he cups her cheek with a gentle palm and gazes just as intently at her. 

“Come here,” she murmurs, a soft smile on her lips, and he kisses her slowly, makes her sigh with a pleasure so complete—mentally, physically, spiritually—it feels like she’ll never be the same. 

He gets up after a moment, comes back with a glass of water and a towel, and helps her clean up well enough to hold her over until she’s ready to get out of bed. She pulls the covers back while he’s gone, slides in between the cool sheets, and he follows her lead, pressing close to her beneath them.

“Are you upset you didn’t imprint on me?” she asks carefully, propping herself up on her elbow and using the other hand to run fingers through his hair. “I noticed that when the guys were talking about it, you got kind of tense.” He shrugs slightly before shaking his head.

“No, not upset… I was just so sure you were meant for me; I really thought it would happen sooner or later.” She understands that, can picture him wishing and waiting for something that would never come to pass. So patient, her Jacob.

“Do you wish it had? Do you think it would make this more real?” Her hand moves from his hair to his collarbone, down his chest, over his stomach, so very low. “Because when I’m touching you like this… nothing has ever felt so real.” 

He presses her against the bed, hovers over her, kisses her breathless, and it goes without saying that he agrees with every word she says. She softens beneath him, tired and pleased, and he shifts into a more comfortable position, laying behind her, that she knows means sleep for the both of them. He drapes an arm over her, and she draws circles into his skin with her fingertips, feels his warm breath on her neck, closes her eyes and revels in the weight of him at her back.

“Anyway,” she whispers, one last thought on her mind before she succumbs to sleep, “I almost think it’s better like this, that we have to fight for each other. No help from fate—just your will and mine.”

A/N: I got my start in fandom spaces by writing Twilight fanfic fifteen years ago, but I never posted it because it was... bad. Last week was a crummy week for me, so I found comfort in watching New Moon, and I literally couldn't help myself from re-writing it in Jacob's favor. There's no Edward hate here, and he'll play a bigger role in the next part I have planned, but Jake took hold of me in this one and didn't let go.

[adverbally]

We Gotta Hide What We’re Doing

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “‘I’m not going to beg you to love me.’” | wc: 1,161 | rated: T | cw: period-typical homophobia, fears of violent homophobia (mentioned only) | tags: physical touch as a love language, feeling rejected, heart to heart car conversations, happy ending | title from “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tiffany

And with this prompt, August is over! I’m so proud to have kept up with the challenge all month and filled all 31 prompts. Thank you to everyone who has read along and been so kind and friendly. I definitely plan to write more Steddie, so keep an eye out for my Smutty September entries if you’re into that. If you have a request or a comment to share, feel free to message me or send me an ask. I hope September treats you well! 💕

———

Steve has always been an affectionate person. Clapping his hand on someone’s shoulder, ruffling the kids’ hair, sitting too close, reaching out for comfort— he’s just a tactile guy. It’s no different in his romantic relationships, always clinging with an arm around his partner’s waist and sprinkling chaste kisses wherever he can reach. He shows his love through touch.

That’s what’s so hard about being with Eddie.

In private, Eddie is almost as touchy as Steve is, quick to drape an arm around Steve’s shoulder during the Party’s movie nights and leave the room with a peck on the lips. He loves to come up behind Steve and hug him around the waist, swaying them and nuzzling into the crook of Steve’s neck. They sleep cuddled together so closely that Steve wakes up damp with sweat when their shared body heat gets to be too much.

Their regular amount of physical contact makes it all the more startling when they’re in public together and Eddie keeps a solid three feet of space between them at all times.

It might not be that obvious to anyone else, but Steve notices how deliberately Eddie avoids touching him. He steps out of Steve’s reach when he brushes the small of his back, he dodges when Steve tries to hold his hand, he’ll stand up and switch to another seat if Steve dares to sit directly across from him at the diner.

Steve isn’t dumb; he understands the need to be cautious. They’re two queer boys in small-town Indiana, and he’s not trying to get his ass kicked by some asshole who thinks men shouldn’t be able to touch without bursting into flames. But he sees Eddie horsing around with Dustin in the aisles of Melvald’s and giving Gareth a piggyback ride down Main Street and he has to wonder… Is it me?

Would it be different if Eddie was dating someone else? Would he be comfortable with a subtle back rub or a brush of pinkies if it didn’t come from Steve? Maybe he’d feel more secure with a tougher looking guy, someone more metal, a jock with a more imposing physique, someone who’s not so fastidious about their hair or keeping their sneakers clean.

Maybe Eddie is just ashamed to be seen with Steve.

The thought is totally unreasonable, but it lingers. It’s there when he and Eddie stand in line for the ice cream truck, so far apart that they get separated by a family of five. It’s there when he watches Eddie drape himself over Jeff‘s back after a long rehearsal, their cheeks practically touching where Eddie’s chin hooks over his shoulder. It’s there when he watches Eddie drag Dustin around the comic book store with a hand wrapped around his forearm, pulling him through the shelves until Steve loses track of them.

It’s that evening that Steve finally has to say something. He’s driving Eddie home after dropping off Dustin, half-listening to Eddie thinking aloud through new campaign plots and song ideas, but all Steve can think about is how he hasn’t touched his boyfriend all day, even though they’ve spent the last seven hours together.

The next time they stop at a red light, Steve reaches for Eddie’s hand where he’s drumming his fingers over his faded black jeans.

Eddie pulls away so fast it’s like an honest-to-god flinch.

“Okay, we need to talk about this,” Steve declares as he turns the corner and maneuvers the Beemer into one of the parking spaces off the main drag. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

Uncharacteristically quiet, Eddie fiddles with the distressed knee of his pants. He doesn’t look up when he says, “We’re in public.”

“We’re in my car after midnight on a Wednesday, there’s nobody around,” Steve points out, gesturing at the empty streets surrounding them.

Eddie sighs, “Steve—”

“It’s like you’re a totally different person when you’re out with me. At home, I practically have to pry you off me to get anything done. With the Corroded Coffin guys and the kids, you goof around with them like your usual handsy self,” Steve explains, staring straight out the windshield at the old brick facade of the building before them. “So maybe you can see the conclusion I’m drawing here, when it’s just me, in public, that you seem to have a problem with.”

“It’s not like that.” Eddie’s voice is flat. It sounds nothing like him, which makes something ache in Steve’s chest.

“Then what’s it like?”

Eddie erupts, “I’m not brave like you, okay? I’m fucking scared. I’m always worried about somebody trying to start shit because I dared to look at another man in front of them.”

“But with the other guys, you—”

“It’s different. Because I don’t want to touch them like I want to touch you.” He sniffles, gaze still trained on the rings he’s twisting around his fingers. “With you, I… sometimes it feels like I can’t stop, you know?”

Steve does know. He thinks of Eddie kissing him hello in the doorway when Steve gets home from work, how one kiss becomes several and they end up stumbling up the stairs to Steve’s bedroom, never taking their hands off each other. He thinks of lacing his fingers between Eddie’s while they watch a movie, how it turns into massaging the sore spots in Eddie’s wrist and kissing the back of his hand in a chivalric gesture.

“So it feels safer not to touch you at all,” Eddie concludes. “Then I can’t get carried away.”

Steve is quiet for a long time, letting the weight of Eddie’s confession settle, before he says, “I’m sorry.”

Eddie glances at him out of the corner of his eye but hides the motion by wiping his face with his sleeve. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you just wanted to know what was going on.”

“I could’ve been less of an asshole about it.” It only feels fair for Steve to share a vulnerable feeling of his own. “It’s just, I’ve been with people who were embarrassed to be with me, or who were ashamed of their feelings or whatever. And it sucked, trying to convince them that I was worth their attention.” Steve lets out a long breath through his nose. “I’ve done it before, but I’m not going to beg you to love me, too. I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

Eddie’s smile, when he finally raises his head and turns to look at Steve, is small but genuine. “You’d have to beg me to stop.” When he holds out his hand with a wiggle of his fingers, Steve takes it.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve looks around the empty streets exaggeratedly. “It’s just you and me, and we can be back at my place in less than five minutes if you can’t contain yourself,” he teases.

“You’re pushing it,” Eddie warns with a raised eyebrow, but he leans in to meet Steve’s lips anyway.

[babbymochiiii]

💋 VALENTINES WITH JAEHYUN

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ established relationship! jaehyun x reader

decided to do a little something something for jaehyun’s b-day and for valentines all at once 😚

Happy Valentine’s Day my loves and Happy Jaehyun Day!! 💖

divider credit @missroki 💌

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ JAEHYUN

this could honestly go both ways; either you celebrate both valentines and his birthday in one day or you choose to celebrate Valentine and his birthday separate depending how busy his schedule is

jaehyun always makes sure to ask you to be valentines the moment it’s Feb. 1, only once did it slip his mind…he learned his lesson there when you were about to sell him on Twitter 💀

for his birthday I feel like he would try not to make it a big deal but at the same time does just because he knows what some of the plans will be since he always ends up having last minute scheduling and wants to down his as much time as he can with you before said schedule

rarely do you guys have to reschedule things…but SM can be a pain in the ass so you guys always gotta make room for everything

honestly for moments where you do have to reschedule, he just brings you along with him. man don’t care about the public cause at this point SM is literally asking for it 💆🏻

everyday leading up to v-day he writes you hand written notes about the things he loves about you 💌

let’s be honest here…Jae is a BIG romantic fellow when he wants to be. like yeah he’s all shy and flustered about it but it’s what makes you love him and it makes you wanna squish him for how cute he’s being

i see his ears turning red the whole time just because he’s that shy about it :( such a cutie

the sex; oh my gods it’s intimate and passionate as fuck!!! literally what you both will be waiting for by the end of the day (if y’all can even make it to the end of the day)

jaehyun would seriously buy you sexy pieces of clothing just to end up ripping it off of you 🤪

“I’ll buy you new one baby don’t worry.”

literally would tell you this just so you’re not worrying about the fact that he “wasted” his money like that (man could care less because he’s pleasing both of y’all)

Okay but the after care???? honestly one of the best things he ever does for you 😩🫶🏼

Always getting you water, making sure you’re okay, giving you a well needed shower cause babes y’all were nasty nasty that night WHEW 😜

“You did so good for me baby.”

like UGHHHHHHH man makes me feral honestly

if you’re feeling up for it, he would carry you to the living room and make y’all food 🥹

you would protest that this was supposed to be his day and you would be the one doing everything for him but he would always brush you off and tell you that he loves taking care of you even if it is his day

get married at this point folks cause I would 😭💍

honestly…he would propose

and I KNOW it will be out of the blue 💀 like you’re just chilling in the living room eating ramen together, watching what’s every playing on the tv.

“we should get married.”

YOU WILL LITERALLY CHOKE ON THE NODDLE 😭😭

“W-what!?”

“I mean why not? I don’t think it’s a bad idea..do you?”

the puppy eyes he would give you

literally like this 🥺🙏🏼

how could you say no???

had to make a little post for our Valentine’s boy Jaehyun 🥰

first time I do something like this and I’m honestly thinking of doing more like this cause this was fun 🤭

Lemme know what y’all think! Should I make more posts like this 🤔???

Much love 🖤

— mochi 💌