#i stood in line for AGES in the fucking RAIN

[lowrisemiller]

ᴛʜᴏʀᴏᴜɢʜꜰᴀʀᴇ °˖⋆ ℧

“i met you there in texas, somewhere on the thoroughfare”

“on the side of the road in the same torn up clothes with a pistol in my pocket”

arthur morgan x fem!reader x joel miller

| masterlist | 4.4k words | picture doesn’t depict the appearance of the reader just for aesthetic |yearning, tension, kissing, oral f!receiving, gettin tossed around by two burly cowboys, praise, unprotected piv sex, cuddling fucking from mr miller, aftercare !

summary- Two rugged ranchers, lifelong friends Arthur Morgan and Joel Miller, find their quiet world upended when a younger woman arrives to work their land—and slowly works her way into their hearts. As desire grows into something deeper, the three of them cross the line between friendship and longing, discovering a love too wild and tender to tame.

They didn’t talk much, and that suited them both just fine.

Arthur had always said the land did most of the talking anyway. The wind in the grass. The lowing of cattle at dawn. The metal clang of fence wire tightening under calloused hands. After years of gun smoke and ghosts, the quiet wasn’t so much peace—it was penance. And Joel understood that better than anyone.

They’d run the ranch together for nearly a decade. Fifty head of cattle. A weather-beaten barn. Long days spent working fence lines or chasing down strays in the hills. Evenings filled with whiskey and silence by the fire. Arthur cooked. Joel carved. They didn’t need much. Just the land, the dogs, the horses, and the kind of friendship you didn’t have to label.

They were men who’d lost too much to ask for more.

The work was hard, and that was good. It gave their hands something to do. Their thoughts are something to drown in. Neither of them said it, but the house felt too big for two men their age. There were extra bedrooms no one stepped foot in. An empty porch swing that never moved. Sometimes, Joel would glance at the seat across from him at dinner and imagine someone laughing there.

Arthur would look out across the pasture at sunset and feel the ache in his chest like a ghost pressing a hand to his ribs.

Then came the girl.

She rolled up in a truck that coughed smoke and looked like it hadn’t seen an oil change in ten years. It was early spring—the thaw barely settled. Joel had just come back from hauling feed when he spotted the dust cloud and narrowed his eyes at the figure stepping out.

Boots in the mud. Soft flannel. Strong arms. A stubbornness set to her jaw.

Arthur stepped out onto the porch, wiping his hands on a rag. “You lost, darlin’?”

You shook your head. “Looking for the Lyle property.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Old George Lyle’s place?”

You nodded. “He passed a few months ago. Left it to me.”

Joel leaned against the post, arms crossed. “Didn’t know he had any kin.”

“I’m not,” you said simply. “Just someone he trusted. Taught me everything I know about cattle and fixing fences. I owed him.”

Arthur blinked, then smiled faintly. “That man was a hell of a card player.”

You smiled back. “So I heard.”

Joel muttered, “Place’s damn near falling in.”

“I can handle it.”

You didn’t ask for help. That was what caught their attention first.

────🌾────

Arthur watched you from the hilltop as he lit a cigarette. Joel noticed the way your back stayed straight, even when your shoulders shook from exhaustion.

By the end of the week, Arthur brought you a wheelbarrow and a fresh pair of gloves without a word. Joel handed you a water bottle and said, “You’re stubborn.”

You grinned. “So are you.”

You worked from sunup to sundown, bandaged your own blisters, and cursed loud enough to make Arthur chuckle into his coffee. You shared dinner with them one night, then two, then a week’s worth.

Eventually, Joel fixed the plumbing at the Lyle place. Quietly. Arthur rewired the porch light. You thanked them both with a smile that made something shift behind Joel’s ribs.

Then the rain came. And the roof leaked.

Joel stood in your doorway with his arms crossed, dripping wet. “Get your things.”

Arthur leaned in the truck window. “Spare room’s open. Ain’t much, but it’s dry.”

You moved in that night. One duffel bag. One quiet “thank you.”

────🌾────

Weeks passed like molasses, slow and sticky and sweet in their own strange way.

You never expected to stay this long.

The old Lyle property was half reclaimed from the brambles, but the rain had done a number on the roof, and more than once you’d found black mold in places you didn’t want to name. Arthur had patched what he could. Joel came over one morning with a cordless drill and never really left after that.

Eventually, they offered you the spare room in their house. Said it was temporary. Said it just made sense.

But after a while, no one brought up the word temporary again.

You all slipped into rhythm without meaning to. Mornings started with coffee and bare feet on cool wood floors. Joel took his black, Arthur loaded his with too much sugar, and you drank yours leaning against the counter in a sleep shirt and shorts, eyes half-lidded. One of them always made eggs. The dogs—Boone and Lady—sat at your feet, loyal and lazy, with their heads in your lap.

You fixed fence posts beside Arthur, sweat beading on your skin, nails between your lips as he handed you the hammer. He liked the way you didn’t flinch around mud, the way you cursed like a 70-year-old rancher and sang old songs under your breath.

Joel taught you how to ride his favorite quarter horse. Big, quiet gelding named Shimmer. Said you had good balance. Strong thighs. His voice always got rougher when he said thighs.

Sometimes he’d linger behind you in the saddle, correcting your grip with a hand on your waist. Sometimes his breath would hit the back of your neck, and you wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t even breathe.

You rode fence lines together at dusk. Swam in the creek on hot days. Played cards and drank beer on the porch at night. You started calling Arthur cowboy when he got bossy, and Joel sir just to see his jaw twitch.

They teased you back, sure—but never touched. Not really.

They were good men. Older. Quiet. They didn’t want to scare you off.

But something was shifting.

Joel caught himself looking at your hands. Your neck. The soft line of your spine when you bent over to stack feed bags. He started lighting his cigarettes farther from the porch—so he wouldn’t be tempted to sit too close.

Arthur got quieter around you. His laugh lingered a little longer, but so did the way his eyes drifted lower when you walked into a room. He fixed things that didn’t need fixing. Made excuses to be near you.

They never talked about it.

But you felt it.

Like that one night you were in the stables brushing Shimmer’s mane and Arthur joined you.

It was late. The horses were fed, the sky painted in fading streaks of gold and mauve. You were still brushing Shimmer down in the barn, sleeves rolled, boots muddy. Arthur stepped in, quiet as always, carrying a mug of tea like it was just something he’d thought to do.

“You keep brushing that horse, she’s gonna shine like polished silver,” he said in a low tone.

You smiled without looking up. “She likes it.”

Arthur leaned against the post. “So do you.”

You paused, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He stepped forward and handed you the mug. You took it, your fingers brushing his—rough against your smooth. He didn’t pull away.

“You work too hard,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “So do you.”

He gave a soft laugh, but didn’t move. He was close now. You could smell cedarwood soap and old tobacco. His eyes dropped to your lips, just briefly, and that alone made your breath catch.

“Got dirt on your cheek,” he murmured, lifting one hand.

His thumb brushed your skin. Slow. Careful. You swore he lingered. His hand didn’t drop right away. Instead, it cradled your jaw for just a second too long—his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t dare.

He held your gaze like a man about to say something dangerous—but instead, he only stepped back, knuckles brushing yours as he whispered, “Night, darlin’.”

You stood there in the hay dust, heart pounding, wondering what would’ve happened if you’d leaned in.

Or

That morning with Joel in the kitchen.

The house was quiet except for the soft clink of dishes. You were in the kitchen rinsing out a coffee mug when Joel came up behind you—close, not touching, but close enough that your body noticed.

“You always leave your mugs in the sink?” he asked, voice low and dry.

You smirked. “You always hover behind people in the kitchen?”

Joel didn’t laugh. Didn’t move.

“You been wearin’ my flannel all day,” he said instead, voice rough.

You glanced down and shrugged. “Yeah. It was on the hook.”

He reached past you, slow, grabbed a plate from the drying rack. But his body brushed yours just slightly—his strong chest at your back, his hand ghosting near your waist.

You stayed still.

“I like how it looks on you,” he said, almost to himself.

You turned to face him, breath caught halfway. He was too close now. His eyes dipped to your lips, then back up. His hand rested on the edge of the counter beside your hip.

“I’m not tryin’ to start somethin’,” Joel said roughly.

“Then don’t stand so close,” you whispered.

But neither of you moved.

His knuckles brushed yours. You swallowed hard.

“I do things slow,” he said finally. “But when I want somethin’—I want it all the way.”

Then he stepped back.

And your knees nearly buckled.

────🌾────

It became too much. The two men took over every single thought. Before you’d go to sleep at night you would replay memories and little things they both have done.

You hadn’t meant for this to happen.

At first, it was just about survival. About fences and feed and early mornings with dirt on the window. You were too busy trying to patch the roof and clear out the barn to think about anything else. Joel and Arthur had been kind—quiet and rough around the edges, but kind. You respected them. Trusted them.

But something changed.

It was in the small things. The way Arthur always made your tea just right. How he’d linger near you in the barn, his warmth close enough to touch. The way he looked at you like you were soft, like you were some delicate thing he didn’t dare grab with dirty hands.

And then Joel—God, Joel. That man carried tension like it was sewn into his spine. Everything about him was hard angles, clenched jaw, calloused hands. But the way he watched you in his flannel, the way his voice dropped when he was near—it made your whole body buzz.

You liked being near them.

Too much.

Sometimes you caught yourself comparing them. Arthur’s steadiness, Joel’s intensity. The way Arthur said darlin’ with that gravel-deep gentleness. The way Joel’s hand would rest on your lower back for a second too long, fingers twitching like he was holding himself back.

It was starting to keep you up at night.

You’d roll over in bed, heart pounding, wondering what would happen if you reached out. If you chose.

But the truth was, you didn’t know if you could.

Because they were both slipping under your skin.

And then—

One night, it all cracked open.

You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, a throw blanket pulled to your chest. The movie playing was old and slow—some western Arthur liked. Joel had fallen into the armchair, nursing a beer, and Arthur sat beside you, closer than usual.

You said something about the sky, about how it was turning purple outside. Arthur hummed.

And then you felt it.

Joel’s eyes on you. Arthur’s hand against your leg, heavy and warm. The silence between all three of you stretched, pulled thin.

You turned your head—and both men were looking at you.

Not casually.

Not kindly.

But like men who had been trying not to want you for a long, long time.

Joel’s gaze dipped to your mouth. Arthur’s thumb traced a lazy circle against your thigh. You didn’t stop him.

Your breath caught.

No one spoke.

But the silence was loud.

And you knew—without a doubt—that this thing between the three of you wasn’t quiet anymore.

It was burning.

Still no one spoke.

Arthur’s thumb was still brushing circles against your thigh, slow and patient like he was memorizing your skin through the blanket. Joel hadn’t moved, but his eyes were darker now—hooded, jaw clenched, fingers tight around the neck of his beer bottle. The air in the room was charged, thick with heat and breath and something unspoken.

You swallowed hard.

And then, just barely above a whisper:

“…what are we doing?”

Arthur’s hand paused. Joel leaned forward.

You looked between them—at Arthur’s calm, unreadable face and Joel’s gaze flickering over your lips like he was already imagining what they’d feel like against his.

Neither of them answered.

So you pulled the blanket back, just enough to show the curve of your thigh, bare under the hem of Joel’s old flannel.

Arthur’s breath caught.

Joel stood up.

He crossed the space in three slow steps and knelt in front of you on the rug, large hands bracing on either side of your legs.

“You really want this?” he rasped. His eyes were locked on yours—hungry, hesitant, already gone.

You nodded, whisper-soft. “I do.”

Arthur let out a breath behind you. You turned slightly, meeting his eyes.

He was leaning close now too, hand still on your leg. “You sure, darlin’? Once we start this…”

“…we’re not stopping,” Joel finished.

You let your knees part between them.

That was all the answer they needed.

Joel leaned in first—slow, deliberate. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip before he kissed you. It was careful at first, his lips warm and slightly chapped, tasting faintly of beer and restraint. But when you sighed into him, he deepened it—tilting your face up, tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger he’d clearly been holding back for weeks.

Behind you, Arthur’s hand slid higher on your thigh.

“You two gonna make me sit here and watch?” he murmured, voice thick with heat.

Joel pulled back just enough to glance over his shoulder. “Thought you liked watchin’, Morgan.”

Arthur chuckled low, and then his hand moved beneath the hem of your—Joel’s shirt—his palm warm and rough against your bare skin.

You gasped, turning toward him, and his lips were already there—softer than Joel’s, slower, his kiss all patience and promise. He kissed you like a secret. Like he wanted to keep you.

You moaned softly, body caught between them, and Joel let out a sound from deep in his chest.

“Bedroom,” he muttered.

Arthur didn’t answer—just stood and lifted you effortlessly into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. Joel followed close behind, one hand guiding your back, the other grazing your hip.

You were dizzy with it—wrapped in warmth and want, floating somewhere between them, their hands anchoring you. They moved like they’d talked about this before. Like they’d been waiting for the moment you’d fall into them.

And now?

They had you.

And they weren’t about to let go.

Arthur laid you down with care.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight, creaking softly under the solid strength of his body. Joel stood at the edge of the bed, watching—his eyes burning dark, like he was trying to memorize you just like this: flushed and breathing heavy, hair mussed, legs parted slightly on the sheets.

“You’re beautiful,” Arthur murmured.

His hands were on you already, calloused palms sliding up beneath the borrowed flannel. You gasped when his fingers brushed over your ribs—feather-light at first, then firmer as they moved up to cup your breasts, thumbs stroking lazy circles over your nipples.

“God,” you whispered.

Joel leaned over, hands braced on either side of your thighs. “Look at you,” he muttered. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Arthur was kissing your neck now, his beard rough against your skin, lips soft. He moved slow, like he wanted to savor it—each kiss dragging lower as he pulled the shirt higher, exposing your bare stomach inch by inch.

Joel’s hand slid up your thigh, spreading your legs wider. “She’s shakin’,” he rasped.

“I know,” Arthur murmured. “I got her.”

He kissed the curve of your hip as Joel leaned in and kissed your mouth again—this time harder, deeper. His tongue met yours with raw hunger, his grip on your thigh tightening. You moaned into him, your hips twitching upward, aching for more.

Arthur moved between your legs now, dragging his mouth lower, slower, lips brushing your inner thigh.

You whimpered.

“Patience, sweetheart,” Arthur said, voice low and warm. “We’re gonna take care of you.”

Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, turning your face back to his. “Gonna treat you so fuckin’ good. You hear me?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes.”

Arthur’s mouth pressed right where you needed it, hot and open, licking and sucking on your clit, and your back arched. Joel swallowed your gasp with another kiss, his hand sliding under your head, cradling you there, grounded and worshipped all at once.

They worked in tandem—Arthur’s tongue slow and methodical, like he was learning every response you gave him, every tremble. Joel’s lips at your ear, whispering things that made your skin burn:

“Can’t believe you’re lettin’ us have you like this.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Never gonna forget the way you sound, takin’ us like this.”

You reached down blindly, fingers threading through Arthur’s hair, and he groaned low against you, the sound vibrating through your core.

“Joel—please,” you breathed.

He growled softly, undoing his belt with one hand, kissing along your jaw with the other. “You want both of us tonight, baby?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes. Please, I want—”

Arthur’s mouth dragged up your body again, kissing your sternum, your throat. “Then you got us, darlin’. Every fuckin’ inch.”

Joel’s mouth met yours one more time, possessive and rough.

And as they undressed—hands and mouths and quiet praise—you realized something:

This wasn’t just desire.

It was need.

Arthur kissed you again—slow, steady—his mouth hot and tasting faintly of you. He’d shed his shirt somewhere between the bed and your thighs, and now his body was pressed against yours, warm and solid. You could feel every inch of him, every deliberate drag of his chest over your nipples, every reverent pass of his hands over your hips.

Joel was behind him now, kneeling on the bed, jeans tugged halfway down. His eyes never left your face.

“You want Arthur first?” Joel asked, voice low, almost a growl.

Your breath caught.

“I—yes,” you whispered.

Arthur groaned. “Good girl.”

He kissed down your body again, this time moving slower. Not teasing—just devoted. He wanted to feel every shiver. Wanted you pliant beneath him when he finally slid into you.

You reached for him, fingers threading through the back of his hair as he nudged your thighs apart again, lining himself up with practiced care. You felt the thick press of him at your entrance, and your whole body tensed in anticipation.

Arthur cupped your face with one hand, brushing his thumb over your lip.

“Breathe for me, darlin’.”

You did.

And then—he pushed in.

A long, slow slide that made your toes curl and your jaw drop, gasping as he filled you inch by inch. He held himself there once he was fully seated, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting softly.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “How good you take me?”

You nodded helplessly, overwhelmed by the fullness, the stretch, the heat.

Joel sat beside you now, one hand stroking your hair back from your damp forehead, the other trailing down to your chest. He cupped your breast, watching Arthur move inside you with a hungry, reverent stare.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel muttered. “Look at you.”

Arthur started to move—slow, deliberate thrusts that rocked your body up the bed. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, whispered soft praise as your fingers clawed at his back.

Joel leaned in, kissed your cheek, then your lips—deep and lingering, tasting every moan Arthur pulled from your throat.

“You’re so good,” Joel murmured. “So fuckin’ good for us.”

You were unraveling, every nerve lit up, caught between Arthur’s steady rhythm and Joel’s mouth and hands. You felt possessed, held, worshipped.

And then Arthur pulled out slowly, pressing one last kiss to your sternum.

“Think she’s ready for you,” he murmured, looking at Joel.

Joel didn’t wait. He was on you in seconds, flipping you gently onto your side, spooning in close behind. His chest was slick with heat, breath ragged against your ear.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, lining himself up.

“Please,” you whispered.

He pushed in with a groan—deeper than Arthur, thicker, dragging a broken cry from your throat as he filled you completely. Joel’s hand curled around your waist, holding you in place as he began to move—grinding slow and deep, his mouth pressed to your shoulder.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he hissed.

Arthur knelt in front of you now, brushing hair back from your face, kissing your mouth sweetly while Joel fucked you slow and unrelenting from behind.

“You’re ours now, ain’t you?” Arthur murmured. “Both of us.”

You nodded, tears at the corners of your eyes from how full you felt, how overwhelming it was to be held between them.

Joel’s thrusts grew harder, his breath turning rough against your skin. “Say it,” he growled. “Say you’re ours.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “I’m—yours.”

And when you came—loud, shaking, completely undone—they didn’t stop holding you. Didn’t stop whispering how good you were, how beautiful you looked, how they’d never let you go now.

You belonged to them.

And tonight, they made sure you knew it.

────🌾────

The room was quiet.

The kind of quiet that settles in after a storm—soft and sacred, broken only by the sound of three tangled breaths.

You were between them again, your body boneless and glowing, cheek pressed against Arthur’s chest. His heartbeat was a slow, steady thump beneath your ear, and one of his hands ran lazy circles along your spine, grounding you.

Joel lay behind you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, his body flush against your back. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his skin, the quiet way he breathed your name like a prayer.

“You okay, baby?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

You nodded, lips brushing Arthur’s skin. “Yeah. Just… wow.”

Arthur chuckled low in his throat. “That a good ‘wow,’ or a we-gotta-run-away-and-never-talk-about-it-again kinda wow?”

You laughed softly. “The first one.”

Joel hummed, and you felt his lips move against your shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause we’re not lettin’ you go now.”

Arthur shifted just enough to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Didn’t hurt, did it? We didn’t push too much?”

“No,” you said, voice thick and quiet. “It was perfect.”

They exhaled together, that tension in their bodies finally melting all the way out of them.

Joel sat up first, kissed your shoulder, then leaned over to grab a warm cloth from the bedside. He was slow and gentle cleaning you up, murmuring quiet things like I got you, just relax, you were so good for us. Every motion was careful, reverent. Like you were something fragile. Something theirs.

Arthur pulled the blankets up, letting you settle again between them.

You felt completely safe. Wrapped in warmth and worn flannel and calloused hands that held you like you were the softest thing they’d ever touched.

“You always this quiet after?” Arthur asked, his fingers trailing along your ribs.

You shrugged, half-smiling. “Not always. But I’ve never… done this before.”

“With two men?”

“With two people who actually care.”

They both stilled.

Joel leaned forward, brushing hair from your face. “We do,” he said quietly. “Care.”

Arthur nodded, resting his forehead against yours. “This wasn’t just a one-time thing for us. Not if it ain’t for you.”

You looked between them, your heart thudding louder than it had all night.

“I don’t want it to be,” you whispered.

Joel smiled—soft and warm and rare. “Good. Then stay.”

“I'm already here.”

Arthur kissed you again—slower this time, with all the gentleness in the world. Joel tucked himself closer to your back, his hand slipping under your shirt to rest flat over your heart.

You fell asleep wrapped in both of them.

And when the sun rose through the dusty window panes the next morning, they were still there—one hand in your hair, the other tracing your spine, like they’d never let go.

And maybe they wouldn’t.

tags: @zevrra @xodilfluvr @whimsydoe

[cilleatandserve]

ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴄʜᴀɪɴꜱ

Masterlist

Pairing: Post-war! Thomas Shelby x wife!reader

Warnings: Verbal/Physical abuse, Trauma, fluff, angst

Those eyes. The ones your dull dreams could never replicate. The same ones that carried your youth, now adjusting to your face scarred with age.

Thomas Shelby stood tall on the platform, his eyes scanning the bustling train station as the sound of voices and clanking machinery filled the air. The war had etched lines into his once youthful face, and his posture bore the weight of the unseen burdens he carried. The crowd parted slightly as he walked through, the air of authority he exuded causing a ripple of space around him. He wore his uniform, tattered and stained from battles, yet still impeccably clean.

As he approached, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. Your heart skipped a beat as his piercing gaze found yours. Before the war, Thomas had been the loving, gentle soul you had cherished. But now, there was something different about him, something haunted that made you question if the boy you knew had truly come home. You stepped closer, offering a tentative smile, and he took you in his arms, the warmth of his embrace momentarily soothing the ache in your chest. A temporary medicine for the sickness deteriorating your love.

Walking home together, the silence between you was heavier than the rain that had just started to fall. Each step echoed through the cobblestone streets, punctuating the quiet. Thomas had always been a man of few words, but this was a silence that went deeper than usual. His grip on your hand was tight, almost painful, as if trying to ground himself in the reality of being home. No words were spoken regarding the unrequited heartfelt letters, nor the discernible gap that time had created between them.

Once inside the safety of your house, you tried to bridge the divergence with a soft kiss, the same ones that littered Thomas’s face during youth, but Thomas flinched, pulling away, almost.. disgusted. His eyes searched yours, accusation burning in them. "You've been with someone else," he murmured, his voice a low growl. The words hit you like a slap, and you stumbled back, the color draining from your face. "What are you talking about?" you managed to choke out, but the look on his face was one of cold certainty. In the split second it took for you to process his accusation, the room seemed to tilt on its axis. Before you could respond, the tension exploded into a heated argument, your words colliding with his anger like shrapnel in a storm.

Thomas's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white as he spoke through gritted teeth, "You've changed. You don't look at me the same way you used to. You don't love me anymore." The anguish in his voice was palpable, and it was like watching the man you loved slowly crumbling before your eyes. The room grew smaller as his accusations grew louder, the walls seeming to press in around you. “I-” You felt the sting of tears as you tried to explain, to tell him that the only thing that had changed was the horrors he had seen, the demons he now carried. “I know. It’s that fucking writer next door. Isn’t it? Being keeping you warm in my fucking house.” His voice raises as he grabs his one of many guns kept for paranoia out of his pocket. “I’ll fucking kill him for ruining you.” You run infront of the door at the last second, stopping him from leaving.

His anger grew more intense, and you felt the sting of his hand as it connected with your cheek. The sound of skin meeting skin was like a gunshot in the quiet of the night. You stumbled back, shocked, as he immediately regretted his actions. In a single action, your hopes had crashed down, by the man who swore he would never hurt you. The rage drained from his eyes, replaced by a deep, soul-wrenching sadness. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I don't know what's happening to me." He leaves the room, abandoning you once again.

With the storm outside mirroring the turmoil within, the thunder grew louder, rattling the windows. Thomas's eyes grew wide with fear, and he grabbed you, pulling you into a tight embrace. "Make it stop," he pleaded, his voice a broken whisper. "Make it all stop." As you held him, stroking his hair and whispering comforting words, you realized the true extent of his pain. The war had left him scarred, not just physically, but in ways that ran deep into his soul. Forcing you to mourn the man who sleeps beside you.

Thomas lays wide awake under the morning light, the smallest bird calls jolting him up. He’s momentarily ashamed of his outwardly actions the night before, but he’s never been the man to take accountability. Brushing your hair out of your face, comfort is provided by the smell of the signature shampoo you use.

How precious, you are. The only clean thing in his blood tainted world. A compensation for the horrors forced upon him.

[sacredsorceress]

can we get more roommate worst!wolvie please? love your work <3

sorry babes i had a busy week and felt so sick, but i'm back! i did not proof read this oops. anyway, ask and you shall receive...

⋆More Roommate!Worst!Logan⋆

ask box | Roommate!Worst!Wolverine

The weeks had flown by with ease. Prior to Logan moving in you had been convinced that a roommate would only hinder your life, but to your surprise, he had enhanced it. With the unspoken rules that had written themselves, you and Logan fell into domestic bliss.

As friends, of course.

When Logan heard you struggling to retrieve your clothes from the dryer that was just a bit too high for your stature, in he would swoop.

"Don't hurt yourself."

And with one hand on the small of your back nudging you out of the way, the other fished your clothes out with ease, dropping them into the basket.

When after you made dinner for the two of you, you'd rise from your seat to grab the dishes and bring them over to the sink, Logan would shake his head and gently force you back into your seat.

"What are you doin'?" He asked, genuinely offended by your lack of faith in his manners. "Sit down."

The first few days you had protested, but by the end of the first week you had learned your lesson. You now sat with a knowing grin on your face watching- maybe a bit too excitedly- as your roommate scrubbed the remnants of your hard work clean for the following day.

After all, there were ways you cared for him too.

Like how without telling Logan, you had purchased a subscription for a physical copy of the newspaper for him. Logan had assumed you had always had it delivered and you didn't have the heart to admit that no one under the age of 65 did that anymore.

You knew he'd tell you to cancel it if you ever confessed, but you also knew how much that mundane part of the day meant to his schedule. So instead you decided some secrets were better left kept.

You'd fetch the paper each morning from where it sat on your doormat and lay it on the table beside a piping hot cup of coffee for Logan. Sometimes, even, you'd critique the way they sat beside each other, adjusting the edges of the newspaper to make it look just right until you heard Logan's whistle from down the hallway and slipped back into the kitchen.

In these ways and more, you were no longer just two people who shared an apartment but something more. What exactly? You couldn't make out where friendship ended and something deeper, more desirable began in the blurred lines of your relationship.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Having a day off due to the rain, Logan sat on the couch with his legs spread, a whiskey in hand and one of your favorite shows playing on the television. You weren't there, but Logan had seen glimpses of you watching the program enough times for curiosity to have gotten the better of him: What grabbed your attention so much? Why were they your favorite character? What about it made you laugh loud enough for him to hear you through the walls?

Before Logan had allowed himself to consider the implications of revolving his free time around studying you, he had pressed play.

Logan had just begun to settle into the cushions when he heard the door knob jiggle.

And the smell of your perfume wasn't accompanying it.

Placing his glass on the coaster- a habit he learned from you- Logan pulled himself from the couch and swung open the door.

On the other side, an unfamiliar man stood with a key propped between his fingers.

"Who the fuck are you?" Logan spat. He pulled his shoulders back to display his broad frame and cover the doorway.

The stranger's eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to peek over the wolverine's shoulders.

"Where's Y/n?" He asked, before looking Logan up and down. "Who are you?"

At the sound of your name, Logan's pulse quickened. He had to try not to grimace at the way his name fell from his lips as if he deserved to say it. It felt mangled coming from his lips.

He retained his composure.

"You didn't answer my question." Logan grunted.

The stranger placed one of his hands on the doorframe, attempting to measure Logan up, but only reached his chin.

"Just tell-"

"Listen, kid, I'm not gonna ask again." Logan grumbled. "Who are you?"

When the stranger rolled his eyes with a huff, Logan's self-control shattered. He grabbed the guy's shirt, crossing the hall to shove him into the neighboring wall with a loud thud!

"Listen here you sick fuck," Logan growled, tightening his grip on his collar. "I heard you trying to get in. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put my claws through your skull."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He yelped, tugging at Logan's hand in an attempt to free himself to no avail. "We used to date! I- I- I- left some of my stuff here and wanted to get it. I didn't know she moved on to the fucking Wolverine!"

Logan was in no mood to correct this guy's assumption that you and him were an item.

Pulling him away from the wall with his fist still balled in his shirt, Logan leaned in closer. His hot breath fogged up the stranger's glasses as he cowered under Logan.

"This is what you're gonna do," Logan said pointing down the hallway. "You're gonna forget the shit you left in there because if I ever see your face again, I will kill you. Understand?"

The man nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, yeah!" He quivered. "Whatever you say man!"

With a humph Logan dropped him to the floor.

"Get outta here." Logan said, throwing a dismissive hand down the hallway. "And leave these," he said, stepping on the set of keys that had dropped to the floor. "with me."

Adjusting his shirt, the stranger pulled himself up from the floor and strode down the hallway, mumbling to himself all the while.

"Fucking loser."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

This time when he heard the familiar sounds of keys jingling in the lock, Logan smiled and breathed in the faint scent of your fragrance through the door.

"Hey Lo," You called, shaking off your umbrella before leaning it against the wall. "Anything interesting happen today?"

Logan maneuvered around the couch, meeting you at the door. He relieved you of the box in your hands so you could take off your jacket.

"Nope." He replied popping the P. "What about your day, sweetheart?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the pet name he held for you. No matter how many times you reminded yourself that your relationship was completely platonic and that the nickname must be a remanent of a bygone era, you couldn't help but grow warm every time he said it.

Your reply was cut short by Logan peeking in the box, releasing a whiff of donuts into the air.

"How many times I gotta tell you that I don't want you spending money on me?" Logan sighed.

He sought to reprimand you, but you knew his words didn't carry much weight. Unless he had been fibbing about his affinity for donuts the other night, Logan wouldn't be able to find it in himself to argue for very long.

"None, because I'm going to do it anyway," You smiled and bat your eyelashes for good measure. "Besides, I like supporting small businesses." You shook the box. "Now take one!"

Logan wasn't sure if it was the silhouette of the rain droplets on the window reflecting on your face in the dark hallway or your smile that was a light of its own, but a large smile overtook his face. He would never be sure what he did to deserve going from living as a prisoner in his own mind to being cared for by you, but Logan would forever thank whatever power made that happen.

He wouldn't admit it, but you saved him from the worst versions of himself, resurrecting a man he long thought dead that had been buried beneath.

Logan shook his head with a disbelieving smile and pulled a glazed donut from the box.

"Trying to fatten me up, huh?"

You laughed.

"Well I always heard the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

You froze.

Were you thinking it? Possibly. Did you mean for the words to hop off your vocal chords and escape past your lips? Absolutely not.

What you and Logan had going was good. Good enough that you could silence the ever-growing voice in your mind that hummed at the sight of him or drifted to thoughts of him- both past and future- throughout your day.

You wouldn't sacrifice your friendship and his security for the whims of your heart.

To your relief, Logan laughed.

"Damn right."

Logan took a large bite. He threw his head back and groaned.

God.

You shook off the mishap from a moment earlier and smiled.

"Good?"

Logan swallowed with a gulp and moaned.

"Fucking amazing." He said taking your jacket from your hands and hanging it on the hook. "I'll get some coffee on and we'll watch something while we eat these, yeah?"

Stealing a bite from the donut in Logan's hand, you hummed.

"Perfect."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Feel free to come chat about your favourite marvel men in the ask box!! taking requests for bucky, matt murdock and logan <3

disclaimer: as a chubby girl myself I promise wolverine asking if you were trying to fatten him up is NOT an insult. Being healthy, happy and safe would naturally make him softer mentally and physically!! it's a good thing!! he would gain security weight being so comfortable with his girl! and also i think wolverine would be super into chubby girls, ANYWAY ill get off my soap box

[maitimosrighthand]

141 x Succubus male reader( oc )

(please note that this is a series and will continue)

Author note:

Most of the characters in this story will be their usual hybrid type. Ghost( Demon ), Soap( Wolf ), Gaz( Eagle ) and Price( Dragon ).

Please note that this series will eventually contain +18 contents. Minors do not interact.

Yes this will contain heats and ruts. You horny bastards 🫵

( The reader or oc (idk) is described as rather feminine. Not like that but well they are a succubus so they a that way. Gooner bait. It’s genetics.

Just like Ghost‘s massive dic-

For more information to how I will deal with the Succubus thing please scroll down to the bottom of the page

Chapter 1: Meeting the pack

It’s been ages since animal genes had mixed with human ones. While the question of who has fucked an animal was ignored ever since, another case has been opened as of late.

Demons.

While they are rare there have been a few cases within the last years. Demons, Vampires and then you, a succubus. While that does say a lot about your parents, it doesn’t mean too much to you. While yes, people assume you are nothing but a jerk and want to constantly have sex, it’s not that easy.

It had been raining for three days straight now. No sun to be seen and the roads look accordingly. „Seems like we‘ll be stuck here for a while longer.“ Hoffmann said. He is the reason of why you are here right now. Despite ages of experience most old white man still thought that people like you had to be in a group with responsible people, such as their military. Not that you were against the idea. You had been once to the army before in your early 20 but left right after. You had become a mercenary and taken countless jobs already, so you could say you were experienced in such matters.

After a couple of failed operations within the military of late, people like you were hired to come there and give them a hand. It wasn’t voluntary at all, either you help or they put you in prison for illegal activities. You however were not about to help them after this one. Right.

You came here duo to one of their high ranked soldiers missing. You where sure you had heard his name once beforehand but you who knows. Maybe he had been a trainee just like you back in the days. That made you sound really old.

„I‘ll get out here then.“ you said not waiting for an answer. The place you where supposed to find him at was barely five minutes away from here. You could walk that. Better than to spend one more minute with Hoffmann in the same car. He stank you had noted over the 2h ride here. Something with wolf and a bit of bird in it. Perhaps he was a brothel enthusiast, especially the one with hybrids in it. But that was not your business.

While walking from the street your phone rang. „What is it Asher?“ you answered immediately. She was more or less your boss? No you didn’t have that. She would give you notes on who needs your services at the moment and you‘d watch her eating your pasta while she does so. For some reason she would always sneak into your apartment.

„Where are you?“ came through the speakers. „On a little trip. Willingly.“ you huffed a bit. „The government?“ „yeah…“ Neither you nor her were big fans. She had constant legal problems with them and now they even got to you. „I didn’t know you were such a good man.“ She mocked you. She knew you were a good person. You set yourself a couple of rules a long time ago. „Are you going to come out alive?“ she shuffled with something on the other end of the line. „Why? Do you have a job for me?“ you heard her laugh behind the phone. That meant yes. „I‘ll call you later for the details, bye.“ Oh wow. This place is wrecked.

You stood on a platform near a river. That solider has been seen here last. But it looked completely empty. There were a couple of small ruins of old houses that have succumb to the weather conditions in the area. Another thing that bothered you was that it is so close to the street. If you do something illegal most of the time you‘d wanna be away from prying eyes. So him being here made no sense. Non the less you had a job to finish.

Sliding down the muddy trail, without falling mind you, you began searching around the area. Some wet puddles, some broken trees confinently fallen onto the house roof. Wait that was suspicious. Normally the trees would have broken down something of the house but these look hardly damaged and there was little to no things under them. Lucky you, you didn’t skip your sport days during your free time.

Slowly but surely your pushed the trees away from their previous spot. You wiped away some of the dust and broken tiles and slowly open the hidden luke door. The iron seems very scratchy and for a moment you think about just not opening it. But well you wanted to go back home and the faster you found him the better.

After opening the door you look down. There was water, probably not too high but still high enough to reach until your knees. You were ready to take that risk through. Jumping down you landed in the water. It was not very nice when the water splatters on your jacket. That one was new you noted in your mind. You observed the room a bit. A few broken tables, a couple of prison cells and who would have thought…water. And a man.

You make your way through the water slowly. You didn’t know who you were looking for but it was probably him. You were unsure if he was awake so you put on a mouth mask and put on the hood from your jacket. It’s just to be safe. There may be many misinformations about succubus on the internet but you had to make sure. Occasionally you would get away with saying you were a goat but some where not convinced.

You checked on the man who was laying down in the water. He had been lucky that his head was above the water. However the water was freezing and he might have been here for days. „Oh god.“ his lips were blue. You pulled him up and onto a table. He was one bulk of a man. And an eagle nonetheless. His wings were too huge to fit through the entrance you came through. First things first: let’s call Hofmann.

„Are you sure that’s him?“ he asked. „Yes it’s him. The eagle! Now I need a truck near here!“ „Fine fine. I‘ll also send you the location of where to bring him.“ he hung up. You slowly but surely dragged the soldier through a back door you found. He was heavy and you felt sry for scratching his wings a couple of times. But you did not really have much of a choice. When you finally got him outside and forced him into the truck‘s backseat you sat down in the drivers seat.

Weird.

Why was no one here. If he had really been kidnapped and was a high ranking solider then wouldn’t someone look or watch over him? It’s was questionable you thought. You took down your mask after half of the ride to the location that was send to you, since the eagle did not stink. Their base was in the range of that but they didn’t tell you where exactly.

Nothing really bothered you with that. It seemed to be a rather secretive situation and you were not about to get into legal trouble by trying to find it. Occasionally you could hear the man behind you groan. Whenever you looked into the back mirror you could see his disheveled state. Some feathers unplugged and halfway ripped out, his hair probably a bit longer than it should be and various cuts on his arms and face. Poor guy.

About half an hour you arrived at the location you had been given. A remote area where a smaller town was not too far away. You heard there was a bar there. Maybe you‘ll go there later, it’s been a while since you ate anything beside those medications.(read info) But for now you kept waiting. Waiting. And…waiting? Why was no one here yet? Just when the sun was slowly going down you heard a car nearby. In case it may have been just some townsfolk you quickly tried to blend in. Pulling up the mask and acting like you tried to light cigarette. You did not smoke. It was too expensive and you didn’t get the appeal. To you it was like a cheap sex potion that lady’s were attracted to. The car however stopped and 3 large man came out of it. You were sure if you hadn’t already had your gay awakening this could have been it. But you couldn’t ask a military officer for a one night stand. Sadly

One had huge wings and the other a tail. The tallest one did not show any signs of abnormality. Maybe they had a human amongst them. You were about to say something when you felt a pressure on you.

Oh. That guy was some kind of demon too.

Demons could feel another. Some more than others. And some did not at all. But to you, demons stank like fish. You hated fish.

„Are you X?“ the dragon asked. „Depends on it. Who is asking?“ you just had to make sure it was them. And you tried to buy time. Just to see if that demon recognized you as one. Any reaction could reveal it. Demons were territorial after all. You were too but since nothing belonged to you and your noodles were always stolen by Asher there was nothing to protect.

„Captain Price.“ he answered. That’s him mind you. You open the car door and immediately a hawk claws at you. Lucky you, you had stepped to the side. „Rise and shine birdy. Your pack is here.“ He stood up a bit cranky from the ground he fell to. Not moments later the dog came and helped him to their car. Wait dog? No it’s probably a wolf. He was too quiet for a dog.

„I must thank you. Hope to work again with you in the future.“ the dragon said after some back and forth about your payment. „Lie.“ You knew from the way his eyes never left you that he was lying.

„I don’t trust you mercenaries. But your help is undeniable.“ With that he said goodbye to you.

That demon guy stared at you a bit longer. You could swear you saw him smell the air. You wondered what kind he was. Maybe a succubus like you!

He then followed Price to the car and you watched them drive away.

Urghh. You needed a drink. And a hookup

Notes about succubus:

They are rare very rare

They can smell sexual excitement even without wanting it and it somewhat feeds them but in the end they still need sex ( some more than others )

The need for physical contact ( sex ) can be lindert by a special kind of medicine

Succubus look like normal people but they can extend claws and tails if they want to

( and to go into actually mythology here) they cannot however hide their horns and when on the hunt for food ( sex ) they cannot hide their animal feet ( hooves )

They can like in real mythology appear to someone as another person after they know who they crave

They are not too fast

Their voice can cause sexual excitement and can be somewhat like a drug ( when they want to)

Succubus however have the problem that most of the time they do not wish to engage into such things and therefore the smell can make them feel ill and cause unwanted excitement on their part

Succubus can be bound by a spell that is specific to their own and they usually contain it in a toy or a thing they always carry around

If another person has this toy or object they can force the succubus to do anything they want

The succubus cannot disobey

[cillianhead]

Your Thomas Shelby's younger inexperienced wife and you are both experimenting in the bedroom and he lets you choke him 🥵

Oh absolutely...!

God I can't wait to write this. Thank you for your request! I hope you like it :-)

Show Me How Much You Need Me || Thomas Shelby x Reader

Part One!

Warnings: SMUT, unprotected P in V, choking, light spanking i guess??, face slapping, age gap, degrading language, swearing / vulgar language, kinda mild breeding kink, daddy kink, squirting, mild overstimulation sort of, oral sex (f receiving), arranged marriage, very very very very vague implications of dubcon sort of but like not really but just be warned! adult content. (sorry if I missed any warnings)

18+ Minors DNI

To your parents, being unmarried at the age of twenty was absolutely unacceptable. So on your birthday, they had men lining up around the block, both old and young alike, hoping to be your husband. Now there were some good candidates, not that you had a choice in who you were going to marry. Your parents were control freaks, deciding they were going to decide for you. But as soon as Thomas Shelby walked into the room, cigarette hanging loosely out of his lips, a trail of smoke following him and a huge wad of cash in hand and then tossing it down in front of my parents, acting like he owned the place... You knew no one else stood a chance.

Now you'd been married for a month, Tommy was an insatiable man. He got what he wanted when he wanted. You remember the look in his eyes on your wedding night when you told him you were a virgin, he nearly came in his trousers at the thought of your tight pussy. You've had sex pretty much twice a day or more ever since, he couldn't keep his hands off of you. Tommy showed you how to fuck, how to suck his cock, showed you how to please a man. Of course, the only man you would ever be allowed to please would be Tommy himself. You were hesitant to marry him, you were also slightly afraid of him but as you got to know each other, got to spend more time together as husband and wife, you appreciated his company, and you could even see yourself beginning to love him. But lately the sex between you had started to die down, Tommy being busy dealing with the peaky blinders and all their drama, you'd only have sex every other day or so. Which for you guys, wasn't a lot. But you knew he was tired, it wasn't cause he wasn't attracted to you anymore.

It was pouring rain outside as you both quietly sat in bed, Tommy read his novel quietly, glasses sitting on the edge of his nose while you brushed through your hair, topless and only in some thin white panties for him. There was a visible wet patch from your arousal, you were always wet when you were near Tommy, he just had that affect over you. He thought it was cute how easily excitable you are. You were incredibly needy, now that you'd had a taste of what it was like to have sex, you were constantly asking for it, constantly trying to get his attention. Poor little inexperienced thing you were.

"Tommy," You whined, placing your hairbrush on the bedside table and then leaning over, pressing your face into his neck. "Pay attention to me..."

Tommy let out an amused huff, turning another page of his book, not bothering to even spare one glance at you. "What do y'need, love?" He asked gruffly, reaching his spare arm and wrapping it around you, pulling you into him. He knew exactly what you needed, he just wanted to hear you say it. The way you got embarrassed and shy was incredibly sexy to him.

"Need you..." You whispered, placing kisses along the column of his throat.

"Gotta be more specific than that," He closed his book, finally setting it aside along with his glasses. "What do you need from me?"

"I need... you..." You were flustered, burying your face in his bare chest but he grabbed you by the nape of the neck like you were a kitten and pulled your head up, forcing you to look at him. "I need you to fuck me... Tommy..."

"Is that so?" He chuckled, running a thumb over your bottom lip which you innocently popped into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digit. You weren't doing intentionally to turn him on, you just liked the way it felt to suck on something, especially if that something was Tommy's thumb. But the sight was suggestive, Tommy wished it was his cock in your mouth instead. "Fuckin' hell, alright, sit in me lap, I'll give you what ye need."

You continued sucking on his thumb, keeping eye contact with him as he pulled down his sleep shorts and pulled down your underwear. "Go on then, take what ya came here for." Tommy pulled his wet thumb away, shoving it between your folds and rubbing your clit, making you weak in the knees. He had so much power over you. So you grabbed onto his shoulders before holding the head of his dick before lining up with the leaky tip and sinking down on him. You watched his eyes roll into the back of his head as you squeezed around him. "Easy, girl." He warned, his cock twitching inside you, he could cum from just how tight you were. God he fucking loved that his cock was the only one you'd ever taken, loved the way you stretched around him.

"Fuck... so deep..." You sat on him for just a moment, adjusting to the feeling. Even though you'd taken him plenty of times, your cunt just hadn't gotten use to the sheer size and girth of him. It made you feel like you were being torn open in the most beautiful way possible. "T-Tommy..."

"Ride me, slut, go on... show me how much you need me." He slapped your ass harshly before grabbing a handful of it and encouraging your hips to start grinding against him. "Such a pretty girl."

You moved your hips back and forth, a bit shy at first as you did so but as more and more pleasure began to build in your stomach, your dignity went out the window as you began desperately bouncing on his cock. Tommy had never seen you so hungry for it before, he just leaned back against the bed, his hands gripping your waist as you took what you wanted.

Your tits bounced right in front of his face and Tommy thought to himself this was the greatest view in the world. His pretty little wife fucking herself and her perfect tits moving in sync with her movements. He let out gravelly groans as you sunk back down on him, sweaty, you froze for a moment to catch your breath. This was still all so new to you, still such an innocent little thing. You still need Tommy's help to get off sometimes, not quite strong enough yet to ride him all on your own.

"Tommy..." You whispered with a small whine. "Need your help..." Your flushed cheeks and blown out pupils were a sign of how lost in the moment you were. He just smiled as he pushed you down onto your back and threw your legs over his shoulders. His cock pressing even deeper into your pussy, somehow. You could feel him in your stomach.

"This what you want, little girl?" He hummed as he started to fuck in and out of you, impaling you on his dick. "Want me to fuck you like the slut you are?"

You moaned, nodding dumbly as your mind went blank. "Yes! Tommy! Fuck me!" You were incredibly loud and you were lucky no one else was in the house because otherwise they'd hear how loud you were being, when usually you were quite reserved around other people. "Pl-Please put a baby in me Tommy... let me make you a daddy..."

"Fuck..." Tommy could cum at your words, "Yeah?" He panted continuing to piston in and out of you, one of his hands grabbed roughly at your tits, playing with your hard nipple. "Gonna breed you like the bitch that you are." You moaned at his words, arching your back further into him as he gave you another harsh spank to your asscheeks.

"Tommy... gonna cum... please... don't stop!" You sounded like a pornstar, Tommy leaned down and kissed you.

"My pretty little wife," His voice was vibrating through you, the gravel of it making you even wetter. The sound of his cock slipping in and out of your sopping little cunt echoed throughout the room as he leaned down even further and connected his lips to yours once again. He felt your fingers curl around his neck, both hands wrapped around his throat, Tommy was never one to get flustered but the idea of you choking him made his hips stutter as you squeezed around him a bit. "Fuck..." He moaned lowly as you held onto his neck. You looked so sweet in that moment. "Such a stupid little girl, when you're full of cock, don't even know what ye doin, eh?" He fucked into you more, feeling you squeeze around him. Your hands held onto his throat as if you were holding him on a leash.

You were a writhing mess, shaking underneath him, only choking him further. You looked at how pretty he looked with your hands wrapped around his throat and how flushed his face was, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead as his hips bruised your pelvis. "Daddy...!" You moaned out, experimentally, waiting to see his reaction. You had always fantasized about calling him it but you were always too nervous to do so. But right now you were drunk on the pleasure, too fucked out to care.

"Fuck... say that again... gonna fuckin' fill you up, love." Tommy was just as desperate as you now, chasing his own high as you started to convulse around him, your orgasm unraveling, he lightly slapped you across the face, hard enough to break you out of your daze but not enough to actually do any damage. "Fuckin' do what I say!" You clenched tighter around him, cumming even harder at the sound of him yelling at you. Him being angry at you shouldn't be so hot but it was.

"Sorry... s-sorry... daddy!" You sobbed out as you gushed around his cock that began leaking cum. "Please... cum in me, please daddy..."

"That's right, baby..." He was rutting into you now, hips moving into you hard yet slow. "I'm yer daddy." He let out a deep mewl as he came inside you, making you moan even louder, your voice hoarse and your throat sore as you let go of his throat, collapsing your arms back. Tommy fucked his cum deep into you despite the sensitivity of his cock. Slowly pulling out of you, he pushed your legs against your chest to look down at the slick between your legs. A little bit of cum dripped out of your stretched out hole, earning you two fingers pushing it back into you, you just whimpered, a bit overstimulated.

"Think I gotta get a taste of your pussy now, love," He hummed getting down on his tummy, face aligned perfectly as he moved his fingers in a 'come hither' movement. You gasped, he was hitting your g-spot each time.

"Fuck, tommy!"

"Eh, that's not me name right now." He looked at you warningly before unhinging his jaw and attaching his hot mouth to your sensitive clit again.

"Oh daddy! 'S too much, too much... please..." You couldn't tell if you wanted him to stop or to keep going, it was all too much for your brain to comprehend. You were seeing hot flashes of white, your body going completely limp as another orgasm washed over you, rendering you helpless to the pleasure that was consuming you from the inside out. "D-Daddy..." You dumbly moaned.

"Tastes so fuckin good, keep cummin' on my face." His nose brushed your clit as he licked up your juices and you came again and again and again. Extremely overstimulated. "Just gimme one more, baby then I'll leave you alone." You were unresponsive, nodding your head weakly, wanting to be good for him. "Such a good girl for daddy, aren't ya?" He made out with your gushing sex, adding a third finger.

And suddenly you felt it burst out of you, drenching his hair, face, and the sheets underneath you. Squirting all over his face and just as you thought it was over, it just kept on coming. Your mouth agape in a silent scream of pleasure, he drank it all up, continuing to slurp at your pussy until it finally ended. He pulled away, leaning back on his ankles, Tommy had a very pleased look on his face, your squirt dripping down his chin and his chest sticky with your cum and the sheets soaking wet. "That was the best bloody thing to ever happen to me." He huffed, licking his wet fingers. You laid there, tears streaming down your face and twitching gently, still coming down. He laid down beside you. "You did so good f'me, so good, you're alright, I'm here."

He held you as you continued to shake, waiting for you to calm down a bit. "I've never done that before..." You whimpered, pussy throbbing, full of cum, and sopping wet.

He gave you a loud genuine laugh, still sticky with your juices as he kissed you. "I'm gonna make you squirt over and over and over again every time we fuck now, just so you know."

You giggled at his words, he was gonna be the death of you.

-

I know there wasn't a whole lot of 'experimenting' or choking so i'm sorry! But I hope you enjoyed anyway!!

[vaginalvr]

I have a request for Dom Spencer with bau reader. Enemies to lovers fic. And with age gap 😜🔥💕

content warning: enemies to lovers, age gap (Spencer older), Dom!Spencer, bratty!Reader, office tension, hate-fueled banter, rough sex, teasing, orgasm control, light spanking, fingering, face-fucking, protected PIV, aftercare.

a/n: meowwwwwwwwwww is this exactly like another fic i posted well maybe yes im dumb and i forget

word count ~ 1k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You never liked Dr. Spencer Reid.

Not because of his intelligence—that would be unfair. You could respect the intellect, the eidetic memory, the encyclopedic facts he spit out in the middle of case briefings like Google with a pulse. But God, did he always have to be so smug about it?

"You’re wrong," he said flatly across the conference room table one morning. His voice was calm, but the challenge in it lit your blood on fire.

"Am I?" You leaned forward, daring him to look you in the eye. “Because profiling gang-related escalation happens to be my specialty. You’re welcome to sit this one out, Dr. Reid.”

He blinked slowly, that irritating little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Statistics suggest emotional bias affects judgment. You might want to check your pride before you keep embarrassing yourself.”

You gritted your teeth. “Fuck off.”

“Gladly,” he said coolly, pushing up from the table and brushing past you—intentionally close.

Your elbow twitched. You almost “accidentally” punched him.

Almost.

Part 2: Thin Line Between Hate and Heat

That tension didn’t fade with time. If anything, it grew. Escalated. Every case, every briefing, every goddamn interaction became a battlefield. You pushed his buttons. He pushed back harder.

It wasn’t until a stakeout in Wisconsin—rain pouring, boredom setting in—that you realized the hate might be... something else.

He was driving. You were in the passenger seat, your arms crossed, the silence thicker than the fog outside.

“You always have to argue with me,” he muttered suddenly.

You glanced over. “Because you always think you’re right.”

“I am usually right,” he replied without hesitation.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a smug, condescending—"

“And you’re such a brat,” he cut in, voice low now. “Always looking for a fight. I don’t even think you hate me.”

You turned your head sharply. “Excuse me?”

“I think you want me to lose control,” he said quietly. “I think you want me to shut you up.”

The air left your lungs in a silent oh.

“You really think you can?” you said, voice cracking just slightly.

His hand curled around the steering wheel, knuckles white. “You have no idea what I could do to you.”

Part 3: After Hours

A week later, the line snapped.

It was late. The office was empty, and you were still reviewing case files at your desk when the elevator chimed. Spencer emerged, suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled, hair messy from rain.

You didn’t even greet him. Just: “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere reading a 17th-century monograph and avoiding human contact?”

He dropped his bag with a thud. “Shouldn’t you be trying not to be a brat for five fucking minutes?”

Your stomach flipped.

You stood, slowly, and raised a brow. “Or what, Reid?”

The moment hung there.

Then—he moved. Stalked across the floor, grabbing your wrist, pushing you back until your spine hit your office door.

“You like testing me, don’t you?” he growled, one hand flat against the door beside your head. “You like pissing me off.”

“And you like pretending you’re not desperate to fuck me,” you whispered.

He pressed forward—body to body. You felt him hard against your hip, no mistaking it now. His hand wrapped around your throat—not tight, just firm.

"Say it again," he said. "Say I want to fuck you."

You didn’t hesitate. “You want to fuck me.”

His mouth crashed into yours like a breaking dam.

Part 4: Dom!Spencer Unleashed

You were on your knees in his apartment twenty minutes later.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, unbuckling his belt with quick precision.

You obeyed. His cock slapped heavy against your tongue—long, thick, flushed. He gripped your hair, eyes dark, lips parted.

“Such a brat at work,” he murmured, rolling his hips slowly. “But look at you now. Obedient. Needy.”

You sucked him in deep, earning a hiss. His grip in your hair tightened as he began to fuck your mouth, deliberate and slow.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he said softly. “Going to make you forget every smartass thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Your hands dug into his thighs. He pulled back before you could come undone, a wicked smile on his face.

“Strip. On the bed. Face down, ass up.”

You didn’t argue.

And when his palm cracked down across your ass, you moaned.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That’s what I thought.”

Part 5: Obedience

His fingers spread you open, dragging through your wetness with maddening precision.

“Already dripping?” he murmured, smug again—but it didn’t piss you off now. Not like this. Not with his fingers circling your clit. “You’re soaking my sheets and I’ve barely touched you.”

He slid two fingers into you in one slow, torturous push, curling just right.

“Please, Spencer…”

He stilled. “Dr. Reid.”

You gasped. “Dr. Reid… please.”

“That’s better.”

He fucked you on his fingers until you were whining, shaking, clenching. Then he pulled out.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

You groaned. “You’re evil.”

“I’m patient,” he corrected, reaching for a condom. “But I won’t be gentle.”

And he wasn’t.

He sank into you with one hard thrust, his hand pressed against the back of your neck.

“Take it,” he growled in your ear. “Take every inch like the filthy little brat you are.”

You cried out, body arching, eyes rolling back.

He pounded into you, relentless and commanding, fucking you through every protest and every needy moan. And when you came, hard and loud, he didn’t stop.

“Again,” he said. “Give me another.”

You did.

Part 6: Aftercare

After, you were boneless and gasping on his sheets. Spencer—still shirtless, still gorgeous—tugged the blanket over you, curling behind you and brushing hair from your damp face.

You expected him to go cold. Expected the tension to snap back in place.

Instead, he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentler than you’d ever heard it.

You nodded. “More than.”

“I meant it,” he added, fingers brushing over your hip. “I want to ruin you. But not just for tonight.”

You turned your head slowly. “Wait... are you saying you like me?”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t start.”

You grinned. “What? It’s cute.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re mine now,” you said, pressing your lips to his.

He kissed you back like it was already true.

And it was.

[random-imagines-blog]

One Thousand Cheers {Dean Winchester x Female!Reader}

Wordcount: 2669 Requested by: @ab1nsur Summary: While hunting demons on the beach, you get caught up in a rather revealing contest. Warnings: Swearing, Spring Break chaos, A touch of non-consensual touching, demon mischief.

Demons on a beach during Spring Break. This felt like some sort of teen romance novel, and you could see the cover now - some red painted muscular guy holding some lusty teenager, the sunset behind them. Course, demons never actually looked like that. The ones you were looking for blended in well enough, looking like bikini-clad twenty-year olds who were looking for a hookup, rather than for souls. “Ever feel like you’re too old for this crap?” You asked Dean, standing up on a bench to try to look over the crowds for your demons, or for anyone who looked like they were being lured away. “Spring Break - what I wouldn’t give for a week off to feel like a stupid kid again.” 

“This is your idea of a fun Spring Break?” Dean said, his eyes too busy scoping out the beach, and making sure that his Revolver was tucked away inside of his jacket. He’s the one that stood out for wearing one, in this almost 90-degree weather. The sun going down didn’t cool anything any. “My break was another hunt, and I’d be lucky if it wasn’t somewhere that was raining all the time.” 

“I think that’s why you are the way you are. You didn’t get to party enough,” You chuckled. “Didn’t get to raise a little hell like these idiots.” 

“Yeah, that’s my problem alright. Didn’t party enough,” Dean grunted. Then his eyes seemed to catch on something, much like how a cat will suddenly spot a squirrel and look ready to pounce. “To the left.” 

“I see one to the right,” You whispered back. “Split up?” 

“Going to have to,” Dean said. “We’ll meet back up over there.” 

He motioned his head to one of the larger stages that seemed like it was preparing for a Wet T-Shirt Contest. You rolled your eyes at him. Of course, that’s where he would want to end up. “Alright, but only because it’s a good central location. Not because I wanna watch you get an eyeful.” 

Before he could come up with a witty retort, you were off the bench and walking among the people. In your jeans and white t-shirt, you didn’t exactly fit in with them either, but at least you weren’t wearing a heavy jacket. Your own weapon, your knife, was tucked into a holster attached to your leg, and your fingers brushed against the hilt with every step that you took towards the woman who had flashed her black eyes at you. It was tough to maneuver through the crowd, tall men often standing in the way of your line of your vision, a couple of them playfully trying to touch you. You slapped their hands away and carried on, too focused on the mission to give them a piece of your mind. Otherwise, you would have picked them apart and left them absolutely decimated with only your words. 

There she was. A fucking stunner. The vessel must have been a supermodel or something because this demon was getting a lot of attention, exactly like it wanted. It had it’s pick of tall, muscular, college-age men who didn’t actually think much about their future and would make a deal for something as stupid as money. Bargain away their soul for a couple of fun weekends in Cancun or something similar. 

Going up and incapacitating it wasn’t an option, not with so many witnesses. There was no way you were going to be able to form a salt circle around it with all of these people around, it would get trodden on, if it didn’t immediately mix with the sand. But you couldn’t let it just take these men away either. If you could save their souls, best bet you were going to try.  

“Hey, you,” You called out, jogging a little closer, running the back of your hand against your forehead where sweat was starting to gather and drip into your eyes. All the attention turned to you in that moment, and the demon knew that it had the advantage here. Its smirk made you want to rage. You had to use some quick thinking to get these men away. 

“Can I help you?” It said, in a sickly-sweet voice. The fucking confidence in these demons - must be a younger one.  

“You’re the bitch who gave my brother herpes, aren’t you?” You said, your mind flashing to Gabriel of all people, and the trick that he had pulled on Sam, making him pretend he was in a commercial for Herpexia. “Yeah, I remember you. Now I know my brother is too chickenshit to say anything, but I will.” You put your hands around your mouth to mime a loudspeaker of some kind, getting more people to look. “THIS CHICK HAS HERPES. DON’T SHARE A DRINK WITH HER OR SLEEP WITH HER. SHE WON’T EVEN CALL YOU AFTER ANYWAY!” 

The demon growled, a touch of its true nature showing, the eyes darkening as the guys around her started to subtly walk away, deciding that it just was not worth it. So at least one part of your idea was coming to fruition.  

“You play dirty,” she said, her head tilting menacingly towards you. The eyes were so focused on yours. You stepped in a little closer, your hand closing around the hilt of your weapon as a little room was made by the absence of her suitors. 

“Yeah, I was inspired by a tricky angel, what can I say?” You said, your own gaze glaring. “What happened to just hanging around crossroads, huh? Surely that has more dignity than picking up these scraps.” 

“Dignity? Now - you’re one to talk,” The demon said, the smirk growing on her painted red lips, which perfectly matched the bikini that she was wearing. Her hands were on her hips. She knew there were still too many people for me to do anything drastic, like go charging. “Always hanging around the Winchesters. Clinging onto Dean.” 

“I don’t cling,” You scoffed. “I said, actually. It’s something that friends do. Which you wouldn’t know, because demons don’t really have friends, do they? You’re not the most likeable sort.” 

“Friends?” The demon said, chuckling, which got on your nerves. “Come on, y/n. Even from down below we can see how bad you have it for Dream-Boy Dean. Which is why you cling.” 

“I think this part, right here, this is why you guys have a bad rep. The deals, the hellhounds, the annoying possessions, they’re all bad, but this right here? This is why you’re never going to have friends,” You glared, feeling yourself getting riled up. Which of course is what they wanted. 

“We take bets down there, on how hurt you’re going to be when he turns you down,” The demon-woman giggled. “I bet a hundred souls that you’re going to call on one of us. Make a little deal so that he’ll love you the same way that you love him.” 

"This isn’t going to stop me from killing you, you know. Actually, it’s making me want to do it more. And then you can go back down to hell and pass on the message that all of you are going to lose your money, nobody wins. You’re all just - so damn wrong.” 

Your stomach was churning inside of you. The anger was making you start to become careless, but it wasn’t just the words that she was saying which were pissing you off. It was the fact that she had a goddamn point. OF COURSE you clung onto Dean Winchester. Has anyone seen him? He’s one of the most handsome men in the world, women and some men everywhere fell for him. And you had the pleasure of getting to know him, which made your admiration worse. He was a badass, he was confident, he was funny, he had this bad boy look down pat. But of one thing you were absolutely sure. You would never, ever be stupid enough to make a deal with a demon. Not for love, not for power, not for anything. If you ended up ever confessing your feelings to Dean, and he didn’t feel the same - that was that. You already prepared yourself for it. 

“So do it,” The demon-woman said. “Kill me. But you know I’ll be back. That’s the thing that you really should hate about us demons. We always come back.” 

“Yeah, it’s really annoying,” You had to admit. Your hand fastened around the hilt of your knife. “And it makes prison sound pretty damn worth it.” 

She backed up, turned around and started to run, weaving through bodies. It appeared to be more of a dance than anything else, with her bare feet against the sand. You found it a little harder, running in your sneakers. The constant dipping into other people’s deeper footprints made your thighs burn as you kept moving. You wanted to have your knife in your hands but considering how many people were around, how there could be accidents, it wasn’t the smart thing to do. So, you were stuck just following, hoping to tackle. No, praying to all the angels that you knew that she would get hit with one of those giant beachballs that people were throwing around, so you could drag her out of there easier.  

Dodge and weave. The people were growing closer and closer together. You were having to use your elbows. With the congestion, you felt like you were a piece of floss, struggling to get between teeth. You kept getting sprayed with something, water probably. No, ugh, it smelt like beer. Someone was actually shaking up their beer and then pouring out the foam over people. 

You wrinkled your nose, wiping it away from your eyes before it could get into them, and then looked around again. You had totally lost her. There were other girls around in red bikinis but none of them had her face. You pushed more and more - until you found yourself being against a stage. Two arms came down and grabbed onto yours, pulling you up, confusing you further. 

“And we have our last volunteer for the wet t-shirt contest!” An emcee said, different colored spotlights dancing around your body. “What’s your name, jeans?” 

There were cheers coming from the crowd that you had just elbowed your way through. Your mouth went dry as you realized that everyone was now looking at you. You turned your eyes to the DJ booth where a man that looked like he was out of an LMFAO music video was standing, mic pointed out towards you.  

“Y/N,” you said, loudly.  

“Y/N! Come and stand with the other contestants, you all know how this goes don’t you?” 

While he explained the rules of this stupid contest that you now couldn’t get out of, since everyone was looking over at you, you looked through the crowd. Your eyes first landed on the demon, who was smirking at you from amongst the crowd. Her ruby red lipstick made her look all the smugger and you shook your head at her, mentally threatening to make her exorcism as painful as possible. The next pair of eyes that you caught were green, and boy, were they wide.  

Dean Winchester could be a bit of a gambling man, often with his life, but he would have never bet that he would see you be a part of a wet t-shirt contest. 

One by one, the girls in your lineup had buckets of water poured over them. Your heart was pounding when your turn was coming up. You weren’t dressed like these other girls. You didn’t have on a skimpy bikini top. Hell, it looked like the girl two down from you wasn’t wearing a bra at all. She looked like Jennifer Aniston in Friends. You looked down to make sure that you were wearing one, and yes, thank Chuck you were, and it wasn’t one of your bad laundry-day bras either. 

A gasp came out of you as a bucket full of COLD water was poured over your head. It was freezing absolutely freezing, and made you feel chilled down to the bone. But it had the effect that they wanted. Your white t-shirt was now drenched, and clinging onto your body, the way that the demon claimed you clung onto Dean. The cold had the effect on your body of making your nipples harden and start to point out of the thin fabric of your bra. The crowd in front of you went wild, a hundred, a thousand cheers coming out from them as they clapped for your body.  

You warmed up pretty quick from how flustered you were feeling. Your eyes were still stuck on Dean’s as his trailed down your body, taking in the sight of you. It wasn’t the most exposed that you had been, since he had given you a hand with stitches on your abdomen before, but it was all about context. This wasn’t seeing you because he was helping. This was him seeing you because you somehow got put into a contest meant to give straight men and lesbians material for their spankbank. 

And even though you hadn’t wanted to enter - you got in second.  

And a bonus of a 100-dollar cash prize. 

That part wasn’t so bad. 

You took it without any pomp, just accepted the bill out of the emcee’s hand and hopped off the back of the stage with the intention of circling back around and trying to avoid the mass of people. Music was playing louder now that the contest was over. Free drink tickets were being thrown out from the stage. People were being pulled up to dance. It was basically a stampede over there, and you had to finally resign yourself to the fact that if the demon was in there, she was out of your reach.  

You saw Dean exiting the crowd out of the corner of your eye and walked in his direction, pulling the shirt away from your skin, though once you let go, it immediately clung right back with a sick squelching sound. You crossed your arms in front of yourself instead, protecting what little modesty that you had left.  

“Not a word, Winchester,” You warned him. He put his hands up innocently, though you knew that he had something on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to say. 

You watched him as he took his heavy jacket off and he put it around your shoulders. You weren’t cold any longer, but you did take the opportunity to cover up, muttering a thank you as you crossed your arms in front of yourself to hide your wet t-shirt from view. “Can’t complain about a hundred bucks though,” he said, with a corny smile.

“I can complain that the demon bitch got away. I swear, she did that on purpose. Lead me to the stage so that I would get picked. Crowley is probably down there, laughing his ass off, knowing that his demon did this.” 

“We’ll find them,” Dean said, resolutely. “- after you buy me an overpriced beer. You can afford it.” 

You nudged him with the new weight of the jacket, making him chuckle. It was a welcome sound, after being humiliated and disappointed. “Fine, fine. One beer - but we’re looking for these hellspawns while we drink, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, gruffly. “We’ll squish these cockroaches.” 

You nodded and he put his arm around your shoulders, leading you towards one of the makeshift bars on the beach, selling beer at three times the price of what they should be. Your heart was beating quickly again inside of your chest as you were pulled in close to him, the smell of his leather surrounding you. Your words flickered back to what the demoness had said - you clung to him. But right now, it almost looked like ... 

He was clinging to you. 

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Work Too Hard, Can You Fuckin' Pay Me?

Part 10 - Y/N moved to escape some of thier looming troubles from Westview, to the place that their best friend said would make a difference. New job, new digs, will Y/N make a change for the better, or leave another city with their tail between their legs?

TW: Angst, Intersex reader, reader has some... not so great coping habits, sexual tension, smut

Word Count: 3.2K

Read Pt. 1 HERE Read Pt. 2 HERE Read Pt. 3 HERE Read Pt. 4 HERE Read Pt. 5 HERE Read Pt. 6 HERE Read Pt. 7 HERE Read Pt. 8 HERE Read Pt. 9 HERE

This Is More Than A Kiss For Me

The soft patter of a light rain woke you the following morning, causing you to stir as you felt a weight on your chest. Not a metaphorical weight but a literal weight. Looking down, there was a halo of auburn hair spread across your chest, Wanda's light snores tickling you where her face was resting. You felt your heart swell, a smile playing at the corner of your lips as you watched her sleep. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she awoke to find your eyes on her. She grinned up at you, a sleepy but content smile, and you couldn't help but feel your heart race.

"Good morning," she rasped, her voice thick with sleep. The timbre did something to you, a warmth spreading through your body. You leaned down to kiss her, soft and sweet, feeling the gentle brush of her breath against your skin.

"Mm, good morning," you murmured back, your hand still playing idly with her hair. The room smelled faintly of sex and candles, a potent combination that seemed to promise a day full of both comfort and excitement. "How did you sleep?"

"Better than I have in ages," she confessed, stretching languidly. Her movements were feline, sinuous, and graceful, and you felt a surge of desire for her all over again. "You?"

"The same," you said, the corners of your mouth turning up into a grin. You felt alive in a way you hadn't in so long. The week of work and the night with Wanda had drained and then filled you up all at once. You had never felt so alive. You watched as she eased towards the edge of her bed, the sheets falling from around her, exposing her bare body to the cool morning air. The sight made something within you stir. "Have I told you how fucking beautiful you are?"

Wanda giggled, a blush rising to her cheeks as she stood and walked towards her dresser. "You might have mentioned it once or twice," she said, pulling out a pair of panties and a bra. "But you seem to say it only when you're buried between my thighs." The thought made a slight blush rise to your cheeks at her admission as you stood and walked to stand behind her. You rested your chin on her shoulder, looking into the reflection of the mirror above her dresser.

"Well, in my defense, they are amazing thighs," you quipped, gently kissing and nibbling along her jawline. She giggled again, the sound music to your ears. You felt her body tense as your hands found her hips, pulling her back against your chest. Her skin was still warm from sleep, and you couldn't resist the urge to press yourself against her. "In all seriousness, Wands. You are absolutely stunning. A sight for sore eyes."

Wanda turned in your arms, her expression softening. She placed her hand on your cheek, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "You're not so bad yourself," she whispered, leaning in to kiss you. It was a soft kiss, filled with promise and tenderness, a stark contrast to the passion of the night before. You felt your heart melt a little more, the realization that you had feelings for her setting in deeper.

You pulled back slightly, a misty look in her eyes as you rested your forehead against hers.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "For everything. You have this ability to make me feel alive again," she admitted, her voice cracking slightly.

You wrapped your arms around her, holding her tightly against you, relishing the feeling of her skin against yours. "Well, that feeling is definitely mutual," you murmured back, feeling the weight of her words settle deep within you, resting your face in the crook of her neck. The truth of them resonated, and you knew that this was something special, something that could be incredible if you both allowed it to be. "I know you may not be ready yet, but please," you said, pulling away, placing your hands gently on each of her cheeks and guiding her to look at you. "I know there is more to that statement than you're saying. Talk to me if it gets to be too much."

Her eyes searched yours, and you could see the warring emotions playing out within her. But she nodded, a small, shy smile playing on her lips. "I will," she promised. "And you, too. We're in this together." her hands reached up, playing with the hair on the back of your neck.

The tension in the room was palpable, the unspoken words hanging in the air like the mist outside. You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the conversation settle in your chest. But you didn't want to ruin the moment with the heavy talk of fears and doubt. Instead, you leaned in and kissed her again, this time more urgently. Her body melded into yours, the heat between you growing stronger with every second that passed.

You stepped back, breaking the embrace. "Let's go grab some breakfast," you suggested, your voice still thick with sleep and desire. Wanda nodded, a smile playing on her swollen lips. "I'll be back, let me go change." you gestured towards the clothes you had worn out after work on Friday, having not gone home to grab a change of clothes since.

"Don't keep me waiting, tiger." She winked at you before turning and walking into her bathroom, leaving the door open as she turned on her shower. You couldn't resist the urge to watch the sway of her hips and the perfect curve of her ass as she disappeared behind the foggy glass door. Quickly, you grabbed your clothes from the floor before making your way next door to your house. The cool morning air was a shock to your system as you stepped outside, but it also helped clear your head of the weight and feelings you both just shuffled around.

The last 2 nights had been a whirlwind, both of you enjoying the newest aspect of your relationship. However, the weekend was coming to an end, and reality was knocking at the door. You had to get ready for the week ahead, the one you had been looking forward to. You walked into your house, the quietness awaiting you a stark contrast to the night you had just had. Walking upstairs to your bedroom, you tossed your dirty clothes into the pile in the corner before turning to the shower yourself.

You allowed the hot water to wash away the aching in your muscles from the past couple of nights, cleansing your skin of the lingering sweat and passion from Wanda. As the water cascaded over you, you couldn’t help but replay the moments from the night before—her taste, her touch, the way she had looked at you with such raw desire. You rested your head on the shower wall, allowing the water to roam freely.

You weren't sure how long you had been in the shower, contemplating your life decisions leading up to now. Your fingers had long since gone pruny, and the water was now cold. You stepped out and wiped the mirror with your hand, clearing it of the steam that had collected. Bracing yourself against the bathroom sink, you let your thoughts continue to wander.

"I thought I told you not to leave me waiting," Wanda's sultry voice cut through the foggy atmosphere in your bathroom, her gaze in the mirror calming your nerves. You turned to see her leaning against the doorway, a knowing smile on her lips as she took in your naked form.

"Sorry, got a bit lost in thought," you said, grabbing a towel to wrap around your waist. She stepped closer, her perfume wafting through the air and invading your senses.

"Care to share?" Wanda's eyes searched yours, shifting from flirty to a hint of concern. You took a deep breath, trying to organize the jumble of thoughts in your head. She stepped further into the room, her hands coming to rest on top of your breasts before she trailed them up behind your neck. Her thumbs grazed the base of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"I'm just stuck in my head, I guess." You shrugged, trying to play it cool. But you could feel the heat of her gaze, her touch making it impossible to think straight. "I can't help but feel like I will find a way to fuck this up, you know?"

Wanda leaned in, her eyes never leaving yours. "You won't," she said firmly. "We're both adults, and we know what we're doing. We're just... exploring." Her voice grew softer, more gentle. "If it gets to be too much, we'll figure it out."

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you looked at her, a sense of vulnerability washing over you. "Wanda, it sounds like we're going to be doing a bunch of 'figuring it out,' doesn't it?" You leaned into her, feeling the warmth of her body pressing against yours.

"That's part of what a relationship is, Y/N," she murmured, her fingers tracing the lines of your neck and sending chills down your spine. Her eyes searched yours, the intensity in them telling you she meant every word. You felt your heart race, knowing that she was right and taking in what she had just admitted. The unknown was a thrilling dance, and you were both ready to lead it. "But I have a feeling that despite the challenges, this will all be worth it."

You couldn't help but smile at her optimism, the warmth of her words seeping into your soul. "I hope you're right," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Wanda leaned in, her breath warm against your ear.

"Well, make sure I am," she whispered before kissing below your ear and stepping away. "Now, time to get dressed, detka. I'm starving, and I'm sure you are too," she threw a wink over her shoulder as she left your bathroom.

The warmth of her kiss remained as you finished drying off and pulled on some clothes, opting for a simple pair of dark blue jeans and a dark grey hoodie with a blue flannel shirt. Wanda looked like she had just stepped out of a magazine in skinny black jeans and a deep red sweater that hugged her curves perfectly. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, leaving a few strands to frame her face.

"Ready?" She asked, holding out her hand to you.

You nodded, taking her hand in yours, feeling the warmth of her touch. "Ready," you affirmed, the word coming out more as a question than a statement. But she just gave you a reassuring smile as you slid your hand into hers, leading her towards your garage. You helped her into your car before sliding into the driver's seat and opening the garage door.

The drive to the local diner was quiet, the air thick with unspoken words and the aftermath of the past few nights. You couldn't help but look over at Wanda, her hand resting lightly on the armrest of your car. She seemed lost in her thoughts, the same ones that were probably mirroring yours—how did you get here? Is this a mistake? Can you handle this right now?

When you pulled into the parking lot, the neon lights of the diner flickered, casting a warm glow across the wet asphalt. The smell of greasy food and coffee was comforting, a stark contrast to the tumultuous thoughts swirling in your head. As you stepped out of the car, you felt a strange sense of normalcy, as if this was a scene from any other weekend, not one that had just turned your world upside down. You couldn't help but feel like this was something that you could get used to.

Inside, the diner was bustling with the early morning crowd, the clink of silverware and the murmur of conversation creating a comforting cacophony. You led Wanda to a booth in the back, sliding into the worn vinyl seats with a sigh. The waitress, a plump woman with a name tag that read "Dotty," greeted you with a smile that seemed to say she had seen it all. You ordered your usual—an omelet, pancakes, and bacon—while Wanda went for the French toast with fresh berries and a side of sausage.

While you waited for your food, you couldn't help but steal glances at her as she gazed out the rain-covered window, watching how the early morning light painted her face with a soft glow. You felt a strange sense of calm, one you hadn't felt before. You felt like you were in a place you finally belonged like her presence was something that had been missing from your life.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, catching you staring. The bell over the door jingled as a new group of people walked in, the cool air from outside sending a shiver down Wanda's spine. You slid out of your side of the booth, scooting in next to her. You wrapped your arm around her shoulders and tugged her into your side. She leaned into you with a content sigh, and for a moment, everything felt right.

"Just watching the rain," you lied, kissing the top of her head. She nuzzled closer, her hand finding its way to yours. You felt a squeeze, and you knew she understood that wasn't what you had been looking at. You both watched the world outside, lost in your little bubble of warmth and comfort.

"Truth, Y/N," she smiled against your neck, pecking lightly along your jawline before leaning back. You momentarily forgot your vocabulary as you took in the intent gaze, the quirked, manicured eyebrow, and a pair of gleaming forest-green eyes staring back at you.

"What?" you managed to croak out, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Wanda giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "The truth, Y/N. I know you weren't staring at the rain on the window," She nudged you gently, her gaze holding a hint of curiosity. "What were you really thinking about?"

You took a deep breath, the smell of the diner's breakfast foods wafting around you. "I was just... taking this all in," you admitted, your eyes dropping to her hand in yours. "And also taking in the beauty that accompanied me to breakfast." You looked up with a sly smile on your face.

Wanda's cheeks flushed a darker shade of red, and she turned her head to hide it from you. "You're such a charmer," she murmured, her voice playfully annoyed, but you could hear the pleased note beneath it. The waitress arrived with a steaming pot of coffee, filling your mugs and placing a plate of toast in the middle of the table.

You both took a moment to add creamer and sugar, the clink of spoons against porcelain punctuating the silence between you. The tension grew palpable again as your eyes met over the rims of your mugs, the warmth of her gaze sending a jolt through your body. You felt your stomach twist with anticipation, unsure of what to say next.

"Wanda," you began, your voice low and earnest. "This...whatever this is between us, it's not just a fling, right?" You needed to hear her say it to know that she felt the depth of the connection you had stumbled upon.

Her eyes searched yours, and she took a sip of her coffee, buying time. "I don't know what it is yet," she replied, her voice just as soft. "But I know it's not something I want to lose." The admission was a balm to your racing thoughts.

"Neither do I," you said, your voice equally low. "I can't ignore what I feel."

"I sense a 'but' coming," Wanda said, her smile fading slightly as she set her mug down.

You took a deep breath, your hand tightening around yours. "Because there is, Wands."

"What is it?" Her voice was low, her eyes searching yours.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the words. "I think that I have expressed how I am beyond hesitant to drag someone like you down the road that I always seem to find," you confessed, feeling the weight of your past failures pressing down on your chest. "But I also can't ignore that you make me feel alive in a way that I haven't felt in a long time. It's like... I've been sleepwalking, and you've slapped me awake."

Wanda's eyes searched yours, her thumb stroking the back of your hand. "I understand that, Y/N," she said, her voice gentle. "But we're both different people. We're not high school kids. And I don't want to be just another notch on your bedpost. If this is going to work, it has to be about us growing together, communicating, not just about what we can give each other."

You nodded, the gravity of her words settling in your stomach. "I know," you murmured, feeling the weight of her expectations and your fears. "It's just... I don't want to hurt you. I can't..." You stopped, unsure of how to voice the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. "I cannot...live with myself if I hurt you."

Wanda reached up, placing a gentle hand on your cheek. "You can't make the promise you won't," she whispered. The words hit you, stabbing you deeper than you expected.  "It's an unrealistic expectation, regardless of the relationship. And, hurt can be big, it can be small. What matters is how we come back from it and how you make a change to ensure it doesn't happen again."

Her words were a soothing balm to your soul. "Okay," you breathed, feeling the weight of your own words settle over you. "But I want you to know, I'm going to try. We may not have known each other very long, but you've become something incredibly important to me in a very short amount of time."

Wanda leaned in, her eyes searching yours. "I feel the same," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the din of the diner. "But we need to take this slow, okay? We can't let our desires cloud our judgment."

You nodded, feeling the gravity of her words. "Slow," you echoed, your heart racing at the thought of what was to come. "I think we've kinda sipped some parts, there, Wands." You smile, taking a sip of your coffee.

Wanda chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Maybe we have," she admitted, her thumb continuing to trace patterns on the back of your hand. "But that's not all bad. We're two consenting adults. It's given us a taste of what could be, right?"

You couldn't argue with that. The past few days had been explosive but in the best possible way. You had felt more alive than you had in a long time. "Right," you said, your voice a little shaky with emotion.

The food arrived, and you both took a moment to dig in, the silence between you comfortable, filled with the occasional murmur of appreciation for the food. You had never felt more connected to someone without saying a word. It was as if you both understood that this was more than just a casual hookup—it was the beginning of something deeper.

[twohearts-hs]

Defying The Odds: 16 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series

Words in Total: 5.8k

Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader

Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Intimacy, Murder, etc. you know the deal...

A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.

Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

In Tooele, Utah, the group of them drove aimlessly. T-Bag was still in the back, Tweener in the trunk and Y/N on Michael’s lap in the passenger seat while Lincoln drove.

            “This is a new subdivision,” Y/N muttered. “Suburbia is boring as fuck. I wish to never be part of it,” she stated. Michael rubbed her arms.

            “Noted,” he responded.

            Lincoln stopped the car, glancing over to Michael. “The ranch is gone, Michael.”

            Michael ran his hand through his short hair. “Well, the 5 million might not be.”

            “And you gonna find it how?” T-Bag asked lowly. “What you got a divining rod tattooed on your ass?”

            “Not funny,” Y/N muttered, leaning back, her head hitting Michael’s shoulders. However, she could not get more out because Michael lost it.

            “I don’t wanna hear anything out of your mouth other than what your photographic memory spits out regarding that map!” Michael yelled.

            “Michael, my ear,” Y/N muttered, holding her ear as the yelling went straight through it and he quickly whispered his apology.

            “You watch your tone with me, boy,” T-Bag warned, glaring at Michael.

            Michael moved Y/N slightly so he could face T-Bag. “I will watch you get tossed on the side of the road to fend for yourself, boy,” he retorted. “Because if you can’t remember where that silo was, you’re worthless to us, and I might just let Y/N hurt you a little more.” Then he turned back, holding Y/N once again.

            “Yo, fools, let me out!” Tweener yelled which Lincoln told him to shut up.

            “The map!” Michael barked.

            “Ok, ok, all right, all right, all right,” T-Bag stuttered, eyes closing as he thought. “The ranch…the ranch was in the centre of a box. Sheep Road on one side, Kokosing Road perpendicular. In the centre of the property was a ranch house and the ranch house was surrounded by trees.

            They got out of the car and walked around. A runner came by and glanced at them. Y/N shook her head…they did just come out of a dirty, broken car with four fugitives…

            “Every tree here is a year old, at most. Except those,” Michael said as they stood far away from the house.

            “Where is the silo?” Y/N asked.

            Bagwell hit his head a few times before muttering, “Inside the trees. I wanna say on the left, but that may have been a barn. I remembered the best I could, gents and lady, but I didn’t know this place would now be smothered in tract homes, so you know, I’m sorry that I’m not Rain Man over here.”

            “He’s no help,” Y/N muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. “Absolute no help.”

            Y/N walked back in the car and they all followed as they waited for T-Bag to remember where the silo was. Y/N felt Michael his head against her back as she drew lines on his arm. Slowly, she took her hand and brought it to her lips. He smiled.

            “I’m sorry for yelling in your ear,” he muttered.

            Y/N smiled, turning around and kissing his lips quickly. “All forgiven.”

            “Silo, silo, silo, silo, silo…” T-Bag muttered.

            “This is stupid. We’re gonna get made out here,” Lincoln interrupted.

            “Shut it. I think I remember. If I had to bet, I’d lay it all on the silo being on the left of the ranch house, inside the trees,” T-Bag explained, finally remembering. His face was right behind Michael’s crouching behind him. A shiver went up Y/N’s spine.

            “No, it’s outside the trees,” Michael replied, smirking and staring ahead. Then he pointed. “Right there. You see those two trees? They’re shorter than the rest. They were all planted at the same time but those two didn’t get as much sunlight.”

            “Something was in their way,” Y/N muttered.

            “Yeah, a silo,” Michael responded. “Our money should be right there under that garage.”

            “You better be right, boy,” T-Bag muttered.

            “This isn’t a high-end subdivision, they slapped this place up overnight. The silo’s foundation might still be there. To save money, they probably laid the concrete for the garage floor right on top of it,” Michael explained. Leave it to the engineer to know everything about buildings. “We’ll dig straight down. If we hit the foundation, we stay. If not, we go.”

            “Let’s do it,” Lincoln agreed, however just as soon as Michael opened the door, a blonde middle-aged woman appeared out of the house and grabbed her newspaper in a robe.

            “Ain’t no problem that screwdriver to her temple won’t fix,” T-Bag muttered.

            “We’re not hurting her,” Y/N mumbled, “you’re not hurting her.” She glanced back with a stare at him. “We are going to be smart.”

            “People die all the time, boys. Especially you, little miss, the wrath of danger. $5 million comes once in a lifetime,” T-bag

            “We gotta do something and it’s not gonna involve hurting anyone,” Michael stated.

            “I got an idea,” Lincoln responded. “First, we’re gonna need some supplies.”

            They drove out of the suburb again, parking as they got out. T-Bag was instantly angry, slamming his door and looking at Michael and Lincoln. “110%, I do not agree with this.” Then he slammed his hand on the car top.

            “Everybody’s got to pitch in to make this happen,” Lincoln stated.

            “But back in the big house, the boy proved he couldn’t be trusted,” T-Bag stated about Tweener who was still in thr trunk.

            “Which is why we’re doing it here,” Lincoln replied. “If he gets caught in town, he won’t know where the house is.” Lincoln threw the keys to Michael.

            “Besides, you’re the one we can’t turn our backs on,” Michael said to T-Bag before opening the trunk.

            Tweener came out, eyes squinting, sweat across his forehead. “Oh, I could’ve died in there, man,” he said, climbing out.

            “Well, guess what? I need you to do something,” Michael stated.

            “I need you to do something for me,” Tweener retorted.

            “I don’t think this is up for discussion,” Y/N muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

            “I want my cut of the money,” Tweener ignored Y/N and continued.

            “Well, we’ll talk once you prove we can trust you,” Michael replied.

            “What do I go to do?” Tweener asked, eyes narrowing on Michael.

            “I want you to go back to that garden centre and get everything on this list,” Michael said as Tweener snatched the list from him. “And gas up the car.” Then he handed him some cash. “We’ll meet you right back here in an hour.”

            “All right.”

            “And, David, don’t screw this up,” Michael threatened.

            “This ain’t Fox River no more, man. Looking at the real deal now. But I want my cut. Back in an hour,” Tweener said, putting his hat on and getting into the car.

            Y/N walked up to Michael and grabbed his arm. He glanced down at her. “I don’t trust him," she muttered and Michael just nodded.

-

 Y/N stood next to Michael with her arms crossed over her chest as Lincoln opened the electrical box. Michael looked down at him and asked him how he knew about electricity.

            “I used to steal copper wiring from transformer boxes, and then sell them on the docks, make a few bucks,” Lincoln told Michael. “When you were at school, of course.” Lincoln began to unscrew a few things.

            Y/N looked over at Michael who looked at her. She sent him a smile but he reached out to cup her cheek, thumb grazing over her lips before pulling away. He noticed that T-Bag was staring at the lady in the window and gave him a glare.

            “I was just looking, Pretty,” T-Bag muttered. “You got something pretty to look at, I’m a little jealous. What’s that old chestnut? ‘I can look at the menu. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna eat’.”

            “We get in, we get the money, we get out,” Michael stated, voice firm. “That’s it.”

            “No. Absolutely.” However, he continued to stare at the woman.

            “Gross,” Y/N muttered. “Love being a woman.”

            “We’re good. Now it’s up to the kid,” Lincoln stated, finishing his task.

-

The kid followed through but he popped a guy with a shovel while trying to get supplies. Bickering happened.

            Y/N stood by the car, arms crossed, her eyes burning a hole into the back of Michael’s head as he explained the plan for their next move. The group was gathering supplies, all of them getting ready to play their parts as a fake trades company to dig up Westmoreland’s hidden money. She knew how these operations went—blend in, keep your head down, and get the job done. But the moment Michael suggested she sit this one out, something snapped in her.

            “I think it’d be better if you stay out of this one,” Michael said quietly, but firmly, as if the decision had already been made.

            Y/N scoffed, stepping forward. “Excuse me?”

            Michael ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the others before lowering his voice. “Y/N, look, it’s not about you not being capable. I know you are. It’s just—”

            “It’s just what? Because I’m a woman? Is that it?” Her frustration bubbled up, hot and sharp.

            “Come on,” Michael sighed, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “A woman in a trades company is going to draw attention. We need to be invisible. The fewer eyes on us, the better. It’s not personal, it’s just strategy.”

            “That’s bullshit, Michael!” Y/N snapped, her voice rising despite herself. “You’re always talking about how we’re a team, how I’m part of this just as much as anyone else. And now, suddenly, I’m not good enough?”

            Michael’s jaw tightened, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I never said that.”

            “No, but you sure as hell implied it.” Y/N crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You’re just pushing me aside because you think you know better.”

            Before Michael could respond, Lincoln stepped in between them, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Time out,” Lincoln said, holding up his hands. “We don’t have time for this. We’re supposed to be focused on digging up that money, not digging into each other.”

            Behind them, T-Bag leaned against the van, watching with a smirk. “Ah, trouble in paradise?” he drawled, licking his lips in that unsettling way of his. “Nothing like a lover’s quarrel to spice up a good old-fashioned heist.”

            Y/N shot T-Bag a withering look. “Shut up, Bagwell.”

            T-Bag raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face. “Just saying, sweetheart. Ain’t no harm in a little domestic drama.”

            Lincoln turned his glare to T-Bag, making him quiet down with a shrug before refocusing on his brother and Y/N. “Michael, she’s been with us from the start. Let her help.”

            Michael looked torn, his eyes flicking from Lincoln to Y/N. He didn’t want to argue with her, and he certainly didn’t want to belittle her skills, but his mind was on the risk. He exhaled deeply, staring at the ground for a long moment.

            “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Michael said softly, his voice edged with frustration. “It’s the optics. If this goes wrong, we’re all screwed.”

            “I can handle myself,” Y/N shot back, her voice low but fierce. “I’ve been handling myself for years. What, you think I’m just gonna freeze up and blow it?”

            Michael opened his mouth to respond, but Lincoln cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Enough. We don’t have time to debate this. We either work as a team, or we don’t work at all. Got it?”

            The tension hung thick between them, but Michael finally nodded. He looked at Y/N, his eyes filled with conflict. “Fine,” he muttered. “But you’re in the car, you stay out of sight unless we need backup. We’re not taking unnecessary risks.”

            Y/N clenched her jaw but nodded, her hands still balled into fists. She didn’t agree with him, but at least he wasn’t pushing her completely aside.

            “Good,” Lincoln said, stepping back. “Now, can we get back to work? We’ve got a fortune to dig up, and I don’t plan on leaving empty-handed.”

            As the group moved to gather the last of their gear, T-Bag gave Y/N a wink. “I like a woman with a little fire,” he said. “Makes things interesting.”

            Y/N ignored him, her mind still simmering with frustration. She wanted to help, wanted to prove to Michael that she could be just as valuable out in the field as anyone else. But for now, she’d play her part, and hope the opportunity came to show him she was more than just someone to be protected.

-

Y/N sat in the car, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel, her frustration simmering. She hated waiting, she was more of an action girl. She hated sitting still when she could be doing something. Her hand went to the dash storage and took the gun out, she cocked it and reloaded it a few times before throwing it back into the storage. Michael’s caution still stung, though she understood his reasoning. But being stuck here while the others worked made her feel like a caged animal.

            Her eyes darted to the rearview mirror when she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. Two figures were approaching – C-Note and Sucre. She narrowed her eyes in confusion, then blinked in surprise. What the hell were they doing here?

            Y/N opened the door and stepped out, her boots crunching on the ground as she walked to them. “What are you two doing here?” she called, folding her arms across her chest.

            C-Note smiled, but there was a tension in his eyes. “Same reason you’re here. For the money.”

            Sucre, on the other hand, grinned broadly as soon as he saw her, jogging the last few steps to close the distance. “Mami!” he exclaimed, pulling her into a tight hug. “It’s been a hot minute, huh?"

            Y/N couldn’t help but smile at Sucre’s warmth, wrapping her arms around him for a brief moment. “Good to see you, Sucre,” she said, though her tone was tinged with frustration. Michael would not be happy. She pulled back and gave both men a look. “I’m guessing you’re here for the money,” she muttered.

            C-Note nodded. “Yes, where is the rest of the group?”

            “Inside,” she muttered.

            “Why aren’t you helping, mami? You always help. Usually more than the others,” Sucre asked.

            “Michael,” she muttered, “he’s being an ass, but that’s ok. Something about me not blending in.”

            “That’s nonsense. Go help.”

            Y/N nodded and looked over to the garage where the others were, her expression light with frustration. “Come on. I better let the boys know we’ve got company. This is about to get even more complicated.”

            Sucre clapped her on her back, still in high spirits despite the situation and C-Note gave her a curt nod as they followed her to the garage.

            As soon as she opened the door, and stepped in, Michael glanced up. “What’s wrong?” he rushed.

            “We’ve got company,” she responded. Just then C-Note and Sucre entered.

            C-Note took his hat off, grinned and said, “What’s up, Snowflake?”

            Michael had his hands on his hips, head tilted slightly. “Well, as always, your timing is flawless.”

            C-Note crossed is arms over his chest, muscles flexing in the black tee he was in. “I don’t follow.”

            “Well, let me try and explain it to you. We’re trying to run something here and we can’t have people walking in off the street. Y/N, go back to the car,” Michael said, focusing on her.    

            Y/N kicked the ground and nodded, not in the mood to deal with their bickering. “Come grab me when you’re done,” she muttered, walking out.

            Boredom, that’s what she felt. Complete boredom as she laid in the car, seat back and closing her eyes. Y/N walked back into the garage, hat on her head as she watched them. Michael glanced up and sighed. “Y/N…’

            “Let me help,” she muttered, walking over to grab a shovel. “T-Bag is out as he’s injured so let me help.”

            Michael nodded and they continued to dig. They hit the silo’s foundation which meant they just needed to hit the edge and dig around it.

            “What’s wrong?” Michael asked as Tweener spoke up.

            “We got to stop in Tooele first and gas up the ride,” he muttered, scared of the wrath Michael would bring.

            “I thought you already did that,” Michael responded, voice frustrated.

            “Man, when the garden centre thing happened, I just forgot, all right?” Tweener responded.

            Michael took a deep breath as Y/N rubbed his back. “I want you to go back into town. I want you to gas up that car–“

            “–I can do it,” Y/N interrupted.

            “No, you’re staying where I can see you,” Michael barked. Then he glanced back at Tweener. “I’m not driving around with millions of dollars in the trunk. Do you understand?” his voice was low, unwavering.

            “Man, why do I gots to do it? The girl said she could–“

            “–No, Y/N is staying. She needs to stay with me. It’s your job,” Michael said as Lincoln pushed him a little.

            A car pulled up and Sucre went to go check it out. Y/N kept digging as Sucre explained a cop was here. Y/N threw the shovel down. “I’ll go get Michael,” she muttered as he left to check on T-Bag.

            Y/N walked in the house, seeing the broken glass and panic struck her as she continued up the stairs to the bedroom. That’s when she found T-Bag holding the blonde woman, Jeanette, hostage with a small hammer.

            “There’s a cop,” Y/N muttered to Michael who turned to look at her.

            “I know,” he responded.

            The woman officer came in, calling for her mother, but they stayed quiet. Eyes flickered between each of them, worried struck upon their faces.

            “Stay here…stay quiet,” Michael said to them.

            The officer began coming up the stairs, getting suspicious. She had her hand on her gun, as she slowly came up. Jeanette yelled which caused the officer to run faster to her, opening the door with the gun on them.

            Y/N stayed still, hands up slightly as she stared at the woman.

            “It’s ok, it’s ok,” Michael said.

            “Back away and put your hands up,” she said.

            “Just go easy,” Michael said, trying to calm the situation.

            “Go nothing. She ain’t the one carrying the cards here,” T-Bag said, holding the hostage closer.

            “Back away and put your hands up!” the officer barked.

            “If I put my hand up, gonna take her jugular with it,” T-Bag retorted.

            “Look, I don’t wany anyone to do anything stupid, ok?” the officer said.

            Sucre came out of nowhere, trying to grab the gun, but the officer got him squared in the nose while pointing it at him. “Don’t move!” However, Lincoln came from behind her, grabbing the gun and mumbled something about being civil.

            Y/N let out a sigh as she put her hands down. They took both women downstairs and tied them up. Michael looked to her and brought her into a hug, holding her tight. “It’s ok,” he mumbled, kissing her cheek. “It’s ok.”

            As they got downstairs to where the hostages sat, Michael paced lightly, hands trembling as he looked at what was in front of them. “This is going wrong in every possible way.”

            “This is stupid, man. We cannot do this,” C-Note barked, throwing hands up.

            “Hat’s over the wall now,” T-Bag muttered.

            “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” C-Note asked.

            “We’re committed,” Y/N muttered. Bickering began as talked about what was next. Michael leaned over to Y/N and muttered, “Why can’t it be a silo in the middle of the field with no one around?”

            “I don’t know,” she mumbled, “I guess this is our luck.”

            They came back to see the hostages again and Michael looked at them with sympathy in his eyes. “Sorry isn’t going to mean anything to you right now, but I want to say it anyway,” Michael spoke to the woman. He was always sorry, always caring. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. One of two hours tops and we’ll be out of here, you have my word, no one will harm you,” Michael told them. Y/N was looking at the woman, but the one officer was staring at her, daggering shooting into Y/N’s eyes.

            Michael walked over to Y/N and Sucre. “Keep your eyes open. Nothing happens to them…Nothing.” Then he walked away.

            Y/N looked at them and that officer looked at her. She began to pace back and forth in front of the hostages, her eyes scanning the living room as the others continued digging up Westmoreland’s money. Sucre stood by her, arms crossed, glancing occasionally at her before returning his attention to the hostages.

            The young female officer in the group had been gagged…both women had been, but she was squirming and making muffled noises, her wide eyes locked on Y/N. It was clear she wanted to say something, and Y/N sighed, pulling the cloth off her mouth.

            The young female officer took a moment to catch her breath, her eyes fixated on Y/N. “I know you,” she said, her voice sharp but curious. “You’re the one they talked about at the academy.”

            Y/N frowned, narrowing her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

            “The Black Beauty Murders,” the officer said, sitting up a little straighter despite her restraints. “Your case was part of our training in homicide investigations. It was a cold case for years. They said you killed six men. Everyone in the station called you, ‘The Black Beauty’.”

            Y/N felt her blood run cold. It was not the first time she’d heard that title, but it always felt like a slap in the face when someone threw it at her. She kept her expression calm, but Sucre sitting nearby has gone quiet, his attention fully on the conversation now.

            “You got the wrong idea,” Y/N said, her voice low, trying to keep her agitation in check.

            The officer’s eyes gleamed with a nasty sort of interest, enjoying getting a rise out of her. “Rumour had it, you killed twenty men, not six. Some say you even enjoyed it. Taunted them, played with them–“

            “–enough,” Y/N hissed. “You got the wrong person. I haven’t killed twenty men,” she said through gritted teeth. “I haven’t killed anyone.”

            The officer smirked, leaning forward as much as he restraints allowed. “Sure, sure. That’s what they all say. The station loved your story as you had a victim in Utah. We studied you like some kind of celebrity. Bet you didn’t know, huh? The cops who couldn’t ‘t catch you were pissed. Spent a decade chasing ghosts. Then one day, all this evidence just appeared in Chicago and you were found at your apartment, cooking dinner when you were arrested.”

            Y/N felt her heartbeat picked up, anger bubbling beneath her skin. She glanced at Sucre, who was watching the exchange silently.

            “Ok, doll,” Y/N said, pushing off the cabinets and sauntering over to the officer. She kneeled down. “Black Beauty, huh? I wonder why they gave me that name? Perhaps it was the black dress I wore, perhaps the black heart they believe I have or the black gun I havered, but I never used it as it was always–“

            “Knives,” the officer finished.

            “Yes. Quick and easy. Untraceable. Those crime scenes were always cleaned to perfection…it wasn’t until my darling husband came and dropped evidence right at the police station’s door as we had an argument. Don’t fall in love with the wrong man, sweetheart. It’ll haunt you,” Y/N said lowly, smirking as she turned away.  

            Sucre watched the whole thing, walking over to Y/N and whispering, “She’s just trying to mess with you, Y/N.”

            Y/N shook her head and looked back to the officer. “I was your favourite case, wasn’t I?”

            She nodded. “Got to meet the celebrity, huh?” Y/N mused. The girl just stared at her. “I’m not going to hurt you though. I don’t like hurting people. It makes me upset. So, perhaps I didn’t do those murders. You can make your decision,” she muttered, walking away.

            Y/N stood by the hostages, her arms still crossed, keeping a watchful eye on them. The young officer shifted uncomfortably and glanced up at her.

            “Y/N?” the officer's voice broke the silence.

            Y/N raised a brow, tilting her head slightly. “What?”

            The officer hesitated, her gaze flickering away for a second before she spoke. “If you’ve got any sympathy left in you... I need my pills.”

            “Pills?” Y/N echoed, her arms tightening over her chest as she tried to read the woman’s expression.

            “For my baby,” the officer muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

            Y/N’s heart sank, recognizing instantly what she meant. “Metformin... to prevent a miscarriage?” she asked quietly, her voice softening.

            The officer looked at her, something shifting in her demeanour. She seemed to catch the sudden glossiness in Y/N’s eyes, the vulnerability barely masked. “How far along were you?” she asked, her voice gentler than before.

            Y/N’s lips tightened for a moment, her gaze drifting to the side as if trying to avoid the weight of the conversation. But she couldn’t. “Sixteen weeks,” she whispered, the words heavy on her tongue. “Before I lost her.”

            For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air seemed to still between them.

            “I’m sorry,” the officer said, her tone soft, and for the first time, sincere.

            Y/N swallowed hard, pushing past the lump in her throat. “Where are your pills?” she asked, her voice barely steady.

            “In the drawer,” the officer replied, nodding toward the kitchen. “Top one.”

            Y/N moved without a word, heading to the kitchen and opening the drawer. She found the pills easily, grabbing two and filling a glass with water before returning. Kneeling down, she handed the officer the pills. “Here,” she whispered, her voice catching slightly as she helped her take them. “How far along are you?”

            “I’m two months. I just had my first trimester sonogram on Tuesday,” the officer muttered, her hands trembling slightly as she took the water from Y/N.

            Before Y/N could respond, Michael and Lincoln appeared in the doorway. Michael’s eyes narrowed immediately, noticing the wetness in Y/N’s eyes.

            “What happened?” he asked, his tone sharp as his gaze flicked between the two women. He stepped forward, his concern quickly turning into suspicion. “What did you do?” he demanded, his voice tightening.

            The officer shook her head quickly, her eyes wide. “I didn’t do anything.”

            Michael turned to Y/N, his expression hardening. “Y/N, what did she say to you?”

            Y/N glanced up at him, her emotions barely in check. “Nothing,” she muttered, brushing past him and shouldering his arm as she did. “Just... reminiscing.”

            Michael frowned, watching her walk away, his jaw clenching. He turned back to the officer, still trying to make sense of the situation.

            “She told us about the baby she lost,” the officer explained, her voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

            Michael’s expression softened, but the frustration still simmered beneath the surface. He glanced toward the direction Y/N had gone, his heart twisting. He wanted to protect her, but he knew better than to push her right now.

            However, Lincoln didn’t waste a moment. “Keys to the car, where are they?” Lincoln asked in front of Jeanette. Michael looked over at Y/N, who was wiping his eyes. His heart went out to her, but Lincoln was about to make a stupid decision.

            “Just hold on,” Michael said. Lincoln grabbed the keys and began to walk. “You can’t do this, Linc. We’re five minutes away in there,” Michael said following after him.

            “We’ve been five minutes for four hours,” Lincoln responded.

            “Just give me some time,” Michael pleaded. “Be patient.”

            “You think I give a damn about the money?” Lincoln asked.

            “I’m doing what’s necessary!” Michael yelled.

            “You’re afraid to fail,” Lincoln bit back. “You’re afraid this big plan of yours ain’t gonna work out. You want to get caught proving you can pull this thing off, be my guest. LJ’s out there. I’m gonna get him.”

            Y/N focused on her fingers in the kitchen, playing with them as she glanced at the hostages.

            “I didn’t mean to make you upset,” the officer said.

            “You didn’t,” Y/N responded.

            “Was it with the mobster associated with you?” she continued to ask.

            “Why all the sudden questions?” Y/N asked, voice getting a little aggressive, being walking off to go back to Michael.

            She got to the garage, seeing him digging.

            “OK?” he asked.

            “Yup,” she mumbled back, grabbing a shovel. She stood next to Michael, beginning to dig when C-Note spoke up.

            “Yo, this is going to take all day. We need more manpower,” he said.

            “You know, standing around jabbering ain’t gonna get the dirt out of that ground,” T-Bag smirked.

            “All right, that’s it,” C-Note replied, grabbing Bagwell and throwing him into the hole. “Son of the bitch.”

            Y/N stopped digging looking over and sighing.

            The door opened and Sucre stated, “We got to roll.”

            “Why?” Y/N said, voice confused.

            “They got Tweener. It was on the radio,” Sucre explained.

            “Did they say anything about where we are?” Michael asked, holding the shovel.

            “I’m not hanging around to find out,” Sucre responded.

            “Well, maybe you should,” C-Note mumbled, spotting something in the ground. Michael looked down and then Y/N as they spotted some paper sitting in the ground. “Maybe you should,” he repeated, brushing the ground and looking up once he found what he was looking for. “Maybe we all should!”             Cash…a whole lot of cash was there in front of them. Everyone was grinning and hollering as they found what they were looking for. Slowly they packed it all, excited and talking about what they would buy with the cash. Y/N just sat there staring…that was a lot of money.         

            Someone appeared looking for Jeanette and Michael got rid of him, thankfully.

            Y/N continued to watch them with the cash, hoping nothing fishy goes down. Once Michael was back, everyone packed the cash into the backpacks before T-Bag threw cash at each of them.

            Sucre came back, gun pointed at them. “Drop the bag. No one’s going anywhere.”

            Y/N watched with a loud sigh escaping her as she shook her head. Everyone put what they were holding down. Parallelised, everyone was.

            “What the hell are you doing, man?” C-Note asked.

            “Sucre,” Michael whispered. “Whatever it is you want…”

            “I want the money, all of it.”

            “What, are you robbing us?” C-Note questioned in disbelief.

            “The money was never yours to begin with,” Sucre responded. “This is about business. $5 million worth of business.”

            “So, this is how it’s gonna go down, after everything?” Michael asked, voice low and hurt. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

            “You just figuring that out?” Sucre hummed. “The backpack…Now!”

            Y/N watched as this unfolded…

            “Don’t do this, buddy,” Michael whispered. However, Sucre took the bag.

            All of that for nothing. Y/N was in disbelief once again. It felt as though the plan was falling apart and the fear in her for what would next haunted her.

            Michael was her only chance of freedom otherwise, she would be back in the hands of the mob.

            Fear consumed her.

Here you go!

Hope you enjoy :)

I had so much fun writing this.

Much love,

Ava <3

-

Taglist:

(let me know if you want to be tagged)

@enha-stars @wonuskie @believeinthefireflies95 @esposadomd @peachmartini @rougegenshin @lindsayjoy444 @fearlessswxft

[slvt444books]

Indifference

In which Nanami kento finds himself drawn to you despite his usual indifference towards his usual coworkers

Nanami Kento was a “good” man. Always following the speed limit when driving, doing his taxes annually, and doing his share of work diligently for the sake of his coworkers, going to bed, and waking up at a reasonable time. There was one small flaw to his lifestyle, he was just so fucking bored.

It wasn't that he expected this lifestyle to be fulfilling in the slightest, yet there was something majorly lacking within his dreary life. It's not like he wanted to mirror Gojo’s life and whatever that idiot was up to, but he wanted to feel. To feel beyond the fleeting excitement of finding a new sandwich at the convenience store, or the prospect of a raise from his crummy boss that is. But it was fine, he’d simply save up then retire and live out his days in some tropical paradise.

That was until he met you. You filled the role of a temp who had been fired for slacking on the job. His expectations weren’t very high, to say the least. When you were introduced to him His first impression of you was that you were average. Attractive but yet average, long legs, full hair, round face with a neutral yet edgar expression across it, to be short you were beautiful, but still an Average looking woman. Your face wasn’t exactly the sort to stick around in his brain for years.

Either way, he had no plans whatsoever to get close to you or become too familiar. The line he drew between His personal life and work life was very clear. Not to be crossed. So he trained you accordingly, showing you the ins and outs of the business, you asked questions that proved that you paid attention to the boring rules and explanations, occasionally throwing a witty joke or two that he couldn't help to slightly grin at. (not that he'd show it) At the end of the work day, he walked with you to the front of the building, to find rain pouring down relentlessly. How cliche he thought, it reminded him of a rom com he saw while flipping through the television. Being the person that he was he carried a mini umbrella on him always. He turned to his right to see your face, obviously dreading getting drenched by the rain. So without thinking, he handed you the umbrella, walking away quickly to avoid any sort of dialogue between the two - why watch someone's day turn shitty like his usual ones?

He had made it an entire block until he heard the pitter-patter of squeaky shoes and breathless uneven pants right behind him. Then he felt the rain droplets stop kissing his head. It was you on your tippy toes holding the tiny convenience store umbrella over his head and shoulders- well half of his shoulders anyway. Before he could open his mouth to question your strange actions you quipped your mouth to say “I knew you were a bit strange but getting rained on for a total stranger? Not that strange ” You were joking but At a loss for words, he just stood there making an incredulous face at you. Why not just accept the umbrella and move on? Instead of just standing there like an idiot lacking a response he just simply said “I just thought you’d appreciate the umbrella, Nothing more.” With that, he turned back around to head home. But your voice reached him again “I didn’t mean to be rude or anything I just figured since we seemed in the same age group I could speak informally, sir” There seemed to be an underlying timidness in your voice that hadn't been there before. “It's fine” he uttered flatly, once he thought that he'd got off the hook and could leave you spoke once more “Could I take you to ramen to make up for my rudeness?” he sensed sincerity in your voice. Unlike many people he encountered daily. So he simply nodded and let you lead the way, maybe this could stop the your babbling and stop any awkwardness that lingered from this interaction, he lied to himself. The truth was he was intrigued by you. Why that was? He just couldn't seem to figure out.This entire day he seemed to act on a whim, not as logical as his usual self. Soon he found himself in a small poorly lit ramen shop downtown. In this moment it dawned on him that he wasn’t bored. A rare occurrence at the end of a long day. He found himself drawn to you oddly. Maybe he’d bend his rules and interact with you a bit more… just maybe.

[thatgirlmendo]

Until the Quiet Takes Us Ch5/?

Pairing: joel miller x female reader

Word Count: 1901

Content Warnings: Minors DNI, slow burn, age gap, mutual pining, accidental touches, domestic fluff, joel angst, emotional tension, post-apocalypse, softness, survival companions, longing, female receiving ), p in v, unprotected sex, gore, death,

Notes - I’m posting from my phone so have not proofread sorry for any typos I’ll go back tomorrow and edit

You woke to the smell of coffee and silence.

Again.

Joel was already up — standing near the window, checking his rifle like it was just any other morning.

Like he hadn’t kissed you like a dying man two nights ago.

Like he hadn’t touched you the way no one else ever had.

Like he hadn’t buried himself inside you on a sun-warmed dock and made you feel like the only soft thing left in the world.

He didn’t look at you.

Not once.

You dressed slowly. The soreness between your thighs was a constant reminder.

So was the ache in your chest.

He set a chipped mug on the table and muttered, “Coffee,” without turning around.

You stared at him over the rim as you drank. He said nothing more.

The silence felt stretched.

Too much like goodbye.

Finally, you asked, soft and tired of the question marks swimming in your mind.

“So, you gonna pretend last night didn’t happen?”

Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t look up.

“I ain’t pretendin’ anything.”

You stood. And walking toward him.Close enough to see the tension in his back, the lines around his eyes.

“It meant something to me.”

That stopped him.

He shifted — not toward you, but like he was bracing for impact.

And then he said, low and flat:

“You don’t know what it means to care about a man like me.”

You pushed past the lump in your throat.

“I care anyway.”

Joel turned then, slowly — like it hurt him to face you.

And maybe it did.

“You’re young,” he said. “You’re soft. You got no fuckin’ clue what I’ve done. What I’m capable of. You think you want me now—”

“I do want you.”

“You think you’ll be falling in love with me—”

“I didn’t say that.”

He flinched like you had.

Looked away again, jaw tight.

You felt it — the wall between you going up again, brick by careful brick.

So you left.

You grabbed the empty jug and stepped outside, the old path to the stream still packed hard from the last rain.

You needed air.

Water.

Distance from a man who wouldn’t say what he meant — but who held you like he felt it all.

Deciding it was time for you to go off and clear your head you decided to check out an abandoned boathouse not far from your camp, maybe you could find some water to boil and just be away from it all, from him.

You should have been more aware, should have kept your guard up. But still reeling from the conversation with Joel this morning you weren’t as aware. Didn’t think to clear the surrounding or listen if anything was off.

Until it was too late - you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you.

Not until it was too late.

A hand clamped over your mouth.

An arm yanked you back — hard — against a solid chest.

You kicked, elbowed, tried to scream.

“Easy,” a voice hissed in your ear. “Don’t scream. Don’t even try to fucking move.” How could you have missed the signs of a looter in your area.

Staying still was the LAST thing you were going to do.

You stomping hard on his foot, twisted, bit the hand that covered your mouth.

He grunted — cursing — and dragged you down with him as he stumbled, the two of you hitting the dirt in a tangle of limbs.

And then — behind you — you heard it.

Joel’s voice, full of violence:

“Get your fuckin’ hands off her.”

The man barely had time to turn. Before Joel hit him like a train.

You scrambled up and away, gasping for air, your lungs burning as Joel tackled him to the ground.

There was no warning. No hesitation.

Just fists, rage, and fear made flesh.

Joel’s knuckles slammed into the man’s face, over and over — until he stopped moving.

Until his body went limp.

Even then Joel didn’t stop.

He kept hitting - kept destroying.

Until blood covered his hands and the silence was thick and horrible.

When he finally pulled back, chest heaving, hands shaking — he turned to you.

He was on you in a second.

Not violent now. Just frantic to feel you and make sure you were still breathing.

His hands cupped your face — checked your arms, your neck, your waist — like he couldn’t believe you were whole.

“You okay?” he rasped. “He touch you? You hurt anywhere?”

“I’m fine,” you whispered.

“Don’t say fine.” He sounded furious — but not at you. “Jesus, you could’ve—fuck.”

He dragged you into his chest — crushed you there — and you held on tight.

You could feel his heart pounding.

Hear the way his breath stuttered.

“Joel,” you whispered. “I’m okay I promise. I’m right here.”

He shook his head — pressed his mouth to your hair.

“I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen,” he murmured. “Told myself I’d not feel this way. Keep things safe.”

You pulled back slightly, enough to look at him.

“What are you saying?”

His eyes — storm-dark, ruined — met yours in a way that was almost pleading.

“I fuckin’ feel too much. Oh god, if I had lost you”

You didn’t answer with words.

You just kissed him — soft, slow — letting your lips say everything he couldn’t.

He kissed you back like it was the last time he’d ever feel your lips against his.

His hands were still shaking when he let you go.

Later, you sat beside the fire while he cleaned his rifle again, the metal gleaming dark in the low light.

The silence this time wasn’t cold.

Just heavy.

“We can’t stay here forever,” you said quietly.

Joel was silent for a pause before finally, an answer.

“My brother is in Jackson, I know that’s where you were originally headed . We could head that way. Tomorrow.”

You nodded once.

Looking away towards the setting sun he sighed:

“We’ll leave at first light.”

You stood to to walk over to him and sat.

Resting your hand on his knee you leaned in close, just to feel near him once again.

This time — he laced your fingers together.

Held on tight. You both stayed there bathing in the fires dim light until you felt your eyes get too heavy to keep open. Finally feeling a sense of safety so close to Joel, you knew he would keep you safe.

You woke up once, to see him still watching the dark surrounding. Unable to sleep, whether it be the events that unfurled that morning or the uneasiness of what was ahead, you were unsure. Watching him you drifted back off.

The lake house was quiet when you woke.

Too quiet.

Not empty — not this time — but still full of that heavy silence Joel always carried like a second skin.

He stood by the hearth, packing the last of the supplies.

His hands moved slow. Carefully packing away each item he intended to take.

Folding your extra shirt. Checking the water flasks.

Like you were already miles away from him, and this was the only way to keep you close.

You sat up and watched him.

Watched the muscles move beneath his shirt, the tight set of his jaw.

The scar on his neck you always wanted to kiss.

He noticed you, but didn’t speak. Just gave you that soft, unreadable glance before going back to the bag.

You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders and crossed the room to him.

He didn’t pull away.

You reached up — slid your hand against his chest — and whispered:

“Before we go…”

Joel stilled.

His heart thudded under your palm.

You looked up at him.

“Who knows when we will get time to lay in a bed, or take a good bath for that matter.” You teased quietly - your lips tracing across his jaw. “Lay with me”

He looked at you for a long, quiet moment.

Then without another thought - set the bag down.

The blanket slipped from your shoulders as he cupped your face.

His kiss was slow this time — soft, warm — like he wanted to memorize your mouth.

You kissed him back just as gently.

Hands sliding up his arms. Fingers in his hair.

No rush.

No fire.

Just need for this man you had grown so fond of.

When he dropped to his knees, you gasped.

“Joel—”

He looked up at you, eyes dark but tender.

“Let me,” he said. “Please let me make you feel good.”

You nodded. Breathless,

He kissed your belly, the curvatures of your hip, your inner thigh, slow, reverent, relishing in the beauty of your being.

Then he looked up again, his voice rough:

“Lay back, darlin’.”

Joel asked, so of course you did. The wood beneath you was warm from the sun.

Your heart beat like thunder.

Joel slid your underwear down, slow and deliberate.

Kissed your knee.

Then your thigh.

Then he went lower.

When his mouth met you — hot, slow, perfect — you cried out, hips bucking.

He groaned low in his throat, gripping your thighs, holding you open for him.

“You’re so goddamn sweet,” he murmured. “Could stay here all fuckin’ day.”

He licked into you — slow at first, then deeper — sucking your clit gently, moaning when you gasped.

Your hands found his hair, fingers tangling, anchoring yourself to him.

He ate you like it was his purpose.

Like it had always been his.

When you came — shaking and soft, whimpering his name — he didn’t stop right away.

He kissed the inside of your thigh again, lips soft, reverent even.

Then he moved up your body — slow, steady — kissing your ribs, your chest, your neck.

You pulled at his shirt, and he helped you slide it off.

When he lined himself up against you, he paused — breath shallow, eyes on yours.

“You sure?” he rasped.

“I always am,” you whispered.

He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard.

When he slid into you — deep, slow, filling you completely — you both moaned out.

The stretch, the pressure, the way he felt inside you made your eyes flutter shut.

Joel moved slowly, hips rolling steady and deep, the weight of him grounding you.

But even in the softness — even in the way you clung to him — he hesitated.

His thrusts stuttered slightly as the tension built.

“Baby,” he panted, “I should—I should pull out—”

You wrapped your legs around his waist — locking him in, pulling him deeper.

“No,” you whispered. “Don’t. I want to feel all of you.”

Joel made a broken sound — almost like a plea — and buried his face in your neck.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “You don’t know what you’re askin’.”

You answered in a moan, holding him in place, before releasing him to make his move, stay or pull away.

He looked at you then — really looked — and you saw it all in his eyes.

He kissed you — deep and wrecked — and stopped holding back.

When he came, he groaned your name into your mouth — hips buried deep, hands gripping you like you were the only safe thing left in the world.

And you held him through it — your legs still wrapped tight around him — choosing him right back.

You stayed tangled together for a long time after.

No words. Just skin and breath and hearts.

When he finally pulled away, he cupped your face — thumb tracing your cheek — and said:

“I ain’t good at this. At holdin’ onto good things.”

You kissed his palm.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m just asking you to try.”

Joel nodded. Promising to himself to keep this goodness safe in whatever comes next. He would do all he could to ensure you would get to Jackson safely, if it was the last thing he did.

[thescarletnargacuga]

ehehhe- *COUGH* aha, okay-

A showtime one shot with good ol' DIGITAL HALLUCINATIONS! (I was wondering what Caine had meant by this in the pilot, and what if it wasn't just a cover up for the door?)

Pomni finds herself in an unknown part of the area/game, and- well, hallucinates! She re-experiences her worst memories, even seeing alternative scenarios that went bad.

Caine eventually finds her, but she can't tell if he's real or not.

Looks like you're stuck in the fog...

-Fowl Anon

A/N: poor Pomni...

DIGITAL HALLUCINATIONS

A SHOWTIME ONESHOT

WARNING: trauma, nightmare imagery, body horror, angst, hurt/comfort

~~~

Pomni wasn't looking for trouble. She was in her room tossing a ball against the wall when it collided weird with her bed and it violently catapulted her to places unknown. She fell hundreds of feet below the map, bracing for the all too familiar impact.

SMACK!!

She laid face up, the wind knocked out of her. "....ow..." She wheezed. It took a minute for her to find her footing, but she eventually stood and looked around. She was out of bounds again. The blank, gridded walls went on for miles in every direction. She has no idea where she could go or even find game assets to use to get back up like last time, so she just started walking.

"Caine..? Hello? CAINE! ...for crying out loud. I wonder how long I'll be down here before he realizes I'm missing. Maybe I can find a void access point again. That seemed to get his attention in a hurry." She walked for what felt like hours, going deeper and deeper into the unseen bowels of the game. It was like a maze. At one point, she was convinced she was going in circles.

The longer she was down there alone, the more stressed she became. She started running to find something, anything that looked familiar. "Caine! Caine, please!" She called, but no one came.

She stopped in her tracks when something out of the corner of her eye moved around a corner. "HELLO!?" She panted and waited for a response.

Nothing. The out of bounds area was eerily quiet.

She ran after what she thought she saw. Rounding the corner, the gridded walls changed to brick. The vaulted ceiling became a night sky. A light post illuminated a rainy alley. Pmi spun around, the out of bounds was gone. "What the-!? Did I accidentally walk into a world Caine's made?"

Everything was so real. The rain, the damp alley smell, the sounds of cars beyond her line of sight. She stood in the flickering cone of the street light, unsure what to do, when a hooded figure with their hands in the large front pocket started aggressively walking right at her.

"Who are you? Hello? What's going on??" Pomni asked as she backed up, but the figure pulled a gun on her.

"Give me all your fucking money!!"

"I- What!? I don't-!?"

The mugger cocked the gun, pressing it to Pomni's head. "You think I'm playin'!? Give me the money, NOW!!"

Pomni backed up against the brick wall behind her, but it crumbled as she leaned her weight against it. She fell through. Suddenly, she was on the floor of a hospital room. No rain or brick walls or muggers. She got up quickly, seeing another unknown person in the bed in front of her.

"What is happening??" Pomni begging the person, but they seemed to be asleep. Pomni got a little closer. It was a middle aged woman, but she was sick beyond her years. Whatever she was in the hospital for, it was terminal. "Hello?"

The sick woman opened her eyes and smiled at Pomni. She opened her mouth to speak, but only coughed.

"Don't- don't stress yourself, uh...I can find help elsewhere." Pomni started to back up but the woman held her hand out pleadingly. "I'm sorry, I don't, uh.... Let me get someone for you."

The sick woman closed her sad eyes. The heart monitor she was connected to flatlined.

Pomni ran out of the room and down the hall. "This isn't real. None of this is real." She told herself over and over, and yet her heart hurt for a woman she didn't even recognize. It could've been an NPC for all she knew.

The hospital halls became a school hall. Dozens of eyes peered through the small windows on the classroom doors. Pomni kept running. The doors behind her opened one after another. A horse of children piled out and scampered across the floor and walls like hell-spawns, jeering and screaming at her.

Tears streaked down Pomni's face. Her conscious mind has no idea what was happening, but subconsciously she knew this place. The bullying, the loss, the fear, all of it was clawing at the back of her mind.

She got to the end of the hall and threw herself through the door. She slammed it behind her, and now she was in an area she recognized. An office. A very plain but uncanny liminal space. "CAAAAAINE! CAINE, HELP ME!!" She begged for him to hear her, but no one came.

After catching her breath, she kept going. Staying in one spot was never going to help. The offices repeated, feeling less and less real the further she went. Then she saw it. The computer. The headset.

Maybe that was the way back. She picked up the headset and looked into it. Blackness. She tried turning on the computer. Nothing. "Come on! What do I do!?"

"Useless girl."

Pomni just about jumpedout of her skin. She spun to see a man in business casual loom in the doorframe. He was so tall, he had to duck to step inside the office space. His limbs were unnaturally long. His hands were thin and gangly, with yellow unkept fingernails. The worst part, he has no face. Only a hole, lined with rows and rows of needle like teeth.

"YOU DON'T BELONG HERE!" The monster boomed and rushed Pomni.

Pomni did the only thing she could think of and jumped out the window. She fell and fell and fell down into darkness. Voices surrounded her. They screeched and screamed and called and laughed. She felt like she knew all of them, but could tell from where or when.

Circus music gradually drowned out the voices and she landed on top of a yellow and red striped tent. She rolled down the roof and landed hard on the ground. It was the digital circus tent but the grounds looked off. "CAINE! CAINE!!!" she screamed her voice hoarse, but no one came.

She was too scared to keep going. She didn't want to know how this nightmare could get worse, but it gave her no choice. The nightmare came to her. The entrance to the tent opened on its own and five familiar voices tried to call her inside. The distorted and echoing voices of Ragatha, Gangle, Zooble, Jax and Kinger became louder the more she ignored them. She had to cover her ears.

She could hear through her hands that the voices were getting closer to the entrance and she backed away. A massive glitching claw came out of the darkness and slammed into the ground in front of her. Then another. And another. The largest abstraction Pomni has ever seen emerged, carrying static features and voices of the entire circus cast.

"THIS YOUR FATE! THIS IS YOUR FATE! THIS IS YOUR FATE!" The abstraction repeated over and over as it got closer.

Pomni couldn't run no matter how hard she tried. It was like her feet were made of cement. She got only two steps in when the abstraction was upon her, it's digital body splitting open to consume her whole.

Pomni's broken voice couldn't scream as she felt something wrap around her middle. She kicked and flailed, but the hold was strong. Her digital body felt useless for fighting back.

"POMNI! POMNI, IT'S ME!! STOP- OW!" Caine held his eye that she just threw her elbow into.

Pomni hyperventilated against Caine. She death gripped his arms and blinked several times as she looked around in panic. She was still out of bounds, but everything was blank again. No monsters, no liminal spaces, no people with weapons.

"Pomni, you're okay. Everything is okay." Caine soothed. "What happened? How did you get back here?"

"Monsters." Pomni's voice was weak.

"Monsters? There are no monsters here. Well, none active, at least."

"I saw people. Real people. And places. And monsters. Everything wanted to hurt me."

"Real...? Oh no. Digital hallucinations-"

"I KNOW WHAT I SAW!!" Pomni screeched and coughed from the strain on her voice.

"I know, dear. You're not crazy. It's a real thing. This place has unforeseen effects on the human mind. It's why I don't let anyone back here. You go deep enough and you start...seeing things. People and places your mind knows, but you don't. I understand it's a very frightening experience." Caine gently pulled her close and ran a hand soothingly across her back. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. Everything is okay. None of it was real. You aren't in any danger."

Pomni slowly calmed, loosening her grip and hugging Caine back. "I want to get out of here."

Caine teleported to Pomni's room. The bed is completely fine. The ball she'd been throwing was on her nightstand. Pomni was still trembling, refusing to let go of Caine.

He sat on the bed and cradled Pomni, her head resting on his shoulder. "You don't need to tell me what you saw. It must have been terrible to make you react like this."

Pomni could only give a pathetic whimper in response.

"You're safe now. I'll.... I'll figure out a way for you to contact my watch. I won't let this happen to you again. I promise."

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Chapter 4: Sometimes Some People Get Me Wrong.

Summary: You have a curse: you can’t control when or where you travel through time, but you’re always tethered to Remy LeBeau’s life. For him, you’re a mysterious constant—someone who’s been there at every stage of his life, never aging, never changing. For you, he’s the soulmate you’ve loved across timelines, though you never meet him in the right order.

You’ve seen him as a reckless thief, a heartbroken lover, a guilt-ridden outcast, and a hero struggling for redemption—always knowing him, while he pieces together who you are with every encounter. Pairings: Remy Lebeau/Reader, Past!Remy Lebeau/Bella Donna, Past!Remy Lebeau/Anna-Marie. Warnings: Slow-Burn, Swearing, Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff.

The rain came down in a relentless torrent, a cold, stinging reminder of just how miserable the night had become. You stood there in the middle of the slick cobblestone street, anger bubbling up inside you like a pot about to boil over. Your soaked clothes clung to you uncomfortably, the fabric heavy and cold against your skin. But it wasn’t just the rain or the chill making your blood simmer—it was the fact that your boots, your favorite boots, were currently sitting next to the door of Remy’s bedroom in the mansion.

“My fucking boots, are you serious?” you yelled, your voice sharp and cutting through the rhythmic patter of rain.

You shoved yourself up from where you’d landed, the puddle beneath you having soaked through everything: your pants, your shirt, even your socks. The squelch of wet fabric against your skin was infuriating. You felt the chill seep into your bones as you tried to brush off the grime, but it was no use. The rain wasn’t letting up, and the cobblestones beneath your feet gleamed slick and unforgiving.

Standing there, drenched and thoroughly pissed off, you let out a frustrated groan. Water dripped from your hair, running in rivulets down your face and neck. You swiped at your cheeks with cold, pruned fingers, but it didn’t help. The rain was relentless, as if the entire sky had decided to conspire against you. “This is why I sleep with them on. Because of this stupid shit. I hate the feeling of wet socks.”

Bending down, you peeled off your socks with a grimace. The wet fabric clung stubbornly to your feet, and the sensation made your stomach churn. With a sharp flick of your wrist, you balled them up and threw them into a nearby trash can. The socks landed with a wet thwack, and the satisfying sound did little to ease your foul mood.

“I swear to god,” you muttered through gritted teeth, your voice nearly drowned out by the rain. “First my jacket, now my boots. If this keeps up, he’s gonna need to buy me whole damn wardrobe.”

You straightened up, glancing around to get your bearings. The rain blurred everything—the streetlights, the neon signs flickering across the way, the intricate wrought-iron balconies that lined the upper floors of the surrounding buildings. The city was alive in its own way, the hum of life carrying on despite the storm. People hurried past you, heads tucked low, umbrellas shielding them from the worst of the downpour. None of them spared you a second glance.

You felt strangely invisible—like a ghost haunting a city that didn’t care. Barefoot, drenched, and seething, you stood there as if you were the only one aware of the injustice the universe had dealt you tonight.

Then, a flicker of recognition struck. The architecture, the way the streets curved and twisted, the sound of jazz faintly filtering through the storm. Your eyes locked on a neon sign across the street, its letters buzzing faintly in hues of red and gold.

“New Orleans,” you whispered, the name rolling off your tongue with a mix of realization and disbelief.

Of course. The city had a way of swallowing you whole, didn’t it? You’d been here before, but it was always like this—chaotic, unpredictable, leaving you with more questions than answers.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself before catching sight of a man in a trench coat walking briskly by. His hat shielded his face from the rain, but you didn’t care. You needed confirmation. You stepped forward quickly, holding out a hand to stop him mid-stride.

“Hey, sorry,” you said, your voice hurried and a little breathless. “I’m in New Orleans, right?”

The man paused, tilting his head in a way that made you feel small and slightly ridiculous. His brow furrowed, and he gave you a look that screamed, Are you serious?

“Yeah,” he said flatly, his tone dismissive. “Where else would you be?”

Before you could respond, he stepped around you and continued on his way, his boots splashing through puddles as he disappeared into the haze of rain.

“Thanks for the help,” you muttered sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you watched him vanish into the crowd.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, shivering as the cold began to settle in. Tonight hadn’t gone at all the way you’d planned, and you weren’t sure whether to laugh at the absurdity of it all or scream to the heavens in frustration. One thing was certain: wherever he was, Remy LeBeau had a lot of explaining to do. The rain poured on, relentless and cold as it dripped down your face and slid beneath your collar. You stood still for a moment, the world around you a chaotic blur of motion and sound. Cars splashed by, their headlights streaking against the wet cobblestones. New Orleans was alive, bustling as always, utterly indifferent to your predicament. It was infuriating—how the city seemed to mock you with its normalcy while you stood there, drenched, barefoot, and stuck in a situation that felt increasingly impossible.

You turned toward the garbage can, hesitating. It was a stupid idea. A gross idea. But you didn’t really have another option, did you? With a resigned sigh, you reached in, grimacing as your fingers combed through damp wrappers and discarded trash. Your hand brushed against something dry—miraculously dry—and you pulled it free. A crumpled newspaper.

Unfolding it, you squinted at the smudged ink, trying to make out the date despite the rain that clung to the page. When your eyes finally landed on the year, a groan escaped your lips.

“Great,” you muttered bitterly, shaking your head and crumpling the paper back into a ball. You tossed it into the trash with far less care than you’d pulled it out. “He’s a kid. Fantastic. Just fantastic. And knowing him? He’s probably gonna be a little asshole. Perfect.”

Frustration bubbled up in your chest, but you bit it back, sucking in a deep breath. You dragged a hand through your wet hair, water dripping in rivulets down your wrist. With a sharp shake, you tried to get some of the water off, but it was pointless. You were already soaked to the bone, and the rain showed no signs of relenting. Still, you straightened your spine, forcing a sense of determination into your posture.

“Right,” you muttered to yourself, the word coming out more steady this time. “Time to find where this little shit is.”

The next twenty minutes were a maddening blur. You wove through the narrow streets, peering into every alley and shadowed corner you came across. Your bare feet slapped against the wet pavement, splashing through shallow puddles as you scanned the dimly lit city. Every darkened doorway, every rusted fire escape, every crevice became a potential hiding spot. You pushed open the creaking doors of abandoned buildings, the sound of rusted hinges echoing in the empty spaces, the musty smell of neglect filling your nose. But there was nothing. No sign of him.

The rain didn’t let up. If anything, it seemed to get heavier, soaking you further until your clothes clung to your skin like a second, miserable layer. The streets felt endless, each one leading you further into frustration. You ducked beneath overhangs, leaned into corners, your breath puffing out in annoyed, heavy sighs. Where the hell could a teenage Remy even be?

Eventually, your determination gave way to exhaustion. You found yourself sitting down on the damp, worn steps of an old, abandoned building. The wood beneath you was slick and cold, but you didn’t care anymore. At least the awning above provided some small reprieve from the rain, though the wind still sent icy droplets skittering against your skin.

You rested your chin in your hands, staring out at the street with a heavy sense of defeat. Cars rumbled by occasionally, their tires kicking up sprays of water. The shadows of people moved under umbrellas, faceless and indifferent as they went about their lives.

“Yeah,” you muttered under your breath, your voice flat and tinged with resignation, “I have no idea where he is.”

The weight of that realization settled over you like the rain itself, cold and heavy. You groaned softly, leaning back against the step behind you. You should’ve thought this through better. You should’ve asked adult Remy more about his childhood—about the specifics. The places he’d gone to, the places he’d hide when he was in trouble. Hell, you should’ve pried into every little detail of his past the last time you had the chance.

This wasn’t the first time you’d been thrown into his past, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. But if you had to keep doing this—chasing after the younger version of the infuriating Cajun—you needed to come better prepared. You made a mental note to grill him the next time you saw him. No more vague stories. No more cryptic half-smiles and teasing deflections. The next time, you were getting the specifics, whether he liked it or not.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself back to your feet. Your legs were stiff, your body sluggish from the cold, but you couldn’t just sit there. Brushing off the back of your pants was pointless, but you did it anyway, out of habit more than anything. The rain continued to fall, a steady drumbeat against the awning above you as you turned toward the street.

The rain soaked through to your very core, dripping down your back, pooling at your feet, and clinging to your skin like a second, miserable layer. You were running on fumes now—frustration, exhaustion, and cold gnawing at you with every step. But you kept moving, forcing your legs to carry you forward even as your bare feet splashed through icy puddles. Giving up wasn’t an option. Not now. Not when you were this close.

Remy had always been unpredictable, a man (or in this case, a boy) who enjoyed being the wildcard no matter how much it infuriated you. That thought flickered through your mind like a spark, keeping you upright when your body begged to collapse. You clenched your jaw and pushed forward, each step heavier than the last.

Then you heard it.

A faint sound, just barely audible over the relentless drumming of rain. You froze, your heart skipping a beat as you strained to listen. It came again—a quick, sharp laugh, followed by the unmistakable metallic clink of coins. It was distant, muffled by the storm, but it was there. Your chest tightened as you turned your head toward the noise, every nerve suddenly on edge.

You moved toward the sound, your steps careful but quick, splashing through the shallow puddles that pooled along the uneven alley floor. The narrow passageway ahead was dimly lit, the glow of a single, flickering streetlamp casting jagged shadows across the brick walls. The sound grew clearer with every step, guiding you forward like a thread pulling you through the dark.

And then you saw him.

Crouched in the corner near a makeshift shelter of crates and a tattered tarp was a boy. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, his lanky frame swallowed by a too-large jacket that hung off him like it belonged to someone else—or had belonged to someone else long ago. His auburn hair was damp, sticking to his forehead as he rolled a coin between his fingers, the metal glinting faintly in the dim light. The motion was smooth, practiced. Almost hypnotic.

Your breath caught in your throat. Sixteen-year-old Remy LeBeau.

You stopped in your tracks, your emotions tangling into a knot so tight you could hardly breathe. Relief washed over you first, followed by something heavier—something you couldn’t quite name. Seeing him like this—so young, so raw—hit you harder than you expected. His sharp features hadn’t yet matured into the man you knew, his red-and-black eyes glowing faintly in the shadows like embers in the dark. He looked… vulnerable. Not the cocky, self-assured thief you knew, but a boy trying to carve out a space in a world that seemed determined to crush him.

Your heart twisted painfully. He looked like a kid. Just a kid.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, too focused on the coin flipping between his fingers. But then your foot splashed into a puddle, the sound breaking the rhythm of the rain. His head snapped up, his glowing eyes narrowing sharply. The coin stilled in his hand, his entire posture shifting as though he were preparing to bolt.

“Who’re you?” he demanded, his voice rough, defensive. There was no warmth in it, no charm—just suspicion.

You raised your hands instinctively, palms out, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible. Your voice came out softer than you intended, tired but calm. “Relax, kid,” you said, forcing a small smile. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

His eyes narrowed further, his grip tightening on the coin. “That’s what they all say,” he muttered, his tone laced with distrust.

You couldn’t help the flicker of amusement that tugged at your lips, though it was bitter and tinged with sadness. Even at sixteen, he was guarded—already carrying the weight of a life that had made him wary of everyone. You shook your head slightly, your wet hair sticking to your skin.

“You’ve got no idea how much trouble I went through to find you,” you said, your voice light despite the ache in your chest. You were soaked to the bone, your feet freezing against the wet cobblestones, and yet here you were, standing in a dark alley, staring at a boy who had no clue who you were.

His head tilted slightly, his auburn hair clinging to his forehead as he studied you. There was something sharp and calculating in his gaze, even now, as if he were trying to piece you together like a puzzle. “Why you lookin’ for me?” he asked, his voice low and cautious. His accent was already distinct, though not as smooth and polished as the man you knew.

You hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on you. “I genuinely have no idea,” you admitted finally, a sigh escaping your lips. Your smile faltered as you looked at him—really looked at him. His face was softer, his expression tight in a way that spoke of fear and defiance all at once. He didn’t look like the Remy you knew. Not yet.

“But it’s good to see you,” you said quietly, the words heavier than you meant them to be. Because it was good to see him. Even like this, even in the rain and the dark and the impossibility of it all, it was good to see him.

He didn’t respond right away. His glowing eyes flicked over you, his expression unreadable. You could see the distrust in him, the way he held himself like a coiled spring, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, the kind that leaves you breathless and aching. He didn’t know you.

It wasn’t a matter of forgetting—you weren’t some faded memory buried beneath years of life. This version of Remy LeBeau had never met you. The familiarity you’d grown so used to, the warmth in his gaze when he looked at you, the sly half-smile that always carried a flicker of unspoken understanding—they weren’t there. Instead, his crimson-black eyes were sharp and cold, guarded in a way that felt foreign and yet painfully familiar.

This wasn’t the Remy who had fought by your side, who had whispered jokes during quiet moments just to make you smile, who had held your hand like it was the only thing tethering him to the world. This wasn’t the man you knew. This was a boy—hard-edged, suspicious, and alone. And the bond you shared, the connection that had grown over time, didn’t exist for him. Not yet.

You had thought you were ready for this moment. You’d told yourself it might happen, even expected it. You’d imagined it over and over in your head, rehearsing what you’d say, how you’d explain who you were and why you meant something to each other. But standing here now, drenched and shivering in the rain, every carefully crafted word had fled your mind.

All you could think about was how utterly ridiculous you must look. Barefoot, soaked to the bone, and stumbling through his life like some kind of half-drowned ghost. You were a stranger to him, and judging by the way his fingers flicked the coin between his knuckles—a nervous tic you’d seen a thousand times before—he was already trying to decide whether you were worth the trouble.

“Have we met?” he asked cautiously, his voice cutting through the rain. It was sharper than you were used to, but not unkind. Still, there was a guarded edge to it that made your heart twist.

You tilted your head, considering how to answer. “That’s… complicated,” you admitted, your voice soft and tinged with exhaustion. “Yes. But also no.”

His brow furrowed, his expression tightening with confusion. The coin paused mid-flip, his fingers stilling as he stared at you. “Right,” he said slowly, his tone dripping with skepticism. The way he said it—half a question, half a challenge—made your stomach churn.

You sighed, raising your hands in a gesture of peace, trying to break the tension that hung thick between you. “Look,” you started, your voice low but steady. “Is there somewhere out of the rain we can talk? I’ve got, like, twenty bucks if you know a café that doesn’t care about a dress code.” You paused, already regretting your next words, but they spilled out anyway. “I’d have more, but I just spent most of it on a motel to save your life.”

“What?” His head tilted slightly, his brows knitting together in confusion.

You waved him off, as if that would somehow make the situation less insane. “It’s a long story,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I’ll explain everything, I promise. So… what do you say?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied you, his red-and-black eyes narrowing as they flicked over you. You could see the calculations happening behind them, the way his sharp mind was already working through the possibilities. He was trying to figure you out—whether you were dangerous, crazy, or just plain stupid.

You recognized that look all too well. You’d seen it on his older face a thousand times—the way he measured people, weighing their intentions, deciding whether to trust them or toss them aside. Only this time, it wasn’t accompanied by the subtle smirk or teasing quip that usually softened the tension. This time, all you saw was suspicion.

And then, as he stepped just a little closer, you caught something else in his expression. He didn’t think you were dangerous. In fact, judging by the slight tilt of his head and the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes, he didn’t think you were a threat at all.

It stung more than it should have.

“I might know a place,” he said finally, his voice low and measured. The coin disappeared into his pocket as he straightened up, his posture still tense but less defensive.

“Lovely,” you replied with a tired smile, stepping aside to let him pass. You gestured down the street with an exaggerated flourish, trying to lighten the mood. “Lead the way, mon ami.”

At that, his eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering back to life. “What’d you call me?” he asked, his tone sharp.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, biting back a laugh. “Don’t worry about it.”

He gave you a look but didn’t press further. His shoulders were stiff as he started walking, his steps quick and deliberate, as if he were trying to put distance between the two of you even as he led you somewhere.

The silence between you was heavy, pressing down on your chest like the weight of every word you didn’t know how to say. You watched him as you walked, your thoughts spinning in a thousand different directions.

This was Remy, but not your Remy. The Remy you knew at this age had already met you, he had already managed to pull you into helping him with a heist, managed to introduce him to members of the guild. But this Remy, at this exact point in time, had no idea who you were. And the longer you stared at him—the boyish sharpness of his features, the way his damp auburn hair stuck to his forehead, the quiet defensiveness in his stride—the more you realized how much of a stranger he was. This was a version of him you’d only ever heard about in passing, in half-spoken stories he never quite finished.

And now, standing here in his world, you felt the gulf between you more acutely than ever.

He was trying to figure you out, and you were doing the same. But while he was sizing you up with suspicion, you were staring at him like he was some ghost of the past—alive and real but just out of reach.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look away. You needed to focus. You needed to figure out how to explain this to him without sounding completely insane.

But deep down, you couldn’t shake the ache in your chest. He didn’t know you, and that realization had carved out a hollow space inside you that you weren’t sure how to fill.

<><><><><><><><> The rain lingered on your skin as you followed him through the winding streets, puddles splashing cold against your bare feet with every step. The city breathed around you, alive despite the storm. Music leaked out of bars, muffled brass notes and laughter weaving through the rain like threads of warmth in the otherwise biting cold. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear a streetcar rattling by, the sound blending with the occasional burst of laughter echoing from alleys or doorways. It was New Orleans in its truest form—chaotic and vibrant, even in the midst of a downpour.

You watched him as he walked ahead of you, his shoulders hunched under the weight of his soaking jacket, his hands shoved deep into its oversized pockets. He didn’t look back, didn’t check to see if you were keeping up. It wasn’t out of rudeness, you realized—this Remy was just guarded. He moved like he always had one foot out the door, ready to run if things got messy.

Your heart squeezed at the sight of him. He’d told you stories about his childhood before—half-teasing tales of ducking in and out of alleys like these, stealing food or trinkets to survive. He’d always spoken about it with that trademark grin of his, as if it were all just a game. But now, seeing him like this, you understood how much of that grin had been a mask. You could see the weight in the way he moved, in the way his gaze darted briefly to the corners of the street before he kept moving. New Orleans had been his home, yes, but it had also been a cage—a place that demanded survival at all costs.

A group of teenagers huddled under an awning as you passed, their laughter cutting through the rain. For a moment, you wondered if they were like him—part of the world he’d grown up in. Did they know him? Did they run the same streets he’d once called home? But Remy didn’t glance their way. He just kept walking, his pace steady, his focus straight ahead.

Finally, he stopped in front of a weathered door tucked between two worn brick buildings. The paint had long since started to peel, and the sign above it was barely legible, but there was a faint glow of light from the windows and the low hum of voices from inside. It was a small café, unassuming and quiet, the kind of place you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it.

“Here,” he said, nodding toward the door. “It’s not much, but it’s warm. And they’ll let you in.” He glanced down at your bare feet and smirked faintly, his first real sign of humor since you’d found him. “Even you.”

Despite the chill in your bones and the ache in your chest, you couldn’t help but smile at him. That tiny flicker of amusement in his voice—it was familiar, a glimpse of the man you knew buried somewhere in this boy. “Perfect,” you said softly, brushing damp hair out of your face as he opened the door.

The faint jingle of a bell greeted you as the door creaked open, and warmth flooded over you like a blanket. The café was a stark contrast to the rain outside—small, cozy, and alive with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm bread. The mismatched tables and chairs gave it a lived-in charm, and the soft hum of conversation filled the space like static, comforting but unobtrusive.

Behind the counter, a woman with graying hair tied back in a loose bun glanced up as the two of you entered. Her apron was stained with flour and coffee, and the lines on her face suggested she’d seen her fair share of storms—literal and figurative. Her gaze softened as it landed on Remy, and a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips.

“You brought a friend,” she said, her voice warm and familiar, though her eyes quickly moved to you. Her smile widened slightly, a touch of amusement lighting her features. “Oh, dear, where are your shoes?”

You glanced down at your feet, suddenly feeling the full weight of how ridiculous you must look. Barefoot, drenched, and clearly out of place, you looked like someone who’d stumbled straight out of the storm and into the wrong story. Heat rushed to your cheeks, but before you could stammer out an excuse, the woman waved a hand.

“Go put in your order,” she said, already shaking her head like an exasperated mother. “I’ll bring you a fresh pair when I bring your food. Lord knows someone needs to look after you.”

You blinked, startled by her unexpected kindness. “You really don’t have to—”

“Hush,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “Go order somethin’ warm before you catch your death. I’ll take care of the rest.”

You turned to Remy, who shrugged like this kind of treatment was completely normal. “She does that,” he muttered, his hands still shoved in his pockets, but there was a flicker of warmth in his voice.

Moving toward the counter, you pulled a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from your pocket, smoothing it out against the surface. “What do you feel like?” you asked, glancing over at him.

“Coffee,” he said without hesitation, his tone flat like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re a kid.”

He shot you a deadpan look, unimpressed but slightly amused.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Fine. Whatever he wants, make it two,” you said to the woman behind the counter, sliding the bill across.

She smiled knowingly, ringing up the order. “He’s been drinkin’ coffee since he was twelve,” she said, shaking her head fondly.

The ache in your chest tightened he led you towards a table in the far corner. The table, scratched and worn from years of use, placed the two of you uncomfortably close, yet there was a distance between you that felt impossible to bridge. You could feel it in the way he sat, his back pressed firmly against the wall like it was his only defense. His posture was stiff, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his crimson-black eyes never left your face, sharp and unyielding.

It wasn’t the Remy you knew, but fragments of him were there. The guarded stance, the faint smirk he’d given you earlier, the way his hands toyed absentmindedly with the napkin in front of him—tearing it apart piece by piece like it was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. It was all so achingly familiar, yet so painfully different.

And then your eyes flicked to the man playing cards at the next table. The deck in his hands—worn and faded—caught the dim light of the café. You watched as he shuffled it, the movements swift and fluid, the cards snapping together like muscle memory. The sight sent a pang through you. It wasn’t just a deck of cards—it was that deck. The kind Remy would always carry with him in the future, the ones he’d shuffle between his fingers with a kind of grace that came from a lifetime of practice. You remembered countless nights sitting across from him as he performed tricks to make you laugh, or distracted himself with the endless rhythm of the cards sliding against one another.

This boy sitting before you—sixteen and hardened by survival—hadn’t become that man yet. But you could see the pieces, the glimmers of who he would one day be. The quick wit, the quiet resilience, the spark of mischief in his eyes. It was there, buried under layers of suspicion and the weight of a life too heavy for someone so young.

But he didn’t know you. Not yet.

The realization hit you again, sharp and cruel, carving out a hollow space in your chest. The Remy who would fight for you, who would tease you endlessly but hold your hand when the world felt like too much, the Remy who would look at you like you were the one thing in the world he loved—this wasn’t him. That bond hadn’t been forged yet. To him, you were a stranger. And the weight of that knowledge settled over you, heavy and suffocating.

He broke the silence first, his voice cutting through your thoughts like a blade. “You said you’d talk. So talk,” he said, his words clipped and impatient. His eyes narrowed as he leaned slightly forward, studying your face like you might unravel under his gaze.

Your fingers traced the edge of the table nervously, your mind racing to find the right words. “Okay,” you said slowly, exhaling a shaky breath. “This is going to sound… crazy, but I need you to just stick with me for a minute.”

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Crazy, huh? That’s a real good start,” he muttered, leaning back against the wall.

You hesitated, your throat tightening. The truth was absurd, and you knew it. But there was no easing into it. “So, uh… to start with the less terrifying part: I’m a time traveler,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

He blinked, his expression blank for a moment as if he were waiting for the punchline. Then his head tilted slightly, his brow furrowing in disbelief. “That’s the less terrifying part?” he asked, his voice rising slightly.

You sighed, running a hand through your damp hair. “Believe it or not, yeah. It is.”

He crossed his arms tighter over his chest, his expression darkening. “Alright, so you’re really crazy. Got it. What’s next?”

You couldn’t help but groan, leaning back in your chair. “I’m not crazy, and this isn’t some Terminator situation, okay? I didn’t come back to warn you about a robot apocalypse or whatever you’re thinking.”

He snorted faintly, but his suspicion didn’t waver. “So why are you here? Why were you lookin��� for me?”

You bit your lip, your heart pounding in your chest. This was the hard part. “Because… you’re important,” you said softly, your voice almost breaking. You looked at him, really looked at him, and for a brief moment, you saw the boy he was and the man he’d become overlapping in the same space. “Like, really important.”

Before he could respond, the kind woman from earlier appeared at the table, balancing two steaming mugs and a small plate of sandwiches. She set them down gently, her warm smile never faltering. Then, from under her arm, she pulled out a pair of well-worn sneakers, holding them out to you.

“Now, these aren’t much,” she said, her voice soft, “but they’re better than nothin’.”

You stared at the shoes, barely able to speak past the lump in your throat. “Thank you,” you said finally, your voice cracking slightly.

She waved you off with a knowing smile. “Go on, eat somethin’ warm before you catch your death,” she said, patting your shoulder lightly before bustling back to the counter.

You slipped the shoes on quickly, grateful for the warmth, even though they were a little too big. “She’s lovely,” you murmured, glancing at Remy.

He nodded faintly, his gaze distant as his fingers worked at his napkin again, tearing it to pieces before reaching over and grabbing his sandwich. “She’s been here since I was a kid,” he said softly, his voice quieter than before.

You stilled, watching him closely. His tone was different—less defensive, more reflective. For a moment, he wasn’t the guarded boy sitting across from you. He was somewhere else entirely, lost in a memory.

“She used to let me sit in the corner when it was stormin’,” he continued, his fingers still pulling at the bread. “Even when I didn’t have money. She’d bring me somethin’ warm and pretend I’d already paid.”

Your chest tightened, the ache twisting into something deeper, sharper. You could picture it so clearly—this café as a refuge for Remy, a boy who had grown up too fast in a world that had given him so little. It explained the way he carried himself now, so guarded and self-reliant, like he didn’t expect anyone to stick around.

“She doesn’t do it for everyone,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your throat tight. “She seems to care about you,” you said softly. He shrugged, brushing off the kindness of the woman like it wasn’t a big deal, but you caught it. That flicker in his eyes—the faint warmth he was trying to bury beneath layers of indifference. He might have been trying to mask it, but it was there, a glimmer of the Remy you knew.

And as you sat across from him, watching the boy he was and thinking about the man he’d become, the ache in your chest swelled. It wasn’t just care, wasn’t just affection—it was deeper than that, more far-reaching. You realized, sitting at that tiny table with the rain still dripping from your hair, just how much you loved him. How much you always had. How much you always would, no matter the version of him you met.

But before you could let yourself linger in the weight of that thought, his eyes lifted suddenly, sharp and cutting, locking onto yours like the blade of a knife.

“So you were sayin’?” His voice was taut, his words slicing through the fragile warmth that had begun to settle between the two of you.

You felt your stomach twist, the heat from the mug in your hands grounding you as your heart pounded in your chest. You’d rehearsed this moment a thousand times—this conversation, this explanation. But now that it was here, the words felt tangled, stuck somewhere between your mind and your tongue. Still, you pushed forward. You had to. There was no turning back now.

“So,” you began, your voice steady but soft, “like I said, I jump through time. No control, no pattern, no rhyme or reason. Super fun if you never like to have a proper night sleep. But…” You hesitated, gripping the mug tighter, your knuckles white against the ceramic. “There’s always one constant. You.”

His eyes narrowed, suspicion flashing through them like lightning. “Me?”

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, your lips quirking into a faint smirk despite the tension. “Did I stutter?” you shot back, giving him a pointed look. “Yes, you. Every time I land somewhere, no matter where or when, you’re there. Future you. But today…” You paused, taking a breath. “This is the first time you’ve met me. Which I’ll be honest is a bit weird.”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable, but you could see the gears turning in his head. You hesitated for a moment before holding out your hand, your name tumbling from your lips as you offered it to him like an anchor in the storm. It felt strange, almost too formal, but it was necessary.

His eyes flicked down to your hand, his brows knitting together. You could see the doubt in his face, the wariness as he studied you, trying to figure out if this was some kind of trick. Slowly—so slowly it felt like time itself had stretched—he reached out.

The moment his hand touched yours, it happened.

It wasn’t just a handshake. It was something more. Something deep. The bond snapped into place like a wire pulled taut, the connection so powerful it left you reeling. A rush of warmth spread through your chest, familiar yet overwhelming, like standing too close to a fire but being unable to step away. It was the same bond you’d felt with him a hundred times before, but rawer, unrefined.

You saw it in him too—the way his eyes widened in shock, his lips parting slightly as if the air between you had shifted, crackling with something he couldn’t understand. He yanked his hand back like he’d been burned, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, and stared down at his fingers as though they’d betrayed him.

“What the hell?” he muttered, his voice shaky. The usual confidence that clung to him like a second skin was gone, replaced by something vulnerable, almost frightened.

You watched him carefully, your chest tightening at the sight of him like this. “And that,” you said softly, your voice gentler now, “is the complicated part.”

He leaned back in his chair, his shoulders stiff, his eyes darting between you and his hands like he was trying to make sense of what had just happened. The tension in him was palpable, his unease obvious in the way his jaw tightened and his fingers curled into fists.

“We’re soulmates,” you said finally, the words falling from your lips like a stone, heavy and unyielding. You felt the weight of them settle in the air between you, thick and suffocating.

For a moment, he just stared at you. The disbelief in his expression was stark, his features frozen as if his mind couldn’t process what you’d just said. Then his face twisted, his eyes narrowing sharply, his posture growing even more defensive.

“What the hell?” he repeated, louder this time, his voice tinged with panic. He looked like he was ready to bolt, his legs tensing beneath the table as though he were preparing to run.

You raised your hands slightly, palms up, your voice steady but calm. “Look, I know it sounds insane,” you said carefully, trying to keep your tone even. “When you explained this to me for the first time, I thought you were crazy too. I almost threw up. You thought it was absolutely hilarious.”

That caught his attention. His expression shifted, his brows furrowing deeply as confusion replaced some of the panic. “What’re you talkin’ about?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You exhaled slowly, leaning forward slightly, your elbows resting on the table. “You’re going to figure this out one day, Remy,” you said softly. “You’re going to explain it to me—older you. But right now, I need you to trust me. Because this isn’t something I can fake. You felt it, didn’t you?”

His gaze dropped to his hands again, his fingers flexing slightly as if he could still feel the warmth of your touch. He didn’t answer, but the flicker of doubt in his eyes was enough to tell you he had felt it.

“No,” he said suddenly, shaking his head as if that alone could erase the reality of what you’d just told him. “No, I don’t—this isn’t real. I don’t have a soulmate. That’s not how my life works.”

Your chest ached at his words, at the rawness in his voice. He was so young, so guarded. You could see how deeply his walls had been built, how fiercely he clung to the belief that he didn’t deserve this kind of connection.

“Remy,” you said gently, your voice soft but firm, “I know this is a lot. And I know it’s scary. Believe me, I know. But this bond? It’s real. You don’t have to believe me right now, but one day, you will. One day, you’ll understand.”

He looked so young. That was the part you couldn’t shake. He was tough, sure—his sharp eyes, his defensive posture, the way he carried himself like the world was always one step away from turning on him—but beneath it all, he was just a boy. Sixteen and still figuring out who he was, still carrying the weight of a world that had been cruel to him. You saw the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he tried so hard to bury beneath layers of bravado and suspicion.

And for just a moment, as he glanced out the window, you thought you saw the boy behind the walls—the questions swirling in his gaze, the uncertainty, the fear. It was fleeting, gone as quickly as it came, but it was there.

Then he blinked, and the walls slammed back into place so fast it made your heart twist. His gaze snapped back to you, sharp and wary, locking onto yours with the precision of a knife.

“You’re crazy,” he muttered, his voice low, defensive.

“Well, too bad it’s true,” you replied evenly, refusing to flinch under his scrutiny. You leaned forward slightly, your voice soft but firm. “You have a soulmate. And it’s me. Sorry in advance, by the way. It’s exhausting.”

His jaw dropped slightly, his shock so obvious it was almost comical. For a moment, he just stared at you, his lips moving soundlessly like he was trying to form a response but couldn’t quite manage it. You fought the urge to laugh, instead raising your mug to your lips and taking a sip of coffee.

“This is good,” you said casually, like you hadn’t just dropped a cosmic bombshell in the middle of a dingy café, “Real good.”

He blinked at you, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and fury. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he finally managed, his voice cracking slightly.

You set your mug down, tilting your head as you studied him. “Look I could do a whole presentation,” you admitted, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “But that’s not the point.”

He looked like he might explode, his hands gripping the edge of the table as if grounding himself to reality. “Soulmate?” he repeated, his voice dripping with disbelief.

“Yeah. Soulmate,” you said simply, watching him carefully. “It’s a lot, I know, but it’s true. We’re connected. For better or worse etc.”

His lips parted, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his mind clearly racing. Then he blew out a shaky breath and leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. “This is insane,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Welcome to my life,” you said lightly, though there was a heaviness in your chest you couldn’t quite shake, “I spend my days bouncing through your timeline. You’re exhausting by the way.”

His eyes narrowed, suspicion flashing through them again. “If this is true—if—why me?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the edge of your mug as you searched for the right words. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “I don’t know why it’s you, or me, or how any of this works. All I know is that one day I’m home, normal, and the next thing I’ve fallen into the lake at the mansion with you standing on the shore in hysterics. But what I do know, is that it’s real. You feel it, don’t you?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to yours before darting away again. “I don’t feel anything,” he said quickly, but the hesitation in his voice betrayed him.

“You’ve always been the worst liar to me,” you said softly, your tone almost teasing but laced with understanding. You pressed a hand to the center of your chest, your voice quieter now. “That pull. That warmth. You feel it, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his plate. Finally, he nodded, barely perceptible, his voice a whisper. “Yeah.”

The admission hit you like a wave, a mix of relief and heartbreak washing over you. “That’s the bond,” you said, your tone gentle but bittersweet. “It’s a blessing and a curse, all at once.”

He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, his voice hesitant but searching. “So what do we do about it? Do we get rid of it? Do we, ya know-” His eyes showed his true question. One that you didn’t want to give sixteen-year-old Remy.

“We don’t do anything,” you replied simply, your shoulders relaxing slightly as you smiled at him. But there was a sadness in your eyes, a weight to your words. “We call it the ultimate cosmic fuckery. But it’s fine. You’ll be happy. I’ll be happy. Everything works out.”

He didn’t look convinced. His lips trembled slightly as he tried to speak, his voice shaky. “Y-you’re telling me—”

You let out an exasperated sigh, setting your mug down a little harder than you intended. “Believe it or don’t, but Remy, it doesn’t change the fact that this is real. And it’s happening.”

His jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to his plate as he fidgeted with it.  He stayed quiet for a long moment as you continued to drink your coffee, looking out at the street around you. And then his voice spoke quietly, “Where do I end up?”

The question caught you off guard. “Excuse me?”

He glanced up at you, his crimson-black eyes sharp but filled with uncertainty. “You said you’re a time traveler. You’ve seen me in the future, right? So where do I end up? Do I…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “Do I make it?”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in his voice. He wasn’t just asking about the future—he was asking if he was worth something, if he mattered. “I can’t tell you much. Like, things that might influence you to change things or whatever. But all this,” You motioned to him, “It doesn’t last forever. What you’re feeling right now it gets better,” A soft smile crossed your face, “Remy Lebeau you become something amazing. You find your people, and you become a hero.”

The air between you felt fragile, like the faintest wrong move could shatter it. But for the first time since you’d sat down, you felt a shift in Remy’s energy—a loosening of the tension that had gripped him so tightly since the moment you met. His shoulders, once hunched and taut like a coiled spring, softened. The guarded sharpness in his gaze dulled ever so slightly, replaced by something more reflective, more open.

When you told him he’d become a hero, you meant it. You’d seen it with your own eyes. But you weren’t sure if he believed you—if he could believe you. This young Remy, still raw and uncertain, still fighting to survive, wasn’t the man you knew. And yet, as he stared out the window at the sunlight breaking through the rain, you saw the faintest flicker of something in him.

Hope. It was tentative, barely there—a flicker of trust, like the first hesitant steps into uncharted territory. But it sparked something in you too, something fragile and bittersweet. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been holding your breath, how much you’d been waiting for him to give you something, until he finally exhaled and let his shoulders drop. The tension that had gripped him since the moment you’d met eased, just slightly, and the smallest crack appeared in his walls.

For now, it was enough.

“And what about you?” he asked softly, his voice low but steady, cutting through the quiet moment between you. His question hung in the air, heavy with meaning. “Are you there?”

You froze for the briefest of moments, your chest tightening. There. The word hit you harder than it should have, because you knew exactly what he meant. He wasn’t asking about a place. He wasn’t asking if you belonged to some physical destination. He was asking if you were part of this, part of him. If you had a home in the same way you claimed he would someday.

You scoffed lightly, leaning back in your chair as you tried to mask the ache in your chest. The answer was so obvious, so painful, that you couldn’t bring yourself to say it outright. You’d never be “there.” Not really. Not in the way he wanted to believe. You were destined to drift, to pass through his life like a shadow that couldn’t stay.

“I just pass through,” you said finally, your voice lighter than you felt. You forced a small grin, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes, and gestured vaguely with your hand. “You know, I make sure you’re not causing too much destruction before I leave again.”

The joke fell flat in the space between you, and you knew it the second the words left your mouth. It wasn’t enough to hide the truth, not from him.

“It’s fine though,” you added quickly, your tone more subdued this time. You gave him a tight smile, one you hoped looked convincing. But when his eyes met yours, you saw the doubt there—sharp and unyielding. He didn’t believe you. Not for a second.

And why would he?

You felt the weight of his gaze, the way it seemed to cut through the mask you were trying so hard to wear. It made you want to look away, but you didn’t. You held his gaze, even as something inside you twisted painfully.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and unspoken, until you broke it by reaching for your sandwich. You smiled softly, trying to ease the tension, and took a bite. The bread was warm, the filling simple but comforting, and it grounded you in a way words couldn’t.

You let the taste and texture anchor you, offering a moment of reprieve from the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. Relief, sadness, hope—they all fought for space in your chest, tangled together in a way that left you both exhausted and strangely calm.

The relief came from seeing him now, sitting across from you, alive and whole. The boy he was and the man he would become were both there, overlapping in ways that made your heart ache. Sadness crept in because you knew this wouldn’t last. You’d never stay—not in his time, not in his life. You were a fleeting presence, a guide who could never truly belong. And hope… hope was the faintest thread, the quiet belief that maybe, just maybe, this moment mattered. That it would leave something behind for him, even after you were gone.

As you chewed, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He was still watching you, his expression a mix of curiosity and something else—something softer, more vulnerable. You could see the questions swirling in his mind, the ones he didn’t know how to put into words.

“You’re not fine,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet but firm, like he wasn’t asking so much as stating a fact.

You swallowed your bite, your chest tightening again at the bluntness of his words. You didn’t respond right away, instead setting the sandwich down carefully on your plate and brushing your hands together.

“Don’t worry about me,” you said finally, your tone light but not dismissive. You gave him another smile, this one softer, more genuine, though it still carried the weight of everything you weren’t saying. “I’m used to it.”

“Used to what?” he pressed, his brows knitting together.

You hesitated, your gaze drifting to the window. Outside, the rain-soaked streets glistened under the fading light of the setting sun. The crowd bustled past, noisy and alive, oblivious to the quiet conversation unfolding in the café.

“Not having a place,” you said after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. “Always just…passing through.”

The words felt heavier than you expected, hanging in the air between you like a confession. You didn’t mean to say so much, but once the words were out, you couldn’t take them back.

Remy leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. His crimson-black eyes searched yours, unguarded for the first time since you’d met. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite name.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You show up here, talkin’ like you know me,” he said, his voice steady but not accusing. “Like you’ve been part of my life forever. And then you say you don’t have a place?” He shook his head, his gaze unwavering. “That doesn’t make sense.”

You felt your breath hitch, his words cutting through you like a blade. He didn’t understand. How could he? He didn’t know what it felt like to move through time, to watch people come and go while you stayed on the outside, always passing through but never staying.

“I’m just here for a little while,” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly despite your best efforts. “That’s all I get. Just these little moments with you over time.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest. “Moments matter,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

You felt your throat tighten, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. You nodded slowly, unable to speak, and reached for your sandwich again, needing something to focus on. As you took another bite, your gaze drifted toward him again, your eyes lingering on his face. He was still watching you, though his expression had shifted. The hard edges of suspicion and disbelief had softened, replaced by something quieter, something more open. His crimson-black eyes—those eyes you’d seen so many times in so many different versions of him—weren’t scrutinizing you anymore.

For the first time, it felt like he wasn’t just waiting for you to slip up, to prove yourself a fraud or a liar. He wasn’t seeing you as a stranger who had barged into his life uninvited, someone who had forced herself into his world and turned it upside down.

He was seeing you.

And not just you as a person, or as a mystery he couldn’t solve. He was seeing you as his soulmate.

The realization hit you harder than you expected, a strange warmth blooming in your chest even as a lump formed in your throat. You hadn’t realized how much you’d wanted that—how much you’d needed him to stop looking at you like you were some kind of anomaly and start seeing you for what you really were.

But this wasn’t the first time he’d looked at you like this. Not really.

“We’ve had this conversation before,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. You swallowed the lump in your throat and took another bite of your sandwich, chewing slowly as you tried to keep your expression neutral.

When you finally spoke again, your tone was deliberately light, casual, as though you hadn’t just shattered his worldview and rebuilt it in the same breath. “So, moving on,” you said, setting your sandwich down with a small smile, “where are you at in life?”

He hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his plate. He glanced down at his sandwich, picking it up and taking a small, tentative bite. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A start.

You watched him carefully, trying not to stare but unable to look away completely. You could see the wheels turning in his head, the way he was processing everything you’d said, everything he’d felt in the last hour. He was starting to believe you—or at least starting to feel the bond that had snapped into place between you. That invisible thread, the one you’d tried so hard not to tug on too much, was unmistakable now.

He couldn’t deny it anymore. Neither of you could.

“I, uh…” he began, his voice hesitant as he set the sandwich down again. His fingers brushed against the edge of the plate, his movements restless. “It’s… complicated.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Complicated how?”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “That’s a long list, cher,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “You sure you wanna hear it?”

You smiled softly, tilting your head as you rested your arms on the table. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

He hesitated again, his gaze flicking up to meet yours for a brief moment before darting away. “I’m just tryin’ to get by,” he admitted finally, his voice low. “Tryin’ to figure out who I am, y’know? Where I fit into all this.”

“All this?” you repeated, your tone gentle but curious.

He gestured vaguely to the world around him—the crowded café, the bustling streets outside, the noise and chaos of New Orleans. “This. Life. The guilds. Everything. It’s all…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. “It’s a mess.”

You nodded slowly, your chest tightening as you watched him. He looked so young, so unsure of himself, and it broke your heart a little. This was the Remy you’d always wondered about—the boy who hadn’t yet become the man you knew. The boy who was still figuring out how to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders without letting it crush him.

“It’s okay to be a mess, to not have it figured out,” you said softly, your voice steady but kind. “Nobody really does, you know. Not even future-you.”

That earned you a faint smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Future-me sounds like an asshole,” he said, his tone wry.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Oh, you have no idea,” you teased, your grin softening as you watched him.

“I, um…” he began, his voice hesitant, almost unsure. He glanced down at his plate, his fingers tracing the edges like he needed something to hold onto. “It’s gonna sound stupid.”

You paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow at him. “Did you not hear anything I just said to you?” you asked, your words tinged with amusement. A grin tugged at the corners of your lips as you added, “Trust me, I take the trophy for stupid all the time.” You gestured with your sandwich, the playful smirk on your face softening the moment. “You’re in safe company here.”

That earned you the faintest of smiles, brief but real. It wasn’t much, but it made your chest ache with something warm, something bittersweet. He was still guarded, still wary, but for a moment, you saw the boy underneath—the boy who wanted to trust, even if he didn’t know how.

He glanced down again, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I have these powers.”

You nodded, keeping your expression open and encouraging. “Oh yeah, I know that.” You took another bite of your sandwich, chewing thoughtfully as you waved a hand like it was old news. “Charge things up, blow them up. Pretty cool stuff, honestly.” You shrugged, swallowing your bite. “Got us out of a few sticky situations over the years, that’s for sure.”

His head snapped up at that, his brows furrowing sharply. The vulnerability in his expression tightened into suspicion, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto yours. “Us?” he asked, his voice low and careful, laced with uncertainty.

The moment the word us slipped out, you froze, realizing too late what you had said. It had felt so natural, so instinctive, that you hadn’t even noticed until you saw the way his head snapped up, his sharp eyes narrowing on you like a hunter catching something out of place.

To him, it wasn’t natural. To him, it wasn’t just a word. It was a crack in the carefully constructed reality he was clinging to, a glimpse of something bigger, stranger, and far more unsettling than anything he was ready to face.

You grinned, trying to play it off, but you could feel your pulse thrumming in your ears. You didn’t elaborate, didn’t dare push him further, instead leaning back in your chair and letting your gaze drift around the room. It was a deliberate move, a way to give him space to process without pressure. Your eyes landed on the man sitting two tables away as he stood and headed toward the restroom, leaving behind a small box of cards on the table.

Your grin widened instantly.

So that’s where he got them.

The realization hit you like a jolt of electricity, making your breath catch for a moment. Those cards. The ones he’d carried everywhere in your timeline, the ones that were always tucked into his jacket pocket or flicked absently between his fingers. You’d spent years wondering why he was so attached to them, why he refused to replace them no matter how faded and worn they became.

There had been nights where you teased him endlessly about it. “You know you can just, I don’t know, buy a new deck, right? Shit I’ll throw you the five bucks to buy them,” you’d said once, rolling your eyes as he smirked and snatched the cards back from you. “Why are you so obsessed with these raggedy things?”

He’d always deflected, of course. It was so Remy. “Wouldn’t be as fun if I told ya, cher,” he’d said with that maddening smirk, his crimson-black eyes glinting with amusement, “You’ll figure it out one day.” He’d never given you a straight answer, no matter how much you begged, bribed, or teased.

And now, here they were. Right in front of you.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly under your breath, the sound tinged with disbelief and delight. The moment felt surreal, like a piece of a puzzle you hadn’t even realized was missing had just fallen into place.

Without thinking, you walked over and snatched the small box of cards off the table, your movements quick and deliberate. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, you turned back to Remy, holding them up with a triumphant grin and sliding back into your chair, leaning forward.

“You’ve been a shit influence on me over the years, by the way,” you said, your tone teasing as you set the cards down on the table between you. “I robbed an ambulance the other day.”

His eyes widened, his expression shifting to something between confusion and amusement. “What?” he asked, his voice sharp with disbelief.

You waved a hand dismissively, brushing off the comment like it was no big deal. “Long story,” you said lightly, “You got hurt, I needed to patch you up. I had no supplies. Just another day.” Your grin widened as you tapped the box of cards with your finger, sliding them toward him. “These will absolutely come in handy for you one day.”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing deeply as he stared at the box. His fingers hovered over it, cautious, like he wasn’t sure if it was safe to touch. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice wary, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Call it a friendly gift,” you said simply, leaning back in your chair with a satisfied smile.

His expression didn’t change at first. He picked up the box slowly, turning it over in his hands with the same care he might give a live grenade. You could see the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity. Maybe even recognition. Like some deep, buried part of him already knew this moment mattered, even if he couldn’t consciously make sense of it.

“Why would I need these?” he asked, his tone skeptical but laced with undeniable curiosity.

You shrugged, your smile softening as you watched him. “You’ll figure it out one day.” You repeated his future words.

The words hung between you, simple but heavy, and you saw the way he tried to process them. His thumb brushed over the edge of the box, his fidgeting movements betraying the unease he still carried. He set the cards back down on the table, though his fingers lingered on them for a moment before pulling away.

“Have I told you you’re weird?” he asked finally, his voice dry but not unkind. There was no real heat in his words, only an exasperated amusement that made your grin widen.

“Oh boy, haven’t you,” you shot back, raising your mug to your lips and taking a sip of coffee.

He snorted softly, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. The tension that had clung to him for most of your conversation seemed to ease, his shoulders relaxing as the weight of suspicion began to lift.

And you felt it too—the shift. The bond between you had been undeniable from the moment it snapped into place, but now it was settling into something quieter, something that didn’t need to be spoken aloud to be understood.

For the first time since you’d entered the café, you felt like you weren’t just explaining things to him—you were connecting. The disbelief and skepticism were still there, sure, but they weren’t as sharp. They were softening, melting into something more tentative, more open: trust.

You watched him as he picked up the cards again, turning them over in his hands like he was trying to memorize every detail. His expression was thoughtful, his fingers brushing over the edges of the box with a kind of reverence that made your chest ache.

Pride swelled in you, warm and bittersweet. This was more than just a moment. It was the beginning of something important. You didn’t fully understand the how or why of it, but you knew—deep in your bones—that this small, seemingly insignificant exchange would ripple through time in ways neither of you could predict.

And as you sat there, watching him quietly inspect the cards with a faint crease in his brow, you felt a flicker of hope. Because no matter how complicated or strange this situation was, no matter how many questions still hung in the air between you, this moment was real. It mattered. <><><><><><><><><><><> The streets of New Orleans were alive, humming with the kind of energy that refused to be dampened by the rain. The earlier storm had left the city glistening in its wake, the pavement slick and reflective, catching the golden glow of streetlights as the sun dipped below the horizon. The mingling scents of fried food, sweet beignets, and the earthy tang of wet concrete created an intoxicating aroma that seemed uniquely New Orleans. Laughter spilled out from a nearby bar, mingling with the faint strains of a saxophone echoing through the streets. Everything felt alive—chaotic and beautiful.

You and Remy walked side by side, weaving through the bustling crowd. The two of you didn’t speak at first, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t the kind of silence that begged to be filled. It was… thoughtful. A quiet acknowledgment of everything that had been said, and everything that hadn’t.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. He walked with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his oversized jacket, his shoulders slightly hunched like he was trying to fold in on himself, to make himself smaller. His damp auburn hair clung to his forehead, and the dim light caught the faintest glint of red in his eyes. He didn’t look at you, but you could tell he was thinking, his brow furrowed ever so slightly.

“So where do you come from?” he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the noise of the street. His tone was casual, but there was something beneath it—curiosity, maybe even a hint of vulnerability.

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the ground as you sidestepped a puddle. The question shouldn’t have been hard to answer, but it caught you off guard. “It’s not really here anymore, it’s been gone a long time;” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended. You swallowed hard, feeling that familiar ache settle in your chest as you shrugged, “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Remy frowned slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he looked straight ahead again. He didn’t press you, though you could feel the weight of his unspoken questions lingering in the air between you.

“Maybe we’re more alike than we think,” he said after a moment, his voice softer now, almost contemplative. He kicked at a stray pebble on the street, his pace slowing slightly as he spoke. “We don’t really have a home. We have places we think are home. But nothin’ that actually makes you feel like you belong.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, the truth of them sinking deep into your chest. You stopped for a second, watching him as he walked beside you, his face calm but his eyes distant. There was something in his expression—a flicker of pain, of longing—that he was trying to hide.

You nodded, your voice steady but soft. “Sometimes home’s not a place,” you said, your words careful, deliberate. “Sometimes it’s a person.”

He scoffed, his lips twitching into a crooked grin as he glanced at you. “Did you pull that out of a fortune cookie?”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a small laugh. “Even now, you just can’t help yourself, can you?” you said, looking away from him, though the grin on your face betrayed your exasperation.

“What?” Remy asked, his grin widening slightly.

“Making fun of me,” you said with a sigh, though you couldn’t stop the warmth creeping into your voice. “You always find a way to do it. You could be sick, dying, anything—and I’d say something, and you’d find a way to throw it right back at me.”

He stopped walking for a second, turning to face you fully. His gaze lingered on your face, studying you with an intensity that made your breath catch. There was something different in his expression now—something softer, quieter. Uncertainty mixed with warmth, like he was trying to piece you together.

“Sounds like I’m happy,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, almost wistful. “In the future.”

You stopped too, turning to meet his gaze. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. There was an honesty in his tone, a vulnerability that made your chest ache. He wasn’t just asking a casual question—he was searching for something. You could see it in his eyes. He wanted to know if the life he was living now would always feel this heavy, this lonely. If there was a version of himself somewhere out there—some future—that didn’t feel so lost.

“Honestly?” you said softly, your voice almost breaking. “Maybe. I don’t know. We don’t really do that.”

His brow furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “Do what?”

“Really talk about our feelings,” you said with a faint smile, your tone both teasing and bittersweet. “We’ve got this habit of running headfirst into chaos that nine times out of ten you create. It’s kind of our thing.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So what do we do?”

You shrugged, your smile softening as you looked at him. “I clean up your messes,” you said, your tone light but full of affection, “Listen to your bad jokes, call you out for cheating at poker. Steal all the blankets.”

Remy tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as he gave you a skeptical look. “Sounds like I’m a handful.”

“You have no idea,” you replied with a laugh, shaking your head.

The sound of your laughter seemed to ease something in him. His shoulders relaxed, and the faintest hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. For a moment, the heaviness between you lifted, replaced by something lighter, something warmer.

But then the moment faded, and his expression grew thoughtful again. He glanced at you, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “What about you?” he asked. “Are you happy?”

The question stopped you in your tracks. Your steps faltered, and you turned to face him fully, your heart thudding in your chest. There was no teasing in his voice, no sarcasm. Just genuine curiosity.

You hesitated, your fingers brushing against the strap of your bag as you searched for the right words. “I don’t know,” you admitted finally, your voice soft. “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s enough just to know you’re okay, you know?”

His frown deepened, his eyes darkening as he studied you. “That’s not really an answer,” he said after a moment.

You shrugged, your smile faint but genuine. “Maybe it’s the best one I’ve got right now.”

He didn’t press you further, though you could tell he wanted to. Instead, he nodded, his hands still stuffed in his pockets as he looked straight ahead again.

The two of you walked in silence after that, the noise of the city filling the space between you. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt… natural. Like walking beside him was exactly where you were supposed to be.

You glanced sideways at him, your heart clenching at the sight of him. He was so young, so raw, and he had no idea how much he would grow, how much he would change. He didn’t know yet how much he would mean to you—or how much you already meant to him, even if he couldn’t feel it yet.

But for now, this was enough. Walking beside him, hearing the faint laugh in his voice, seeing the sunlight warm his face after so much rain—this was enough.

And as you walked together through the rain-slicked streets of New Orleans, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something that would feel like home for him,

[cheynovak]

Sugar - Part 7  The final chapter

Soldier boy x F/ reader  (Y/N)       

Warnings: 18+, sex, age difference, anger, hurst, angst, happy ending...

Side note: English isn’t my first language.          

*Does not follow The Boys storyline * 

--      

Y/N is a college student who pays her apartment, bills and school tuition with the money she makes as ‘sugar baby’ for Soldier boy. What started as just being a companion on lonely moments became quickly more physical.     But how will Y/N cope with the dominant side of Ben when he finds out she has a life beside pleasuring him?    

-- 

Ben watched the door close in his face, rain started pouring down on him, the finality of Y/N's words echoing in his mind.

He had lost her, and the weight of that realization crushed him. He stood there for a long time, unable to move, his heart aching with regret and sorrow. Eventually, he turned away. 

The next few weeks blurred together in a haze of pain and self-destruction. Ben couldn't bear the emptiness that Y/N's absence left in his life, and he turned to anything that might dull the ache. He started drinking even more heavily, spending his nights in bars, downing shot after shot in an attempt to forget his pain. 

But alcohol wasn't enough to drown out the memories of her smile, her laughter, the warmth of her touch. Desperate for a deeper escape. It started with adding an extra few lines of cocaine, then escalated to pills and other substances. The highs were fleeting, but for a brief moment, they allowed him to escape the torment of his own thoughts. 

His downward spiral continued to deepen as he sought solace in the arms of other women. He frequented seedy motels and cheap escorts, trying to fill the void that Y/N had left. But no amount of meaningless sex could replace what he had lost, and each morning he woke up feeling even more hollow and broken than before. 

One night, as Ben stumbled out of yet another bar, high and barely coherent, he pulled out his phone and dialled the number of the only person he could think of. It rang a few times before a groggy voice answered. "What the hell, man? It's 3 AM." 

-- 

The next morning, Ben woke up on Legend's couch, feeling the effects of his latest binge. His head pounded, and his body ached, but the worst pain was the emotional one. Legend sat nearby, watching him with a mix of concern and anger. 

"You look like hell," Legend said bluntly. "How much did you take? No fuck that, what did you do?" 

Ben took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I messed up, Legend. I lost her. Legend sighed, shaking his head. " You need to get your shit together. She is just a girl, you’ll find another one.”  

Ben didn’t even listen, drowning in self-pity. 

One evening, Ben found himself back at Legend's place, as they sat in the dimly lit living room, the atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken tension. "So, what's next for you, man?" Legend asked, taking a swig of his whiskey.  

Ben hesitated, then said, "I’m going to try and talk to Y/N. Apologize. Try to make things right." 

Legend scoffed, shaking his head. "Forget about her, Ben. She's just another girl, a pussy to fuck. You don't need to go chasing after some chick who can't handle you. "Ben's expression darkened, his jaw clenching. "She's not just another girl.” 

Legend rolled his eyes. "Seriously, man? Get over it. There are plenty of girls out there. You can find another one to screw." 

The crude dismissal of Y/N as nothing more than a sexual object snapped something inside Ben. Before he knew it, he was on his feet, grabbing Legend by the collar and slamming him against the wall. His hand clamped around Legend's neck, his grip tight and unyielding. 

"Don't you ever talk about her like that," Ben growled, his voice low and dangerous. "She's more than that. She's worth more than.” 

Legend's eyes widened with shock and fear. He struggled to breathe, his hands clawing at Ben's arm. "Ben... let go..." Ben's eyes blazed with fury, but after a few tense seconds, he released his hold and stepped back, his chest heaving with anger. Legend crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. 

"What's wrong with you, man?" Legend sputtered, rubbing his neck. "You need to calm the hell down." 

Ben glared at him. "I won't let anyone talk about her like that. Not even you." Legend looked up at him, still shaken. "I... I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just trying to help you move on." Ben shook his head leaving his penthouse.  

Legend was nursing his bruised ego and neck. He couldn't shake the confrontation from his mind. He knew Ben was serious about Y/N, but he still thought it was all unnecessary drama. Deciding to take matters into his own hands before Ben would do stupid things he couldn’t fix, he picked up his phone and dialled Y/N's number.  

"Hello?" Y/N's voice came through, cautious and guarded. 

"Y/N, it's The Legend," he said, his tone attempting to sound friendly. "I think we need to talk. It's about Ben." 

"What about him?" she asked, suspicion clear in her voice. 

"Look, he’s been going through a rough time, and I know he wants to make things right with you. He just left my place.” 

“Did he made you call me?” He heard how displeased she was. 

“No, no he doesn’t know I was calling you, but he really cares about you. Can you please give him a chance?" 

Y/N sighed. "Legend, I appreciate the concern. But this isn't something you can fix with a phone call." 

"I get that," Legend replied, "He's trying... to be better. Just... hear him out, okay?" 

There was a long pause before Y/N responded. "I'll think about it. But Legend, this is between Ben and me. Please stay out of it." 

"Understood," he said, ending the call. 

-- 

A few days later. 

Ben found himself alone in his apartment, as he sat on the couch, lost in thought, a knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He wasn't expecting anyone, and a flicker of anxiety ran through him as he approached the door. When he opened it, his heart skipped a beat. 

Y/N stood there, looking determined yet slightly apprehensive. Ben blinked, unable to hide his surprise. "Y/N? What are you doing here?" 

"I'm ready to talk," she said simply, her voice steady. Ben stepped aside to let her in, his mind racing. She entered the apartment, taking a moment to look around before settling on the edge of the couch. Ben joined her, keeping a respectful distance. 

"I wasn't sure I would see you anymore," he admitted, his voice low. "I wasn't sure either," Y/N replied, her gaze meeting his. Ben nodded, his heart pounding while they sat down on the couch again. 

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "I need to understand why things went the way they did. Why you pushed me away, why you hurt me?” 

Ben ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of her words. "I was scared," he finally confessed. “Why?” she asked, she saw how difficult it was for him to answer. “I think I deserve this, Ben.”  

"I was terrified of not being enough for you, of not living up to your expectations. So I pushed you away before you could see how flawed I am.” Y/N listened, her expression softening slightly. "Ben, I never expected you to be perfect. I know your flaws.” 

As they sat in a moment of comfortable silence, Ben's curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to know how Y/N was really doing, beyond their complicated relationship. "How's school going?" he asked gently, hoping to steer the conversation into safer territory. 

Y/N's expression immediately shifted, her eyes welling up with tears. She looked down at her hands, trying to compose herself. "It's been... hard," she admitted, her voice trembling. "Ever since our fight, people have been treating me differently. They make jokes, call me names... they treat me like a whore." 

Ben's heart sank, guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. "Y/N, I'm so sorry. I had no idea... I never meant for any of this to happen." She wiped at her eyes, trying to hold back the tears. 

She looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and vulnerability. "Ben, I don't blame you, not entirely... We both made mistakes. But it hurts, and... I don't know how to make it stop." Her tears started to stream down her cheeks. 

Ben reached out, taking her hand in his. Wanting nothing more than to pull her close to him, comforting her. 

Y/N looked up, meeting Ben's gaze, and saw something soft and tender in his eyes. The vulnerability and care reflecting, it made her heart ache with a confusing mix of emotions. She couldn't hold his gaze for long, feeling overwhelmed by the depth of his expression. 

His hand, warm and firm, enveloped hers, offering both comfort and connection. The weight of the world seemed to lighten just a bit with his touch. Ben's green eyes remained gentle, filled with an unspoken promise of support and understanding. It was a look she hadn't seen in a long time, one that made her feel safe and cherished despite everything. 

But also, one he would hide away every change he had, but not today, no it seemed like he was purposely showing her the man behind the armour.  

Without thinking, Y/N leaned in, resting her head against his shoulder, in the crook of his neck. She closed her eyes, breathing in his familiar scent, woodsy, but clean, a fragrance that had always brought her a sense of peace. 

Ben's arm instinctively wrapped around her, holding her close. The gesture was tender, protective, and Y/N felt a sense of calm wash over her. For a moment, all the hurt and chaos of the past weeks faded away, leaving just the two of them in their little bubble of comfort. 

And then for the first time in his life Ben said, "I'm so sorry for everything, Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish I could take back all the pain I've caused you." She nuzzled deeper into his neck, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. 

He tightened his hold on her, his heart swelling with a mix of hope and regret. "I promise I'll do better.” 

After what felt like an eternity, Ben gently kissed the top of Y/N's hair. The simple gesture sent a rush through her veins, igniting a spark that had been dimmed by their past pain. She could feel his breath against her scalp, warm and steady, grounding her in the present moment. 

Without thinking, her lips moved over the vein on his neck, not quite kissing but caressing his skin with soft, delicate brushes. She could feel his pulse quicken beneath her touch, a subtle thrum that mirrored the rising tempo of her own heartbeat. His breath hitched, and she felt the slight tremor in his body, a mixture of anticipation and restraint. 

His hand moving to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. He was torn between the urge to pull her closer and the need to respect her boundaries, uncertain of how far she wanted to go. The intimate connection between them was both exhilarating and fragile, a delicate balance of longing and hesitation. 

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible, filled with a blend of desire and caution. "You don't have to..." But she interrupted softly, lifting her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes were dark with emotion.  "I want to, but I need to know we're on the same page, Ben. That this isn't just a moment." 

“Tell me it’s not just physical.” she pleads. 

Ben cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing across her cheek. "It’s not just a moment," he assured her, his voice steady and sincere. "I want you, Y/N. Not just physical.” 

Her heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his eyes melting away the last remnants of doubt. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his in a tentative, tender kiss. Ben responded with equal tenderness, deepening the kiss with a careful intensity that spoke volumes. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as if afraid she might slip away.  

Y/N's hands moved to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. The simple, intimate contact sent shivers down both their spines. Their breaths mingled, creating an electric atmosphere between them. Tongues asking permission to tango.  

Feeling a surge of need and urgency, Ben gently pulled her onto his lap. Y/N straddled him, her legs resting on either side of his hips. The closeness intensified the heat rushing between them, a connection they'd been craving for so long.  

His hands roamed from her thighs up to her back, drawing her even closer, while her fingers played with the strands of his hair, earning a soft groan from him. 

Their eyes locked, communicating a myriad of emotions without words. The world outside ceased to exist as they lost themselves in each other's presence. Ben leaned in, Y/N responded eagerly, deepening the kiss as her hands slid down to his shoulders, feeling the strength beneath his shirt. 

Ben's hands moved from her back to her hips, gripping them firmly but gently, guiding her movements as she felt his bulge growing underneath the fabric of his pants. The sensation of her warmth against him was intoxicating, driving him to explore further.  

He broke the kiss momentarily, trailing soft kisses along her jawline and down her neck, unable for her to keep a soft moan from escaping her lips. 

Her heart raced as she felt his lips on her skin, every touch sending a jolt of electricity through her body. She tilted her head back, giving him better access as she revelled in the sensation. The way he held her, the way he kissed her, everything felt right, as if they were finally aligning after being out of sync for so long. 

Y/N's hands roamed over his shoulders and down his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. "Ben," she breathed, her voice a mix of desire and vulnerability. As their passion intensified, Ben's hands trailed down to her ass, leaving a trail of fire along her skin.  

With each caress, she felt herself unravelling, the tension and pain of the past weeks melting away in the heat of their desire. She let out a soft sigh as his fingers found the hem of her shirt, inching it upwards with a tantalizing slowness. 

Her own hands eagerly exploring the expanse of Ben's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. His muscles tensed and relaxed under her touch, a silent invitation for her to continue. With a shaky breath, she began to unbutton his shirt, revealing the strong lines of his torso inch by inch. 

Their kisses grew more fervent, hungry and desperate, as if trying to convey the depth of their longing through touch alone. Ben's hands roamed lower, tracing the curves of Y/N's body with an almost reverent touch. She gasped as his fingers brushed against her clothes core. 

With a silent understanding, they shed their remaining clothing, each piece a barrier to the intimacy they craved. In the dim light of the room, they stood before him, vulnerable yet unashamed.  

Y/N found herself on her knees between Ben's legs. Their gazes locked, filled with a raw desire that spoke volumes without a single word. In this intimate moment, they were lost in each other's eyes, the world around them fading. 

She gently tugged his pants and boxers down, freeing him. pressing her lips against the sensitive skin of his hip. Ben's breath caught in his throat as he felt the warmth of her mouth against his skin, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his core. 

He watched with a mix of anticipation and longing as she moved closer, her lips trailing a path of fire along his thigh, inching ever closer to her destination. When she finally reached him, she hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching his for reassurance.  

Finding nothing but desire and trust reflected back at her. Ben's sharp intake of breath filled the room as she took him in her hand, her fingers wrapping around his length. She began with soft, slow strokes, feeling him harden even more in her grip.  

The warmth of his skin, the weight of him in her hand, all sent shivers of excitement through her. Leaning forward, she placed a soft kiss on the tip before parting her lips and taking him into her mouth.  

She moved slowly at first, letting her tongue swirl around the head, the taste of him alone made her moan. Ben groaned, his hand coming to rest on her head, his fingers tangling gently in her hair.  

Y/N worked him with a combination of skill and desperation, needing to hear more of his words, to feel his approval. That's it, baby," he murmured, "You're so good at this," he groaned, his voice rough with arousal.  

"So perfect. My perfect girl." His words spurred her on, her pace quickening as she took him deeper. Ben's breaths grew ragged, his hips thrusting gently in time with her movements. "That's it, sugar," he murmured, his voice dripping with praise.  

"Just like that." Encouraged by his response, Y/N took him deeper, hollowing her cheeks as she moved her mouth up and down his shaft. She used one hand to stroke the base, while the other hand rested on his thigh for balance.  

Her movements were steady and deliberate, her eyes flicking up to meet his every so often, drinking in the sight of his pleasure. Y/N adjusted her angle, taking him even deeper into her throat. She could feel every ridge and vein of him against her tongue, and the sensation made her own arousal build.  

She bobbed her head, her rhythm steady and unrelenting, her hand moving in sync with her mouth. The sensation was exquisite, sending a surge of pleasure coursing through Ben's veins. He let out a low groan, his hands tangling in her hair as he surrendered to the overwhelming waves of sensation crashing over him.  

Her touch was gentle yet firm, her lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to drive him to the brink of ecstasy and back. 

She could feel him holding back, trying not to push her head down. But the loved the way he reacted, how she felt his grip in her hair tighten, how his hips sporadically bucked up. And the way he praised her... made her moan.  

“Oh, that’s it, sugar... fuck.” 

As Y/N continued to pleasure him, Ben's breathing grew more erratic, and she could tell he was close. Suddenly, he pulled her away, stopping her just before he could come. She looked up at him, confusion and desire mingling in her eyes. Without a word, Ben lifted her from her knees, pulling her onto his lap so that she straddled him. 

He leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her with a possessive hunger that made her moan softly against his lips. As they kissed, his hand moved between her thighs, slipping under the fabric of her panties.  

His fingers found her slick with arousal, and he let out a groan of appreciation. "You're so wet," he murmured against her lips, his voice husky with desire. "All for me." His fingers slid through her folds, teasing her entrance before circling her clit with gentle, deliberate strokes. 

 Y/N gasped, her hips rocking against his hand, seeking more of his touch. Her need for him was overwhelming, every nerve in her body alight with longing. "Ben," she breathed, her voice trembling with need.  

"Please..." He grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes as he watched her writhe above him. "Patience, sugar," he said, his fingers continuing their tormenting dance. "I want to feel you come undone for me."  

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she fought to stay upright. Ben's other hand slid up her back, pulling her closer as he kissed her breasts. Ben added another finger, increasing the intensity. He alternated between gentle caresses and firmer, more insistent movements, keeping her on the edge but never quite allowing her to tip over into climax.  

Ben's fingers worked her expertly, curling slightly to find that perfect spot inside her. The sensation was electric, and Y/N felt herself teetering on the edge of an overwhelming orgasm. "Ben, I'm so close," she whimpered, her voice a mix of desperation and desire.  

"Come for me sugar." With a final, confident movement, he pressed his fingers deeper, his thumb circling her clit. The pressure built to an unbearable peak, and with one last thrust and swirl of his fingers, he sent her over the edge. Her body convulsed in his arms, waves of pleasure crashing through her as she cried out his name.  

Throughout her climax, Ben's fingers continued their ministrations, drawing out every last shudder of pleasure until she was left trembling and breathless in his arms. As her trembling subsided, he gently guided her hips, aligning himself with her entrance.  

He looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and tenderness. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice soft and intimate. Y/N nodded, her breath still coming in heavy pants. "Yes," she whispered, her eyes locked onto his.  

Slowly, he entered her, filling her completely. She gasped at the sensation, her body adjusting. Ben's hands moved to her hips, guiding her movements as she began to ride him. The slow, sensual rhythm they found together was both intoxicating and deeply satisfying. His eyes darkened with renewed desire, and his grip on her hips tightened.  

He began to guide her movements with more force, his fingers digging into her skin in a way that sent delicious shivers down her spine. "That's my girl," he growled, his voice a rough whisper. "I need you to ride me harder, sugar."  

With his guidance, Y/N started to move with more urgency, her hips rocking back and forth with a rhythm that matched his rising intensity. Ben's hands moved to her waist, his fingers pressing into her flesh as he pulled her down onto him with each thrust, driving himself deeper inside her.  

The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of roughness and tenderness that made her head spin. "Just like that," he praised, his voice thick with pleasure. "You're doing so good, baby. Don't stop." He thrust up into her, meeting her movements with a force that made her gasp.  

Each collision of their bodies sent waves of pleasure radiating through her, the friction and heat building to an almost unbearable intensity. Ben's eyes never left hers, mesmerized by the look of her.  

You're so tight," he groaned, his grip on her waist tightening even further. "I can't get enough of you." His words spurred her on, her movements growing more frantic as she rode him. She could feel another orgasm building, the pressure inside her mounting with each hard, deep thrust.  

Ben's hands roamed over her body, one moving up to cup her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a way that made her cry out. He leaned forward, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue demanding and insistent. The kiss was a perfect mirror of their physical connection intense, consuming, and utterly passionate.  

"Come for me again," he commanded, his voice a low, urgent growl. "I want to feel you come around me." Y/N's body obeyed before her mind could catch up, the combination of his rough thrusts and his commanding word. 

They stayed locked together, their bodies trembling with the aftershocks of their shared pleasure. Ben's grip on her softened, his hands moving to gently stroke her back as they caught their breath. He looked up at her. “If I had known that this was the way to make it up to you. I wouldn’t have waited so long.” 

Y/N smiled weakly, her heart full and her body spent. She leaned down to kiss him softly, their connection feeling stronger than ever. “Ben I...” she said still out of breath but his kiss interrupted her. 

Ben looked in her eyes, seeing the hope shimmering. Seeing his future before him. His hand caressed her cheek, eyes tracing her face, ready to tell her the one thing he was scared of, for so long.

And then he finally whispered:  “I love you.”  

--

Let me know what you think, feel free to like, share or comment. Make sure you check out my masterlist.      

Tag list: -> If you want to be added just let me know what you like to read.

@syrma-sensei @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28 @jackles010378 @hobby27 @call-me-mrs-winchester @yvonneeeee

[agustdiv1ne]

hi!! congrats on 3k <3

for the event, could i request taehyun + twilight + fluff/smut

tysm! and congrats again!!

NOW SHOWING...

pairing: kang taehyun x fem!reader

genre: fantasy/supernatural, fluff, smut

wc: 2.8k

details + warnings: mdni, vampire!taehyun + human!mc are not representative of any particular characters they're just vibing in the twilightsphere, taehyun (looks-wise,,) + mc are in their early twenties, sex in the great outdoors, dom!tae, sub!mc, mc is kind of a masochist LOL, light spanking (f receiving), praise, thigh riding, face sitting, tae calls mc: baby

note: thank you nonnie!! i hope you enjoy :))

you maybe, kind of, sort of hate the town that is forks, washington.

forks, in your honest opinion, is...painfully gray. clouds constantly hide the sun from view. it is almost always raining. fog is the norm, not the exception. the real cherry on top is how the town is blocked in and divvied up by expanses of creepy trees of which you have no desire to step even a single toe into. it's dreary, it's boring, it's weird — and it's just all too fucking gray.

you wonder what your life would be like if you had left while you could, if you had uprooted your life and attended college in some state far, far away, if you had gotten a degree and become a teacher or an artist or even some bigshot lawyer. maybe you wouldn't be wasting the years of your youth in your parents' little diner. maybe you wouldn't be stuck with the indelible expectation that said diner will be yours one day, hanging dark and heavy over your head like the storm clouds that loom over your house ninety-nine percent of the year.

then again, if you had left, you would never have met taehyun.

he moved into town when you were nineteen, an age at which you were hard-headed and bitter because everyone else your age had already moved on to bigger and better things while you were abysmally stuck like a tire in mud. you felt abandoned, alone, and you saw yourself in him because he, too, seemed to have no one else.

at the same time, you also thought he was a little strange — stoic, reserved, out at odd hours of the night — but you couldn't really judge, lest you sound like a raging hypocrite. you remember the first time that you saw him: it was well after midnight, you had just closed the the diner, and the streets were eerily empty — yet there he stood, across the street, turned away towards the tree line. he seemed to have been watching something in the woods, but as soon as he picked up on the crunch of your shoes against the gravel parking lot and saw you behind him, he fled, gone as quick as lightning. you almost thought that he was a figment of your imagination, that you were finally losing it after your nearly lethal consumption of caffeine that night.

however, after that incident, he began to show up during your shifts, sitting in the far corner of the small space for hours, answering your questions with curt nods and quiet hums. very real, very much not a hallucination. he never ordered anything other than a water, and his eyes often stayed trained on the woods that lay just outside the windows. watching, waiting (for what, you didn't know, but you didn't really care to find out). though the fact that he never once ordered something — not even a basket of fries, or a milkshake — irritated you to no end, but you bit your tongue like a good waitress had to and allowed him to sit there. not many people stopped by at such late hours, anyway, and maybe his presence cured some of your loneliness; he wasn't good company, by any means, but company nonetheless.

one particular night, a few months after he began to come in, things simply weren't going your way. if the argument between you and your parents before your night shift started wasn't enough, you burned your forearm when you accidentally spilled a pot of coffee and slipped and fell onto the unforgiving linoleum floors while carrying two plates of food. by the time he showed up, you were in the middle of a full-blown mental breakdown and could barely hold back tears as you greeted him at his normal booth.

“are you okay?” he had asked, his eyebrows furrowed, betraying his typically apathetic expression. in response, you burst into tears, apologizing as you attempted to run to the back, but he stopped you, his ice-cold fingers looped around your wrist. the sensation sent shivers straight down your spine, something that you can still vividly remember. you whipped around to face him. his wide, carob eyes cut through you with an intensity that you’d never experienced before. “sit. with me, i mean.”

“i-i’m working,” you choked out. 

his lips formed a flat line. “no one else is here.”

“fine,” you mumbled, taking a seat on the other side of the booth. he had let you vent about everything and anything that plagued you, silent while he listened. the words he spoke once you finally exhausted yourself stick in your mind to this very day.

“it’s never too late to start carving your own path, y’know. you’re young, you have time.”

things changed after that night. a friendship bloomed, then a relationship began after about six months of knowing each other. things changed again, however, growing strange once you did begin dating. he made constant excuses as to why he couldn't sleep over and why you couldn't come over to his place; he didn't touch you often; and the weirdest of all his habits: he never, ever went anywhere near your neck, whether it be with his hands or his lips. loneliness and the acrid feeling of being unwanted returned in full force, nipping at each and every nerve within your body.

sick of it all, you eventually confronted him about it during a picnic date in a large clearing one evening. naturally, when your boyfriend admitted to you that he's a vampire — in the middle of the woods — and showed you his sparkling fucking skin, you were freaked the hell out. yet, in the end, it didn't scare you away, especially once he said that he only ever fed from animals he'd find in the woods. you cared for him just as much as he cared for you — human or not, you decided that you loved him either way.

(also, he'd always seemed a little off, other. maybe you were a little satisfied to know that you were right, but you'd never admit to that.)

nearly two years have passed since then, and while your feelings about forks haven't changed in the slightest, taehyun brings an ironic sense of life to the dismal little town.

“you’re staring.”

you feel your face heat up at your boyfriend’s words, your gaze immediately diverting away. you were not staring, no way. though he moves to find your eyes again, you maneuver out of his hold, now glaring at a spot on his shoulder. “no, i wasn’t.”

“aaand your heart rate just picked up.”

“you’re so unfair,” you hiss. “just— just keep your stupid vampire senses to yourself!”

he laughs, the sound light and melodic, as he attempts to wrap his arms around you again. you've turned away from him, arms crossed over your chest and in a state of faux despondency. he knows just how to press your buttons; the fact that he can pick up on each and every minute change of your heart rate and scent will forever be something that gets to you. you can't hide anything from him, and both of you know it.

you feel like you spend every waking hour with taehyun nowadays. if you're not working, you're with him doing fuck all just to spend time with each other, but even in the most mundane moments, boredom never becomes an issue. even right now, as you lay together in this small clearing in the forest, simply talking and staring up at the pewter clouds, everything feels...right? complete? you think that's the word that you should use — like the final piece being placed into a puzzle.

“c’mon, you can’t stay mad at me,” he goads. he blows into your ear afterward to make you flinch, earning a yelp in response. “you just make it so easy to tease you.”

“yeah, yeah. make fun of the defenseless human,” you sigh, turning back around to face him with pursed lips, delivering a firm poke to his forehead. “you’re lucky that you’re pretty.”

if he had said anything similar to you a couple years ago, you would've likely stormed off and ignored him for hours. you're not proud of how you once acted, but at least you've grown softer around the edges over the years. kinder, less resentful. and rather than tear your walls down, he scaled them slowly and met you at the top, took them apart brick by incorporeal brick as the trust between you grew, gentle and never prying.

one of his eyebrows raises. “pretty, hm? is that all i am to you?”

pretending to think, you tap your chin, your eyes shifting up towards the sky. you've grown softer, no doubt, but your witty edge refuses to disappear. how else could you keep up with him?

you make eye contact with him again, finding an expectant glint in them. you can barely bite back the smirk fighting to pull at your lips. “hmm...yeah, i think that’s about it.”

“you are such a brat, my god,” he groans, head falling against your chest. “is your life goal just to rile me up?”

“honestly? yeah. it’s just so easy to tease you,” you throw his earlier jeer straight back into his face, but the words are soon followed by a series of shrieks as he pushes you onto your stomach, unfazed by your feeble attempts to break away from his inhumanly strong hold. a hand leaves your wriggling waist to deliver a light slap to your ass. it’s careful, barely there. he knows how much more fragile you are compared to him, after all. the last thing he’d want to do is hurt you. 

what he doesn't account for is the way you'd moan at the sensation.

a tense silence overtakes the air around you, the only noises remaining being the rustle of trees and the chirping of birds. you've all but buried your head into your arms. although your current position renders him unable to catch your flustered expression, your scent — fuck, your scent has changed, something heady and sweet and it's almost as if he can taste the lust and need rolling off of your form. your blood rushes faster beneath your skin, the erratic ba-bump of your heart loud in his ears. he pushes his base instincts down; he's better than this. he can't hurt you — he won't.

“you— did you like that?” he carefully asks, a gentle hand pressing into the middle of your spine. it’s not often you find each other in spontaneous intimate moments, mostly due to his fear of losing control, but your trust in him is immutable. in the span of two years, he has not once hurt you — but you still find yourself shaking your head in denial, the embarrassing heat gracing your cheeks keeping you from looking at him. he won’t hurt you, you know that, but that doesn’t change just how mortifying this moment is. you and him haven’t explored this part of your sexuality yet, the hidden side of you that enjoys a little pain amongst all the pleasure. it’s something that you’ve barely touched upon yourself.

taehyun, on the other hand, isn't satisfied with your answer. a morbid curiosity eats at his nerves, and he can't help himself from gathering you into his lap so that you straddle his hips. you are wearing a thick pair of jeans today, but it's not enough to prevent your scent from overwhelming his senses further due to your spread apart thighs. he steels himself, trying not to press the pads of his fingers into your hips too hard. you still refuse to look at him, your head hanging low and bottom lip tucked beneath your teeth. he brings a hand to your chin, tilting your head up. your eyes divert to his shoulder under his intense gaze.

“look at me, baby,” he orders softly. he watches a shudder run through you before you listen to him. the muscles of your throat contract as you gulp, though his expression remains neutral, his fingers squeezing your chin. “i’m going to ask you one more time: did you like that? did it feel good?”

inhale, exhale, nod.

his lips purse. “words, baby.”

“y-yes,” you whisper, weak and breathy, like you don’t want to admit it to yourself either. it earns you a quiet “good girl” and his thumb brushing over your lower lip. 

taehyun stares at you for a moment before he asks, “do you trust me?”

of course you do, and you tell him just that, pulling a smile from him. “i want you to take your jeans and panties off for me, okay?”

you nod, rolling off his lap with shaky limbs and removing everything below your waist. the chilly air nips at your bare skin.

he takes no time in maneuvering you back onto his lap, legs straddling only one of his thighs now. you send him a questioning glance, with which he responds by rubbing soothing circles against your bare hips beneath your oversized sweater.

“get yourself off on my thigh,” he encourages. he doesn’t trust himself to be inside of you right now — he’s barely keeping it together as it is — but that won’t stop him from making you feel good.

you're silent as you take an experimental roll of your hips. the friction of your clit against the rough fabric of his jeans causes your mouth to fall open. you press your hands against his chest, grinding down again. and again. and again. the picnic blanket below you digs into your knees. taehyun grabs your hips a little tighter, beginning to help you move your hips faster, pressing you down harder. his grip is nearly bruising, but the ache that it brings renders you speechless, unable to speak besides the quiet gasps that you let out. quickly, you grow lost in the pleasure, the delicious friction against your clit growing more intense as the seconds tick by.

smack! taehyun brings a hand down against the swell of your ass, much harder than the teasing one he gave you earlier. you jolt on top of him with a loud moan, clenching around nothing. “tae— fuck!”

“yeah? what is it, baby?” he coos, slapping his palm down again. he’s barely breathing, monitoring your expression to make sure he’s not hurting you too much. but all he finds is pure, unadulterated pleasure, your head thrown back and your eyes fluttering as your movements grow more desperate. his head grows fuzzy at your strengthening scent.

“gonna— ‘m gonna cum, please,” you whine, nails now digging into his chest. you look like pure sin, with your flustered face and heaving chest and your glazed over eyes straight into his. “please please please—”

he can't take it anymore.

suddenly, your body careens through the air before you can even process it, your thighs now cushioning taehyun's face while he fully lays back. he gives you no time to complain of your ruined orgasm, his lips suckling your clit while his tongue circles the weeping bud. your hands grab at his hair, pressing down. there's no way that you can hurt him, so you allow yourself to grind down on his face like you did his thigh, using his face as your own personal toy. he gropes your ass all the while, pushing you further down against him until you smother him, ravaging you whole. you can no longer hold in your moans, and they only serve to spur him on. one of his razor-sharp teeth slides against your lower lips, and that's enough for your high to wash over you, your vision flashing white while you quake above him. he holds you up with strong hands, continuing to tongue at your clit until you're pushing his head away.

“tae, stop,” you beg while he cleans you up, ignoring your heightened sensitivity. “tae.”

“fine, fine,” he mumbles once he pulls his mouth away from your center. “can’t help it, you taste good.”

“quit being embarrassing,” you groan, your submissive tendencies all but gone. you struggle to lift yourself off of him and wiggle your jeans back on. he ends up helping you, patting your ass when you’re all done. you slap his chest, but you lean up and press your lips to his anyway. pulling away, you slide a hand under his sweatshirt. above, beams of sunlight break through the thick clouds, illuminating his skin. biting back a smirk, you rub a thumb over his cheek where it shines. 

“take me home,” you purr. “we’re not done yet.”

you're careening through the woods moments later.

3k event masterlist | masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[maxfurstappen]

To forever and always

Pairing: Max verstappen x Leclerc! OC

Summary: Adeline Leclerc spent most of her life being ignored until she wasn't anymore.

Notes: English is not my first language, so please be kind. This is inspired by @cressidagrey ' s white horse, which if you haven't read, what the fuck are you doing here, go read it! It is probably some of the best writing I have ever read and just rips your soul out and crushes it in the best way. Anyway credits to them were they are due.

Part 1 of 3, 3200 words

To  Forever and Always

2007 Lidköping karting track

“I don't understand why I need to be here, Lorenzo isn’t here so why do I need to be.”

“Stop being such a brat, Adeline. You are here to support Charles, and Lorenzo is an adult now so he can make those choices for himself. Now shut up and go help Charles with his kart.” My father’s voice was cold and sharp, spitting out words coated in venom. 

I wrapped my jacket tighter around me bracing for the cold wind that had been howling around the track all day long. I don't want to be here. The thoughts that ran through my head had been made abundantly clear to everyone involved, my parents and siblings, but they could give less of a shit whether or not I wanted to be here. 

…

The grass was still damp from the rain that had come down with a vengeance that morning. The leather journal I used for sketching was clenched tightly in my hands, just a couple of minutes, they probably won’t miss me. I ducked my head and stepped under the tarp that had been set up to protect the karts. The asphalt under was still dry. Crossing my legs underneath me I cracked open the sketchbook, intricate sketches of necklaces and earrings lined almost every page, the ideas flowing from my head to my hand as easily as water in a stream. Descriptions dress the remaining space on the page, scribbled in every margin they could fit in. 

“What are you doing here? You aren’t racing, are you?” a boy my age said, stepping under the tarp. “taking shelter from the rain I’m guessing? His words were covered in the same hard tilt that had been everywhere, dutch. 

“Well, yes I am taking shelter and you are right I'm not, my brother though. I could honestly care less. I had an art class this week but that did not take priority”  The softness of my vowels was strikingly different from his hard ones. “Nothing ever does” The words were murmured more for myself than anyone else. “I’m Adeline, nice to meet you”

He didn’t hear my complaints and if he did he certainly didn’t make a big deal out of it. He sat down beside me introducing himself as Max and glanced over at the page flipped open. “You do them?” his question was one I had heard more times than I could count I just braced myself for the harsh words that always accompanied it “They’re amazing” 

Shock hit me “What?!” pride swelled in my chest, the feeling unknown. 

“They’re really good, why was that shocking, surely you’ve heard that before.”

“Um,  I haven’t actually but thank you.” My words were shaky at the best and tears threatened to spill as I stood up. “I have to go” A tear rolled down my cheek faster than I could stop it “I hope I see you around Max.” The gravel dug into my palms as I pushed myself up onto my feet, I turned my head back sparing one final glance at the blonde boy. 

2009 Spa karting track

The protests had slowed after meeting Max, I had something to look forward to. Something good from being dragged to somewhere I didn't want to be.  

I slipped out from behind my parents as soon as we got to the track heading to the oh-so-familiar tent set up. 

“Max!” my voice carried out over all the hustle and bustle. His head whipped around blonde hair flying. 

My steps quickened into a run and as soon as I was close enough to, I crashed into his chest. Strong arms wrapped around my waist holding me close. Oh, how I had missed this. The warm comforting feeling that spread through my chest when I was with Max. That wonderful feeling of self-worth and of being enough that seemed to stay around when he was near. 

“I missed you Addy.” The words were not meant for anyone else, whispered into the top of my head where he had dropped a kiss mere seconds ago. I sat down on the white table, a spot miraculously clear, there always seemed to be a spot for me. The old worn leather is just as familiar as the sight of the white and orange marquee. 

“I don’t understand how you still have room in that thing” He nodded towards the sketchbook/notebook/diary that I had been using for mostly everything that needed to be put to paper over the past couple of years.

“Yeah well, I have like three pages left so really a new one is due really soon.”

I spotted Mamans mousy brown hair and sighed hopping down from the table “I need to leave, see you after quali?” The question was more of a statement, I had been seeing Max after guideline for every race I had been dragged to over the past couple of years and I wasn’t about to break the tradition now. 

He pulled me back into his arms and I never wanted to leave. I mean I hadn’t ever wanted to leave one of Max's hugs, he gave the best hugs, they were an absolute delicacy. “Veel succes, ik hou van je.” I mumbled the words so quietly you could barely hear them still unsure if they were right. I started to learn Dutch last summer, textbooks hid behind piles of clothes and other things. 

“Was that Dutch?” you could almost hear his grin. I didn’t respond. 

“Je t’aime aussi” The gravely words that came out of his mouth made me take a step back out of shock. 

“And was that French” his silent smile was more than enough confirmation. 

“Now go, your parents are going to find us if you don’t.”

2010 Val d’argenton Karting track

His arms crashed around mine “Hi” a giggle escaped my lips “What a welcome, something happen?” 

“Nope, just miss you,” his voice was soft, and comforting, drowning out all the outside noise, and made me feel seen. It always did. He always did. 

“Well, I missed you too” Butterflies swirled in my stomach, seemingly deciding to start a circus in there. 

He leaned his head on the top of my head holding me close like he was afraid I was going to disappear if he let go. 

Jos’s steps could be heard from a mile away and they were very clearly getting closer. “Go,” adoration filling every syllable. 

… 

The air left my lungs faster than I had time to react. Fear pulsed through every vein in my body. Max’s kart lay crumpled against the barrier. Tears glittered in my eyes, the sunlight shimmering against the glossy surface. 

He stood shakily from the rubble of what used to be a newly painted kart, but he stood. Air flooded back through my body. Almost making the tears with the force of it. He was okay. I couldn’t stay here. I need to see him. 

Gravel flicked out from under my feet spraying onwards the side with every step. The sight of his orange tent made relief flood into my chest like water let out of a dam. 

“Max!” My voice was shakier than a rattlesnake in the desert. He turned around at the sound of my voice, a once harsh expression softening at the terror in my eyes. In two long strides, he had crossed the space between us, wrapping me up in the comfort of his arms. 

“I’m okay, I promise,” his words barely audible. “I'm fine,” he whispered, but it was so muffled by him pressing his face into my hair that you could barely hear it. I looked up at him. 

“I thought I lost you,” My voice cracked more tears spilling down my face. “You can’t die, you're the best thing to have ever happened to me. I couldn’t let you die, not without doing this first,” Soft lips met mine in a collision of emotions running higher than they should be.

“I love you more than words could ever express Adeline, you make each breath I take better. You make every second on this planet worthwhile. You are my reason for living.” His words hit me square in the chest. 

“I love you,” I say, burying my face back into his chest. 

2013 Belgium  (from this point forward mean they are speaking in Dutch, I can’t be bothered to translate everything)

I sat down on the ground doing my best to block out the sound of engines revving and footsteps pounding against the pavement. The blank page stared back at me, like it was taunting me, Joy had been scratched out at the top of the page. A competition my art teacher had told me, two pieces, contradicting emotions. Contrast. It was a chance to get your work into a gallery. The first piece sat at home collecting dust. It had been done for weeks but I still hadn’t started the other piece. My life felt like a slow muddy mess, pure, unadulterated joy felt impossible. 

I kept trying but with no reference, it felt impossible. With no starting point, it all felt off. Dozens of sketches lined my walls but nothing felt right, nothing conveyed enough emotion. 

…

“Well, what are we waiting for? You are going to love Victoria,” I let Max grab my hand and pull me up from the grass that was still damp from when the sky decided to become nature's shower and dump water out of the sky. 

Kids shrieked with joy all around us. It had been a long time since I was allowed to be a kid. I missed it. When life’s biggest problem was deciding between chocolate and strawberry ice cream or complaining over math homework. 

 A lone tear dripped from the safe space that my waterline had become over the past couple of years, blinking back more tears than any teenager should ever have to. It didn’t take long for Max to notice it. I didn’t make an effort to wipe it away. I didn't need to, I never needed to with Max. He didn’t shame or scream, he just held me close whispering sweet nothings into my ears. 

“We’ll get you back. I promise”

“I don’t want to go back, Max. I’m tired of being forgotten. I’m tired of being everyone's last thought.” Tears still glistened in my eyes. They had left, packed up and forgotten me by the water like I was just another bucket forgotten at the beach, thrown away, something to be forgotten and ignored. I was tired, so tired of it all. 

 “Three more years Schat, just three more years. Then we leave, forget about them. Let them have a taste of their own medicine. Let them be the ones being forgotten for once” 

…

“Hey, you must be Adeline, To say that I have heard a lot about you would be the understatement of the year,” She stuck out her hand with a ferocious amount of excitement. “It’s great to finally meet you.” Her blonde hair shimmered in the light in the same way Maxes gleamed when the sun's rays hit it. Sophie and Jos were having a hushed conversation a few meters away from us, their words were quiet enough that I only caught a couple of them, “Stay with us…”, “They left…”, “Without her…” Max came out of nowhere crashing into me from behind. “There’s a lake, please say you have an extra bathing suit Viccy?” 

She snorted “You just want to see her in a bikini but yeah I do have a spare” He cut in: “You bet your ass I do” Heat spread throughout my face at his words. 

“I did not need to know that. Go change, weirdo. Race you there!” And with those closing words we all dart off, Max turning on his heel and going in the other direction. 

Our laughter bounced off of the smooth expanse of water as we 

came sprinting down the small hill that led to the lake. 

We slowed, not by a whole lot though, when we came to the bridge. Together we made our way to the edge. Victoria was the first one in. Max grabbed my hand and together we jumped. I felt lighter, My soul felt freer than it had been in years. I felt free. 

…

My hand brushed the final pencil shavings off of the once-blank page. I had pulled out my pencils after dinner still a little reluctantly after having pointedly been told to go relax and not worry about anything by Sophie. 

The rough outlines of me, Max, and Victoria stared back at me instead of                                                                                                                                                         had become accustomed to seeing over the past couple of days. I had decided then and there that that was the one. Joy radiated off of our bodies and emanated out from the picture.  I looked like I wanted to be there, something that had been increasingly hard to find in the other references that I had at home.  

I padded softly out into the open hallway. Max's old hoodie hung loosely over my shoulder, falling down my thighs. A bowl of oatmeal was laid out at the spot that had become mine over the past couple of days. A handful of walnuts, a scoop of peanut butter, and a heap of sliced bananas made tears well up in my eyes. 

It felt increasingly stupid how many times the things that felt like everyday actions, helping each other, brought me to tears, but the truth was no one had ever made an effort, no one had ever wanted to learn, but here we were, three days later and they already knew how I liked my oatmeal. Something so utterly and completely normal felt utterly out of the ordinary. They cared and that was more than enough to make my cheeks sparkle from the drops of salty liquid that seemed to be making regular appearances.   

A plane ticket sat nestled in between my tea and a matt green bowl. Sophie walked out of the kitchen. “Your parents  weren’t answering so we just went ahead and got you a ticket ourselves, had to get you home somehow didn’t we.”  Her smile was eerily similar to victorias, curling in the same places. Warm, kind, inviting. Nothing like the cold calculated ones that lined my father’s face and would haunt my memories for years to come.  

2015 Monaco

The slip of paper fluttered out of my hand, landing on the smooth cold surface of marble, expensive, funded with what was supposed to be the money for an art camp years ago. Four letters. One to each and everyone. No explanation other than I was safe and left on my own.  

The cold night air swept over my face as I stepped out of the house I grew up in. I stared back at the brick building. I was finally leaving, for once I was choosing me. 

“Hey Girl, you ready?” Bianca stepped into view, her face illuminated in the dim light of the street lights. 

I nodded, unable to really form a coherent sentence so early in the morning. We slid the two bags into the trunk of her car. She had turned 18 a month ago and therefore had a licence, something I didn’t have a chance to do considering My birthday was in a couple of days. 

We drove in silence. Neither of us really felt like talking, not that we even even knew what to say. I was leaving. We had always lived a mere 3 minute walk from each other, practically neighbors, and here I was moving hours away. To a country I had only been to a couple of times. 

We stepped out of the sleek car. The air in Nice not much warmer an hour later. 

“Thank you” I didn’t elaborate. I didn’t need to. She knew what I was thanking her for. For years she remembered. She never forgot my existence. She made me hold on. And after meeting Max she held on to me, to our friendship through the hours of lovesick monologues I spewed during the school days. She listened through my dream, held my hand when thing got tough. She was there with a warm candle of support.  “I’m gonna miss you.” A tear rolled down my face.  “Promise you’ll visit?” 

“Always, Isa, always. Now shoo you have a flight to catch.” 

2015 Belgium

I drop my bag by the door. Victoria comes skidding down the hallway. Socks gliding against the stone floors, almost squealing at the friction. 

“You're here!” A breathy laugh escapes from me at her excitement. 

“Yes, yes I am Vic. This has been in the works for the whole year. Why on earth wouldn’t I be here?” The question isn’t serious, of course it wasn’t, I missed her too. 

“I’m just so excited. Have you seen the house yet?” A quick shake of my ends ina. tug of my hand. “Well let’s go. We can walk?” 

2016 Belgium 

My hands are shaking and I think I'm going to cry as I stare down at the strikingly white envelope. The red logo stands out like a disco ball at a funeral, that red U, the squiggly line that holds my feature. Antwerpen, University of Antwerp. Best medical school in Belgium.

For years I had been dead set on doing something in the art world and then Max’s kart had been flipped upside down in a whirlwind of chaos. And I couldn’t breath, and apparently neither could he. But they saved him. My path changed when I sat in that quiet hospital room, nothing but the faint beep from the monitors to keep me company. I couldn’t stop looking at them. The purple line spiking and falling in an even pathway. 

I wanted to be the one to save people. 

My phone vibrates in quiet confirmation and I practically launch at it. Max’s contact blazing across the screen. “It’s here. I’m so nervous, what if they don-” I don’t even get to finish the sentence before Max’s voice cuts in. 

“You're one of the smartest people I know, Addy. You’re gonna be fine, I promise. And if for some reason they don’t accept you, you’ll apply next, and we'll keep trying,” The comments are meant to be soothing, calming. They’re not really though, a few words wouldn’t slow my heart or keep my hands from shaking. 

I slit it open and flurry papers flutter out onto the desk, You have been accepted to Antwerps medical division. We hope to see you for the next semester and look forward to having you learn from our professors.   My breath clogs in my throat, a lone tear slips from my eyes, gliding down my face in a silent quest, dripping down my chin before falling to the floor. 

“Well?” The question isn’t unexpected but it still shocks me. I flinch slightly before answering. 

“Well, I guess we'll have to go get those books.” 

He laughs, “I’m so proud of you Schat.”