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godjustkys · 2 days ago

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THEME: it's just hate sex with dean..

CHARACTER: male reader x dean winchester

NOTE: as promised, dean winchester one shot. also!! requests are open.

WARNING: breeding kink,, clothed sex,, dirty talk,, degradation,, slight dacryphilia,, hair pulling,, short and not proof-read :(

“..hhhfuck—” dean breathed out lowly, grasping onto the table's edge for dear life. his back was arched slightly, forehead pressed against the wooden surface itself.

dean was bent over a table, and you were fucking him from behind. your hands holding his hips firmly, thrusting in and out at a steady pace. sure, it was stable, but it wasn't fast enough for dean. he wanted you to be rougher. “Don't be a bitch, dean.” you cooed gently, pushing one hand up dean's spine, the action more sensual than anything. “let me hear you.” in response, the other just gritted his teeth, letting out a small frustrated groan. how could he let this happen? he hated you, he hated every single bone of your body.

“you- fuck like a virgin.” dean mumbled out, his tone bitter. “this your first time? you experimenting, huh?” he quipped, lifting his head up and turning it to the side, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. You let out an amused scoff in response, suddenly pushing your hips forward, the action harsh and quick. it made dean stumble, knees buckling for a moment, his grip on the edge tightening. he turned his head away immediately clenching his jaw.

“don't try to taunt me, dean. you're the one taking my cock like a damn slut right now. i can feel you clenching around me,” you spoke, leaning forward, your chest just above his back. “shh-shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch—” dean responded with a strained voice, his face twitching in annoyance. or maybe from the fact that he was holding back so many sounds. he pretended like he didn't like what you said, but god, he only got harder. his abdomen tensed too. fuck. “listen to yourself right now..” you muttered, your lips right next to his ear. “the little gasps? yeah, you love this,” your tone took a more confident edge.

dean hadn't even realized that he was gasping, letting out soft breaths that soon evolved to pants. “Mmhhm—” he let out an agitated groan that turned into a humourless chuckle. “you- keep telling yourself that-” he choked out. “oh, I don't need to. you think I would've been able to get you into this position if you didn't want it? aren't you a big, strong hunter?” you teased, moving one hand to the back of his neck. soon enough, you gripped his hair, pulling his head back. “so, tell me,” you urged him, pressing a kiss to his throat. “tell me how much you want this. how much you want my cock, how good you feel right now.”

dean kept quiet, his breathing laboured and heavy. his eyes fluttered shut as you continued kissing his throat, eyebrows stitched together. “go to hell.” he spoke as he tried to squirm out of your grip. “no, no dean,” you pressed gentle kisses against his skin again, making your way from his throat to the nape of his neck, letting go of his messy hair. “not what i asked for,” the moment you said the word 'asked' you thrusted in deeper, as if enunciating your point, making dean squirm even more. “but I'll let it slide.” you breathed out, eyes boring into the back of his head.

“shhh..shit. fuck fuck fuck-” dean groaned out, his eyes screwed shut. “you're a bastard-” he said before letting out a mewl, of all things. you let out a small chuckle, letting your pace increase - you couldn't torture dean for long, you were starting to feel bad with all his jittery squirming. “mhm? what else?” you inquired softly, so innocently, as if you weren't pounding him from the back. dean could take this, of course he could. But then, both of your hands moved back to dean's hips, grip firm, as you pulled him against you. essentially, making his ass meet your pelvis.

“hhn!” he gritted out, his fingers curling up around the edge of the table. “d- don't you manhandle me.” he protested weakly, his thighs tensing and hips stuttering. “that's not manhandling, dean. d'you want me to, though?” you asked gently, keeping your pace steady. of course, no response from the man under you. he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn't curious as to what manhandling felt like, but he didn't have it in him to ask for that. let alone from you, someone he loathed. he's chastising himself for even letting this happen. his pride - wounded.

as dean continued his silent treatment of sorts, you decided for him. why the fuck not? gotta have some fun in a way, right? you pulled out, only momentarily, as you flipped dean over to his back with ease, earning a small, barely even audible yelp from the hunter. you pushed your way back in with slight resistance, dean's abdomen tensing as you did, his hands scrambling to grasp at something. well shit, his hands couldn't reach the table's edge anymore. and reaching for the edge above him would be uncomfortable. you noted his actions, realising immediately that he didn't want to touch you.

“damn, not even gonna put your hands on me?” you asked with a slightly offended tone, shifting on your feet to find a better, more comfortable angle. “c'mon..” you groaned out, one hand gripping dean's still clothed thigh, the other moving up to grip his jaw. “you want to, right? fuck your ego, dean. just do it.” you urged, your face so close to his. his vision was slightly unfocused, his toes curling just a bit. the thought was so tempting. his mind was starting to get lost in the pleasure you were providing, his skin tingling under your touch. “ain't happening.” he managed weakly, his face a.. a scowl? seriously?

“what a bitch,” you muttered in disbelief. “i've already got you where I wanted to, what's the point of giving me attitude, hm?” you pressed, the sound of your (unbuckled) belt buckle getting progressively louder due to your thrusts getting deeper. the slick sound of your cock going in and out of dean's hole progressing in volume, too. dean almost bit his tongue while trying to contain his noises. he wasn't going to give it to you. “baby, you've gotta be more compliant than that..” you cooed gently, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that dean didn't return. he wanted to. fuck you were so hot. soft groans escaped his throat, his lips pressed to a thin line as his hands gripped at literally nothing.

“how 'bout we make a deal, hm?” you suggested suddenly, your thrusts slowing down but not stopping. that grabbed dean's interest. “you stop holding back.. and I won't mention this, ever again.” he shot you a skeptical look. you? not talking about this? what a joke. “i promise.” you added, your tone almost pleading. “i just gotta know how good I make you feel. that's enough for me.” you breathed out, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin of his thigh. “i'll kill you- if- if you don't keep that stupid promise.” dean threatened, albeit with a shaky voice. he was far too easy to deal with.

finally, after what seemed an eternity, one of dean's hands found their way to your shoulder, the other reaching to hold onto your waist - or more so your shirt. due to his newfound compliance, you could give it your all without him trying to hold back. you pushed your cock all the way in, because you hadn't yet. safe to say that the man you were currently fucking the living daylight out of didn't know you weren't bottoming out. “Ah!- motherfuckerrrr-- mmhh—” he whimpered out in a broken voice, his hand moving from your shoulder to the side of your neck. his face was scrunched up, eyes shut tightly.

what heavenly sounds. you let a smile creep up onto your face as you kissed him, passionately, this time dean reciprocating the kiss even if he was a bit late. he let out deep grunts every time you thrusted in, your mouth just devouring the damned sounds. you didn't waste a second, pushing your tongue into his mouth and swirling it against his. dean's breath stuttered, almost feeling overwhelmed, his thighs aching beyond belief. when you pulled away from the kiss to catch your breath, dean spoke up. “are you fucking trying to suck out my soul?” he seethed, panting heavily.

“somethin' like that, yeah.” you breathed out, your eyes locked onto his neck as your hand that was on his jaw just ran over his torso. eventually, it ended up at the hem of his shirt. you simply pushed the shirt up to his collarbone, dean's facial expression shifting to a more confused one. the moment your mouth landed on his nipple, he forced himself to hold in a girlish shriek. he wasn't used to his nipples being played with. both of the latter's hands gripped at your hair, in an attempt to ground himself but also pull you away if needed. “wh- what the fuck, man?” dean got out, his voice strained, maybe a pitch higher.

the sensation of you sucking on his nipple and pounding into him ruthlessly made him let out continuous moans, his voice breaking more with each other. eventually, he let out a sob, his fingers tightening in your hair, the stinging pain making you groan against dean's skin. you could feel his thighs trembling against your pelvis. you didn't stop though, as dean made no protest. but what you took notice of was his whiny moan of your name. it made your gaze shift to his face. god, it made you wish you had a camera just to take a photo and hang it on your wall. his eyes welled up with tears, just barely, his mouth agape, drool on the corners of his lips, all pretty, just for you. you trailed up kisses from his chest to his face, the action more gentle than you anticipated but oh well. “fuck, you're such a slut.” you mumbled against his cheek, your eyes closed as you got lost on the bliss that were dean's sounds, his hopeless squirming and trembling. “takin' me so well, like you were made for this.” you continued. “were you?” you inquired, your tone too sweet compared to your words.

a fucking whimper was what you got in response, his hips shamelessly rocking against yours, as if seeking friction. he wasn't getting enough? “you tryna get off, huh?” you leaned back up, gazing down at him. “ugh, I wanna breed you.” you rasped out, too lost in your own fantasies. “just imagine it, me filling you up, to the brim. with my cum. mine.” dean's face contorted an almost concerned facial expression. the worst thing was was that he didn't even hate what you said, he wasn't against it. he might've actually liked it. he pulled you down as his hands remained in your hair, still, his mouth latching onto your neck as he sucked hickeys onto your skin. you hummed out a sound in response, twitching inside dean. he only continued making sounds against your skin. he seemed desperate to have some sense of control.

dean kept his head buried into your shoulder, as the numerous and various moans, whines and whimpers escaped his lips. he was trying so hard to catch his breath, his thighs tensing around your waist. “who knew such a deep voiced hunter would make such girlish moans?” you teased mindlessly, your only focus now to just breed the fuck outta him. it was at this point that dean didn't even bother responding, frantically holding you close, his hands trembling. oh god you were too much. not that he'd admit that. the more you continued thrusting into him, the more he cried out. yes, cried. sure, tears weren't rolling down his face, but they were there, you knew they were. you could recognise it, the way his voice got high pitched and so eager.

eventually, the overwhelming heat that was pooling in your lower stomach was getting even stronger, and you were close. not even warning dean, you gave harsh thrusts, the other's body twitching helplessly in response as he gasped. you came inside with a groan, your hands holding dean's waist so severel that it might've even left bruises. dean let out a sharp hiss before it turned into a mewl, once again, and he couldn't help but get even more turned on by the liquid that was inside of him. he came, untouched, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as his blunt nails dug into your shirt. he was sweating, his head lowered.

“this ain't 'nough.” you mumbled weakly, starting to move again. goddamn it, dean was in for a night.

#male reader #fanfic #fanfiction #top male reader #dom male reader #one shot #dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester supernatural #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean Winchester x male reader #smut #spn smut

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c0n-fus3d · 2 days ago

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𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝙰 𝙱𝚘𝚢.

(Older!Powder x fem!reader)

I'm sorry but I finished ep 1 of act 3 and had to write this to get my emotions out about ekko and powder being a thing in an alternative reality bcz just RAHHHFHSHEHSHHS my gay ass is crying (no offense to the timebomb shippers, you do you!! If you like this that's cool💪💪) ENGLISH ISN'T MY NATIVE LANGUAGE, IF I MADE SOME SPELLING MISTAKES I'M SORRY ALSO SPOILERS FOR ACT 3!!

Warnings: uhhh just angst, mostly angst, this is for my girlies who might be feeling the same

༺ღ༒ ༺ღ༒ ༺ღ༒ ༒ღ༻

You've always liked Powder, every since you were kids, and still when you are teenagers.

Their was always something about her. The way she made the most creative inventions, the way she always seemed to have some sort of spark in her eyes. Her laugh, her hair, her eyes, it's hard for you to explain the feelings you have towards her.

You knew the way Vi's death was heavy on her, you could see that with the days, and soon years that came after. You we're always trying to be there to support her, make her feel a little better. You gave her space when she needed it, and we're there for her when she needed you the most.

And then there was Ekko.

You never hated Ekko, you 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 hate Ekko. he was a good guy, you got along with him. He was around Powder nearly just as much as you we're, maybe even a little more. When you were around Powder, he wouldn't take long to show up as well. You didn't mind.

But you couldn't deny that you we're jealous of him, of Ekko. The way he charmed his way into Powder's heart over the years. With his sketches, ideas, personality, kindness and understanding. You wanted what him and Powder had as if what you already had wasn't enough for you. You could see the way she looked at him, how 𝙝𝙚 looked at her the same way.

You often wished it was you instead of him. You try to forget about your jealousy, push it asside. You try to push your jealousy and selfishness asside, keep everything natural between you three. But it got harder and harder the more time went on.

Ekko has been acting strange recently, or at least that's what Powder told you. How he 'seems not to remember anything' and how he says these things about how in a dream her and Vi we're completely different. You noticed yourself too, how he was more around then usual. You assumed it was because of his project or whatever.

Now you find yourself here, on the dance floor in the last drop. Inventions around you everywhere as music and colorful lights fill the bar. You look into the crowd, trying to spot Powder. It took you a whole 5 minutes to finally spot her, but to no suprise, Ekko was there. On the dance floor, with her. Dancing together to the beat of the music like it was just the two of them. You tried to move your eyes away from the sight, let them be happy and together. But the jealousy ate you from the inside out, this all just left a bitter taste on your tongue. It all got so overwhelming so quickly, so you decide to leave the place before you explode and do something stupid.

So you decide to go out to Powder's little Hideout for now and go back once you've cooled down. You look at the massive invention across the room, stunned as fuck how they made this. You don't want to pay too much attention to it though, so you continue walking through the massive space before sitting down in front of the small memorial that Powder made for Vi.

You lighten the place up before just.. Sitting there. You sigh, looking at the picture sat on the desk. Vi always knew you had a thing for Powder, she always encouraged you to tell her how you felt. Whenever the situation was on your mind, you'd go here. You'd talk, like she was still there. Because to you, she was. To everyone, she still was. Now wasn't any different, you talked about what has been going on recently. With Ekko, Powder, and everything else.

"I just.. Don't know what to do, I know I'm supposed to be happy for them.. Ekko is a great guy, a-and if they become a thing, I'll be fine with it but.. Theirs this voice in the back of my mind that just doesn't seem to go away.." You groan, your head in your hands as you thought for a moment.

You knew you couldn't hide your feelings forever. If Powder wasn't going to feel the same way towards you, you might as well tell her what you've been feeling all this time. Just for an answer, a yes or a no. Anything. If she didn't feel anything as well then at least she'd know.

"I'll tell her, tonight. Like you always wanted me to do.. I'll.. I'll get this over with, okay? For you."

You found yourself walking back towards the last drop, but then you see Powder, going in the direction of what you knew to be the place where Vi always took her to. So you decided to follow.

If only you weren't blind enough to see Ekko walking along with her.

You climbed up to the place, heart racing in your chest as you tried to think about the things you could say. Your mind was running a million miles and you tried desperately to calm your nerves.

You we're finally gonna do it, you we're gonna tell her how you feel.

But just as you nearly reach the top, you see her. And Ekko.

Their kissing.

In front of your eyes.

Your heart dropped, hope that you knew was useless in the end shattered as you saw the image.

Wrong fucking timing. You stood there, frozen in time before quickly getting out of there. Trying to hold back the tears that we're threatening to fall.

She likes Ekko. She only likes Ekko. It was never you. Not in childhood, not in teenage years.

She likes a boy. That boy.

Your not that boy, and for now, you had to live with that.

You we're never going to being the one kissing her. It was always going to be him in the end.

#arcane x reader #Powder x reader #jinx x reader #arcane league of legends #arcane s2 #ekko arcane #powder arcane

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obxsummer · 8 hours ago

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how much do you love me // ghost of you

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader

summary: a proposal pogue style gets overshadowed with the arrival of chandler groff. your night goes from celebrating into treasure hunting, and john b and jj are in for the shock of their lives for completely opposite reasons

warnings: little spicy beginning, drug use, mentions of not being able to have kids, pregnancy trope (i still love u, sarah cameron), and i fear you're all about to hate me....

navigation -- series masterlist

ask me anything or support me via a ko-fi

JJ found you shortly after you climbed out of the shower, hair wet as you tried to wiggle into a pair of sweatpants. Nothing ever went on easy with damp skin, and your frustration was building faster than you liked to admit.

“C’mere,” JJ’s tone was soft as he sat on the bed and reached forward for you, helping you tug the ankles over your feet so you could comfortably adjust the fabric without the risk of falling over. He reached forward when you were stable, pulling your waist to bring you closer so he was level with your chest.

“My eyes are up here, Jayj,” You teased and placed your fingers under his chin to reroute his gaze from your lace bralette. The boyish grin told you his attention on your face wouldn’t last long so you needed to move quick. “Hi.”

“Hi,” He mumbled, his hand reaching you to grab the back of your neck and gently pull you down to meet him for a soft kiss. A groan left your lips as his other hand tucked itself on your side, his thumb brushing the skin under your bralette teasingly.

“Please don’t start something we won’t stop,” You whispered, teeth pulling on his lip slightly. Your skin was still damp and clammy, heating up with every move he made. “They’re gonna be waiting on us.”

JJ hummed, his mouth moving from yours to nip at the dip of your collarbones. If you let him keep going, the two of you would not be leaving this room anytime soon.

“Babe, you- oh,” Your breath caught as he bit down a little too harsh and soothed the skin with the swipe of his tongue. “JJ.”

“Shh,” He shushed you, fingers gently tugging the strap of your bralette off your shoulder so he could get closer to where he really wanted. There were a lot of things running through JJ’s mind right now, but they all centered around you. You with a ring on your finger, bare underneath him after you share a last name. You were going to be his in ways you hadn’t been before.

“You guys hungry?” Sarah at least knocked on the door, her voice interrupting before the two of you could get much further. You smirked as JJ flopped against the bed with a huff.

“I’m not, but I’m sure JJ is,” You called back, adjusting the strap of your top before shrugging on a cropped long sleeve to cover up any evidence of JJ’s recent actions. Bending down, you gave him one more long kiss before standing back up and patting his thigh lovingly. “Enjoy your cold shower, babe.”

JJ groaned loudly as you left the room, meeting Sarah in the hallway, a knowing smile on her face. She reached up to poke the sore spot on your collarbone and you pulled back with a gasp. “JJ’s hungry, all right,” She laughed, “Hey, I need your help with something, c’mere.”

You followed her into the next room where she had a handful of dresses scattered across the bed.

“I think John B and I are gonna go to City Hall tomorrow and apply for a marriage license. So, which one should I wear?”

You glanced at her, “Sarah, these are all my dresses.”

She pursed her lips. “Yeah… yeah. Just hypothetically, though, like if you were to wear one, which one?”

You gave her an odd look at her weird attitude before pointing at the one on the bed that you preferred. “Probably this one. Cute but not too formal, you know?”

Sarah nodded and picked it up to hold in front of the two of you. After a moment, she tossed it at your chest. “Try it on for me, I wanna see what it looks like.”

“Then why don’t you-”

“No, no, please.” She pushed you toward the bathroom as you tried to object which didn’t help as she closed the door behind you. You sighed, frustrated from being pulled from JJ to try dresses on that you already owned.

You pulled your shirt and sweatpants back off and shimmied into the dress per Sarah’s request. Glancing in the mirror, you forgot how much you loved this item. After getting some necessities for everyone in the group post-gold, Sarah insisted on getting some items for you and Cleo to help blend when she went back to her dad’s rental condo since Kie already had some. This happened to be your favorite one you saw that day. It was gorgeous and flattering in every way possible, and you were simply obsessed.

“Okay, here,” You spoke before grabbing the door handle to walk back out. Only, it didn’t budge in the slightest. You frowned and tried wiggling it again, but it didn’t move. “Sarah? I think the door’s stuck.”

Silence followed your words.

“Hello?” You repeated, knocking this time but received nothing in return. “Oh, you bitches.”

It became obvious they were up to something that involved locking you in John B and Sarah’s bathroom with no form of communication or entertainment. You sighed and sat on the floor, leaning your head back against the cabinets as you settled in. Knowing them, you’d be here a while.

You tried to rack your brain for any important date coming up. Your birthday still had a few weeks and was the closest out of anyone in the group, so birthdays were out. No anniversaries, and as far as you know, nobody else got married. Unless this had suddenly turned into a baby shower, you were out of options.

Minutes passed of pure boredom and you were beginning to question if a bath towel would suffice as a comfy blanket only to be spared as the door opened.

“Finally,” You huffed and got to your feet to see Kiara staring at you. “Where’s Sarah? We suddenly have beef.”

She laughed and took a step in the room despite your wishes. “You look cute. Date night? Let me fix your hair.”

You shook your head, now completely confused. “What? No, we-”

There was no room to argue as Kiara started digging through all of Sarah’s hair supplies. She quickly set to work, avoiding most conversations with you and letting her phone play music to satisfy your desire for noise. Soon, she’d completed your favorite hairstyle, the one she used to practice all the time when you were younger.

She caught your gaze in the mirror and smiled. “Cute.” She shrugged and walked out without another word.

Your jaw dropped as you watched her form disappear, utter confusion left in her place. “What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself and walked out of the bathroom. The house was oddly silent and your heart started racing.

Cleo hopped out of her room a second later. “Well shit, where you going looking so sweet?”

You shrugged. Either she was in on it, or at least played it off better than the others. “No idea. You know something I don’t?”

Cleo clicked her tongue. “Not a chance, girly. But what I do know, is you need some shoes.”

You should’ve seen it coming and took the outstretched pair of your shoes from her hands to slip on your feet. Shaking your head, you continued down the stairs in hopes that whatever secret they were hiding would pop out soon.

You peeked around the corner to see Pope in the kitchen with his back to you. You let out a breath, hoping your confusion would end here. “Hey, what is-”

He flipped around with a creepy smile on his own face, his attempt at not being suspicious.

You rolled your eyes. “Alright, what?”

Pope held out the infamous purple bandana that was usually around your brother’s neck. “Blindfold time.”

Disgust took over your face as he came closer with the fabric. “Pope, please tell me you at least washed it first? Please say yes. What the fuck.” You could smell fresh laundry detergent and sighed in relief.

He wrapped the fabric around your eyes, making sure it was secure but not too tight. Waving his hand in front of your face, you didn’t move in the slightest, but you were a little too rigid for his liking so he grabbed your hand instead. “I’m right here, won’t let anything happen.”

You nodded, trying to keep your racing thoughts at bay and let Pope guide you slowly. The chill of outside settled in soon after and you gripped his hand a little tighter.

“I’m so kicking your ass for this later,” You grumbled, your steps awkward as you tried to navigate a terrain you couldn’t see. You tried listening for anything out of the ordinary but came up empty-handed. “All of you, actually. Asses are grass.”

Pope laughed quietly, his other hand grabbing your open one as he guided you down a few stairs. “Remember when we would play hide and seek as kids and you’d always pick the same spot?”

You smiled at the memory. “Yeah, and you’d never let me win because of it. Always checked the stupid cabinet first.”

Pope squeezed your hands reassuringly. “Couldn’t let that ego get too big so young, you’d be even more like JJ than you already are. Gotta hand you off, that okay?”

You hummed in agreement and Pope slowly let go before another pair of hands took over your hold.

“Bandana smell good for once?”

You clocked John B’s voice instantly and attempted to hit him, but missed. “You’re an asshole, I thought I was going to suffocate to death when Pope first told me.”

John B laughed, “You can thank Sarah for that one.”

“Figured,” You mumbled, “Don’t think you’ve done your own laundry since ever.”

You could hear the noise of your steps changing from the grass to wood, meaning your brother was guiding you down the dock. The movement of the water was much louder now.

“Hey, I love you, yeah?” John B asked and you nodded in return, agreeing with his statement. “Do me a favor and try not to scream, okay?”

You froze as John B let go to undo the bandana from around your eyes, even though you had them pinched shut in anticipation. Your brother squeezed your upper arms lightly and you finally forced your eyes to open.

Despite his wishes, you did scream before covering your own mouth to quiet the noise. The covered portion of the dock was covered in its usual white Christmas lights, which wasn’t new. What was new, was the handful of flower petals leading up to the person standing under the lights.

“Girl, you crazy? Go get him!” Someone laughed at Cleo’s comment, and you shook your head, still in shock at the sight before you knowing they would be hiding somewhere nearby to watch this go down.

You took off, shoes smacking loudly against the wooden platform to meet JJ who opened his arms and caught you with ease. You pulled back slightly to kiss him, your actions having a much different meaning than earlier.

JJ set you down gently and before he could even speak, you were nodding your head. He chuckled, “You’re not even gonna let me ask the question before agreeing?”

You let out a teary laugh. “Doesn’t matter, answer is yes.”

“Okay, well I was actually asking if you would stop taking long ass showers so-”

You pushed him lightly, your fingers shaking with adrenaline. “J.”

He shook his head and kneeled down in front of you, which caused another round of tears and you nearly choked at the sight of him. JJ Maybank would never get down on his knees for someone, but apparently, you were and would continue to be the exception to that rule.

“I um… you know I suck at putting emotions into words, and I already gave John B the speech of my life-”

“You prepared better for my brother than me?” You teased and brushed tears from your cheeks. “Should’ve known you always wanted him.”

JJ nearly flipped you off in response but opted for a roll of his eyes instead. “Baby, are you seriously talking about your brother while I’m trying to propose?”

You gaped at him in disbelief. “You started it!” “Alright, alright,” JJ laughed and reached into his pocket to grab the ring. “Look. I know so much has happened in our lives, and shit will continue to hit the fan, but… you have made every day of our time together so worth it. You’re the reason I get out of bed, even when there’s so much I want to hide from. You’re the reason try to come home every night, to hold you and know it’ll be okay. You continue to be the reason I believe in love, after growing up in a world without it, and.. and I don’t know what I would do without you, and I don’t plan to find out, obviously. There’s so many promises I’ve yet to make, and there’s so much I owe to you, and I’m just gonna shut up before my leg goes numb so, will you marry me?”

Heart racing, you reached for JJ’s hand and a flicker of confusion crossed his face before he grabbed it and stood up to his full height again. You wrapped your arms around his neck and shifted closer. “There is actually nothing in the world that I want more than to marry you. Where you go, I go, yeah?”

JJ barely cried, but the words were enough to push him over the edge and he quickly leaned down to kiss you in a way he hadn’t before. You fell in, melting into his hands like it was where you belonged. You could hear the faint cheers of your family behind you when the two of you pulled away, JJ taking the opportunity to slide the ring onto your left hand.

You gasped at the ring, eyes meeting his in shock, and you swore you were going to hit the ground at any second. “Where did you find this?”

JJ smiled, his thumbs brushing tears from your cheeks as he held your face softly. “You can thank Sarah for that one.”

Your bottom lip quivered at the sight of your mom’s ring resting on your hand. This ring had once meant family and promise, but it couldn’t hold up to that, no matter how much you wished it did. But with JJ in front of you, and your friends storming their way down to celebrate, you knew the story was about to change…. all because of you.

You didn’t ask who stole the alcohol, and quite frankly, you didn’t care because it was making you bubbly and warm inside. Your guess was Sarah raided whatever remained at her dad’s rental condo, considering there was a bottle of champagne in your hands and someone had a gnarly bottle of vodka somewhere in the room.

JJ was standing against the counter in front of you, your arms wrapped securely around his chest as his hand lightly traced the skin of your leg. You lazily leaned against him, glancing at your hand every so often to see the gems staring back at you. JJ would smile each time and squeeze your knee. You didn’t want to leave his side, and thankfully none of your friends would even try.

The scroll that John B had snagged from the mercenaries was laid across the table, Pope’s eyes looking over it closely. Cleo was snuggled into his side, whispering her own thoughts and ideas as they looked over the paper.

Kie handed you the newly lit joint. “To the happy couple,” She offered, bowing for emphasis which had you and JJ laughing.

You took it between your fingers and raised it to your lips to inhale before the blond boy in your arms turned to face you. You shook your head, already knowing where he was going before glancing to see where John B was in the room. Noticing he was occupied with Sarah, you took a deep inhale and held it for a moment before leaning to connect your lips to JJ’s, exhaling the smoke into his mouth.

“Oh, you assholes.” The protest came from Kiara who was still standing next to you, her face contorted in disgust.

You didn’t care though, and when JJ’s eyes met yours, the whole world disappeared. This was the start of your future together, of a new chapter in your lives that outweighed any before, and you were so excited to share it with him.

Kie rolled her eyes and took the joint back from you, pausing long enough to squeeze your arm. “Love you guys.”

“We love you, Kie,” You replied, giving her an appreciative smile before she walked away. JJ pulled the bottle of champagne from next to you and took a hefty sip, attempting to focus on the scene in front of him.

“So, what are we supposed to do with this? It looks like a trippy mosaic.” Sarah pointed to the map in confusion, unable to read a single thing on the worn paper.

“Decode it,” Your boyfriend, fiancé, answered her question. “That’s what we’re supposed to do.” He shifted out of your embrace to approach the table. You followed his motions to stand next to him, taking in the confusing document before you wrapped JJ’s jacket tighter around you.

“But…how?”

“With the code breaker, that’s how.” JJ plucked the joint back from Kiara’s fingers as he spoke. He took a hit before passing it to John B who did the same. You watched as your brother unconsciously passed it to Sarah, the blonde girl taking it into her grasp absentmindedly.

You and Kiara acted instantly; Kie gave her a weird look as you cleared your throat in warning. Sarah’s eyes widened and she apologized, moving to hand the item back to Kiara, almost burning her in the process. Cleo watched the three of you skeptically, always paying attention, unlike the boys around you. You caught her eyes on you and opened your mouth to explain.

Thankfully, something clattered outside, creating enough of a distraction to save you all from an awkward explanation.

“What was that?” Pope asked quietly, silence overtaking the room. JJ shifted slightly, moving to stand in front of you as all eyes looked out the back windows where the commotion was coming from.

To your dismay, the boys moved first, JJ’s shirt slipping out of your hold as you took a step toward Cleo, Kie shifting closer to Sarah.

“I knew we shouldn’t have come back here,” Kie whispered as JJ and John B grabbed nearby ores in hopes of having some defense over whatever was out there. Cleo plucked her knife from her side, twirling it expertly between her fingers. You admired her bravery, as she was never one to let fear show on her face.

Kiara tossed John B’s flannel over the map, a poor attempt at hiding it, but you guessed it was better than nothing.

“What are you doing?” Pope was startled as John B slowly pushed open the door, a creaking noise filling the room.

“Anything?” JJ asked a little bit louder when all you could hear were the animals chirping away outside.

“No, nothing. That’s so weird.” Your brother slowly closed the doors. “It kind of sounded like it was-”

A loud crashing noise pulled a scream from Kie, all of you gasping in shock as none other than Chandler Groff stumbled his way inside.

Cleo’s grasp on your arm lightened but she held her knife steady toward the man as he gave mumbled apologies. If your heart wasn’t racing before, it sure as shit was now.

The unwelcome visitor turned his attention to the boy behind you. “JJ. You made it. I uh, I’m sorry to bother you here. I swam, I swam all the way in.”

“Oh my god,” Sarah breathed in shock, taking the opportunity to move closer to John B for comfort.

You turned to see JJ’s expression drop, annoyance taking over all his features as he watched the man who claimed to be his real dad lean against the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

Groff shook his head, clearing his throat with a loud cough that made you flinch. “I had nowhere… nowhere else to go, son.”

The name made JJ wince slightly and you suddenly wanted to rewind to 5 minutes ago when all of you were much happier and celebrating something positive. You watched carefully as his face went stoic and he leaned the ore against the wall, shifting past you to loop an arm under Groff’s and help him inside.

John B turned to you with a look and all you could really do was shrug in response. You obviously weren’t thrilled with what was supposed to be a night for the two of you was suddenly out of your hands.

Groff clambered messily into a chair as JJ went to reach for water from the fridge. You stood quietly, watching the scene with uncertainty. Sarah had come to join your other side, Cleo still on guard next to you. She didn’t trust this man, and honestly, neither did you. And now he’s running to you guys for help?

You walked up to JJ, your palm easing across his back to his shoulder blades. He didn’t seem happy about Groff being here, making you question what had happened on Goat Island before you arrived. Neither of you really had a chance to talk about it, and you regretted not checking in with him prior.

“Is it true?” Your question was quiet, meant to be shared with only you and JJ. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

“Is it true that I’m JJ’s biological father? Yes.”

Your gaze was sharp as you regarded the man sitting just across from you. “I wasn’t asking you.”

Groff sighed and looked down. “I don’t deserve the title. And you have a right not to trust me, I understand. I could’ve done better by him, I know that. I look forward to telling you all about it.”

JJ shook his head, turning toward you so he didn’t have to stare at the sight in front of him and could redirect his gaze on you. Your hand dropped from his back, unconsciously following down his arm so you could twist your fingers with his, keeping him close.

“I’m afraid time is short. We’re all in danger here. Let me guess,” He pointed over your shoulder to where John B had tossed the tube that contained the rolled map. “You open that packing tube over there and find a scroll inside, but you can’t read it. That scroll is encrypted.”

“How do you know that?” John B returned.

“Because if you took that from the Corsairs, I suspect that you are in possession of the Mogador scroll, created by Barbary pirates in 1703. The Lupine Corsairs are dangerous mercenaries. Now you’ve stolen from them.”

You rolled your eyes, having zero interest in this man’s monologue. If you were in danger, having him here did not help in the slightest.

“Okay, so what exactly is this Mogador?” Pope asked. If anyone could put together the pieces of this, it would be him.

“It’s…a map.”

Cleo almost groaned next to you. “We aware of that, man. To where?”

Groff continued, “Well, if I knew the answer to that, I’d be a very rich man. But I can tell you who made it. Murad the Younger.”

The name sparked in your head, familiar but not quite recognizable. You glanced at John B to see him already looking at you. “Murad?” He repeated.

“Oh, you know him? Groff asked, looking between the two of you. “Barbary pirate, slaver. In 1703, a Berber shepherd gave Murad a gold coin as tribute. He asked the shepherd where he’d gotten the coin, and after some persuasion, the Berber told him about a hidden vault in the desert filled with gold. And one other very special item.”

“The Blue Crown,” John B answered softly.

Groff turned to him, curious. “So, you know what it is?”

Sarah cleared her throat purposefully as your brother tried to back track. “Uh, it’s uh… my dad was a historian.”

“It was practically a bedtime story,” You tried to reinforce John B’s excuse and shot him a look.

“What is it though? The crown thing?” Kie asked as she pulled herself up on the table next to Sarah.

“A mythical artifact,” Groff explained, “And if you trust the legends, a dangerous weapon capable of granting wishes and rendering enemies defenseless.”

You almost scoffed at the ridiculous reasoning, but Cleo was happy to voice her skepticism, “And you believe that?”

Groff shook his head. “No, of course not, but it’s invaluable. I’m looking for it just like you, and if I could help you find it, I’d… just want to get my cut. Nothing more.”

“If they found it 300 years ago, there’s no way that magic cap is still there,” JJ said, his foot nudging yours gently.

“Maybe, maybe not. See Murad was encamped in Essaouira, in what’s now Morocco. Before he had a chance to follow the map, it was stolen by a young woman named Elizabeth Howell, who later became Blackbeard’s future wife. He helped her elude her captors, and the two of them escaped to the Carolinas with the map. The rest of their lives they wondered, was there really a vault in the desert that held the crown? On the day he died-”

“He left Elizabeth with the map,” Sarah cut him off, her boredom winning as you all listened to this man ramble.

Groff nodded. “And now, you have it. But you can’t read it, right? You need a lens, a special lens. A piece of refracted crystal encased with a chain. Elizabeth Teach had that lens when she was killed at Blackstone.”

You exchanged a glance with JJ before facing Chandler. “So, let me guess. You uh, you have that lens.”

He made a dramatic effort to act all upset and looked down. “Not in my possession, no. But I know where it is.”

JJ squeezed your hand slightly. “Where?”

“Your mother’s grave.”

You groaned softly, dropping JJ’s hand to cover your face and rub at the skin like it could wash away all of your annoyance with this conversation. All of this history talk was making your brain hurt and you really, really didn’t like that you’d lost this entire night to JJ’s supposed dad who had no business showing up here.

“I, um, I’m gonna go to bed,” You excused yourself, giving JJ a rushed kiss before almost running out of the room. Various chatter followed your departure, but you swung yourself up the stairs without another word. Stopping in John B and Sarah’s room to grab your clothes from earlier, you were quick to change into the comfy attire and retreat to your hammock on the balcony, wanting nothing more than peace and quiet.

“Babe?” JJ wasn’t very far behind you, coming out to stand over you as you settled into the material. “You okay?”

You sighed, hands rubbing at your tired eyes as the alcohol and weed wore off, leaving you slightly buzzed and just tired. “Yeah, just didn’t wanna keep listening to him.”

JJ reached out for you, his hand grabbing yours as you swayed slowly. “This is not how I imagined this night going. Was supposed to celebrate with you, in every way possible.” He leaned down to rub his nose against yours gently, eliciting a small laugh before you kissed him softly.

“Not your fault,” You whispered. “Please tell me someone’s down there with him.”

JJ brushed a hair from your face gently. “Pope’s picking his brain while Cleo plays guard dog. Sarah said she needed to talk to John B.”

You nodded, hoping she was talking to him about what you thought she would be. “Are you okay?”

The hesitation told you that no, he wasn’t, but he didn’t know what else to do. JJ took the opportunity to slide into the hammock next to you, practically flopping on you so his head rested on your chest, and you welcomed the embrace. He was so warm against you and you truly cherished the moment as the first one you two had shared alone after the proposal.

“Love you,” You whispered quietly, leaning to kiss his head as your fingers sorted through his hair.

“Love you too.”

John B was a shit liar. You had been able to clock him so easily growing up, and unfortunately (for him), Sarah was just as good at it.

So when Sarah came into the room and very shakily asked to talk to him, he was nervous. He didn’t know what she was going to ask, or say, and he wasn’t mentally prepared. But she seemed really scared, so he couldn’t say no.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words practically smacked him in the face, his whole body going into shock as he tried to wrap his head around the concept. Sarah, his Sarah, pregnant.

“You’re pregnant?” He repeated the phrase, keeping his tone as neutral as possible even though a little bit of shock slipped in. He wasn’t sure how she felt about this and wanted to tread carefully. She was teary and nodded. “You’re… pregnant?”

“Mhmm,” She answered, her whole body filled with nerves. Sarah had been through so much shit, but she could confidently say this was the scariest moment of her life that regarded her relationship with John B.

The idea was starting to visualize in his head and he nodded. “We’re pregnant.”

Sarah’s heart clenched in her chest. “Yeah.”

“O-okay. Um…”

“I’m really, really scared,” She admitted shakily, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to do this, I know you don’t know how to do this. And we’re… so young. And I know the timing’s probably terrible. And I know you and JJ wanna go after that crown, but-”

“Hey, come here. I’ve got you.” John B shushed her, gently pulling her into his lap as she sobbed, terrified of what was to come.

She sunk into his arms, shaking as she hugged him tightly against her. “I’m just really scared, I was really scared to tell you, but your sister said I should, and…”

John B nearly choked on his own air at the mention of you knowing. “She knows?”

Sarah pulled back a little to look at him, nodding. “Yeah, she’s the first one I told.”

Your brother nearly threw up at the idea, knowing you hadn’t told him which meant you’d been keeping enough bottled up since whenever you found out. “Oh, shit.”

Sarah frowned at his identical reaction to Kie. “What?”

John B shook his head. “No, nothing, it’s-”

“No.” Sarah gave him a particular look, one that froze him in his spot and usually got her the answer she was looking for. “Why does everyone react with oh shit when they hear that she knows?”

John B took a deep breath and weighed his options. Either he told Sarah the truth and sent her into a guilty spiral with the information, or he told her to ask you and watched her feel even worse when the news came from you.

“I um…” John B tilted his head back with a sigh, keeping his hands anchored on Sarah’s hips to hold her steady as she repeated his name. “She… when we were at the church, in Charleston, I asked her what had happened before we left. I didn’t know it was Rafe at the time, but she started asking me all these questions about our conversation on the ferry and kids, and-”

“John B,” Sarah interrupted him softly, recalling his focus.

“She can’t…she can’t have kids.”

Sarah’s heart nearly shattered in her chest and the tears built up all over again. “What?” Her voice cracked as she looked at John B, his own eyes teary at the repetition of your conversation in his head. “Are.. is she sure?”

John B nodded. “It was, after everything with Rafe, when we were gone a-and-”

Sarah stood abruptly, her brother’s name enough to make her lunch threaten to come back up. “I’ve gotta talk to her.”

“Wait, wait!”

John B took off after her, following her rushed steps as she climbed the stairs with the intention of getting to you. “Sarah, wait!”

Sarah wished she had listened. She wished she had taken a moment to stop and think about what she would say to you, because the moment she opened your door, she was met with JJ’s raised voice. She was met with JJ, standing in the middle of the room, his loud frustration directed at your crying form that was across from him.

But that wasn’t what made Sarah so nervous.

It was the pregnancy test, the one she had taken earlier, in JJ’s hand, the two positive lines staring back at her as he pointed it at you with an intention that made her want to throw up.

And when Sarah made eye contact with you, she realized how truly, truly fucked up this whole thing was about to be.

a/n: so.... i'm sorry?

anyway, listen to how much do you love me by kelsea ballerini

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tortillamastersblog · 1 day ago

Text

Back To You - Part 4 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

Present

Billy Loomis is Sam’s real dad. . .

Tara’s words and her recount of her conversation with Sam makes all the puzzle pieces fall into place.

That’s why Sam snuck into my room all those years ago. That’s why she changed so much after, and that’s why she left.

It all makes sense now, but it doesn’t change the fact that she hurt Tara by leaving, hurt me by leaving. It also doesn’t change the fact that she wasn’t there for me when I needed her to most. When I begged her to come back and she just screamed at me to stop calling without even letting me explain why I was calling in the first place.

I’m feeling so many things right now, it’s kind of overwhelming, but I try my best to stay calm so I don’t freak Tara out.

She’s been moved to a private floor since Sam left and slept earlier while I called Liam and Paige again. Now, she’s awake once more, curled into my side while we’re watching a movie together.

I really try to focus on what’s going on, but my mind keeps drifting back to Sam.

She could have talked to me! She could have told me about her real dad. Why didn’t she? Did she think I was going to hate her for it? Did she think I would stop being her friend if I knew?

I wouldn’t have done any of that. Who her father is doesn’t change who she is. At least that’s my opinion. She must think otherwise, because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have left.

I’m mad at her for abandoning Tara and leaving me. I’m sad she felt like she couldn’t talk to me, and I’m heartbroken thinking about how she tried to numb her pain by doing every drug imaginable and sleeping with anyone who would have her.

I still love her, that’s for sure because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be feeling like this, but I’m just not sure love is enough for me to forgive and forget everything she’s done.

“Hey.” Tara’s voice and her finger poking my chin snaps me out of my thoughts.

I clear my throat quietly and look down at her. “Yeah?”

“You okay?” she asks, her kind brown eyes darting between my own.

“No, not really, Sprout.” Tara wrinkles her nose and I chuckle. She’s never liked that nickname. “But I will be, and so will you.“

“You sure?” she asks and I nod.

“I’m sure. Now watch the movie, or I’m changing it,” I tease, making her laugh softly.

“Okay, okay. . .” She looks me over one last time before turning her attention back to the movie, mumbling, “You’re so annoying.”

I just hum and scratch her head, settling deeper into the bed and actually focusing on the movie. Thoughts of Sam are still swirling around in the back of my mind, but I ignore them as best as I can.

About half an hour later, the movie is still playing and, much to my surprise, I’m actually invested in the story now.

Some shuffling and a grunt in the hallway outside makes me look away from the TV though. We’re on a private floor and no one but Deputy Vinson should be here. A nurse comes in every two hours or so to check on Tara, but she was just here before we started the movie.

Alarm bells almost instantly go off in the back of my head, but I don’t want to scare Tara, so I stay calm and shout, “Hello?”

There’s no answer.

“Vinson?”

Again, nothing.

My stomach drops. This is not good. This is not good, at all.

“Y/N?” Tara whispers fearfully, the beeping sound of her heart rate monitor next to the bed speeding up.

I swallow thickly and continue to stare at the open doorway, straining my ears to hear anything else. It stays quiet though, and with every second that passes, the uneasiness in the pit of my stomach grows.

“Y/N,” Tara whimpers and when our eyes meet I see the fear I’m feeling inside reflected back at me.

He’s back. It’s Ghostface. It has to be him. He’s returned to finish the job.

I can feel my own heart rate picking up speed, and after another beat of silence, I decide that we have to leave. We’re sitting ducks if we stay.

“Fuck this.” I swallow again and nod to myself before pushing the blanket to the bottom of the bed. “We’re leaving, Sprout.”

Tara’s eyes widen and she doesn’t protest when I disconnect the IV from the back of her hand. For a moment, she’s frozen, watching me disconnect her from all the machines she’s attached to, before springing into action herself.

With shaking hands, she removes the oxygen tube while I get up and pull the nearby wheelchair to the side of the bed.

I won’t be able to do anything with only one arm, so even though it hurts and I know I’m probably going to tear my stitches, I take off my sling.

I wince at the stinging pain that shoots through my neck and arm, but grit my teeth and help Tara with the rest of the wires. Then I make sure the wheelchair’s breaks are on before turning back to the bed.

“We have to get moving, c’mon. I know this is going to hurt, but we have to go,” I say, slipping my arms under Tara’s knees and under her back. I don’t lift her yet though, waiting for her to nod before hoisting her up.

The gasp she lets out makes me hurt for her, but I can’t stop now.

We have to leave.

Carefully, I lift her out of the bed and place her in the wheelchair, making sure I don’t bump her broken leg against anything.

My shoulder protests, screaming in pain even though Tara is easy to lift, but I don’t stop moving especially when the lights suddenly go out.

We have to leave, now!

Tara whimpers in fear and in pain, and I rush to turn off the breaks on the wheelchair before pushing her to the doorway.

He’s here. I know it.

I peek into the ominously dark hallway all while trying not to let panic take over my mind.

Fear is healthy, panic is deadly.

That’s what my father taught me, and I know if we’re going to get out of this alive, I have to keep a clear head.

The hallway is empty, and the only way out is by getting to the elevator at the end of the hallway, so I slowly push Tara out of the room, keeping my eyes and ears open for any movement near by.

Just get to the elevator.

The deafening sound of Tara’s phone ringing on the bedside table back in her room makes both of us jump for a moment.

Tara sobs quietly, and I tighten my grip on the wheelchair.

I glance over my shoulder, seeing the screen of the phone light up the room before turning back around. There’s no time to get it now, and even less time to answer it.

I push Tara into the hallway, slowly and quietly while letting my eyes dart around in the darkness for any sign of danger.

It still eerily quiet though and I don’t see anything, so I continue pushing her until we get to the nurses’ station.

That’s where a chocked gasp claws it’s way out of Tara and when I follow her line of sight, I freeze for a second.

Laying right there on his back on the ground, with a slit throat and a pool of blood around his head is one of the deputies Sheriff Hicks assigned to Tara’s floor. He’s still alive, even though only barely, and chokes on his own blood, his wide eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling.

There’s nothing we can do to help him, he’ll be dead within a minute, but still, the sight of him, so helpless and alone, makes the blood in my veins freeze.

That could be me, or worse, Tara.

Stop! Don’t think about that, Y/N. Focus.

My dad’s voice rings in my head and makes me snap out of it. He’s right, I have to focus.

I’m about to continue pushing Tara towards the elevator, but then a thought strikes me.

I pause and look around again before letting go of the wheelchair and crouching down next to the deputy. I reach for his belt, fumbling around until my hand grazes the holster of his gun.

With a gun, we’d at least stand a change against Ghostface, but as fate would have it, the holster is empty. The gun is gone.

Fuck.

Not only does that mean that we have nothing to defend ourselves with, it also means that Ghostface has the gun.

Tara sobs into her hands and watches me get back up, only to flinch and freeze a second later when we hear a door being opened somewhere down the hall.

There’s no time to ponder over the gun and its whereabouts now. I spin around and take a hold of the wheelchair again.

Getting to the elevator now is too risky. It’s too far away, so I wheel Tara into the room right next to the nurses’ station.

We need help.

Tara whimpers and cries quietly while I close the door behind us. I don’t shut it all the way, just enough to hide us from plain sight while still being able to see what’s going on outside. Then, I fumble around for my phone in my sweatpants.

Just like with the gun though, I come up empty, and the realization that it must have slipped out of my pocket while watching the movie makes my heart drop.

No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

My hands begin shaking, and it’s getting harder to keep my panic at bay.

We’re alone with a psychopathic killer, we have no way out, no help is coming, and I’m not in any shape to fight properly.

Tears well up in my eyes and I feel my bottom lip quivering. There’s no way out.

My heart starts pounding in my ears and my hands start shaking.

Please, no. Not now.

I’ve had enough panic attacks after my parents death to know what it feels like when one is about to start, and even though it sucks having them at any time, it would be especially inconvenient right now.

I force myself to calm my breaths and blink away the tears, but it doesn’t help much.

We’re trapped.

We’re alone.

I continue to focus on steadying my breathing while also keeping an ear out for any more sounds in the hallway.

That is until Tara nudges me. I clench and unclench my fists, and look at her. She has tears streaming down her face, but she’s urgently gesturing at something she can’t reach.

I follow the length of her arm with my eyes and almost start crying with relief when I spot the phone on the wall right next to the door.

I lunge for it and start dialing 911 with shaking hands only to stop a moment later when another door opens out in the hallway.

Tara clutches the back of my sweater with her uninjured hand and bites her bottom lip to prevent any more sobs from escaping her.

I flinch when another door gets opened, this time closer by, and hold my breath.

This is it. He’s here.

I lower the phone and square my shoulders, ready to fight when the door to our room suddenly swings open.

Tara yelps and I instinctively punch whoever just walked in.

“Ow!” Richie stumbles back against the doorframe and raises a hand to where my fist just connected with his jaw. “Ah, goddamn it!”

“Richie?” Tara’s pulls on the back of my sweater to get me to step out of her line of sight while I simply stare at Richie in disbelief.

I’m honestly relieved it’s just him, and that he’s here because now we’re no longer alone, but I can’t find it in myself to feel sorry for punching him.

“What are you doing here?” Tara asks as Richie continues to recover from the punch.

“Sam called,” he explains and as he continues to talk, I feel some of the tension in my body dissipate. “She said that you were in trouble.”

He doesn’t look at me when he says it, and the revelation that Sam probably only called about Tara is like a blow to the stomach.

I don’t get much time to dwell on it though because a split second later, Ghosface appears behind Richie, ready to strike with a knife in his hand.

“Look out!” I shout, stepping in front of Tara again.

Richie spins just in time to avoid getting stabbed, but the knife manages to cut his forearm. Ghostface goes in for another stab, but Richie manages to catch his wrist before he can bring the knife down on him.

He grunts and they struggle for a moment, but then Ghostface manages to grab the back of Richies head and slam him into the door frame, knocking him out.

“Shit!” I clench my jaw when Ghostface turns his attention to Tara and me, and quickly grab the IV stand next to us, flinging it at him.

Ghostface goes down because the monitor on the IV stand hits him in the head, and I rush to wheel Tara out of the room.

We’re almost back in the hallway, away from Ghostface, when he suddenly lands a punch on the back of my left knee, making my leg buckle. I stumble and manage to regain my footing without going down, but that little trip costs me a lot of precious seconds.

“Y/N!” Tara twists around in the wheelchair with wide eyes and even though I know Ghostface is now back on his feet and right behind me, it still catches me off guard when he wraps his arm around my neck from behind and punches me in the side, right below my ribs.

“Ah, fuck!” I grunt and grab his forearm, trying to pry it away from my neck, but it doesn’t budge. “Go, Tara!”

Another blow, this time to my ribs, takes my breath away, and even though I’m in pain, it fills me with an unexplainable rage.

Instead of trying to get his arm away from my neck again, I dig my heels into the ground and push backward until we hit a wall. Ghostface hisses in pain and I use the momentary distraction to get out of the headlock.

Then, I run to Tara, limping slightly and ignoring the sound of a phone ringing nearby. She’s crying and struggling to move in the wheelchair, and the sight of the blood soaked bandage around her hand makes my stomach clench.

I’m about to reach her, my arms already outstretched to grab onto the wheelchair, but then I’m tackled to the ground from behind.

My head hits the floor, making black dots dance in my vision for a moment and then my head is yanked up by my hair.

“Hold it right there, Tara,” Ghostface says, the voice changer eerily distorting his voice, “or I’ll slit Y/N’s throat.”

Tara freezes and wheels around in time to see Ghostface press the blade of his knife against my neck. He’s kneeling on my back and I know I have no way of escaping without getting my throat slit.

It stings when he pushes the knife down a little too hard, drawing some blood in the process, but I don’t dare to move.

“Y/N!” Tara cries and I try not to cough because of the weight on my back. “No, please don’t.“

“Tara, go!” I rasp, feeling the edge of the knife dig even deeper into the skin of my neck.

Tara shakes he head desperately, tears rolling down her cheeks. “No, Y/N, I—“

“Do you hear that, Sam?” Ghostface says and at the mention of Sam’s name my heart drops. He must be on the phone with her. “Your little sister and Y/N, begging for each other’s lives. Pathetic, don’t you think?”

Tara makes a move to wheel closer, but I pin her down with a stare to stop her. Go, I mouth, but Tara doesn’t move while Ghostface continues talking to Sam.

I can’t hear everything he’s saying because my ears are ringing, but when he suddenly gets off my back and approaches Tara with calculated steps, I hear him say, “So, the choice is up to you. Who is it going to be, Sam? Richie, Y/N, or Tara?”

Tara whimpers as Ghostface gets nearer, but she’s too injured to get away. She manages to turn the wheelchair around, but Ghostface is right there before she can even attempt to get away.

He grabs the handles of the chair and tips it forward forcefully, making Tara fall and land on the ground with a cry of pain.

No, not her. Not Tara. Please, anyone but her. She’s been through enough.

“Stop!” I groan, trying to get up, but slipping on something sticky on the floor. My shoulder stings and the side where Ghostface punched me burns, but I try to get back up again, and this time, I manage. On unsteady feet, I limp toward Ghostface who’s now standing over Tara.

He twirls the knife in his hand and raises his arm, getting ready to strike while Tara sobs.

“No!” I’m not going to make it. “Tara!”

Just then, the elevator dings and the doors open. Ghostface looks up, surprised, and dives out of the way when gunshots ring out.

My eyes widen at the sight of Sam and Dewey?! who dart out of the elevator.

“Tara!” Sam rushes to her sister’s side and drops to her knees, trying to help her to her feet.

“I’ll get Richie,” Dewey says, but then he freezes when his eyes land on me. “Y/N?! What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

I wave him off and shake my head, looking around to see where Ghostface went. “Not now, I’m fine. Go get Richie, I’ll help Sam with Tara.”

“Okay.” Dewey nods and stares at me a moment longer before dashing past me to help Richie.

The last time we saw each other was at my parents’ funeral. He used to be like an uncle to me because he was friends with my dad, but after the accident, we kind of drifted apart.

Now is no time to dwell on the past though. I push through my dizziness and the pain in my side, shoulder and leg, and limp the rest of the way to Tara and Sam.

Sam’s already managed to get a crying and whimpering Tara to her feet, but Tara can’t walk with her broken leg, so as soon as I’m within reach I tug on Sam’s jacket to get her to stop dragging Tara to the elevator.

“Stop, let me help.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Y/N, y-you’re here?”

“Of course, I’m here,” I snap, not because I’m mad but because there’s no time to talk. “Now, let’s get a move on!”

Still in disbelief, Sam doesn’t say anything else as I scoop Tara up into my arms.

“Ow,” she whines and I quickly apologize for hurting her.

I limp to the elevator with Sam hot on my heels and lean against the wall as soon as we’re inside. My legs are shaking and my entire body hurts, but I’m not letting go of Tara until we’re safe.

Sam holds the doors open while Richie and Dewey make their way to the elevator.

They’ve almost made it when, out of nowhere, Ghostface comes back, crashing into them from the side. Richie falls to the ground, and Dewey gets pushed against the wall which makes him fire his gun.

A struggle ensues between Dewey and Ghostface while Richie tries to get back up, and for a moment it looks as though Ghostface’s got the upper hand, but then Dewey headbutts him.

Ghostface stumbles back and Dewey grabs his gun off the ground, firing it at Ghostface before he can come at him again.

He stumbles back at the force of the shots hitting him in the chest until he crashes into the glass display cabinet on the opposite wall.

He sinks to the ground and stops moving, and even though I’m not convinced he’s dead, there’s no time to make sure he is. We have to get out of here as fast as possible.

Dewey must think so too because he gets to his feet and immediately pulls Richie up as well.

“Let’s get out of here,” he grunts, dragging Richie toward the elevator. “Come on, hurry up.”

They finally make it, and Richie slumps against the wall next to Sam who runs her hands over him and checks for any not-so obvious injuries.

“You okay?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.

Richie nods and exhales shakily. “Yeah, you?”

Sam nods. “Fine.” Then she turns her attention back to Tara who’s got her arms wrapped around my neck and is crying into my shoulder.

“It hurts, Sam,” she cries, and I press a kiss to her forehead while Sam takes a hold of her hand.

Dewey pushes the elevator button for the first floor, but before the doors can slide shut, he stops them with his hand and says, “The head. . .”

Richie frowns. “What?”

“You have to shoot ‘em in the head or they always come back,” Dewey explains, stepping back out of the elevator.

Sam gapes at him and asks exactly what I’m thinking. “Dewey, who gives a fuck?”

A forlorn look enters his eyes and as the doors slide shut, he says, “I do.”

“No! Dewey!” I try to step forward to stop him, but as soon as I shift my weight off the wall, my legs start trembling, so I slump back and grit my teeth.

It’s too late.

The doors close and the elevator starts descending. A tense silence settles over us for the duration of the ride, but then the doors open and Richie stumbles out first, shouting for help.

Doctors and nurses swarm us almost instantly and within seconds, a gurney is brought over and I place Tara on it.

She’s okay.

Seeing her being taken care of lifts a huge weight off my shoulders and the relief on Sam’s face makes me smile a little.

She’s going to be okay.

The dizziness I felt before suddenly returns full force now that the adrenaline is wearing off, but I can’t sit down and rest until Dewey is safe, too.

He’s up there all alone. Someone has to help him.

I stumble back to the elevator but a hand on my stomach stops me from entering it.

I look down, swaying slightly, before following the arm connect to the hand all the way up with my eyes until they land on Sam’s face.

Wait. . . Sam?

“Where are you going, Y/N?” she asks, frowning.

I blink to get rid of the irritating black dots growing in my vision and try to push past her. “D-Dewey, he needs—he needs help, Sam.”

“I know,” she says, stopping me again by grabbing a fistful of my sweater. “But you can’t go up there. The police are already on their way.”

“But. . . But Dewey,” I slur. I grasp at Sam’s hand to get her to let go of me which, much to my surprise, she actually does.

It doesn’t last long though because not even a second later my knees buckle and I fall forward, right into her arms.

“Y/N? Y/N!” Sam panics and grabs onto anything she can to stop both of us from toppling to the ground. “Oh my God, you’re hurt.”

I awkwardly slide down her body, bringing her down with me until we’re both on the floor and I’m gasping for air.

“Y/N, hey. . . Hey!” Sam grunts and manages to scramble out from underneath me before propping me up against the wall next to us. “Look at me. What’s wrong? What hurts?” she asks, but I can’t answer. My lungs suddenly feel like they’re on fire and every breath I take makes it harder to breathe.

“What happened? Did Ghostface—“ She falls silent when her eyes land on her hands and when I look down, I see why.

They’re covered in blood. My blood. But. . . how?

I think about everything that happened, and then dread settles in the pit of my stomach when the realization hits.

Ghostface wasn’t punching me. When he “hit” me all those times, he wasn’t punching me. He wasn’t punching me at all. He was stabbing me.

Welp, that explains why my side hurts so much. I thought I was going soft.

My eyes flutter shut and I cough, tasting blood in my mouth.

I guess no one noticed I was hurt until now because I didn’t feel anything until the adrenaline wore off and the blood soaking my clothes wasn’t visible because both my sweater and my sweatpants are black.

“Y/N, hey! Don’t you dare close your eyes.” Sam cups my cheeks and shakes my head slightly to get me to open my eyes again. “We need some help over here!” she shouts over her shoulder before looking back at me.

She’s frantic, more frantic than I’ve ever seen her, and her eyes are filling with tears. Her hands drop off my face and she’s quick to push my sweater up to take in the extent of my injuries.

“Oh my God.” Her voice cracks and when she presses her hands against my side to slow the bleeding, I cry out in pain.

I gasp like a fish out of water, still struggling to get enough air into my lungs, and push at her hands.

“No, stop— Stop!” she protests, desperately pressing her hands against my side again.

“Hurts,” I wheeze and Sam nods frantically with tears dripping down her cheeks.

“I know, I know,” she says, “but I’m trying to help.”

I writhe in agony, but don’t try to push her off again. I don’t think I even could if I tried because with every passing moment I feel weaker.

My eyes are also threatening to close again and when Sam notices, she presses down harder on my side and shouts for help again.

This time, a nearby nurse notices and she springs into action. She rushes over, dragging a doctor with her and tells another nurse to bring a gurney.

I don’t focus on her though. No, I keep my attention on Sam and how she’s desperately try to stop my bleeding.

She’s crying, covered in blood, and on the verge of hyperventilating, but she’s still beautiful.

So beautiful. . .

I cough again just as the nurse and doctor drop down next to me, and when Sam takes her hands away so they can examine me, I give into the urge to close my eyes.

_______________________________________________

Whew! I wrote this in one sitting, and only proofread it once, so please excuse any mistakes I may have made/overlooked.

Tag list: @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @bella423

#x reader #angst #sam carpenter x reader #samantha carpenter x reader #sam carpenter #samantha carpenter #scream

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loulovingho · 23 hours ago

Note

Rocker and Deacon are out shopping for groceries or whatever and Deacon just subconsciously reaches to hold Rocker's hand or to put his hand on Rocker's waist, while they're talking about something else, and Deacon not letting go even when they bump into someone they know.

Rocker is a little surprised because he remembers how they started off all clandestine and now Deacon is freely showing affection in front of others.

Okay, I saw this and had to write something about it 😩 then it turned into 1000 words! I hope you enjoy!

They've been together, really together, for four months now. No more hiding, no more affair, no more dirty little secret.

Deacon's moved into his own apartment, he's explained everything to the kids, he and Annie are figuring things out through their attorneys.

He and Rocker have even filled out all the proper relationship agreements at work.

All these steps came pretty naturally. They left both Deacon and Rocker feeling more free than they ever had their entire lives. Like a heavy weight had been lifted off of them.

They weren't exactly the most exciting pair. Sure, the sex was incredible, adventurous, sometimes daring, but life was about more than sex.

It was about fixing the broken cabinets in Deacon's apartment, it was dealing with the nightmares Rocker sometimes suffered from, it was making sure they got enough rest to be able to deal with whatever happened at work the next day.

It was figuring out who they were as a couple, all the things they liked and all the things they hated. It was laughing together, fighting together, helping each other, holding each other.

It was dealing with grocery shopping for two households on a Saturday afternoon.

“We should have gotten two carts.”

“You really want to try and maneuver two carts down every aisle through all these people?”

Deacon managed to step out of the way just before a lady could ram him with her cart. He sighed. “No. I just want to be done with this.”

“We just gotta get some breakfast foods for your place and we'll be finished.” He waved Deacon along. “Scoot scoot.”

With an eye roll, he turned and headed for the next aisle, Rocker following behind with the cart.

Deacon grabbed up a box of Fruity Pebbles and placed it on the side that had all his items, stopping with he noticed the look Rocker gave him.

“What?”

“That for you?” Rocker asked.

“Do I look like a Fruity Pebbles kinda guy to you?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

Deacon glared at him. “They're for the kids, Donovan. It's their favorite.”

Rocker shook his head, pushing the cart forward to get out of another man's way.

“What? What is that?” Deacon asked. “Why are you shaking your head?”

“They don't like Fruity Pebbles anymore.”

“Yes they do.”

“No they don't.”

“Yes, they- How would you know?”

“The last time they came over,” Rocker explained, “Lila mentioned that Samuel threw up Fruity Pebbles in the car and now none of the kids can handle the smell.”

Deacon picked up the box. “No Fruity Pebbles then,” he said, placing it back on the shelf. After letting three people pass between them, he moved back over to Rocker's side.

“Should I be offended that you know my children better than I do?” he questioned, wrapping an arm around Rocker's waist as they continued down the aisle.

Rocker smiled. “Well, technically you were in the shower when they told me, so...”

“Oh, the truth comes out,” Deacon said with a laugh. “You were just gonna let me think I should know this information?”

Rocker shrugged as they turned the corner. “It's fun to see you squirm sometimes.”

“Oh, you're gonna be doing some sq-”

“David!”

A woman's voice had Rocker and Deacon turning their heads to the side.

“Mrs. Chase!” Deacon greeted, smiling brightly at the older woman. “Good to see you!”

“You too. Busy day in here today, isn't it?”

“That's what we were saying,” Deacon answered, giving Rocker a pat on his side before resting his hand back on the same spot.

It was a little thing, and Rocker knew he should be used to it by now, but he wasn't. They'd spent over a year hiding. Making sure no one saw a touch, a glance, heard an unprofessional word. They'd once driven an hour out of town to go out to dinner somewhere that they knew no one would know them. And even then, Deacon had to be sitting so he could face the entire restaurant, just in case someone were to enter that he recognized.

Now though, with this woman that Deacon knew but Rocker had never seen before, his hand remained just above his hip.

“Mrs. Chase, this is my boyfriend, Donovan Rocker,” Deacon introduced. “He goes by Rocker though.”

And damn, that still felt new too.

Boyfriend.

Not acquaintance.

Not co-worker.

Not friend.

Boyfriend.

It might seem a little juvenile to some, using the word boyfriend when the two of them were in their forties and fifties, but in their line of work “partner” could mean many things. So, boyfriend it was.

Deacon gave Rocker's waist a little squeeze, “Donny, this is Mrs. Chase from my old church. Makes the best pies in the world.”

Rocker smiled, reaching out to give her hand a shake. “Nice to meet you, Ma'am, I've actually heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, my,” she replied with a little giggle, shaking his hand as a blush rose on her cheeks. “You're very handsome.”

“You're very sweet.”

She looked over at Deacon once she let go of Rocker's hand. “A lot of us have missed you at church, David.”

“I miss some of you guys too, it's just... that's Annie's place to go now. It wouldn't be fair to her.”

He left out the part of the news spreading like wildfire as soon as he and Annie filed for divorce. How the rumors had gotten so bad that the priest had called and asked him to not return. It wasn't like he was going to anyway, but that definitely put the final nail in the coffin.

Mrs. Chase nodded, her facial expression remaining soft, nonjudgmental. “Well, you have my number still, don't you?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“Good. Use it. Call me soon and I'll bring you a couple of my pies.” She looked back at Rocker. “You like cherry?”

“Love it.”

“Good. I better get going. It was good seeing you, David, and nice meeting you, Rocker.”

After saying their goodbye's, they started down the next aisle.

Using one hand to steer the cart, Rocker wrapped the other around Deacon's shoulder, pulling him closer and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Can we get out of here now?” Deacon asked, gripping onto Rocker's shirt with his hand as they passed a group of very loud tourists.

“Breakfast foods,” Rocker reminded him.

Deacon dropped his head down. “Damn it.”

#deacon kay #donovan rocker #swat #swat cbs #rockon #🤘

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mostly-marvel-musings · 1 day ago

Note

Hi, I am slipping into your Kinktober requests again, if that's okay with you! I'd love to request something for Hugh Jackman this time, as I keep seeing more and more of him, and I'm happy to drool over that fantastic man with your stories! 👀

Kissing down every inch of your body they possibly can, showing how much they love you. + "Don't be shy baby, I love the way you moan my name.

I'm preparing to melt into a permanent puddle of goo here as I'm happily waiting to see what you'll come up with here. Again, thank you for everything you share with us, and I'm looking forward to reading it all! 🤍

Kiss away your insecurities

A/N: Thank you for requesting this, my darling! Hope you like it :) Special thanks to @stark-ironman for helping me with this idea 💛

Pairing: Hugh Jackman x F! Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut themes, angst, floof. Body image issues, self-doubt and negative talk.

You were still out of breath.

Heart pounding wildly against your ribcage thanks to the activities you and your boyfriend were up to ever since he got home. Even though the shared sounds of passion had died down, they were now replaced with your louder insecurities, forcing you to curl away from the man and head to the bathroom to clean up.

Hugh frowned as the door slammed shut with a little more force than usual. Concerned, he knocked on it asking if you were okay.

“Uh, yeah. Fine.” You responded, blinking back tears that began rapidly gathering. Your inner thoughts screamed you didn’t deserve all of this.

“Mind if I join you for a quick shower, darling?” Hugh called again after hearing the water running. Something you had a habit of doing every time you were overwhelmed with emotions.

“Actually I’m going to be right out. You know I have the—the thing early morning.”

Cursing yourself to have to lie, you scrubbed your body forcefully, glad the tears streamed down with the hot water and your shaky voice was somewhat covered.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, you were met with a concerned Hugh, arms crossed over his chest.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No! Why would you think that?” You faked a laugh, going around him to get dressed for bed. Knowing fully well you weren’t fooling your boyfriend.

“Because you’re avoiding me.”

Giving him your most reassuring smile that you could muster, you shook your head as you slipped into one of his well worn t-shirts, getting onto your side of the bed.

“No it’s just, I have to wake up early tomorrow and I wanted to get a quick shower in. I’m fine. Really.”

He was silent for a while as he joined you in bed, watching you fluff the pillows before you turned away from the man to switch off the bedside lamp.

“You can tell that to someone who believes your lies, darling. Tell me what’s wrong. Please?” He tried again, switching the lamp back on and reaching out for your hand.

“Would you just drop it, Hugh?” You snapped, hating yourself for it as you turned the lights out again, pulling the blanket over and hiding yourself in its fluffy depths, hoping it would somehow cover your imperfections.

Your mind was still flooded with all sorts of thoughts about the way you looked, and how any day your little daydream would end and Hugh would realise what a mistake dating you was.

What was he even with you? You were far from perfect. You had curves that no matter what you did wouldn’t go away. You got trapped in your own head quite a bit, you were moody, and ten thousand other things that would push you away from the ‘ideal girlfriend’ title.

You lived in constant fear that he’d wake up one day and decide he was done with you. Then what would you ever do?

The next morning you woke up before Hugh did and went for a run, hoping it would clear your head.

It worked until you got a few heads turning in your direction, it wasn’t uncommon considering who you were dating; it was still overwhelming sometimes. You heard giggles and judgemental scoffs, possibly they were commenting on the way you looked.

It made you want to disappear. A sense of your deepest fears winning made you rush home, discard your jacket and ready to retreat into your room for the rest of the day. That was until your eyes fell on the breakfast spread that lay waiting on the table to your right.

“Morning sunshine! I thought I’d whip up your favourite breakfast today since you—hey, what’s wrong?”

You didn’t realise you had teared up again until Hugh rushed to your side with worry.

“Why are you with me?”

“What do you mean?” He frowned.

“I mean why are you with me? I don’t deserve any of this. You could be with anyone you want, I don’t understand why—”

He stepped in your line of vision, silencing your little ramble before gently wiping your tears away and leading you to sit on an armchair.

Wordlessly holding your hand against his chest, he took a deep breath in, gently coaxing you to follow. When you did, you could feel your erratic breaths returning to a normal slowly but surely. Just his presence on difficult days like these was calming.

“Talk to me?” he nudged, hands still clasped reassuringly.

“I just feel like you could do so much better than this…than me. You’re so—I mean, I am—”

Struggling to complete the sentence, you couldn’t help the crack in your voice as you avoided his gaze, shifting nervously on the chair.

“Beautiful? Kind? The best thing to have happened to me?” Hugh tilted your face to meet your eyes again, his own shining with all the love and adoration reserved just for you.

You wanted to believe him, so badly, yet the voices in your head got loud enough to make you doubt every single thing.

“I won’t allow you to talk much less think such lies about my amazing girlfriend, you know. She’s lucky her boyfriend immensely enjoys demonstrating just how much she means to him.”

You smiled at that, much to Hugh's relief, shaking your head.

"If you'll allow me to show you, my love."

With that he picked you up, leaving no room for any further protests from your side. Kicking the bedroom door shut with his foot, his lips descending onto yours in a kiss that effectively quieted down your fears and filled you with a renewed sense of assurance.

As the kiss deepened, your anxieties melted away, giving way for all the love that you held for this man, who by a miracle from the universe, was all yours. When you eventually broke the kiss after what felt like hours, he continued demonstrating all that he'd promised, making sure to whisper words that held such honesty, you wholeheartedly believed them.

This was nothing like you'd ever experienced before. This was more than just sex, it was worshiping, cherishing and much more. He held you close, accepting every curve, every scar, every last freckle as his own, showering you with all his love. You hadn't felt so loved, so respected, so seen, ever before in your life.

When you were filled to the hilt with his manhood, a moan that you trying so hard to suppress, escaped. Quickly covered your mouth with a hand, you quieted down, embarrassed.

"Don't be shy baby, I love the way you moan my name."

"I'm afraid I'm too loud." you whispered.

Hugh tutted, interlacing your fingers and firmly locking your hands over your head, securing them in their rightful place as he began moving in your sopping heat.

"Not loud enough. Let 'em hear. Let 'em hear who's making you feel good, sweetheart."

Hot and breathy against your ear, his honeyed voice was enough to turn your insides to mush, encouraging you to not hold back anymore.

Soon, the walls of the house echoed with your shared sounds of passion, the intensity of them evident as you reached your highs together. Bodies trembling with wanton need as you drew the most sinful moans out of each other, fully alive in the moment.

As your climax crashed over you, it seemed to wash away any lingering negativity and uncertainty you had previously felt, making you sure of your dreams being actualized.

#hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman smut #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman imagines #hugh jackman one shot #hugh jackman fiction #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman x female reader #mostly marvel musings #real person fiction

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yourlocalsmutwriter · 3 days ago

Text

Tell me something awful like you are a lover stuck in the body of a racing guy - Fernando Alonso x reader

Summary: phone sex drabble with Alonso I wrote on the train.

Pop music blares through your headphones from your guilty pleasure playlist as you're scrubbing a kitchen counter. The blonde singer's words about hating it here couldn't resonate with you more. Living with strangers was bareable. Them being students and not really sticking to a cleaning schedule was to be expected. You'd committed similar sins before. But texting your landlord to fix your water pressure while the state of the kitchen (and honestly, the whole flat) was abysmal wasn't the smartest. You hated confrontation,so it was on you to bring everything up to the guy's standards. One bit of the shared space took you an hour. You were tired. Unemployed. Done. Cold. Just as you were about to follow your astrology app's suggestion of a good cry, you get a WhatsApp notification from your boyfriend, asking you to call him.

"Hey, Fernando. Everything all right?"you say as his face pops on screen.

"Yeah, I just woke up. Figured I wanted to give you a tour of Sin City, but I think you'll have to wait a bit," he trails off.

"What, not feeling like an early bird, huh? Usually, I'd be the one bugging you to stay in bed with me and cuddle more. What's new, hmm?" you ask, curious as to why he's called you out of the blue.

He just grunts and flips the camera. Your eyes take a second to process what you're seeing. And then you focus on the tent in his boxers. As if intent to kill you both on the spot, he adds, "You know, it's your fault. Had a dream about you, and apparently, even fake you has the same effect as the real thing."

You laugh, just a bit.

"Sorry, sorry, love. Just the thought of you getting a morning boner like some teenager is hilarious." Sensing that he's about to hang up and not wanting to deal with it, there's a plan forming. The good cry you were considering a few moments before was going to be turning into a good wank. "Wait. Let me help you. Please?"

Fernando pretends to consider it for a moment. You both know that phone sex is the key to not loosing one's mind during a triple header.

"Fine." He agrees. "But you gotta put on a real show on for me, beautiful. Wanna see you ride your toy like it's me.".

"It is you,". Nando's reaction to your previous dildo was to replace it as soon as possible. You were flabbergasted that he would go through with cloning his willy, as the kit said, just to stake a stupid claim on you. All your annoyance evaporated the first time you used the new toy and came so hard you questioned every other solo orgasm before. You tell your boyfriend you'd be right back as you swiftly disappear to wash the dildo. Thankfully, no one's around to see you. You prop your phone on the edge of the bed, following Nando's example. His hand is already slowly palming his cock. You're about to spread the lube on your hands, when you realize you're still fully clothed.

"Teasing or quickie?" You ask him.

"You know the quote, honey. As much as I wanna watch you touch yourself and suck it first, on a time crunch here. So, clothes off and giddy up, cowgirl." He says.

You spread the lube on the dildo, matching Fernando's pace. God, the visuals of his cock, ready for you but out of reach was driving you crazy.

"You know what to do, baby. Rub your clit like I would touch you. Don't be cutting corners just because I'm not there to guide you on it properly." He adds.

You loved his more commanding side. Before you two had sex for the first time, he wondered why you'd pick someone his age to date. It became glaring obvious during fucking you, the way you melted against his words, how you begged him to be faster, harder, rougher, to not hold back on you. You depended on him to give you just what other partners often missed to do.

You realized that you were spacing out and returned to the task at hand. Circling your clit, once, twice and thrice and already you're wet and ready. You straddle the toy, making sure Fernando gets a premium view of how the plastic cock sinks inside of you slowly.

He groans and tightens his fist, squeezing it against the base.

"Faster, honey. Show me that I taught you how to take it. Ride it for me." He commands, needing to see you fall apart and soon.

You bite your lip and find your rhythm. Usually, when you used the dildo, it was in missionary. This position was making everything so much more intense for you it was as if you were doing it with the real thing. Speeding up, you could feel the toy going deeper, making you clench against it. You let you a quiet moan of Fernando's name, a plea, and a futile action.

"You look so good like this, my love. God, when I come back, I want to taste you as you play with this. Would you like this? To feel my tongue on your clit as you're fucking yourself on my dick, huh? Sound good, no?". Nando's fantasy reminds you of how his hands will be on you soon, how you'll fall apart on his lips, how he'll make sure to have you coming in exotic destinations, away from everything you hate here. This fuels a fire in you and you're thrusting your hips, the toy slick with your wetness.

Your boyfriend's pumping matches your speed, and you can see how he's rubbing down drops of precum down his shaft.

"Tell me when you're about to cum for me, beautiful. Let's do it together." Less than a minute later you're a moaning mess, pussy clenching against the plastic replica of your lover's cock and saying that you're about to finish. Fernando encourages you to go over the edge, to finish you both off like a good girl. And that's exactly what you do. You wish you could take the shot where he angles his cock and cums all over his stomach and have it burned behind your retinas forever. You're both panting and spent and taking a few minutes before starting your actual post-orgasm rituals and clean up.

"I'll call you again in half an hour, okay? Let me know what you wanna see of Vegas, and I'll have my driver pass it. Think I have the time to even walk into some landmarks and get you whatever souvenirs what you want. Plan and let me know. I love you, sweetheart." He says. Underneath the tough exterior and the sometimes arrogant facade was a gentle, wonderful boyfriend. Maybe you didn't really hate it here. And just maybe he was a lover, stuck in the body of a racing guy.

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x you #fernando alonso x reader #f1 imagine #fernando alonso smut #fernando alonso x you

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ponderingmoonlight · 8 hours ago

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And yet, you're here

Pairing: Geto x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Synopsis: Years after Suguru left, you're still not able to get him off your mind. When he reappears years after his betrayal, the past collides with the present. Unexpected, in a way you didn't even dare to dream about.

Warnings: this isn't proofread 100%, the emotional rollercoaster you deserve, hurt to comfort big time, this is for all my geto girlies who deserve their happy ending

please please please make this go viral thank you

„He’s a threat for the whole population!”

“We need to kill that brat before he kills all non-sorcerers.”

“I can’t believe someone like him was able to do something like…that.”

“So much wasted potential. Why does a special grade sorcerer act this way?”

“I thought he’s a nice boy.”

“So, you’re not one of those nice guys I guess.”

The sun already hung so low in the sky that you were barely able to see his soft features, let alone the surprised look that crept over his face while hearing those words coming from your mouth.

“Are you talking about me or Satoru?”

You let out one of those cute chuckles he adored so much, the kind he heard in his head on repeat even when you were long gone. Gosh, he couldn’t get enough of this. Those lonely nights with only you and a cigarette by his side, the countless hours he spent trying to understand you while it was his mind that slowly but surely fell apart.

“Nope, I’m always talking about you, Suguru.”

“What am I if not a nice guy, then?”

Sure, Satoru Gojo was his one and only best friend, but you were something else entirely: An unspoken bond that lived in the spaces between words, in glances that lingered just a moment too long. You weren’t a lover, not in the conventional sense, but you weren’t just a friend either. You were a mirror to his soul, the keeper of truths he couldn't bear to speak aloud, and the only person who could hold the weight of his silence without it breaking you both.

“You’re... complicated,” you finally replied, the word laced with warmth rather than judgment.

“You’re the kind of person who feels too much but hides it too well. The kind who would burn the world down if it meant saving the people you love. Not everyone understands that, but I do. Or at least I’m convinced I do.”

Suguru’s lips twitched into a faint smile, more melancholic than amused.

“Complicated, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

“And dangerous,” you added lightly, the hint of a smile in your voice.

“But not in the way they think. Not to me.”

His expression softened, the darkness in his eyes easing for just a moment as he stared at you.

“Not to you,” he echoed, as though testing the words on his tongue, letting them sink into the cracks of his fraying soul.

Till this day, that one last conversation both of you had on that lonely bench still haunts him. The way you looked at him back then, as if you’d already knew that you might never see him again, as if you just counted the hours until he goes berserk.

What are you thinking about him now?

Is he still on your mind?

Are you hating him the way Satoru does?

“You’re thinking about her again, don’t you?”

Fuck. He thought about you.

Again.

Suguru lets out a sharp exhale, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh, bitter enough to sting his own ears. How pathetic he has to look to the people surrounding him. When he walked down this path, he knew that he’ll have to do it without you, that he won’t be able to see you again. And yet…

Losing you seems to hurt more than anything else.

“Of course I am,” he admits to his assistant, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.

“Not like I can help it. She’s everywhere, even when she’s not. It’s ridiculous.”

There it is again, your face ghosting through his mind. Other than Satoru and Shoko, you never really tried to find him. If you wanted to, you would, right? Maybe you’re too mad at him for all the things he’s done. Or maybe you already forgot about him.

“But it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s gone. Just like everything else.”

For a moment, he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the memories, the sound of your laugh, the way your voice softened when you said his name, the weight of your eyes on him as if you could see through all the lies he told himself. He’d burn every memory if he could, let them smolder in the same fire that consumed the rest of his life.

“Besides. She’d hate me now, just like everyone else. Maybe she was just waiting for me to turn into the monster she saw coming.”

“Stop stewing in these thoughts, that doesn’t matter anymore. We’re expecting another bunch of monkeys in half an hour.”

But even as she said it, the words tasted wrong. It shouldn’t matter that he can still feel the warmth of your gaze, your unwavering belief in him, and yet it cuts deeper than any accusation ever could. Suguru shakes his head while straightening his shoulders, eyes locked onto Manami in front of him in order to force you off his mind.

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, as though trying to convince himself.

“It’s too late for that now. So, where’s the monkeys?”

“Why did I know I’d find you here?”

His voice startles you, making you jump slightly. You turn to see none other than Satoru Gojo standing there, hands in his pockets, his white hair catching the fading sunlight. The sunglasses perched on his nose don’t quite hide the sharp edge in his expression he usually wears around you.

“Because I’m always here, I guess,” you reply softly, your tone as tired as the circles under your eyes appear.

“And I told you to stop a long time ago,” Satoru bites back, his voice bitter, cutting.

“The Suguru you knew… he’s gone.”

The weight of his words lands hard, though they’re not new. He’s said them before, with the same venom in his voice, every time you bring up Suguru or the past.

“I know. I’ve always known.”

“Then why do you keep punishing yourself? Dropping out of Jujutsu High when everyone needed you didn’t bring him back. Hiding out here doesn’t change anything, y’know?”

“It wasn’t about bringing him back, Satoru,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intend.

“It was about… letting him go. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he challenges, stepping closer.

“I’ve spent years watching people destroy themselves over things they can’t fix. I know the look in your eyes - you miss him. You always have. But you didn’t even try to stop him when he turned his back on us.”

You flinch, his words hitting a nerve.

“Because it wasn’t my place. I wasn’t like you, Gojo. I wasn’t his best friend. I wasn’t strong enough to drag him back kicking and screaming or to stand in his way. All I could do was… let him live the way he decided to. I thought… maybe if I stayed behind, if I didn’t follow him, he’d understand that I believed in him, that I trust him and his actions, the path he chooses. That I’d be here if he ever wanted to come back.”

Satoru’s shoulders tense, his jaw tightening. He never understood. Until this day, he never wrapped his head around the fact that you didn’t try to stop his best friend back then. You, who had more power over Suguru than himself.

God, how much he hates that disgusting truth until now.

“And look where that got you,” he mutters.

You look away, your hands gripping the edge of the bench for support.

“I never expected to see him again, Satoru. I didn’t think I’d matter enough to him for that.”

The silence between you stretches thin, brittle as glass.

“Do you think he hates me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“For staying behind? For not going after him?”

Gojo doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. You know he blames you, at least a little, for what happened. For not doing more. For leaving everything to him. For allowing Suguru to turn his back on Jujutsu High.

“Suguru hating you? Never. I bet he still thinks about you every damn day”, Satoru mutters under his breath before turning on his heels and leaving you standing in the rain.

Suguru, still thinking about you? You shake your head vehemently, not allowing that absurd thought into your brain. If he would miss you, he’d visit you, right? In all those years, he never lifted a finger in order to find you.

You were right there. In your small apartment, at jujutsu high.

Maybe he forgot about you after all.

“Me? Forgetting you? I’d never be able to do that, (y/n).”

Maybe some promises are meant to be broken.

-a few evenings later-

You’ve drank too much.

You always do when Shoko isn’t with you, when no one’s around to watch you. But even though you emptied a whole bottle of liqueur on your own, you still aren’t able to forget him. Fuck, his face is glued onto your mind like a second skin, never leaves you even though you drink enough to forget your own name.

Will it always feel like this? Will that ache ever go away?

“What are you thinking about, handsome?”

“Something I’ve lost some while ago”, you mumble, absently swirling your glittery cocktail around.

“That’s a bummer.”

You don’t even gift the random stranger next to you a look, the guy who smells like cheap cigarettes so vehemently that you feel like throwing up.

Maybe it’s time to call it a day.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

You spring back onto your feet, the alcohol vibrating through your veins. You were never much of a drinker back then, only shared a cigarette with Suguru from time to time. But this became your only way to numb the pain. At least for a few hours, at least for some time.

The cold air of the night hits your face like a wall. Even though it’s far past midnight, the city buzzes in street light, laughter and cries. And yet, all you’re able to think about is him again. His laugh, his voice, the way he used to look at you when he thought no one else was watching. Is it wrong to long for him? Is it disgusting that you couldn’t care less about the things he’s done those past years, about what he’d become?

You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they cling to you, stubborn and relentless. Why can’t you just stop? Stop longing for something that will never happen, stop running after a person who is long gone? Suguru won’t come back, you won’t just meet him on a random street-

The click of footsteps catches your attention. Heavy, yet elegant footsteps across the still busy street.

At first, you think it’s just another stranger wandering through the city’s darkened streets. But something about the rhythm - steady, purposeful - sets your nerves on edge. Something about this feels familiar.

You glance up, your heart skipping a beat as your gaze meets a pair of familiar dark brown eyes.

Suguru Geto.

The world around you blurs, the sounds of the city fading into silence. It’s him, unmistakably him. His hair is longer than you remember, strands sticking to his face from what looks like rain, or maybe it’s sweat. Blood splatters ruin his clothes and the sharp line of his jaw, painting a stark, gruesome picture paired with those cold orbs. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes… they’re searching, watching your every move.

You should run, or scream, or yell at him – at least something that shows him what he put you through.

Anything.

He’s the same man who left you, who walked away from everything, from you. He, who didn’t even tell you about his true feelings, who didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, who didn’t even ask you to join. All those miserable nights you imagined him sitting next to you on that bench, the bottles of alcohol you’ve drank just to forget his name. He needs to pay for it, needs to know what he did to you by leaving you behind.

But instead, your feet move of their own accord, closing the distance between you in an instant.

Before he can react, you throw your arms around him so, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Suguru freezes, his body stiff against yours. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, as if the sheer force of your presence has left him powerless. You bury your face against his chest, not caring about the blood, the grime, or the hurricane of questions swirling in your mind. All you care about is the fact that he’s here, alive, and solid beneath your touch. You can feel him – not only in your dreams, but for real.

Suguru is here.

He’s alive.

He’s right between your arms.

The scent of him - familiar, though tinged with something darker - fills your senses, dragging you back into a world you thought you’d never touch again. Tears sting your eyes, but you bite them back, unwilling to let them fall.

“Suguru,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Finally, he moves. His arms lift hesitantly, then wrap around you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear any given minute, his grip firm and desperate. His head dips slightly, and for a moment, you think you feel him trembling too.

“What are you doing?”

His voice is rough, low, almost broken.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I just… I missed you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as if trying to memorize every detail.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, his tone a mixture of regret and warning.

“Neither should you,” you counter, your gaze unwavering.

Suguru’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He lifts a hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek as though testing if you’re real.

“You should hate me.”

“Maybe I should,” you reply, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

God, you’re so furious at him. Mad because he ran away, mad because he left you standing in the rain.

Mad because this is actually the first time Suguru Geto hugged you.

“But I don’t. I guess I could never hate you.”

His expression falters, the mask he’s worn for so long cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath. The one you knew, the one you loved in a way you never fully understood. And for the first time since leaving everything behind, he feels that small ray of sunshine taking in his heart again.

“You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’ve become. I was so sure you’ll hate me like everyone else.”

“I know enough. And I don’t care. You’re still Suguru Geto, aren’t you?”

He exhales sharply, the sound almost like a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. You, not caring about the fact that he ended countless lives out of his own fulfilment? You, a jujutsu sorcerer who always protected those monkeys?

“You’re too good for this,” he bites back, shaking his head.

“Too good for me.”

“Don’t decide that for me,” you snap, surprising even yourself with your suddenly so sharp tone.

“You don’t get to make that choice. You already did when you left without saying goodbye”

The silence between you stretches, heavy with unspoken words. You’re right and he knows it. But… Was it really a possibility to take you with him back then? Was there a tiny chance that you…would have joined him?

Slowly, he leans his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as though seeking comfort in your presence. No, he doesn’t want to think this through. Not right now. Not when he feels your heart pound against his body, not when you’re this close to him for the very first time.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper.

“I told myself it was better that way.”

“And yet you’re here,” you point out softly.

“And yet I’m here,” he echoes, his lips curving into a faint, bitter smile.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you. No blood, no curses, no jujutsu, no past or future. Just the weight of the present, fragile and fleeting. And for now, that’s enough.

For now, simply holding the man you thought you’ve lost forever on a random street is more than enough to make you feel whole again.

Tags:

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@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa @cupcaketeddybehr

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bullet-prooflove · 1 day ago

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Such A Good Girl: Ryan x Reader (Yellowstone)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @Yousigned-upforthis @queenslandlover-93 @hal3ynicol3

Companion piece to:

With Me (NSFW) - Ryan and you send the night together for the first time.

The Morning After - Ryan and you enjoy the morning together.

Adrenaline - Ryan gets turned on by your capability.

My Favourite Kind of Night (NSFW) - Ryan and you send the night together at a law enforcement conference.

Bed Breaking (NSFW) - Ryan breaks your bed.

Marks - Ryan decides he wants to commit.

Wishes - Ryan wishes things were different between the two of you.

Stop Thinking, Start Listening - Ryan hates seeing you with another man.

Kitty - Ryan knows something's not right when he seees you with another man.

The problem is Ryan can’t keep his nose out of your shit, not when he knows you’re doing something dangerous. The thought of you out there undercover, it makes his skin itch because the assholes you work with they don’t have your back, they’ve never had your back. That was made abundantly clear during the first couple of cases the two of you worked on together when you came hurtling in like the cavalry despite the fact there was a hold order on their backup due to a dispute between the Sheriff and John Dutton.

“I think I owe you a drink, for saving my ass back there.” He had told you in the aftermath as he stood on the steps of the precinct, hands tucked into pockets of his jeans.

“You owe me more than a drink. I’ve just got my first write up.” You’d told him, your hands running through your hair as you tied it back into a messy bun. “I was such a good girl before I met you.”

He finds out later that night how much of a good girl you really are and you find out how much of a bad boy he is.

In the present he sits in his car and he thinks over everything he’s learned over the past couple of hours. The ATF believe guns are being run through a microbrewery in Bozeman owned by Sebatian Myers, you’d been selected to pitch in because you’d run a similar operation back in Alabama before you made the switch to Montana. There have been no wire tap warrants, no surveillance requests, they’re running this like you’re a C.I which means you’re out there entirely on your own. What’s actually puzzling to him is the reason that you agreed to it. That op in Alabama, it had ended badly for you. Ryan’s seen the scars, he’s kissed them in the dead of night. Three stab wounds all in your left side, you’d lost your kidney and an enormous amount of blood. You couldn’t be around the department after that, especially after you learned it was your partner who ratted you out, a man you’d worked alongside for three years, who had gambling debts coming out of every orifice.

“I learned my lesson.” You had told him as his fingers had trailed over each of those scars. “Undercover work isn’t for me.”

It’s when he flicks through the file on Myers that he realises what your investment is. Two years ago Myers had been linked to the rape and murder of a teenager from the reservation. It was one of several cases you inherited from your predecessor. You’d tried to reopen it but the reservation police wouldn’t trade information with you and it wasn’t a priority to the Sheriff’s office so you’d been forced to stand down. You used to have nightmares about it because you felt like you were failing those girls, you’d wake up in a cold sweat and Ryan, he would be right there holding you, soothing you.

He knows you, he knows those cases were something you had never been able to let go because you were convinced that it was still happening, that the killer had just gotten better at concealing it. When the opportunity to investigate Myers had come up you wouldn’t have been able to resist. You’d dressed yourself up and walked straight into the lion’s dean, no back up, no safe guards, just you.

He’s fucking livid because he knows you wouldn’t be pulling this shit if the two of you were together, he would have talked you down, figured out another way.

But you aren’t and that’s why Ryan’s now sitting outside Myers’ place, his gaze fixed on the windows because he can’t let you do this alone. He won’t let you do this alone.

Love Ryan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#ryan yellowstone #ryan yellowstone x reader #yellowstone

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hyucksos · 2 days ago

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heavy is the crown — mark lee [preview]

pairing: mark lee x f!reader genre: fantasy/supernatural au, crime-action, angst, romance preview wc: 1.2k (actual wc: tbc) synopsis: a series of visions lead you to mark lee, a seemingly normal human boy with no ties to the world of the gifted— your world. as such, you're concerned as to why you keep seeing him in your dreams, and the army of wraiths that just can't seem to leave him alone despite him being powerless... or so you thought. as he joins you at the academy, you learn that there may be more to this mark lee than you thought there was. taglist: open | click here to join

You had no idea what Taekwondo was. At least, not until today.

According to Donghyuck, it’s a form of martial arts, similar to the combat training you go through at the academy every day. You weren’t actually sure on whether to believe him or not considering Donghyuck is Donghyuck and his whole life before joining the academy sounded like a jumble of lies (you learnt not to trust him wholeheartedly after he convinced you that bananas were considered a delicacy in the outside world. He made you eat them with a knife and fork for a full week).

But now, as you’re sitting amongst the sea of heads in the stands overlooking the arena below, you think that Donghyuck might just be telling the truth this time.

You tug on the gloves that hug your hands and forearms, the latex that sticks uncomfortably to your skin not at all helping in easing your nerves. You rarely step foot outside the academy— not like it’s ever been restricted; you know being in unfamiliar environments could potentially spike your elemental, and you didn’t want to risk accidentally committing arson, or anything like that. As much as you hate your gloves, you know they keep you safe, which is why you keep them on.

Weirdly enough, nobody seems to pay you any mind; not with your gloves, not even with the bulky silhouette of your hanbok-like uniform you knew you should have changed out of before coming here. It’s as though you’re invisible, everyone’s eyes fixed on the arena below.

“The next match is about to begin. In the blue corner representing Blue Wave Taekwondo, here to show off his agility and skill— let’s give it up for Jeno Lee!”

You startle when the people around you cheer loudly, and you slowly bring your own hands together to join in on the applause. You can’t really make out the athlete’s face as he steps into the ring, most of his features blocked by the helmet he dons. You’re curious, having never seen a sparring match that required this much gear before— then again, you suppose that's just how it goes for an ordinary human sport.

“And in the red corner, known for his speed and precision, Kick It Dojang’s very own Mark Lee! Let’s give him a warm welcome!”

The buzz of the crowd fades into the background the moment your gaze lands on the boy decked in red and white, but you don’t register it until a second later— not until he straightens his back after bowing to his opponent, and his eyes meet yours.

A sharp pain suddenly hits your temples, and you hiss as your head falls to your hands. Immediately, the world starts to warp.

You’re looking at the boy from your visions, the boy you now know as Mark Lee. His head lies in your lap, lifeless, his skin pale and cold. Shadows swirl around you, whispering things you don’t understand.

“Mark,” you breathe, voice trembling. “Wake up. I need you to wake up, please.”

But nothing.

The whispers grow louder, your own voice feeling like it's being drowned out by their presence. Your chest starts to tighten with the weight of the darkness-

The vision cuts off abruptly, and you’re left breathless as your eyes refocus to the arena before you. You’re not sure how much time has passed, but Mark is still in the ring, already in the midst of sparring with his opponent.

Your visions of him were what led you here in the first place, each one like fragments of a puzzle pulling you closer and closer. They're mostly brief, but you know they mean something, especially because of the shadows that would often surround him as they hiss with intent you couldn't decipher.

But this one was different.

For the first time, he had a name. For the first time, you saw him up close— vulnerable, his life resting in your hands as the wraiths closed in around you both.

It felt like the collision of two separate worlds that were never supposed to merge, and you know that this was no ordinary vision. Whatever it is that just happened... it was only the beginning.

And you knew you needed to let Mark know.

Mark bounces his head to the music blasting through his wired earpieces, his eyes trained on his scuffed Converses as he walks. He's been told it's a real bad habit, to not watch where he's going (especially when he couldn't even hear his surroundings most of the time), but he swears he's working on it. Plus, his headphones aren't even the noise-cancelling kind, so he's still able to hear what goes on around him, albeit only partly; like right now.

Mark stops in his tracks, pulling out one of the buds from his ears as he looks behind him.

Nothing.

It's been happening a lot recently, to get the sensation of someone whispering in his ear only for him to look up and realise that he's alone. He's tried brushing it off as a gust of wind— even a figment of his own imagination— but he knows better than to believe that, not when the night is too still, too quiet, and he's far from losing his mind.

He also knows better than to ask if anybody's there— he's seen enough horror movies to know how badly that would end for him.

Perhaps walking through the park at this hour wasn't his best idea in the first place.

Mark stares idly at the barely-lit pavement for a few seconds more before bringing his earbud back to his ear, turning back around to resume his walk— only to be met with you.

He stumbles backwards with a startled gasp, his phone almost falling from his hand before he realises that no, you're not a ghost.

You’re the girl from earlier.

Of course, Mark remembers you. How could he not, when you're the only one who stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of spectators? It was odd enough as it is for him to be distracted right before a match, but there was just something about you that pulled him in; Mark couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Maybe it was your odd choice of attire, the traditional Korean-inspired silhouette of your all-black trench coat that cinched at your waist, or maybe it was the latex gloves that caught his attention first.

Either way, he’s feeling it again, that magnetic pull that renders him unable to look away, and it's not just because you're pretty— it feels as though there's literally something weighing him down, pulling on his chest.

Before he could question it, he notices your eyes lose focus on him, settling on something behind him instead. You’re the first one to break the silence.

"Duck."

Mark frowns. "What?"

In a split second, you're already ripping off your gloves, a flame roaring to life in your palm before you hurl the fire over his shoulder.

Mark’s confusion morphs into a split-second horror as he instinctively ducks, stumbling over his own two feet as he hears the air behind him fill with an otherworldly screech. Still, he dares himself to look over his shoulder, just in time to see multiple shadowy figures burst into flames before dissolving into nothingness.

The sight only causes Mark to fall on his butt, his neck snapping back towards you.

“What the hell was that?” His voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “And- what- what did you just do?”

You let out a shaky breath, flicking your bare wrist before you put on your glove, almost nonchalantly. Almost like you didn’t just shoot fire out of your hands.

Oh, maybe he is losing his mind.

#mark lee #mark x reader #mark imagines #mark angst #mark fluff #lee donghyuck #huang renjun #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct x reader #nct angst #nct fluff #nct dream scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct 127 imagines #fantasy au

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fuck-customers · 3 days ago

Note

I do this shit every day. I know what I am doing and I have a specific reason for doing things the way I do. Shut the fuck up, listen to my instructions and follow them, and we will be done with this transaction before you even know it.

The registers at my store suck ass. Despite the fact that they're "new" (we got new registers + a new system 3 years ago) they're worse than the old ones in nearly every way, specifically how slow they are.

If I scan an item, it will take around 5-10 seconds for it to appear on the screen. It WILL eventually appear, just slowly. So to get around this and save time, I scan each item immediately after each other and keep count of how many items there are in my head. I stall for time for the items to load by bagging the items and usually by the time I'm done bagging, everything has loaded. It's annoying, but this is the only thing that works. I can and have reset the register hundreds of times and it hardly makes a difference.

Every. Fucking. Day. I either have some moron think that their whole total for all 35 items they have is $2 because only one of their items has loaded at the moment. Or I have some bitch who insists on handing me each individual item one by one and then complaining about how long it is taking. It is YOUR FAULT! I have a system for making this go very quickly! I explained this to you! I told you to just set all your fucking stupid ass shit on the counter and let me do my thing and you will be out of my face so fucking quick! YOU are the cause of your own problems! I actually have legitimate reasons for giving the instructions that I give. I'm not asking you to do this to be difficult or out of personal preference. This makes it easier on both of us. I'm the one that works here. I know what I'm doing. Not you.

I hate new registers slower than the old ones. They did that to be in 1996 I liked the old ones I could go as fast as I wanted and the damn thing kept up. I didn't care they were from 1978 they were easy to repair and they were FAST. They got new ones with bigger display wider receipts that had more info on them,,, but that damn small ass scan buffer. It cut my IPM in half. I used to zip through cat food in seconds. After it would hit the limit of the buffer and start loudly BEEPING!! I would have to stop count how many were on the receipt and pull 10 to 15 cans out of the bag and keep going. I went from 65-70 per minute to 34. It sucked. Of course that was back when I actually gave a damn. Now I only hit the buffer during hurricane rushes.

-Rodney

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mywhisperingwords · 2 days ago

Text

lost mail | fred g. weasley

summary: after a bad break up you try to get rid of the memories, instead you find something that turns your life upside down word count: 4.3k masterlist

You cannot remember why you chose to keep every little piece of your life.

That was the only thought in your mind while you went through every box you kept in your attic. And every box came with the memories.

You couldn’t decide if you were grateful for it or if you hated it.

At the front of the attic were the newest memories you have kept, the ones who were involving the one person you were trying to forget.

The person who was at fault in the first place for you being up here and going through every box.

It hadn’t even been a week since the person you truly loved at one point told you that they were moving on, packing up their bags and that there was no space for you in those plans.

You were lying if you said you weren’t hurt, but you knew that you should be more devastated by this. Deep down you already knew that that ending was inevitable. And maybe you had made peace with that a long time ago.

And if you were truly honest with yourself, maybe you never really loved that person at all. How could you love a person that never truly saw you?

Giving yourself up and everything you stood for just to not be alone? You were foolish to believe that it could work.

You decided to make a clean cut. And that involved getting rid of the boxes that kept pieces of the memories you wanted to forget.

But once you started going down the memory lane, you couldn’t stop.

In every box were pieces of people you had not seen in a lifetime, at least that’s what it felt like to you.

These boxes had hidden secrets in them, ones you almost forgot but never really could. Like the coin that used to be your lucky charm, the one you would always carry around.

The castle was quiet at this time of night.

Not a soul around, just you and the moon.

You weren’t the kind of person who could easily break the rules, but at nights where you couldn’t sleep the only thing to help was to take a walk around the deserted hallways.

Never before have you been caught, but luck didn’t seem to be on your side tonight.

The sudden sound of footsteps made you stop in your tracks and with them came the one and only Fred Weasley.

He ran right past you, straight into the empty classroom behind you.

Before you could process that, Snape was in front of you.

“What are you doing wandering this castle at night?” he asked you, hair a mess and just a tad out of breath. He had been seemingly chasing after Fred.

“I was just thirsty,” you lied straight through your teeth, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Snape on the other hand did not look impressed with your lie, but he seemed to have more important matters to tend to. “This is of no interest to me. Have you noticed someone running this way?”

“Have you lost someone, Professor?” you joked, immediate regret following with the way Snape looked at you. “I did, he ran that way,” you said, pointing in the opposite direction.

“If I ever see you again wandering the castle at night or see you misstep in any way, you will have detention for the rest of the school year. Also ten points lost. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” you replied, no longer finding joy in this situation.

Snape turned around before the words left your mouth, having no use for you anymore.

After he was out of sight, you knocked softly on the door of the classroom Fred was in. “You can come out, he’s gone,” you said in a hushed tone.

The door opened with caution, and you were looking at the grinning face of the red head. “Well, hello there and thank you from the bottom of my heart, love,” he said, sending you a wink that made your eyes roll.

“I think you owe me one,” you told him, taking a step back so he could step out of the room.

“Oh, I’d do anything for you,” he agreed, his grin widening even more if that was even possible.

“A normal person would offer money or something,” you hushed, with flushed cheeks. Never before have you been at the receiving end of the Weasley charm.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I do have…,” he rummaged through his pockets, fishing out one coin of a currency you did not recognize, “I have that.”

He offered it up to you, but you pushed his hand back to him, saying “I was only joking.”

“Maybe, but I’m not,” he said before taking your hand and placing the coin in it, closing your hand around it.

The brush of his hand was gone in a second, but something about it settled into your skin, a warmth you couldn’t shake even as you put the coin in your pocket.

“It’s my lucky charm, so you better keep it safe,” he said in mock seriousness, before turning around and walking away.

“I’ll try my best, Weasley,” you murmured as you watched him go.

You closed your fist around the coin, imaging that it still carried the warmth of Fred, but it did not. It was cold in your hand, leaving you feeling guilty when you remembered that you hadn’t been around at the shop as much as you used to.

It wasn’t that you had ignored him intentionally—you’d just been caught up in work and your relationship.

The same relationship Fred had disapproved of from the beginning. But you were determined to make it work, because that’s the kind of person you were.

You took crumbs of love and affection and tried to turn them into something more, desperately holding onto someone who did not even look back as they left.

Fred knew you better than anyone, and he’d told you this wasn’t right for you. But he’d respected your decision.

Still, it had put a strain on your friendship. Now, you felt a sudden urge to go and apologize, to make things right. But you didn’t—you were too much of a coward to admit you’d been wrong, especially so soon after the breakup.

You always used to be like that when it came to arguments, even if you knew deep down you were wrong, you still carried on. Maybe it was because you were telling yourself that sometimes it was better for everyone if you just ignored the truth—a tendency you also had when it came to other things.

“Why can’t you just admit you were wrong?” Fred asked, shaking with laughter.

You crossed your arms, turning your head to the side, trying to stifle a smile. “Because I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he insisted, tugging on your arm like a child begging for sweets. “Just admit it. Admit it. Admit it. Admit it. Admit it.”

You kept your mouth shut, unwilling to give in. But despite yourself, you couldn’t help smiling at his antics.

“There it is!” he crowed in victory, as though your smile was all he’d been after.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” you said, no longer able to hold back a laugh.

He gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his heart. “You wound me.” Dropping down beside you, he put on his saddest face. “I’m leaving soon, and all you can do is insult me. How terrible of you.”

You shook your head, though his words struck a pang in your chest.

It was true. In less than a month, Hogwarts would no longer echo with the laughter of Fred and George. They would leave to open their shop and leave everything—including you—behind.

This was Fred’s dream, and you supported him wholeheartedly, but the ache of his coming departure had settled inside you and refused to go away. You knew it would linger, long after he was gone.

“Don’t remind me. It won’t be long now,” you muttered, a grimace on your face.

He nudged you gently, offering a smile of his own. “Don’t be sad. Once you graduate, you can come work for me and George. You could even move in with us.”

A chuckle escaped your lips. “Where? In your room?” You knew their flat above the shop only had two bedrooms.

“I wouldn’t say no,” he winked at you.

All you could do was stare at him, needing a moment to process his words.

The idea of moving in with Fred warmed your cheeks, and your mind couldn’t help wandering to the idea of a life together.

But that’s all it was—a fantasy.

“Very funny, you git,” you laughed, trying to defuse the tension that had appeared for just a moment. Moments like these seemed to happen more often lately.

There were times when Fred said something that could have meant more, only for you to turn it into a joke. It was easier that way—or at least, that’s what you told yourself to not have your heart be broken by false hope. Because this was Fred, he was just joking around, nothing more. That’s just what he did.

Fred took the lifeline you threw him, laughing along before saying, “I’m not the one who said Chocoballs are better than Jelly Slugs.”

And just like that, your old argument started up again.

Maybe in a few weeks, you’d be ready to face Fred. For now, you kept sifting through memories in the quiet of the attic, where the evening sun cast a warm glow.

There were so many pictures and keepsakes from the past few years, and looking at them now, a sense of dread washed over you. Years spent giving your love to someone who had never deserved it.

One box was filled with old parchments, overflowing with thoughts—a diary of your mind. It was a habit you had given up soon after meeting your ex, who never understood its importance. Not like someone else, someone special.

In another box, you stumbled upon an old photo from your days at Hogwarts, familiar faces you hadn’t seen in ages smiling back at you. Underneath it lay another photo, this one taken by an unknown person—a candid shot of you and Fred. You still remembered the day it was taken.

Sitting by the Great Lake in your favorite hidden spot, you couldn’t put your quill down. So many thoughts were swirling around your head that you needed to pour them all out.

That’s how Fred found you.

“Slow down, you might set the paper on fire,” he teased, a smile on his face. You jumped at the sound of his voice, not having noticed his arrival.

“Merlin, you scared me,” you sighed, looking up at him. His hair was disheveled, the top buttons of his shirt were undone, and his tie was slung over his shoulders.

Before you could ask what happened, he settled next to you on the stone, asking curiously, “What are you writing, anyway?”

“Anything and everything,” you told him earnestly.

“Huh?”

“I’m writing down every thought I have—it makes it easier to sort through the mess,” you explained, looking out at the water, a little nervous about his reaction to your strange habit.

You did not dare tell him that most of these thoughts involved him.

But his answer surprised you. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you?”

You turned to him, confusion written on your face.

Fred scratched the back of his head, his tone softer. “I mean… I get it. I’ve got a million things going on in my head all the time. Putting them down isn’t a bad idea.”

You hummed, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe you should take my advice, then,” you said with a wink.

That made him laugh. “Maybe I should.”

A comfortable silence settled over you before you quietly confessed, “It’s also the only way to make my mind go quiet.”

Fred didn’t answer right away; instead, he stared out at the lake, watching the afternoon sun dance on the water.

But you were watching him, admiring the way his brows knitted and his lips—just the perfect shade of pink—pursed in thought. That look of quiet concentration made him more handsome than ever.

The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like the perfect expression of the connection you shared: the way you could sit together for hours without speaking a single word and still feel content.

When Fred finally spoke again, you nearly missed it. “I have you for that.”

You didn’t even remember seeing anyone there with a camera, but you were grateful now for the photo they’d captured of you and Fred. Those were the moments you cherished most.

Beside the picture lay a stack of your old schoolbooks. As you picked up Advanced Potion-Making, a small note slipped out and fluttered to the floor. Your name was written on it in familiar handwriting, though you couldn’t recall what it was.

With a sense of curiosity mixed with something heavier, you unfolded the paper, revealing a handwritten letter addressed to you.

May 1996

My love,

you’re surly wondering why I’m writing you a letter but I was told by someone special that sometimes putting words on paper was the only way to sort though the mess in your mind, and that mess has been there ever since the day I met you.

I know that this is sudden but also not…

There has always been something between us, ever since I first saw you in that hallway when I was running away from Snape.

Ever since that night I couldn’t get you out of my head to the point George wanted to kick me out of our room, because all I was talking about was you.

I've been carrying this secret for a while now. I kept telling myself it would fade or that maybe it was just a momentary feeling. But here I am, still reeling from it every time I see you smile, or when your hand brushes against mine. It's as if my heart can't help but leap toward you, even though you're already so close.

I have known you now for so long and you’re still all I think about.

I don't think I tried to fall in love with you, yet here I am, helplessly yours in every way that matters.

Even if all we ever are is friends, l'll still be grateful to have you in my life. If there's even the smallest part of you that feels the same... then I want you to know that l'll be here, waiting.

I’m leaving tomorrow, I know that this is sudden and might be already too late or maybe this is the perfect moment.

Maybe in a year, after you graduate, you will be working with me and George, share a room with me, like we talked about and make me the happiest person every day just by being with me—in any way you want.

Anyways, I’m waiting for you at our spot.

Don’t leave me hanging.

Yours, always,

Freddie

You never knew.

Tears had fallen onto the letter, and you hadn’t even realized you were crying.

All these years, and you’d never known about this letter.

All these years, and you’d never given Fred an answer.

What must he have thought? That you ignored him? That you didn’t feel the same? That you’d simply left him waiting alone in your spot?

Your throat tightened, and your heartbeat quickened. With trembling hands, you read the letter again. And then again. Making sure that the words were real, not some figment of your imagination.

He had to watch you fall in love with someone else.

That thought shattered you. Pressing a hand to your chest, you tried to contain the pain spreading through you, tightening around your heart.

With shaky legs, you stood, clutching the letter tightly, and walked away.

You found yourself in Diagon Alley, moving toward a place you hadn’t visited in ages. You weren’t sure how you’d ended up here—you only knew you had to come.

The shop was dark, already closed, but the door was unlocked, left open until they finished their work in the back. An old habit, one you knew well.

Because you knew Fred.

He had been the one constant in your life, someone you’d always loved, though you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t meant to be, forcing yourself to move on.

But the letter in your hand told you how wrong you had been.

Rounding the counter, you found the office. A soft orange glow seeped out from under the door, accompanied by the faint scratch of quill on parchment.

You hadn’t planned what to say—all you had was the letter, clutched tightly in your hand. Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open.

“George, I told you—” Fred began, looking up from his papers. His brows furrowed as he took in your disheveled hair and red eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, stepping further into the office. The familiar scents of smoke and cider surrounded you, grounding you.

“What?” His voice was gentle, but cautious.

“I didn’t know you loved me,” you replied, holding up the letter.

You saw realization dawn on his face, the moment he understood what you were holding. He shot up from his chair, his breath shaky, though he didn’t speak.

“I just found it, and I—I didn’t know,” you repeated, needing him to understand.

You needed him to know that you never meant to cause him pain—that you had never intended to leave him waiting alone by your spot at the Great Lake.

Tears blurred your vision as you repeated the same words, over and over, like a mantra: “I didn’t know.” They were all you could cling to as you trembled, heart pounding, unraveling in front of him.

Only when you felt Fred’s strong arms enfold you did the world seem to steady, his soft whispers reaching you through the haze. “It’s okay,” he murmured, “shh…it’s okay.”

You pressed your face into his chest, clutching his shirt as the letter crumpled in your hand. His voice anchored you, each word a lifeline as you soaked his shirt with your tears. Every emotion crashed over you at once. Regret, anger, grief and fear.

Fred never stopped murmuring reassurances, nor did he release you from his embrace. Only when your sobs quieted did he gently ease you back, his gaze searching yours. “We should talk,” he said softly.

And that’s how you found yourself curled up beside him on a small, well-worn sofa in his living room, a cup of tea warming your hands. The letter lay on the table before you, a tangible reminder of the conversation he’d been waiting years to have.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence felt heavy, filled with everything you needed to say but didn’t know how to begin.

At last, you broke it, voice barely above a whisper. “We broke up.”

If Fred was surprised, he didn’t show it, merely nodding, acknowledging your words with quiet understanding.

He sat beside you, though with a safe, careful distance—as if he feared getting too close too soon.

“It never would’ve worked, you were right.” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, studying his familiar face, still as warm as you remembered. “I think I was trying to turn nothing into something more. Trying to make it work, because that’s just what I do.”

He looked down, fidgeting with his long fingers, a habit you’d always known. He didn’t look at you, but somehow you felt his attention, unwavering.

“I don’t know if I loved-,” you cut yourself off. “I just had to move on from you, that’s all I knew,” you confessed quietly, feeling shame. “When I was cleaning out old things, I found all these memories… I found this.” You pointed to the letter on the table, the heart of it all.

You took a deep breath, preparing for the hardest part of all. “I never saw it before, and when I read it…” You laughed, a sad, soft sound. “It was everything I ever wanted. And I didn’t even know I could’ve had it.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you whispered, “If only I’d known… I would’ve been there. I would’ve done anything. You must have thought I was heartless. You must have hated me.”

Fred’s voice was soft when he replied, “I could never hate you.” He set his tea aside, finally meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your heart stutter. “I assumed you just… didn’t feel the same. That maybe it was too hard to tell me that to my face. But I never hated you, not for one moment.”

You shook your head, needing him to understand. “If I had known—”

But Fred shook his head, stopping you. “In time, I accepted that loving you from afar was all I could do, and I knew that keeping even a small part of you was better than losing you entirely.”

The weight of his words sank in, each syllable touching something deep within you. Could he still love you, after all this time? The thought was terrifying and exhilarating, both the possibility of an answer and the risk of rejection. But there was a way to show him how you felt, one you’d kept close for years. Reaching into your pocket, you took out the coin he had given you so long ago.

A spark of hope glimmered in Fred’s eyes as he took it in, the recognition softening his features. “You kept this? After all these years?”

“You told me not to lose it,” you replied, your voice tender with a hint of a smile.

He took the coin from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours, leaving a familiar warmth that seemed to linger in the space between you.

“But you never were a very good listener,” Fred teased, his familiar grin reappearing for the first time that evening, making your heart flutter. In that moment, you saw not just the man sitting beside you, but the boy you had fallen for so many years ago.

Though it had been months, maybe years, since you’d spent time together as you should have, he still felt like home.

His soft brown eyes, the faint crinkles at their corners, the freckles scattered across his face like constellations, and his flaming-red hair, now grown longer—he was so much the boy you’d once known, and yet now a man, shaped by life and loss, sitting close enough to touch.

“What happens now?” you asked, voice quiet, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace of this moment. But you needed to know. This was new and terrifying, and all you wanted was for him to take your hand and assure you everything would be alright.

“Whatever you want,” he replied simply.

But what you wanted wasn’t simple at all. You wanted him in every way you’d ever dreamed, to be by his side and share in his life. You wanted him to hold you as you mourned the years lost to another, yet you couldn’t find the words to ask it of him.

Fred understood, as he always did. “If you want to be with me, we’ll make it work. And if you need time, I’ll give you that.” He gently took your hand in his, his touch a silent promise. “I’ve waited years. I can wait a little longer.”

“I don’t want to wait,” you assured him immediately, your voice filled with the weight of all the years you had spent denying yourself this truth.

You could feel the shift in him, a warmth filling his gaze, his smile softening. Slowly, he leaned closer. “Are you sure?”

His voice sent shivers down your spine, his breath warm against your cheek. But your answer came without hesitation.

“About you? Always,” you whispered.

And that was when his lips met yours, a kiss so tender it felt like a wish made real, warm and gentle, a thousand memories woven into one perfect moment. His hand cupped your cheek, grounding you as you melted into him, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

His lips tasted of tea and something indescribably sweet, like warmth and comfort, like every dream you’d ever had of him. It was soft, unhurried, the years of yearning unfolding as his fingers brushed your skin, leaving a trail of warmth that you felt in every part of you.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, a mischievous grin lighting up his face as he whispered, “Took you long enough, didn’t it?”

All you could do was laugh, nudging him away before pulling him back in, savoring the warmth you’d both waited too long to feel.

Fred’s gaze fell on the letter lying on the table, the edges worn and softened from years of waiting. He ran his thumb over your hand, murmuring, “Funny how one piece of parchment kept us apart.”

You looked at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Guess it was just waiting for the right time.”

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coltermorning · 2 days ago

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Of Love and Loss Ch. 21 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: In the small town of Ogallala, you and Arthur nurture feelings for each other that become increasingly hard to deny with each passing day and each word spoken.

Author’s Notes: Sorry this one took me so long. I couldn’t get it quite right for weeks, and part of me hates to part with it anyway because I’m getting so close to the end 🥲 Sexual content in this chapter. Chapter twenty-one of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

Of Love and Loss

Twenty-One: Love

Word count: 3726

This room was unlike the others. That airy barn had the memory of your childhood home and Beth on it, the last hotel room the sharpness of fear. You’d thought that that room would be the one to stay with you, but you tried to forget it now. Now, there was only this room, the safety in it, and Arthur. Maybe the latter two went hand in hand.

Your eyes found said safety in the growing darkness, watching him reverently in the low light. He’d lit a lamp earlier, and its golden glow reflected in his shining hair, his exposed skin, his gemstone eyes. You would never tire of that gaze. Normally, you found a smirk beneath it, but now his mouth matched his heavy stare—thoughtful and filled with something very close to desperation. It wasn’t difficult to guess why. Love did that to a person.

You had thought there would never be a feeling stronger than grief, stronger than the helpless agony that came with it. But love was the one thing to outweigh it. Rather, requited love was. Feeling wanted again was all your heart needed to stitch itself back together. To be loved was to be needed. And that triumphed grief every time.

You weren’t only thinking of yourself as you studied the man beside you. You thought of him and of how unlikely a match he was for you. But it was beginning to make sense. He, like you, was all wild animal, untamed, worth more than mankind could give. He wasn’t defined by the constructs of a normal personhood just as you weren’t. Neither of you were made for fleeting little relationships, if any at all. And perhaps that’s why it worked so well to be together, the feeling as natural as breathing. Because there were no expectations. He made sure of that, and you were too inexperienced and fond of him to form them. Being with a man emotionally or physically scared you before because it had always seemed confining. But you knew without a doubt that if you chose to go alone to the next town and never look back at this trip and all it brought between you, Arthur would let you. He wouldn’t hesitate. And because of that, he was freeing in a way no one had ever been to you. Not even your parents.

You were so caught up in his gaze and your thoughts that you were startled by the sudden sound of bootsteps opposite the door, flinching in his grasp as deputy badges and blood flashed across your vision.

“Easy,” he said lowly, pulling you in closer on the bed as the sound faded.

“Just…jumpy over the last time that happened.”

“Ain’t no law here to worry about,” Arthur said, stroking your hair.

He was right. And you were again reminded that this hotel room was very different from the last.

“I know,” you replied, though you couldn’t quite convince yourself after having lived through the hell that was the last town. That ringing gunshot that would never leave you be sounded again.

“Hey.” He lifted your chin so you would meet his eyes. “Don’t worry. As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you.”

Those words hit you like a physical blow. His protectiveness made you feel loved, but it was the truth of it that drove his point home. Because you had no doubt he would tear apart the world to keep you safe. Just as you had. You’d broken every moral you had just to keep him from harm. But you would do it all again. And, knowing Arthur, you bet he felt the same thing tenfold.

You smiled against his hand. “I know.” This time, you meant it.

After a moment and a smile so sure you wanted to keep it there forever, Arthur shifted. “Sit up.”

You did as he asked, watching as he reached for his journal. Thinking he meant to draw you again, you blushed. Especially as there was no coat this time, just bare skin between you only partially covered by a blanket at your hips. But to your surprise, he reached for your hair and tugged on that horsehair braid he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of, flattening it so that he could see the contrasting colors better.

“What is it with you and this braid?”

He shifted again so that he was far enough away to get the general picture of you sitting there, though that wasn’t saying much in the tiny bed. He was still close, and you watched his eyes focus in on your braid as he flipped to a blank page and readied his pencil, ignoring your question completely.

Wanting to know what it meant to him, you pushed. “Hard of hearing?”

“I heard you,” he said, still focusing hard on your hair. A few seconds passed as he began drawing. You didn’t think he would answer you until he shook his head, continuing to look down at his journal as he spoke. “I draw things so I don’t forget ‘em. There are a few moments I’ll never forget when it comes to you, but that braid, I want to remember even after it’s gone.”

You were warmed by the sincerity in this, but your curiosity got the better of you. “What moments will you never forget?”

Again, he took a beat to answer. “Looking at your side all bruised and bloody and my shitty attempt at stitches holding it all together. When you said ‘how could you’.”

You’d forgotten that. It had been months, and somehow his words had you remembering how the wagon you’d woken up in after he had stitched you up made your skin crawl. He went on, dispelling any further thought about it.

“The first time you let me touch you. The way you said ‘don’t stop’.”

This one made your heart race. He still pushed on.

“When I killed those wolves and came back in the tent to find you with that look on your face, like you were ready to die. The way you pulled me to you.” He stopped drawing and looked up at you. “That was the first time I felt like you really cared whether I was there or not. The first time you wanted my comfort.”

It was true. It was the first time you’d relied on him in your brokenness, the first time clinging to him felt like healing.

You smiled at him.

He went back to penciling in his journal. “And,” he said, drawing the word out in that drawl of his. “You asked me for that horsehair like it was the last gift you could give that horse. I knew it right then, the kind of woman you was. Thoughtful and tough as hell.”

You’d thought nothing of the act at the time, at least not in the way it would be viewed by Arthur. It was natural. Maybe that was why he admired you for it.

He went on. “I didn’t realize I enjoyed getting to know the woman you was before all this mess until then. Until I thought you would slip away again. But then you came out of that tent with this braid in your hair…”

He stopped and admired it, a smile turning his lips. “And you was still with me. And I was…relieved. Happy, even. That braid shows that strength of yours.”

For the first time since arriving in this town, you felt like crying. But not over any sadness. He had a way with words that surprised you. Your eyes fell to the page, to the way he had drawn part of your braid with such tenderness. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind he meant every word.

Unable to voice your thoughts, or perhaps wanting to hold what he’d said in your heart a little longer, you teased him instead. “So, when you drew me in that barn, what were you trying to remember then?”

His smile turned into a smirk, one you were all too familiar with. “How good you looked in my coat.”

His gaze was hot on your skin, growing wanting as he watched you. And in seconds, his journal was pushed aside and forgotten, traded for his want of you, his need to touch you, his desire. To be that desire meant so much to you that your heart pounded a heavy beat in your chest, like it wanted to be loved by him too, craving that closeness.

Falling into him, you granted your heart exactly what it asked for.

The days bled together, and Arthur had no intention of moving on to the next town. As long as you wanted to stay here, he would stay with you. The only bit of business he attended to in the meantime was sending a letter back to the gang, thinking it was likely they’d made it to Denver a while back and would stay until they heard from him. The thought made Arthur smile—that wild bunch on the edges of town, restless and ready to bound out of there at a moment’s notice. They weren’t meant for staying in a big town like that just as he weren’t.

The only trouble with the letter had been what to put in it. Arthur hadn’t known what to say to the group he considered family. He was torn between staying with you and going back to them, knowing either would serve him well. But he was leaning toward staying, starting a life he had only ever dreamed of. Every time he considered it though, it felt too good to be true. It always was when he was younger, and who was he to deserve it now? Had he really changed at all? The truth to that was no, he hadn’t. Maybe he could be decent, but he still had a past on him that he didn’t want catching up to you. But so did you now, killing that deputy. All things considered, he was left feeling even more confused every time he pondered it. So, his letter had been short and nondescript, stating where he was and to write back when and where the gang inevitably moved. He posted the letter and left all thought of it behind him, knowing going in circles about it all wouldn’t do him any good. Instead, he returned to you and vowed to keep his mind on you, on this time you shared together and how right it felt. No matter that, like always, the town and its memories would soon be behind you both.

It wasn’t difficult to keep you in the front of Arthur’s mind. You were a gift, something he didn’t deserve. And all this time spent with you kept him sated like he never had been, his restless heart daring to settle for the first time since he was a boy.

The day had reached its end with the two of you still in bed. Arthur had done exactly what you’d asked of him those days ago, teaching you all the ways he knew how to pleasure a woman. But this was perhaps different, as there never was any meaning behind it until he met you.

Even worse was your blunt curiosity and the things you asked that got him so hard he could hardly see straight. He figured the worst of it was when you’d asked him to teach you how to pleasure him. He was wrong. It was moments ago, when you’d turned to him with a blush on your face and asked if you could ride him. Well, those hadn’t been your exact words, but that was all Arthur could come up with now as you made to do the very thing.

His hands found your hips in seconds upon you climbing on top of him. It took everything in him to be gentle.

“Tell me if I do something wrong,” you said in a voice close to a whisper.

He found a lazy grin sneaking its way across his face, for the way your shyness showed, for the way you climbed on top of him anyway. Sure as ever.

“What?” you said upon seeing his smile.

“I like you on top of me,” he said honestly. Because he did. Nothing turned him on more. But he couldn’t go on without teasing you at least a little. “I like you wantin’ to ride me.” He squeezed your hips with his fingers, tugging you closer. Your face went bright red at those words.

“What’s the matter?” he teased.

You kept looking from his eyes to his mouth like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to slap him or kiss him. The smile on your face was timid, but it was blatant as the day was long that he’d called you out and you wouldn’t well deny it.

You wouldn’t meet his eye as you said, “I like it too.”

Arthur’s grin went wide, and he bucked his hips underneath you for good measure. Pure pleasure met him as he did, the movement against your slick like heaven.

You let out a little moan, bracing your hands on his chest as you made to line yourself up with him. He would never tire of the distracted look you got on your face, like his body and what he was doing to yours was all you could think about. It made a pride he could hardly contain take hold.

You reached your hand down and fisted him so gently he couldn’t stand it. That is, until the head of his cock slid into you, and you met his eye and sat completely, making him suck in a sharp breath. He still held your hips with gripping fingers, but it was all he could do not to focus solely on how deep he was buried in you, on moving fast and hard. Instead, he let you set your own pace as you watched him with a heavy gaze, your lips parting when you began to move up and down on him.

It was downright sinful, the feeling it brought him. He pulled you in tighter, moving his hands with your hips. Ignoring all else. He didn’t give a shit what he looked or sounded like, so long as you didn’t stop.

“Arthur?”

He met your eye, only able to do so since your tone had the hint of a question in it. You kept riding him, grating and slow, as you spoke. “I want to- oh…”

You drug the word out, your head falling back in your pleasured state. It was so goddamn arousing Arthur couldn’t take it anymore. He held you down against him and bucked upward, hard, making you moan for him as your breasts started bouncing with how fast he moved. Fuck, that did it.

“Want to what?” he gritted out.

You looked downright erotic, your heavy eyes falling over him like sex given form as you answered, “Want to feel your release inside of me.”

Arthur slowed his pace, your words hitting him so hard he knew he would spill inside you anyway if he weren’t careful.

“Ain’t too smart, darlin’.”

“I don’t care.”

In this moment, he didn’t either. He didn’t care about the consequences, even though it would normally bother him after Isaac. If anything, he was in a place to be with you, to raise a child with you if it came to that. So to hell with all his usual fear and regret.

“You sure?” he grimaced, still pumping his cock into you as deep as he could.

“Yes. If you are.”

Surprising himself, he was.

Arthur lifted you up and off of him, needing to do what he’d been wanting to for some time now. Of all the pleasure the two of you had wrought from each other, there was one remaining untried thing Arthur felt was a bit selfish but knew you would get just as much enjoyment out of as he would. And he did that now, turning you so that you remained facing the bed as he crawled behind you.

“This okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please…”

“Please what?” Arthur pushed your shoulders down to the bed gently, the head of his cock meeting your slick again. He nearly shook in anticipation.

“Please take me. Hard.”

If that weren’t encouragement enough, Arthur slid into you so deep you tightened around him. “Christ,” he grimaced. Then he moved. And he had to close his eyes and focus hard to keep his release at bay.

Arthur rocked his hips fast, knowing the second he watched how perfectly your bodies met, this would be over. So he focused on you first, on the sounds you made and what you seemed to like best. You moaned the loudest when he gripped your hips again and fucked you harder, so he kept on, letting you feel just how much you affected him as he drove deep.

“Arthur,” you whined, his name so needy on your tongue he almost lost it.

“That’s it,” he said lowly, taking one hand away and moving it around you, his finger coming down on those nerves that made you buck against him.

That really made you cry out. And Arthur felt a pride like none other, a protectiveness and a possessiveness that made him want to spend inside you, make you his. His grip on you tightened as his finger swirled against you.

In seconds, your pleasure rocked through you, making those inner muscles of yours flutter and work against Arthur’s cock. His eyes rolled back in his head as pleasure took over. Then it was all feeling, all you at his mercy, pleading his name like he was actually worthy of this.

For once in his life, Arthur let go of all the control, all the responsibility and sense he held so close. He released it like a breath and took you like a man should take a woman, for the sheer purpose of desire and need and maybe even love. He shuddered then slid home one last time with your name on his lips, spilling inside of you as you continued to come down around him. It was comforting and fitting and so incredibly right that his chest caught at the feeling.

“Yes,” you breathed. “God, yes.”

He wanted to repeat it back to you. But he stayed there silent, finally daring to look down at where you were met. And Christ, was it a sight, almost like he was meant to be there. He rolled his hips, unable to resist wanting to keep his spend deep inside you. It was primal and perhaps idiotic of him, but he couldn’t help it. He already wanted to do it all over again.

You both breathed heavy and refused to separate, caught there in this moment that, if you were lucky, would never have to reach its end.

But end it did, only because your body was giving out. He hadn’t realized how hard he took you until then, until your muscles protested enough to make you begin to fall to the bed. He slid out of you and caught you, letting you down slowly. He rolled you onto your back, meeting your satisfied gaze. “You okay? I didn’t mean to-”

“That’s all I ever wanted. And all I’ll ever want again.”

A smile turned his lips, catching him off guard. He never expected to smile after doing something so reckless, hope filling him where regret normally would.

“Good,” he replied. And you smiled back, the sight a tired thing. He leaned down and kissed you. When he broke away, the look you gave him hit him just as hard as all his arousal had. It was a look of complete trust. Like you’d found a home in him. He never thought he’d see the day a woman looked at him like that.

“Don’t know about you,” you said laboredly, “but I’m spent.”

He chuckled at just how spent he was, not bothering to reply as he wrapped you up in his arms to sleep. Nothing more than a man and the woman he loved, as normal a life as he could have ever imagined.

You and Arthur very much overstayed your welcome in the small town of Ogallala. Both of you mentioned leaving a time or two but could never quite convince yourselves to saddle up and do it. So you stayed, carving out a little life for yourselves filled with the ease of routine.

Eventually though, you could tell money was getting tight when Arthur began choosing dried meat over his preferred canned goods from the general store. It made you guilty enough to know it was time to move on. Maybe your end destination would be as kind to you as this town had been, and you wouldn’t have to worry about ending this precious time together. You hadn’t talked about it, but you were beginning to believe that Arthur would stay with you. So, holding onto that hope, you finally gave in to leaving.

“What, tired of my company?” he’d teased when you brought it up, both of you already at the stables visiting your mounts.

You shot him a look that warned of a swat to the arm but said, “Not even a little.”

That earned you one of those genuine smiles he rarely gave, like your words were healing him stitch by stitch. But he agreed, and the pair of you gathered up and mounted.

You watched the town slowly fall away into the distance as you left it, turning to look at it so many times Arthur laughed at you. “It ain’t going nowhere, you know.”

“Very funny.”

“It’s true.”

“That’s what you’re always saying.”

He shot you a smirk that could tear down the world and every forlorn woman in it. How lucky you were that he was yours. You thought of telling him so, of telling him how much you cared for him, but your heart began racing, and the words died on your lips. Instead, you opted to tease him right back—his and your form of endearment. And his resulting happiness made you know that it was just as special to him as saying those three precious words.

_________

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#arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic

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oddthumbswetsleeves · 5 hours ago

Text

Hiding - Oneshot

Inspired by this post by @crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington <3

“Have you heard from B today?”

Elita-1 looked up from her datapad at her former-incompetent-subordinate turned leader. He looked stressed, or maybe nervous? It was hard to tell ever since he received the matrix.

“No. I haven’t seen him since the last time he messed up putting the supplies in storage.’ She looked back at the forms she was filling out. “He’s probably avoiding us cause he’s embarrassed.

“Embarrassed?” Optimus sounded confused. Elita realised she had neglected to tell the prime about B’s latest incident.

“He put a lot of the supplies he was sorting into the wrong places. I mean, seriously! I gave him possibly the easiest job I could have, and he still messed it up.” Optimus didn’t look like her answer had put him at ease. “He’ll be fine. If he’s embarrassed it might teach him to listen a little more.”

“Just-“ They met optics, “Tell me if you see him, or if you can get through to him. He won’t answer my comms.” He sighed. “I’m worried.”

He definitely looked nervous now.

“Yeah, sure.” Elita went back to reading. Optimus was silent for a moment, as if he wanted to say something else, but left quickly.

Once he was out of audial-range she tried B-127’s comm, certain Optimus was exaggerating. B never missed an opportunity to blabber.

“B”

Nothing

“B-127, respond.”

Still nothing

“B, this isn’t funny. Answer me.”

Silence

Elita never thought she would be able to use that word to describe the yellow bot. She started feeling slightly worried before it was replaced with something else.

How dare he hide away from his duties as an Autobot because he was embarrassed. He wasn’t the only one struggling with his new status. Being the Autobot commander and essentially second-in-command of Cybertron was exhausting. Every moment she wasn’t recharging or refuelling she was working. B was not going to get away with skirting his duties.

She was gonna find him.

Where the frag was he?

Elita had spent nearly half the orn asking around for the little mech. No one had seen him since she had. Not Jazz, not Ratchet, not even Prowl, who was usually aware of all Autobot activity. The other scouts had gibed her about B-127’s unrivalled skills in what they called “Extreme Hide and Seek”.

“If B’s hiding from you there’s no chance you’ll find him” one taunted. Primus, she hated being around the scouts, nosy bunch.

“Wait, why do you think he’s hiding from me?”

“Why else would you be looking for him? He’s told us about how busy you are.” Another one answered.

“Well, you’re not helping!” She stormed off before they could peeve her off more.

Elita was definitely getting hangry, so she decided to stop to get energon before anyone could risk mentioning it to her. Everyone had really been enjoying the abundance of it. The decreasing rations had been affecting the cogless bots hard. She remembered after being transferred to waste management seeing how some of the supervisors were stealing others rations off the delivery lines for themselves. That was one of the first things she fixed, especially since many of the bots on lower levels didn’t leave their stations during their breaks. Mostly the bots on the sub-

The sub-levels

“The best hiding spots are ones that other bots don’t know exist.” B-127 told her that once while he was training to be a scout. He was mostly talking about places that taller bots couldn’t get to, but almost no one knew about the 10 extra sub-levels.

“Scrap”

The elevator rattled more the lower it went. It was also getting noticeably hotter. The doors opened and after stepping out they surprisingly didn’t close behind her. Strange. She didn’t say anything at first, trying to hear any noise that wasn’t coming from the furnace.

She felt isolated.

Even though Elita knew she could contact anyone she wanted instantly, there was just something about the room emanated loneliness, but B had to be here.

She looked around. The room was small, nothing besides the furnace, the conveyor belt, and the trash chute.

Unless…

One of the walls seemed to have a handle, and when she moved it... Another room! She pushed it over.

What on Cybertron?

The walls were lined with multicolour string lights. The room had a table and chairs, but in the chairs were 3 piles of trash. They were kind of bot shaped. She guessed one of these were what “Steve” was, who Orion supposedly killed and D-16 insisted wasn’t real. Primus this guy was weird. Just before she turned away, she saw it. There was something golden-yellow barely poking up from behind the table. Elita had to stop herself from groaning. Some hiding expert he was.

“B” He didn’t move. Elita crossed her arms.

“B-127 I can see you.” He slowly ducked out of view. Elita’s face scrunched up, “Get out here right now or so help me, I will drag you back up to Iacon by your finials.”

The bot cautiously stood up, looking anywhere except her face. Neither one said anything for a few moments. Elita tapped her finger against her arm, making sure B could hear it. He still did not say anything. Elita started feeling nervous again, B didn’t even recharge this quietly. She wouldn’t show it though, he wasn’t getting any pity from her.

“Well?” she prompted.

“Why are you down here?” He asked quietly.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Elita leaned forward, but B still didn’t look up. “Why are you hiding? Do you think I’ll just forget your screw-up if I don’t see you for a few orns?”

“I’m not hiding. You know I’m here now, you can go back to work.” He fidgeted with his servos.

“What, so you can keep sulking here?”

“I’m not sulking.” His voice was low, but a bit rough.

Had he been crying?

“Then why are you down here?”

“You were really mad at me the last time I messed up. You said I was running out of chances.”

“So?” Her gaze steeled. His breath hitched.

Was he going to cry again?

“Well, that’s what supervisors used to say to me before I would get demoted” their optics met, “and you were a supervisor…”

“So, you came down here?” She gripped her arms a bit tighter.

“I’ve never had a boss who was my friend before.” He looked down at his servos, still keeping his voice low. “I just didn’t want to see your face when you decided to give up on me.” Fluid dripped from his optics.

“Give up?” Her voice was suddenly much softer. She cleared her throat. “Why would you think I’d give up on you? We’re friends, you said it yourself.”

“Megatron was Optimus’ friend, and he dropped him to the centre of Cybertron.”

Elita felt a pang in her spark. That might have been the scariest moment of her life, including everything that happened leading up to it. B had been the one to stop her from trying to grab Orion as he plummeted. In the frenzy she might have fallen after him. B had probably saved her life.

She was definitely failing to hide her pity now.

They were both silent for a while, the furnace rumbling softly behind her. Elita sighed and walked around the table. B shrunk under her gaze. This was the first time she had ever felt bad about making a subordinate scared of her. She put her servos on his shoulders, taking care to be gentle, and bent down slightly to be at optic level with the scout.

He was definitely crying.

Elita wrapped her arms around him tightly. He tentatively moved his servos up to her back. She felt him shake.

“Are you not mad at me?” B’s voice quivered. She sighed, squeezing tighter.

“I’m not sure I am anymore.” Letting go to hold his shoulders again. He sniffled and she moved her servos to cup his face. “Why haven’t you answered any comms? Optimus is practically beside himself.”

“I didn’t know you guys were calling me.”

“What?! Is your commlink broken?” She turned his helm to look at his audials. He pulled her servos away from his face. They had tears on them.

“No.” He looked towards the furnace. “I’m pretty sure no signals reach down here from the surface.

Elita’s face scrunched. She turned away, reaching a digit up to her commlink.

“Optimus, come in.”

No response. She swore quietly.

“We’re going back to Iacon before the boss starts pulling walls down to find you.” She held her servo out. B hesitated.

“He’s looking for me?”

“Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he be?” B tapped his pedes nervously.

“I thought you guys were kinda fed up of me.” Elita chose not to address that. She grabbed his servo and pulled him towards the elevator. It was still open.

“How come these doors didn’t close behind me?”

“Cause they don’t open from this side. It’s so if somebot comes down here to get something they won’t get stuck.”

“But that means…” Her spark sank in her chassis.

“Yeah, I can’t call the elevator.”

She stared at him. She felt the rage she frequently had for Sentinel and his lackeys build up.

“So you planned on staying down here forever?” B started wringing his servos again.

“I dunno”

“Well how would you have come back up if I hadn’t found you here?”

��Optimus, Megatron and I climbed up through the chute.” He pointed at it. “I probably could have done that again.”

“Would you have?”

B didn’t answer.

“You’re coming back to Iacon with me.” She put a servo on his shoulder. “I cleared my schedule when I went looking for you so we can do whatever you want, ok?” She led him into the lift. He shrugged. “There are a couple movies I’ve been too busy to watch. We can watch them in my quarters if you want.”

“Sure” He smiled for the first time since she found him.

“We do have to go see Prime first. I’m a bit worried he has actually turned headquarters upside down in my absence.” B giggled. Elita felt a weight lift off her spark. Once the elevator started moving, she pulled him into another hug, more forcefully this time.

“Never scare me like that again, or I will actually kill you.”

“Okay”

#transformers one #b 127 #bumblebee #elita one #oneshot #angsty #sorry B no knife hands in this one #everyone does think you’re cool though #promise #fanfic

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