#me x kleenex

[sleepyscully]

What the HELL was going on with Mulder and Scully on that rock in “Quagmire”

The more than usual casual flirting? The faces they make at each other? The banter? The deep discussions? The whole Moby Dick thing?

[writergirl2011]

The latest chapter of the Umbrella story has been posted, and all I have to say is...

Chapter Summary: Four years ago, Monday morning came. Jaime and Brienne had to return to the real world, and everything between them was shattered by a lie.

[marblehazel]

Sitter

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

You’re spending spring break alone at home while your father is five thousand miles away when all of sudden, you fall sick. Enter Joel Miller: your father’s buddy, sent by him to check on you.

Tags: Explicit MDNI, no outbreak, age gap, no mother in the picture but your father has a named girlfriend (sorry), no bra household, dry humping, footjob while watching SpongeBob, oral (m and f receiving)

Word count: 6.8k

“Dad,” your voice is hoarse like it has just come out from a dying goose, and you spend the next five seconds trying to clear your throat.

“So like, I’m… sick, kinda, but it’s not really bad, so—” A train of coughs that feels like they are going to tear your lungs apart. “—sorry about that. It’s nothing. Don’t worry too much, don’t even think about it. I just wanted to let you know.” Another coughing fit. “Okay. Have fun, I love you.”

You click your phone screen and let the voicemail find its way to your father’s ancient block of telecommunication. It’s 11 p.m. for you, 5 a.m. in Tuscany, you calculate with your fingers. You might be wrong. Either way, your father is probably asleep. He had been away for a couple of days with his girlfriend Amy for her nephew's wedding. And they plan to spend another week there, because it’s their anniversary, and Amy had always wanted to go to Italy.

“Will you be okay?” your father asked, apologetic. He leaned onto your bedroom door’s frame while you were unpacking your backpack.

“Yeah, Dad, what am I, eight? Go.” you laughed lightheartedly.

“It’s just you came down here from school and then I go, you know. I wish you’d said yes and come with us.”

“And third-wheeling you and Amy for ten days?” you giggled. “Dad, it’s okay. Come on. We’ll still have the weekend together when you come back.”

You heard Amy call for your father from downstairs, followed by a question about his dress shirt. You grinned, gesturing for him to go.

“Me and Amy will make sure the fridge is full, okay?” he says, voice fading as he steps down the stairs. You shook your head. You’ve survived on dry ramens and day-old coffees in college. You would be okay. Right?

Loud buzzer sound. The game show on the TV you put on to distract yourself from the fever is not doing a good job. You try to focus, but the noises coming out of it sound muffled, and the colors are just so bright and saturated that they make your head spin. You click on mute before slamming the remote on the coffee table, and it lands safely on some crumpled Kleenex. A thermometer is sitting next to the box, the tiny display screen blank. It’s broken, and you make a mental note to scold your father for always keeping faulty things around the house as if he’s going to fix them. A few bottles of pills you fished out of your father’s medicine cabinet to at least ease your aching muscles are toppled next to a half-empty Nyquil Nighttime Relief bottle with its cap screwed but crooked.

You second-guess your decision to let your father know that you’re unwell. But again, he hates surprises, so letting him know that he might find your rotting corpse in front of his TV when he gets back is, perhaps, doing him a favor.

It’s dark in the living room, and the leather couch is sticking to your sweaty leg. You should probably put sweatpants and a hoodie on instead of biker shorts and a stretched out shirt that looks more like a rag than a proper clothing item. But climbing the stairs now? No, thank you.

You shift your body, trying to find the best position to fall asleep in since the wrong angle seems to block your nasal passage. A groan leaves your throat when you can’t pull the fleece blanket to cover your body. You find out you are sitting on both ends of it. To hell with it.

You blink slowly. The Nyquil seems to start working. Can’t sneeze or cough if you’re knocked out, you think. You close your eyes, the colors from the TV somehow find their way in and flash washed-out red, white, yellow behind your eyelids. You’re too tired to reach for the remote.

Maybe you’ll feel better when you wake up.

You jolt when something cold makes contact with your forehead. Within microseconds, you yeet the thing away hysterically, hitting yourself in the process. The thing flies and lands on the wooden floor with a wet, thwap sound.

“Easy, easy,”

If it was just a little bit not so sudden and confusing and designed to constrict your blood vessels until your organs fail, you would have yelped. You nearly snap your neck trying to find the source of the voice, and your tense shoulders fall as quickly as they were raised when you notice the familiar face belonging to a broad frame standing next to the couch.

It’s Joel Miller.

Of course it’s him. Your father likely has him on speed dial.

He and your father go way back. Went to the same school, crushed on the same girls, hit the same bong, and so on. They were even in a band together. Your father has pictures of them from years ago, with greasy hair, earrings, bass and drumsticks in their hands. Cringe.

Well, just your father. Not Joel though.

You haven’t seen him in like, what, a year? And yet he looks good as ever. Well, Joel has always looked good his whole life. When you saw the pictures of him from high school you thought, Oh Fuck, I Would Totally Have A Crush On This Guy. And then you had to sit in silence and ponder, because, well, you are having a crush on this guy. Sort of. Maybe.

He bends over to pick up the thing you just yeeted on the floor, which is apparently a washcloth, and dunk it in a basin on the side table, which is now clean from all the stuff that was previously there.

“Joel,” you chirp. “Hi.”

“Hey.” he smiles as he squeezes the washcloth. Beads of water come trickling down his knuckles back to the basin, gleaming in front of the still-turned-on TV.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. What time is this?” you straighten up, rummaging around the blanket to find your phone to no avail.

“One-thirty. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Your old man asked me to check on you." He folds the cloth in two and dab it before stepping closer and pressing it against your forehead, nice and cold. His other hand supports your head from the back, basically cradling your skull.

“Your front door was unlocked when I came in.” says Joel, as if you are capable of digesting any kind of information at the moment. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “And sorry my Dad made you come here. You didn’t have to, it’s not so bad.”

“Come on, it’s only a ten minute drive. ‘S okay. I checked your forehead. Not too bad, but still a fever, y’know. You took the Nyquil?”

The thought of Joel Miller touching your forehead with his palm in the dark while you were asleep somehow makes the neurons in your brain stop interlinking for a second. Were you sleeping with your mouth open the whole time? You knew you did fall asleep that way since you couldn’t breathe through your nose. Man.

“I did.” you nod, shaking the thought away. You feel your lungs tighten, though. Another coughing fit incoming.

“Good,” Joel presses his hand to your forehead again as if trying to make sure the wet washcloth is properly glued onto your face. The soft pressure disrupts your composure and you cough like a machine gun submerged in a container full of Elmer’s glue, hacking up thick mucus up your throat. Joel leaves your side with hurried steps and, within seconds, somehow has a paper cup under your chin for you to spit into.

You try to grab the cup, flustered, but he doesn’t let go and instead helps you sit up straight, patting your back.

“Spit.” he says as you wheeze with phlegm in your mouth like an imbecile. You awkwardly grab his wrist for support and spit the mucus out into the cup. Soon you’ll realize how foolish it is to grab someone’s wrist using the same hand you used to cover your mouth while coughing. The string of saliva takes a ridiculously long time to break free from your lips, but Joel is unfazed. He takes a glance at the mucus, likely checking the color and consistency.

“Thanks,” you blink rapidly, still processing.

“You wanna go to urgent care?” Joel asks.

“Nu-uh,” you shake your head. “I’m okay, I promise. I feel a lot better already.”

“It’s probably just a bug,” he pats your back again before walking to the kitchen to dispose of the cup. “How long has it been going on?”

You wait until he comes back because you don’t think you can speak loud enough for him to be able to hear you from the kitchen without tearing your throat apart. Joel thinks you didn’t hear him the first time and is about to repeat his question when you say, “Uh, it got progressively worse last night.” you realize how serious that sounds and quickly add, “But not like, worse worse. I mean, compared to,”

“And before that?”

“Just a scratchy throat.”

He looks like he’s mentally taking notes with arms folded in front of his stomach. It’s the first time that night you take a full look at him under the glow of the muted TV. You can’t really make the colors out, but he’s wearing a dark t-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel shirt and jeans. He’s keeping his beard kind of thin compared to the last time you saw him, but still the same, well-tended mustache that makes a strong presence over his lips. You can’t help but notice the graying strands of hair that stick out among his dark, messy hair, complimenting him so well. You are pretty sure the ratio between light to dark hair has been shooting up this year. You like it.

And his eyes. They’re rich, and dark, and the fact that he furrows half of the time that it creates permanent dents between his eyebrows just makes him ridiculously hotter.

The mucus factory must be working overtime tonight because you can feel the slight slippery feeling of lubrication where you’re sitting. Fucking stupid, you think, read the room.

All of sudden, a lightning flashes, lighting up your surroundings before the grumbling roar of thunder follows through. For a second, you can make out the shapes and silhouettes of everything in the room like a photograph. Joel fits rightly in the left third of this main piece in your mind exhibition. You wish you could take screenshots with your eyes and keep it to admire later.

Joel glances out the window. Heat lightning reveals the blobs of clouds outside, and the strong wind is starting to blow debris to rattle the windows. He shifts his focus on you again. “Did you eat?”

“I’m okay,” you shrug. Storm is coming, Joel better go home before it gets worse.

He chuckles. “Yes or no?”

That chuckle tickles something deep inside of you. You smile shyly. “Yes, Joel. I’m okay.”

Joel stares at you, and you are pretty sure he senses that you did not, in fact, eat dinner. “I’m starvin’, actually,” he gets up and takes his flannel shirt off, and then tosses it on the couch before making his way towards the kitchen. You scream internally at the sight of his biceps like a deranged fangirl.

“Mind if I take a look in the fridge?” he yells while opening the fridge door. Just being polite. He knows your father will let him dismantle the house and take the pieces home if he wants to.

You free the tangled blanket from around your legs, only noticing now how under your old, sweat-dampened, Marlin Club shirt, your nipples are as erect as fireman’s poles. Was it the temperature, Joel, or both, you can’t conclude.

Joel whistles when he finds that the fridge is full. He grabs a can of beer and pops it open, studying the contents of the fridge and thinking of what he can cook for you as he gulps the beer down.

You follow him to the kitchen, jump to sit on the kitchen island as Joel grabs some produce off the fridge and sets them next to you. He looks at you, blinks a couple of times, then occupies himself with the food cabinet over the counter. You try to be helpful by unwrapping the basil and cherry tomatoes.

“So, how’s school?” Joel breaks the silence as he washes his hands. “And don’t just say okay, please.”

“You got me there,” you laugh. “Nothing really amusing, really.”

Then a few more superficial, classic-catching-up questions while you both prepare the pesto. Joel asks about the trip to Italy, how your father mentioned proposing to Amy soon, what do you think about that. You ask about his brother Tommy, work, and the average cost to renovate a room, to which Joel answers in detail really nicely. Then come the usual do-you-remember-when stories, melting down the strange and awkward atmosphere between the two of you. Laughters fill up the room. It’s fun and familiar.

“Did you remember when you used to call me Uncle Joel?” Joel sneers as he tosses a pan to the sink. “You used to be so nice and polite.”

“I was like six!” You snorted. “And you can’t even pay me to call you that again, Joel.”

Then, the once-your-pops-and-I anecdotes. You’ve heard some of them from your own father’s mouth, but you still listen to Joel’s versions eagerly anyway.

At one point, you start to cough again so Joel instructs you to just sit down on the counter. You don’t complain—it means you can just sit back and watch him from the back and imagine how it would feel to run your fingers through his hair.

When Joel stirs the pasta with the pesto sauce, the weather has gone full-blown insane out there.

“You should stay the night,” you try to sound as nonchalant as possible. His presence is sending arrays of erroneous signals to your reproductive organs, which will most likely result badly if he stays, but how can you let him drive home in this kind of weather?

Joel hands you a fork and pushes a plate of fusilli for you to eat. “Eh, we’ll see,” he shrugs. “I don’t mind drivin’ through a storm, but I can’t just leave you alone if you don’t feel well.”

“Dad told me you got a folded chair smashed through your windshield last summer.” You take a bite, the thick sauce coats your tastebuds and you groan in satisfaction, even though you can’t really taste it to the fullest because of your stuffy nose.

“Oh, yeah, that.” Joel chuckles. “I was lucky it aimed for the shotgun.”

He eats standing up across you, one elbow on the counter. When you both finish the meal, he takes your plate and starts washing the dishes. You tell him to do it later, and then offer your help, and he says no to both. You insist on drying the dishes anyway, standing side by side with him.

After the very late dinner, the two of you retreat to the living room. Joel asks you to take some medication again and you decline, stating that you feel better already.

“Headstrong, ain’t ya?” Joel sighs. “Okay, sleep then. Wanna sleep in your bed?”

“Not really sleepy,” you shake your head. “Feel free to take Dad’s bed, by the way. You have work in the morning, right?”

“Nah, I’m alright by the couch.” Joel scoots to make room for his legs and lies on his back, groaning like every other old person when they finally get to be horizontal. His feet are dangling on one side, his head on the opposite armrest. You take the old recliner that doesn’t even recline anymore near Joel’s feet, facing both the TV and Joel at an angle.

The TV is still on, showing the same game show but already on a later season. You unmute it and watch it together with Joel for five minutes before you realize that none of you has laughed yet, and you ask Joel if he wants to watch a movie instead. He says why not.

You open a streaming service and browse for movies on the home page. Joel probably likes action and other classic old man genre types. You pretend to read some of the summaries and see if Joel perks up at one of them, but he doesn’t seem to really care about the TV.

“I don’t know what to watch,” you admit. “Do you wanna pick the movie?”

Truth is, Joel can’t give a single shit about no goddamn movie. He’s been distracted by so many thoughts in his mind. But he gestures for you to scroll back up anyway.  “Let’s see the trending ones.”

You stop at a tally of newly released and currently popular films at the top of the page, giving Joel a chance to read about them before moving to the next one.

“This one looks excitin’.” Joel points at the screen. The poster shows a man in classic Viking attire, staring intently at the viewer with striking blue eyes. Some kind of pelt is draped over his shoulders. His hands are on top of each other, resting on a sword handle, the blade facing the earth. Dried mud and blood are splattered over his face and armor. The Conquest, it says. You don’t recognize the actors listed. The summary says something about revenge, passion, blood, power, blah blah. You click play.

The movie opens with a battle scene. The movie looks like it runs out of lighting budget, and you need to squint to be able to tell what they are actually doing. Nothing can be heard except grunts and blades clashing. You look over at Joel to see his expression, but he’s looking at you. He quickly averts his gaze back to the screen.

Twenty minutes pass, and none of you are really paying attention to the plot. Not until the main guy enters a wooden tub filled with steaming hot water with his asscheeks out, and then a woman enters the scene with nothing but a thin white veil covering her body. She drops the cloth and joins him. The warm light from the torches is highlighting her breasts.

“Woah,” you look at Joel again, but he says nothing, but you can see his Adam’s apple moving awkwardly.

They kiss, and he grabs her bosom with his humongous palms and knead them. Then he buries his face between them, with the woman kissing the top of his head. After what feels like a millenia, he lifts her lower half from the water, and then puts her down to sit on the edge of the tub before performing cunnilingus. She moans.

You start to feel a pool of heat brewing inside of you. This feels invasive of their privacy, somehow, with no soundtrack added, just fire crackling and water splashing and erotic moaning.

Joel clears his throat. “Uh, maybe we shouldn’t watch this,”

“You’re the one who picked the movie.” you say, eyes fixated on the screen.

“Well, it didn’t say nothin’ about eatin’ a lady out in the summary.”

He reaches for the remote and turns the TV off, leaving only the sound of rain hitting your window in your eardrums.

“Hey,” you whine. “That’s not nice. I didn’t say yes.”

“It’s late. Go to sleep.” Joel folds his arms over his chest, partly staying warm, partly because he’s so flustered he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He then closes his eyes, knowing damn well he’s far from feeling tired let alone fall asleep.

“We’re both adults anyways,” you mutter, but Joel doesn’t move. He’s probably actually tired.

Your gaze is affixed on him. He surely doesn’t look like he’s sleeping in peace right now but he’s still handsome nonetheless. His old shirt is a tad bit too tight around his biceps. You can see the protruding veins beautifully decorating his arms and hands. His legs are slightly crossing with one ankle on top of another, and his breath is steady. He’s gorgeous.

In your wildest dreams, you would jump to straddle Joel, and he would grab your hips and fuck you to death. Is it bad that your immune system is fighting one of the worst battles in your life, and yet your number one priority is somehow to get laid, by this man specifically? It’s both excruciating and foolish. 

The movie you just saw doesn’t help, either. In fact, it makes everything worse. Your mind keeps wandering back to it, the way the man eats the woman out, and then back to Joel, imagining the top of his head would look like when he eats you out. Fuck. You know that if you don’t get to touch this man in the next 30 minutes, you are either going to combust or burn everything in the vicinity.

You close your eyes, try to do the mindfulness practice you once saw in a magazine. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. You repeat “Release me from this earthly desire” in your head like a rookie buddhist wizard trying to cast a spell with a broken wand. You ball your fists in your lap so hard the joints start to hurt.

It’s not working.

Your mind keeps wandering back to different scenarios, different positions, different spots around the house. Low grunts, fingertips pressing your sides, tongue between your lips…

You can’t do it anymore. You need release. You need to at least be able to feel something, a little reward for your throbbing clit. Trying your best to be as casual as possible, you pull your folded legs closer to your body, your left heel even closer to your biker-short-covered cunt, and shift your body weight on it.

The pleasure that has been building up there bursts like a balloon. You sigh.

There are two things that Joel is not: young, and oblivious.

Oh, he is totally aware of what’s happening. You are not doing a good job trying to be subtle. From the non-stop staring, to the constant fidgeting, to the borderline sexual sighs, to the hard nipples, Joel knows you are going through something that is completely different from just being ill.

And he totally understands. He’s been there, done that. There was a time when his back wasn’t hurting and his face hadn’t been ‘graced’ with crow’s feet and age spots yet, when his hormones were at all-time high and his blood liked nothing more than flowing to his cock recklessly at the slightest inducement. He understands what you are going through.

So when you start grinding yourself onto your left heel followed by soft moans, he is not exactly surprised, just mostly in awe of your debauched audacity.

That is too much, even for him. He clears his throat, hoping you’d catch the hint and stop for good. But you don’t, and your eyes are closed and your eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, and your hips are moving slowly, sensually, chasing something, the sight of it stirs something up in his guts.

It is vulgar, and most importantly indecent in every way, but Joel can feel his own arousal creeping up no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it is not happening.

He calls your name. Your body responds faster than the critically thinking part of your brain and you stop like you just got cursed by Medusa. 

You can physically feel your heart drop to your ass. Your neck moves stiffly to find his eyes like a broken animatronic. “Yeah?” you croak.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doin’?”

You blink. Deny? Act stupid? Admit? Deny, deny. Wait, deny? No, act stupid.

“What… Do you mean?” you say, and you realize that you chose the dialogue option that actually sounds the dumbest.

Joel clicks his tongue. “Might as well hump me if you want it that much.”

Wait, what? Your eyes light up. “Really?”

Joel stares at you in genuine perplexity before lifting one hand up to massage his temples. He takes a deep breath, and in the softest way possible—like telling a puppy she can’t eat electronic parts—sighs, “No.”

“Oh,” you cover your mouth. “I thought you meant—“

“Yeah, yeah. My bad.” he sighs again, sounding significantly more frustrated. He then uses his hands to support himself to a sitting position, composing himself.

Silence. You don’t dare to look at Joel, but your cunt keeps pulsing like a metal detector. You understand that the beeping—desire—will not die down unless you get the valuable artefact from the bronze age—Joel—in your hand. Is this time to be bold and brash?

“Joel,” you call, and you can swear that was not a sober decision, but the stage curtains have been pulled back, and you are pushed to the stage to play your part.

“Hm?”

“What if… I hump you anyway?” you stand up, and your knees are slightly buckling but you act tough and bold regardless.

Joel’s jaws opens and stays slightly agape for a while before he says, “That fever is really messin’ with your brain, huh? Sit down.”

“You’re bricked up, Joel.” you accuse. You don’t actually know for sure since Joel keeps a hand on his lap to cover his crotch, but Joel gulps. Gotcha.

“Unrelated to you.” he hisses in defense.

You scoff.

“Joel, please,” you grouse, voice cracking and desperate. “I want this so bad.” you whisper as you take slow, threatening steps towards Joel until your crotch is not even an inch away from his knee. “I want you so bad.”

“This ain’t right, kid.” Joel puts a hand on the outer side of your arm, and it’s worth pointing out that he’s shaking. “You know that.”

Joel doesn’t tell you that he’s battling demons in his head, and he’s currently losing. A million impulses are catapulting burning boulders onto the gate of his conscience, and all he got is one bleeding, sickly troop with a chipped wooden sword. But he puts his best stern expression despite the fact that his body is betraying him.

He could leave now. Push you away. Clear his head. Come back later. Or not come back at all.

But he knows he doesn’t want to. He can hear his blood rushing and his heart singing battle cry. Not to mention his cock, hard and nearly burns a hole through his jeans.

A long pause. You want to push him further, but you know you don’t need to. The black marlin printed on your shirt does a worthless attempt at distracting Joel from your hard nipples, putting him into a trance.

Joel takes a deep breath. He knows he has lost. “You can help yourself, that’s all,” he nods, more trying to convince himself rather than talking to you. “Just to make you shut up and get rest. That’s it.”

That’s an unenthusiastic barf-colored green light, but it is a green light nonetheless.

You put your hands on Joel’s shoulder before putting your left knee next to his right leg and lower yourself down onto his thigh, while your other knee rests in front of his crotch and presses onto his raging hard-on. Your cunt pulsates in pleasure upon contact, and you let out a gasp. Joel anxiously places his hands on your sides to keep you steady, one thumb ‘accidentally’ brushing your nipple, earning a whine. You lock gaze with him, and start moving.

The friction sends buzzes up your head. You make each grind count, and every single one feels like heaven despite the layers of fabric between your cunt and his beefy thigh. Moans and Joel’s name spill from your lips indeliberately, and he tightens his grip on your body until his fingertips turn white as if you would fly away with a gust of wind if he doesn’t. If you weren’t so absorbed in your own pleasure, you would’ve noticed how shallow and rapid Joel’s breath has become. It turns him on watching you getting off because of him, using him, how your eyelids flutter and your pupils are having a hard time staying in place.

Joel wants to break free from his denim, badly. While he consciously thought, planned, and stated that he’s doing what he’s doing only for your satisfaction and be done with it, it isn’t exactly nice having your kneecap pushing button-flies shaped caves on his crotch repeatedly. Especially not when his cock, which probably has its own brain, has been begging to be taken care of, too.

You, on the other side, are having the best time of your life. As your climax is building up in your south region, you smile at Joel, who smiles back. His hand leaves your ribs briefly to brush the hair that is sticking to your sweaty forehead away from your face.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod weakly. “So good, Joel, so good,”

For a moment there you consider kissing him. His face is merely two inches away from you, and he looks ravishing, all sweaty and blushing. And how you just want to have your tongue inside his mouth, his lips all over yours sloppily. But that feels like overstepping boundaries, like a whole uncharted area you can’t cross, spreading the flu aside. You opt to put your chin on his shoulder instead, trying to focus on your orgasm.

“I want to see your face,” Joel says in your ear, his beard grazing your cheek. Takes you three whole seconds to process that, and when you do, it tingles your core. Before you can answer, he continues, “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You pull back, meeting his gaze with flushing cheeks. You don’t know what to say, and maybe you don’t have to. You continue to be dumbfounded when Joel stops your motion and helps you to stand up.

“Hold on,” he says as he undoes the buttons of his jeans. “I need to take these off.”

He quickly kicks the jeans off his legs, revealing a dark gray boxer briefs under. A wet patch adorns the bulge right in the center. He then manspreads and gestures for you to come back onto him, to which you comply. “C’mere,” he says, “I need to feel you on me.”

You straddle him, positioning your cunt right on his cock, and on everybody and their mother, it feels good. No, it feels right. Joel lets out a groan that cuts into a gasp when you start to grind. “Fuck, yeah,” he grabs your ass, helping you settle on a rhythm.

The contour of Joel’s cock, albeit still covered by the fabric of his boxer briefs, touches every last nerve ending of your cunt in such a different way that his thigh did. You pick your pace up, getting the pleasure to build up again. 

“Joel, I’m gonna come,” you moan, voice quivering. You rake your fingers through his hair, your noses almost touching.

“Keep going, baby,” he says through a smile. “Don’t hold back. You sound so pretty.”

The encouragement is shooting up fireworks in your lower belly, and you start making more sounds. You’re close. So close.

“Makin’ me so hard all night, you,”

You whimper as you come, hips convulsing. Time slows down, and it feels like your cunt is pulled towards a strong gravitational force within your own body as you are sinking down a quicksand, all while pleasure forces your brain to reboot itself.

“That’s it, that’s it. There you go. You’re so good.”

Joel holds the back of your head while you’re laying on his chest, limp. When you pull yourself away from him, he presses a palm to your cheek, smiling. “Attagirl.”

When you finally gather yourself, you pull away from Joel, leaving a huge wet spot on where you just had your cunt on, and scoot to the spot next to him on the couch. You are about to lean onto his shoulder when he stands up and picks his jeans up from the floor. He sees the wet trail of arousal you left on the fabric in the thigh area and snickers.

“Damn, kid, you’re practically a snail,” he points to it. “Poor thing.”

You wince. “What are you doing?”

“Puttin’ my pants on?” he answers in the exact same tone, fixing the position of his boxer briefs.

“But you haven’t even come yet!” you protest. “What the fuck? Take them off!”

“That’s not what I agreed to, remember? I help you come so you’ll shut up and sleep. You’ve come, now shut up, and go to sleep.” he lays it out like basic math while you press the base of your palms onto your eyelids, confounded.

“You’re a sick person,” you shake your head, and then point to his crotch. “You’re literally still hard.”

“That has nothin’ to do with anythin’.”

You stare at the open space, like you’re trying to break the fourth wall in a sitcom. Can you believe this guy?

“Joel, your line is ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard.’ Now let’s start again from the top.”

Joel, who’s struggling trying to fit his bulge back in the jeans without hurting it, stops fussing with his button-fly shortly to push your head back—softly—to the couch. “Sleep,” he drags his palm over your face to close your eyelids.

“Joooooel,”

“Your line is ‘Yes, Joel, good night.’”

“Yes, Uncle Joel, good night, Uncle Joel,” you mock as you swiftly jump from the couch and pull his jeans down to his ankle and force him to step out of it. You hear Joel yelling hey, hey, hey as he tries to simultaneously fight you and not hurt you. You throw the pair of pants across the room with all your might and it lands with a loud thud.

“What are your pants made of, steel?”

“What is wrong with you?” he takes a step to fetch it, but you stand up and push him back to the couch. Joel is for sure going easy on you, because if he wanted to, he could definitely launch you through the walls. Instead, he just accepts his fate and stares at the ceiling, defeated.

“Nobody sleeps with jeans on, Joel,” you reach for the TV remote again. “Now let’s watch something again and then sleep.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again,” you repeat. “We’re watching SpongeBob.”

Joel groans.

“What, you don’t like SpongeBob?”

“Not my era,” Joel says. “I watched Gumby. Tom and Jerry. The Muppet Show.”

“No wonder you act like the heckling old guys.”

“I don’t, but, sure,”

“Oh, you’re more like the eagle. So serious all the time.”

Joel rolls his eyes. You play the first episode of the first season of SpongeBob Squarepants, and the familiar intro begins. You take a look at Joel in the corner of your eyes, how he has one of his forearm on the top of his head, bicep almost as thick as his head. The other hand is resting on his thigh, and you can tell that he’s at least still half-hard. You wonder how he looks under those boxer briefs.

On the screen, Squidward and Mr. Krabs are climbing a post with a sea of raging anchovies under them. Joel’s lips slightly turn upward. Ha, eat that, Mr. Old Cartoon Head.

You shift so that you’re on your back, legs resting on Joel’s lap. He gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything. Minutes later, totally absorbed with SpongeBob pestering his neighbor with a reef blower, he has a hand on your ankle, caressing it without much thought.

They would have written about you in a Greek tragedy the way you’re consumed by greed and lust. When your toes stroke Joel’s bulge, totally by accident and not precalculated at all, you pretend like you’re captivated by the TV. It’s hard and you can definitely discern the ridge of possible veins and the head of his cock.

Joel exhales, sounding so done and tired.  “I know you were going to do this,”

But he doesn’t push you away. And that excites you.

You don’t say anything or look away from the screen, but you keep rubbing the outline of his cock, which is now more visible and grows slightly larger, with the space between your big and index toe. Your brain automatically puts the ice clinking in a vase while SpongeBob is getting dry under Sandy’s treedome as background noise to amplify Joel’s restrained grunts.

You like this. You like having Joel wrapped around your finger. Soon after, you withdraw your legs and sit up, causing him to open his eyes over the sudden halt.

You stare at him, bold. “Would you like my mouth?”

Joel nods.

You don’t even wait for a second. Joel helps you take off his boxer briefs, the length of his hard-on springs out like jack-in-the-box. You admire how it looks, how the tip is totally sticky and glistening, before lowering your tongue. Joal lets out a sound akin to a whimper as you let your saliva ooze down the underside of his cock and quickly retrieve it into your mouth using your tongue. He tastes slightly salty, like sweat. And if you could smell better you’d see how hypnotizing his scent is, like calling you to stick his cock down your throat until the world collapses.

“That’s it,” Joel says, out of breath. His cock is now grazing the soft wall of your cheek, and he wonders how experienced you actually are because you definitely don’t act like an amateur. You use one elbow to support yourself, the other one taking turns massaging his balls and the base of his cock.

The only downside of this is that Joel can’t really look at your face. He craves the sight of you, how your lips are wrapped around his cock, and how your cheek is bulging like a squirrel full of him. One of his hands crawls up your back under your shirt, rubbing it before it finds a new target: your breasts. He kneads on one, thumb flicking the bud. You can’t help but moan and take him deeper, sending vibrations from your throat to his cock.

Joel knows he won’t last much longer, and he would very much like to keep this thing going as long as possible. So he asks you to stop, averting your disappointment by lifting up your shirt and sucking on one nipple. He’s surprisingly tender with it, taking his time. You reach a hand to his cock again, trying to at least get him off with your hand, but he pulls your wrists back and locks them on your sides.

“Joel,” you whine. “Fuck me. Please.”

“No can do,” Joel answers as his lips are trailing down to your stomach, where he peppers kisses all over. You scoot backwards and like reading your mind, he tugs the hem of your shorts down to your ankle before yanking it away, revealing your throbbing, desperate cunt. He then dives down, nose pressing against your mound as his tongue explores the new treasure island.

Just like in the movie.

You try to grab on something, anything, but the leather couch does nothing but squeaks, and Joel instinctively laces his fingers with yours. The view of the top of your head is exactly how you imagined it would be. The moans released from your lips are rather loud, especially when Joel creates a suction cup with his lips right on your clit.

“Joel, Joel,” you grasp his hands with all your might. “This is fucking unfair, I’m so— I’m gonna—”

Before you get to finish your sentence, your body already decides that it’s time for another release. Your heels are planted firmly against the couch as your hips lift to the air, and Joel lets go. He kneels before your cunt, pumps himself to oblivion and comes all over you before you get to collect yourself, staining your stomach and breasts. Later you’ll realize that the first spurt went a little bit rogue and landed on your hair.

“Fuck you, man,” you complain, sticking out a middle finger at him. “I was supposed to make you come.”

Joel rests his head on the couch armrest, eyes closed. ��You did.”

“I meant technically,” you attempt to nudge him with your leg, but he dodges and stands up to grab the washcloth he used to compress you with earlier. He then wipes your stomach and breasts with it, the cold water making you squirm.

“What now?” you ask when he hands you your clothes.

“Sleep. It’s four in the mornin’.” he says as he puts his stained, sticky, wet boxer briefs on and sits on the recliner. So you can’t drive me mad anymore, he says.

You whine, but you realize that your eyelids are actually very heavy. “Blowjob first time in the morning?” you offer before letting yourself drift off.

“Thought you were s’pposed to be sick.” Joel shakes his head. But he grins.

[nanivinsmoke]

✩ The Assistant.

✩ endeavor x assistant!f!reader

we all want to have him as our boss and fuck him, right?

✩ warnings & tags: it’s endeavor and im writing it, so you know there’s a bunch of hot sex involved. size difference, small age gap, creampie, pussy smacks, oral, semi-public sex, domination, established affair (enji’s seperated, but not divorced), implied sadism, breeding (possibility of a child).

there you were, underneath your boss’s mahogany colored desk; shoving his fat, can shaped cock further down your throat. eyes watering as he fills your mouth to the brim.

the number one hero tried his hardest to not throw his head back and let out a groan, while you devoured his cock. but, the way you handled his balls and sucked him like he was a cherry tootsie pop; made it harder for him and he quickly let out a thick load deep into your mouth.

a loud groan left his throat and his thighs quickly clench around your head; almost suffocating you while he cums. your eyes roll back into that pretty little head of yours, while a small yet powerful orgasm runs through you and he finally lets his thighs relax; making you release his cock from your pretty stretched out mouth.

a string of his cum mixed with your spit dribbled out of your mouth as you looked up into his icey blue eyes, smiling with satisfaction since you took his cock and fallen babies so well. he grabbed your arm and pulled you close to his torso, leaning down to kiss you; his leftovers mixing into his mouth.

“such a good girl for me.” he praised, biting your bottom lip before he pulled away; eliciting a whine from you. he zipped his softening cock back into his pants and helped you get up from under his desk, handing you a kleenex so you could clean your fucked face; before returning to your desk outside of his very spacious office.

you had been working with the number one hero for quite some months now. he had needed an assistant with this big promotion and from hundreds of recommendations, he hired you. and from that day on, something in him lit up and he decided to make you his dirty little mistress.

you knew Enji was married, since he still wore his wedding ring on his finger, but you didn’t care. his martial status meant nothing to you as long as he continued to pump you full of his cock on a daily basis. call it wrong, but that’s just how you felt.

waving at burnin as she passed by your desk and entered your office, you signed into your laptop and started going through your emails and looking over your boss’s calendar book. until, your phone chimed with a text from endeavor’s personal number.

it was a photo of his clothed bulge with a message underneath it.

- still hard. come let daddy drill this cock in you.

his dirty message made you clinch your thighs together and you quickly replied.

- i would if i could, got to reply to these emails and you’re still talking to burnin. how about i send you a video of me playing with myself, instead?

he quickly liked the message and you giggled. you quickly looked around to check if anyone was coming, before you held your phone up and spread your soiled panties to the side, dipping your fingers in between your drenched lips.

your stifled a moan by biting yours lips, thinking about what happened prior to this, making you cum within seconds. you rode out your orgasm and ended the video, hitting send; before you started typing on your computer again. you knew he would watch the video with his sidekick in his office, volume low along with the brightness. and a few seconds later, the blazin haired hero walked out & relayed that endeavor wanted to see you.

on cue, you walked right back into his office; notebook in hand and quickly closed the dark oak door behind you; before walking up to his desk. you watched as his muscles flexed and protruded through his black velvet sweater, while he pressed play to watch your sexy video once more.

“so pretty and wet for me…look at her clinch around nothing…so sexy~” he turns the phone so you could see, making your face hot and your thighs press together.

“you’ve got a meeting in a few mins,” you reminded, just in case he got a bright idea. and just like you thought, he did.

“get back under this desk and take daddy’s dick while they all pile in here. and if you make a peep, there’s going to be hell for you~” you knew he was serious from the way that he spoke, with your body acting on its own; you found yourself following his orders and dipping underneath his desk again.

you turned your clothed ass towards him, arching your back so he could plunge himself into you with ease. he unzipped himself from his corduroy confinements, freeing his throbbing fatness. he pushed up your skirt and ripped your panties off of your body, before pushing his swollen tip towards your tight entrance.

and as you backed yourself up onto his cock, his employees apart of the meeting came piling into his office, sitting on the black loveseats he had inside. you covered your mouth with your hands, smothering the moans that left your lips as his cock stretched your gummy walls to fit around him.

you would never get used to his sized, you felt like he would get bigger each time he fucked you, pushing your walls past its normal limits.

he did his best to control his facial expressions as he began talking about how they’ve been monitoring and controlling the nomu outbreak, while you fucked him.

your were now passing the pain threshold that came with fucking the number one hero and was now welcoming pleasure. you were more aroused than usual, thanks to the state that you were in. fucking your boss in a room with other’s, unbeknownst to them. pussy becoming wet with each glide around his cock, betraying you by making a squelching noise that could be heard by them.

but, endeavor was quick with putting on a video for them to watch; deafening the noise your pretty girl decided to make for him. you turned your head slightly, catching his gaze while you pushed your self deeper onto his shaft; mouth opening like a bitch in heat.

as you bounced your ass against him, your slick coated pussy became too slippery for his dick and he slipped out of you; causing a gush of air to flow out. an employee turned to see what that noise was, but when he saw endeavor’s stoic face, he quickly turned back around and continued to look at the video in front of him.

endeavor turned his attention back to you and gave you a look; pushing his cock back into you along with his thumb pushing into your other hole as punishment for making too much noise. you bit your finger tips so no one would hear you squeal, the next erotic sensation forced your mind to go dumb.

the way he fucked your cunt to his liking, pushing himself deep inside you where his tip kissed your cervix and rubbed your gspot with ease, made you unfold. eyes rolling back to the whites, cunt queefing with each movement; before he pulled himself out of you—replacing his finger in your ass with his cock; resting above your tighter hole. his own orgasm splayed out on your ass, jerking slightly as it pooled out from his tip.

you caught his eye once more, you could read the look on his face; he was far from done.

“meeting’s over,” he clicked off the flat screen tv, making all his employees look at him.

“but sir, we haven’t discussed—“

“get the fuck out, now” they weren’t trying to argue with him, quickly grabbing their things and leaving his office. it was without a doubt that they were afraid of him and no wasn’t the time to prove that. as the door closed behind the last person, he reached down and grabbed your hips, his cum dripping down between your cheeks as a result.

you sat on his lap, cock ghosting your entrance while he held you there, “didn’t i say you were going to get punished for making a peep?” his voice deep and serious, making you swallow the slight fear he gave you.

“im sorry—” you felt like your body was melting once he pushed himself back inside your cunt. how was he still hard? his libido always superseded yours. he didn’t let you adjust, his stiff dick bullying your hole with each pound, fucking you dumb once again.

“all ways so tight for me. god, i can’t stop fuckin this cunt” he sent a smack to your clit, causing you to jolt and clench down harder around him. he groaned at the sensation, sending another one to your sensitive bud. your soft mewls were like music to his ears, his dick throbbing repeatedly inside of you; he couldn’t wait to cum inside.

enji’s big hands reached around your chest and ripped your button up to shreds, buttons popping off and flying onto his big desk.

“enji!” you whined and he sent another smack to your clit, correcting you.

“daddy! I don’t have anything else to wear” you moaned when he pushed his cock further into you, cream slowly coated his base. he slowed his stroke down, making you whine once more. he loved hearing you call him daddy, it drove him insane.

“ill have someone bring you another one from the company’s closet. now be a good girl, while l finish fucking this pretty pussy of yours.” his speed picked up once more and he was drilling himself inside of you. he let out some groans, one more primal than the others as he creamed your pussy full of his babies.

he didn’t stop his movements after cumming either, pistoning his cock deeper inside of you; making your orgasm come down harder than the last. he made you squirt, hard, pushing his cock right out of your pussy—splashing his leaking head and his dark desk.

picking you up with his big hands, he stood you on your feet; legs wobbling from the amount of stress that was put on it seconds ago, before he bent you over his desk. his huge frame towered over your smaller one as he pinned your arms behind your back, pulling your skirt all the way down to your ankles and deepening your arch; just so he could re-enter you once again.

your ass rippled against his clothed pelvis, cream and slick sticking to the soft fabric, as he fucked you. you turned your head and was met with a picture of his estranged family and you couldn’t help but moan. taking someone’s husband’s cock in his office every day, knowing someone could walk in excited you. you were made to be his cock whore.

he gripped your wrists, arms bruising slightly from his grip while he pounded you relentlessly. you were cumming and so was he, the way his balls twitched and his stroke became rougher—you were going to be a good slut and take his last load.

“let me stuff you full of my babies again. want you pregnant with my seed~” you were so dizzy with cock, agreeing to his wish, drooling against his desk; while ropes of his cum flowed into you and your own orgasm erupting inside of you. you could see stars like one of those cartoon characters as you came, his dick slowing down inside of you; before he pulled out of you for the last time.

with a smack to your ass, he zipped up him pants and pulled you back into his chest; pressing his lips to yours; another way he dominated you.

“ill go get those clothes from the closet. put this on and stay here. also, when i get back clear my schedule; taking you back to my place so i can hear that pretty girl speak to me again~”

[bringmeanangel]

Tons of Germs

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warning: None. Maybe just too gosh darn adorable. Synopsis: Reader is home sick and Spencer comes to take care of her.

A/N: This popped in my head and I had to share.

You were lying on the couch, Kleenex spilled out of the trash, you felt miserable. There was a cold going around and you caught it.

You had gotten nice and cozy on the couch, with your big blanket and prepared to stay there forever.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. You sighed, groaning as you stood. You peered through the peephole and there he was...

The world's greatest boyfriend. Spencer had texted you that they were home from the case and you let him know you were sick.

"Go away" you said, not opening the door.

He chuckled "open the door, love"

"No. You hate germs and I've got tons of them"

"Angel" he cooed, your favorite nickname of his. "Open the door please"

"Okay, but I warned you Mister!" your tone was teasing, but a hint of seriousness.

When the door opened Spencer was met with your pale face. Your nose was red, you were in your sweatpants and oversized t-shirt. You looked exhausted.

He looked at you sympathetically and you took a step back to let him him.

"My poor girl." he soothed.

He made his way to the kitchen, taking a quick glance at the set up you made in the living room. He placed the bags that he had down on the counter.

"You brought me things" you sounded hopeful and he looked at you, smiling softly and nodded.

"I did. More ginger ale, those plain chips you like to eat when you're sick and some chicken soup from the cafe down the street."

"With the little little dumplings instead of noodles" you looked almost child like and he nooded.

"Yes, love. With the dumplings."

He reached a hand out and placed it on your forehead. He furrowed his brow for a moment, and then removed his hand, quickly going to wash them.

"You feel warm, but it's not a fever" he said. "Why don't you go draw yourself a nice bath, with some eucalyptus and I will bring the soup in there."

"Oh, special treatment." you teased, before turning away from him and coughing into the crook of your elbow. "You should just go." you whined, looking defeated.

"I'm not going to leave you like this. That wouldn't be very nice of me, would it?" he smirked and you shook your head pouting a bit.

"It would not."

"Go, get your bath ready. These dirty clothes in the hamper, I'll take care of everything."

"You're going to do my laundry?" you questioned, raising your eyebrow and he laughed.

"No. You're very particular about that. You'll feel better in new clothes. Now go."

It was no secret, you were so thankful that he had come by tonight. You were feeling so crummy and really wanted him here to help you.

You started your bath with some eucalyptus and then made your way to your bedroom to get out of your clothes. You threw your hair up to get it out of the way.

While you were doing all that, Spencer put the kettle on to make you some hot water with lemon and honey. He changed the garbage can in the living room, sprayed some Lysol around too.

He then washed his hands, grabbed a bowl and got your soup ready. When he walked towards the bathroom, he saw that the door was ajar.

He lightly pushed it open and saw you relaxing in the bath. Your face lit up when you saw the soup.

You had a nice tray that fit perfectly for the bathtub. He placed the bowl and and spoon on the tray that you had ready.

"I'll be right back, angel. I've made you a drink and I'll get you some fresh clothes, then I'll help wash you." you chuckled a bit.

"Spencer, it's just a cold."

"Just let me take care of you."

"Okay. Thank you for my soup. I think you like me."

"I think I love you. Be right back."

A few minutes later you were carefully eating your chicken and dumping soup. Spencer had brought you the warm drink and grabbed an oversized sweatshirt and some pyjama pants for you.

"How's the soup." he asked, rolling up his sleeves.

"Mmm. Thank you" you beamed up at him and he smiled wide.

"Good."

When you were done eating and drinking, he put the bowl and cup on the counter while you moved the tray to the end of the bathtub.

He knelt back down, grabbing a washcloth and dipping it in the water and started washing your back.

You brought your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them and resting your head on your knees, content.

"Feeling better?" he whispered and you hummed happily. "Sweet girl, don't fall asleep on me just yet." he soothed.

"Feels good. Too sweaty." you mumbled.

"Yeah. This always helps." he agreed.

Once he had washed the sweat off of you. He grabbed your big towel and helped you out of the bath. You held onto the counter as he dried you off.

He got you dressed in your Pyjamas and carried you to your bed.

"M'sleep now?" You mumbled out

He kissed your temple "yes, angel. You can sleep now"

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Cozened Indigo - Part Three

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of murder, dark themes, smut, dubious consent, allusions to no consent. Dead dove; do not eat. Dear god, please mind the tags. Word count: ~9.6k

Summary: The article goes live and a verdict is delivered.

Author's note: I have put my journalism degree to use here, to ensure as much accuracy as possible. However, as Westeros is a fictional place, I have warped certain laws and regulations regarding court reporting for the purpose of the story. Please suspend your disbelief for the sake of a fictional tale. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

“Rhaenyra has gotten wind of the fact that Aemond has spoken to the press, so now she’s doing an interview too – with White Knight Magazine.”

Larys’ words play on a loop in her mind as she sits heavily in her office chair, dread forming a pit in her stomach as anxiety flutters unbridled within her chest. Her interviews with Aegon and Helaena are set for tomorrow, she still has to do her background research on them both, alongside transcribing all of her interviews with Aemond. With just two weeks to do it all, and with Rhaenyra’s pending interview looming over it, it feels too huge an obstacle to overcome. She is being set up for failure, made all the more humiliating by the fact that the feature from the opposing side is to be featured in the publication that effectively put an end to her career. It has to be deliberate, there is no way it's a coincidence.

It’s not until she sees the droplet of moisture splatter upon her desk that she realises she’s crying. Burying her face in her hands, she draws in a shuddering breath, attempting to pull herself together.

Not here. Not in the office,

“Everything okay?”

Startled, her head snaps up to look at Royce, his features pinching into a look of concern as she sniffles and hurriedly wipes at her eyes.

“Doesn’t everyone cry at their desk occasionally?” She jokes, attempting to play it off with a watery laugh.

“Let’s step into my office,” he responds softly, not giving her a chance to reply as he turns and walks away.

She sighs, tipping her head back and uttering a quiet “fuck” before following him.

“Want to tell me what’s really going on?” Royce says, perching on the edge of his desk and folding his arms, as she closes the door behind her.

The weariness that has weighed upon her since her discovery of the upcoming Targaryen trial settles over her with a heavy finality, as she meets his gaze with exhausted resignation. 

“I can’t do this, Royce. Put me back on the Flea Bottom curfew piece.”

“What? Why?!” He narrows his eyes, leaning forward slightly.

“Rhaenyra - Aemond’s half sister - is doing an interview of her own.”

“So?”

“With White Knight Magazine.”

“Ah.”

“The deadline is too tight, I’ll never be finished in time.” She sags against the office door, wrapping her arms around herself.

“What’s the hold up?”

Exasperatedly, she drags a hand through her hair. “I have all of my interviews with Aemond to transcribe still, and that’s before I even begin writing the piece. On top of that, I now have to interview Aegon and Helaena, and I–”

“Woah”, Royce interrupts, “the brother and sister have agreed to be interviewed by you?”

“Yes, tomorrow, and I haven’t even started my background research on them yet. What am I going to do?!”

Royce reaches behind him, lifting the box of Kleenex from his desk. He gently tosses it towards her and she catches it, smiling gratefully as she plucks one out to dab at her eyes and nose.

“You’re going to go home, and do your background research, and prepare for your interviews tomorrow. You can leave your transcription with me. I’ll do it for you.”

“You?” She looks at him wide eyed with incredulity, balling the tissue up in her fist. “You didn’t even want me working on this story in the first place, why would you want to help me?”

“It’s not entirely selfless”, he says with a shrug, “this feature will be huge for The Gazette, it’s in my best interests to make sure you get it done.”

“Makes sense,” she admits with a nod. “Thank you.”

“Send me your audio files,” he instructs, pushing himself back into a standing position, “and then go home and get to work. Your runny mascara is bad for office morale.”

Face given a thorough clean with a wet wipe, a few hours later she sits curled up on her sofa, her gaze fixed intently on her laptop. Royce offering to do her transcription for her has shifted some of the burden from her, and she feels lighter as she clicks through each of the articles she finds regarding Helaena and Aegon Targaryen.

Helaena seems like an anomaly within the family, a blinding white beacon of joy within an ocean of misery. She is heavily involved in environmental conservation, an activist for animal rights and has received several awards for her charitable work. If she has anything at all positive to say about her younger brother, then it would be a huge help to the article.

Aegon, on the other hand, is not quite so impressive. There is little to no evidence that she can find which alludes to his morality or personality, though if the photographs splashed across trashy tabloids of him drunkenly falling out of nightclubs, and parading down the street with an ever changing array of women on his arm are anything to go by, then it’s not good. There’s a small article regarding his brief stint in a rehab facility, which offers a glimmer of hope, but only the interview itself will tell for certain.

As her taxi drives slowly up the expansive and seemingly never ending driveway of the Targaryen-Hightower mansion the following morning, she is momentarily stunned by the grandiosity of it all. She had known the family was rich, but this seems obscene. The property is located on a hill in the centre of King’s Landing, which overlooks the city, serving as an unnecessary physical reminder of how far above everyone else the family is, or at least considers themselves to be.

Her driver had been buzzed through the main gate via an intercom on the drive up to the house, so she is surprised to find no one is waiting for her once she steps out of the car. Standing in front of the large, forest green front door she lifts the ring pull of the bronze dragon head knocker and raps it against the wood three times.

She shuffles from foot to foot, anxiously waiting. A full minute passes and she is about to knock again, when the door swings open. A mop of disheveled, wavy, silver blonde hair and tired blue eyes greet her as she looks into the face of Aegon Targaryen.

As her gaze travels downwards she sees he is dressed in only a pair of low riding grey jogging bottoms and a dark green robe, which isn’t tied. She falters, blinking rapidly and clearing her throat, as she looks back at his face. The lazy smirk painted across his features is unnerving.

“Mr. Targaryen?”

“Aegon,” he corrects her. “You the reporter?”

She nods, shifting her bag to the opposite shoulder. “Right…Aegon. Am I too early? Larys said 11am.”

He gives a slight shrug. “I must have gotten carried away with my beauty sleep. Guess you’d better come in.”

Aegon leaves the door open, padding on bare feet through the foyer. She follows him, eyes wide as she takes in the opulence of the high ceilings and expensive art that adorns the walls.

He leads her through to the kitchen, opening the double doors of a large silver refrigerator.

“Get you a beer?” He asks, pulling a bottle out before biting the cap off with his teeth.

She winces. “Not for me, thanks, bit early.”

He takes a drink, nodding as he mulls over her response. “I’d offer you a bloody mary, but we’re out of tomato juice.”

She is about to laugh, until she sees that he’s sincere, so bites back the urge. “Honestly, I’m fine. Got a water bottle in my bag.”

“Fair enough,” he utters, leaning forward on his elbows on the kitchen island as he sets the bottle down. “So, how does this work?”

“I just want to ask a few questions about your brother, Aemond. Have you got a place you’d like to go to do that?”

“Why not right here?”

She raises her eyebrows slightly, taken aback by the informality, before nodding. He watches her intently as she rummages in her bag, taking out her dictaphone and placing it on the granite surface that separates them. “Will we not be interrupted?”

“Nah, mum’s gone with grandad to visit Aemond. That’s why Larys set up the interview for today. They’re pissed off that he’s spoken to the press, so better for you to be here when they aren’t.”

She purses her lips, pushing down her unease, before nodding towards the dictaphone. “I need to record this. That okay?”

His gaze rests upon the recording device for a moment, before he takes another long swig of his beer. “Yeah,” he finally says.

She pulls out a wooden bar stool, sitting upon it before she presses record. “We’ll start with your childhood. What was Aemond like growing up?”

“A twat,” Aegon shoots back quickly, causing the corners of her mouth to turn up into the faintest of smiles.

“Can you elaborate?”

Aegon sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He just…took everything really seriously. He never had a sense of humour about anything.”

“So, you didn’t like him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What are you saying?”

“He’s my brother, I love him, we’re just very different.”

“Different how?”

“Aemond is ambitious, he’s hard working. I’m not, I just want…”

She raises an eyebrow as he trails off. “You just want..?”

“To be happy,” he mutters.

“And are you?”

He scoffs. “I thought this interview was about my brother?”

“Do you think your brother was ever happy growing up?”

“He had his eye carved out of his skull when he was ten, of course he wasn’t!”

“By your nephew, Lucerys?”

Aegon’s brow furrows with anger, his tone dark and clipped. “Little shit got what was coming to him.”

Her breath catches in her throat, her blood turning icy in her veins as she stares at him, wide eyed. Slowly, with a shaky hand she reaches forward to press the stop button on the dictaphone. 

Aegon drains the remnants of his beer, heavily setting the bottle back down and lowering his gaze as he grips the edge of the kitchen island.

When she eventually finds her voice, it comes out as a strained whisper. “Do you think Aemond killed him on purpose?”

His mouth quirks, eyes obscured slightly by the hair that has fallen into his face as he looks slowly back up at her. The air feels thick, and she realises she’s holding her breath as she waits for him to respond.

“Is this the lady that’s here to interview us?” A quiet voice comes from behind her.

She jumps, turning on her stool to look at the woman that hovers in the kitchen entryway, dressed in a white vest top and powder blue harem pants. Her hair falls in soft, loose, silver blonde waves almost to her waist, her eyes hold a faraway, dreamy quality. This must be Helaena.

Aegon nods. “Yeah, she was just interviewing me.”

“Oh…” Helaena deflates slightly, clasping her hands in front of. “I’ve interrupted.”

Her brother shakes his head, pushing away from the counter and walking from the kitchen. “No. No, you didn’t. We’d just finished, all yours.”

She watches him retreat, before turning her focus to his sister.

Well, that’s the end of that then.

“Hi,” Helaena says with a soft smile, extending her hand as she steps forward. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

She takes her hand, feeling the Targaryan woman noticeably flinch at the contact, giving it the briefest of shakes before letting go. “You must be Helaena.”

“I am,” she says nodding, clutching her hands in front of her once more. “Sorry about Aegon, he just has a hangover…he always has a hangover.”

Her gaze turns sad and she looks away. For a few seconds it seems as if she’s not even there anymore, and she wonders where she’s gone, before Helaena returns to the present and smiles once more.

“Shall we go up to my room?”

She trails after her up the stairs, looking at the antiquities that decorate the vast amount of space that makes up the house, until they reach Helaena’s bedroom. Stepping inside she is taken aback by the brightness of it, it feels like she has entered another universe separate from the darkened surrounds of the rest of the mansion.

Floral wallpaper adorns the walls, with a variation of frames containing pin mounted insects and butterflies. She turns to a shelving unit, picking up an expensive looking crystal beetle to examine it as it sparkles in the sunlight.

“This is beautiful,” she muses more to herself than Helaena.

“You like it?” She asks, causing her to look up, suddenly embarrassed at having handled a stranger’s belongings without asking.

“Sorry,” she replies, flustered, placing the beetle back on its shelf. “Never seen anything like it.”

“You can have it if you want,” Helaena quips with an easy shrug.

She blinks rapidly, unsure if she has heard her correctly. “Pardon?”

“If you like it, you should have it,” she tells her, sitting on the edge of her bed.

It’s a sweet gesture that comes from a place of childlike innocence, but is also indicative of how shockingly out of touch wealth makes people. Of course she doesn’t mind if she gives away something so expensive, not when the resource is there to easily replace it.

“That’s very kind, but I couldn’t,” she says, taking out her recorder. “I don’t want to intrude upon too much of your day. Shall we get started?”

Helaena is easier to interview than Aegon had been. She speaks kindly of Aemond, and as she listens she finds herself feeling more and more sad, not just for Aemond but for the entire family. Helaena had always wanted a sisterly relationship with Rhaenyra, but with a seventeen year age gap and Rhaenyra’s apparent resentment at no longer being an only child, it never happened. Where Aegon had often made fun of her, Aemond had been good to Helaena when they were growing up, patient and understanding of her tendency to daydream and fascination with insects.

“I don’t want my brother to go to prison,” she says sadly, “I just want us to be a family.”

“Do you think that that’s what Aemond wants too?”

“I don’t know what my brother wants anymore. I don’t think he knows himself.”

As her taxi drives her back towards home, dread settles in her stomach like a heavy stone. She can’t help but wonder what Aegon would have said if Helaena hadn’t interrupted them. There is no denying that the Targaryens are a family that are steeped in tragedy, but amidst it all something unseen and sinister lurks, looming with the sense that by the time she stumbles upon it, she’ll be too far in to back out.

“For you,” Royce says the following morning, depositing a USB drive onto her desk.

“Are those the transcriptions?” She asks, looking up at him with wide eyed wonder. “That was quick work.”

“It’s a tight deadline”, he replies with a smirk. “How did your interviews go yesterday?”

Little shit got what was coming to him.

She draws in a breath, unsure of what guides her actions. “I only interviewed Helaena in the end. Aegon was too hungover.”

“A shame, but one interview is better than nothing. Send me the audio and I’ll transcribe that for you too, so you can crack on with the writing.”

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

“I know,” Royce says with a wink, before walking away.

She picks up her dictaphone, hovering over the audio file for Aegon’s interview.

Little shit got what was coming to him.

There is no way she can allow Royce to hear that, though she cannot put her finger on why. Before she has a chance to dwell on it further, she erases the recording and gets to work uploading Helaena’s to her computer, then emails it to Royce.

Over the following week, she works hard on the feature, painting a picture of the enigma that is Aemond Targaryen in his own words, as well as his sister’s. It’s a heart wrenching piece, a tale of a misfit little boy, maimed at the age of ten and left to live with the consequences of it. However, instead of collapsing into despair or falling back on a comfortable lifestyle, funded by his family’s fortune, he had studied hard and was an accomplished solicitor within his grandfather’s law firm. He had overcome his disability to train in athletic pursuits such as mixed martial arts and long distance running, and is knowledgeable in the fields of both history and philosophy. There is no denying that Aemond Targaryen is impressive, even without having to navigate the difficulties of losing an eye.

Once the article has been thoroughly vetted by Royce, it goes to print, landing on newsstands the exact same day as Rhaenyra’s interview in White Knight Magazine. Aemond cuts an imposing figure in the photograph used in the double page spread, a sinister presence in direct opposition with the content of the article. And still there is something that niggles at the back of her mind, a stone she has left unturned. Was she right to omit Aegon’s interview? She supposes it is of little consequence, it’s too late now. 

White Knight is a larger publication, so occupies a more prominent shelf space than the Duskendale Gazette. However, upon news spreading that a feature with the elusive Targaryen second son is contained within its pages, it sells out quickly, with an urgent extra print run needing to be made to supply the demand for more copies, despite additional copies having been printed in the first place, in anticipation of the article’s popularity. But they hadn’t anticipated just how popular the feature would be.

As she stands in the newsagents, looking at both publications on the shelf, she is struck by the thought that this presents itself as forcing the public to choose a side, despite neither article making mention of the murder or impending trial.

She reads Rhaenyra’s feature, and cannot help but feel sympathy for her. A young woman whose world was rocked when her best friend had married her father after her mother had died, and then made to feel displaced by the children that that relationship had produced. Already having to deal with the animosity that divides the family in the wake of her father’s death, she now must cope with the grief of losing her son.

Whose side should she choose? She wishes more than anything that Aegon had answered her question, it would doubtless make for an easier decision.

Her phone buzzing in her pocket pulls her out of her reverie and she huffs an irritated sigh as she sees Larys’ name flashing on her screen. She had assumed her dealings with him would be over once the article went to print. It appears she was wrong.

“Nice work,” he drawls into the receiver once she’s answered. “You’ve painted quite the picture.”

“Has he seen it?”

“Aemond? Yes, I ensured he received a copy this morning. He’s pleased with how it’s turned out. That’s why I’m calling, actually.”

“The article’s published, what more is there to say?”

Larys clicks his tongue, his tone dripping with condescension. “Now, now, we did you a favour in letting you run this feature. You’ll have every publication in Westeros beating down your door to commission you after today. Don’t you think a little gratitude is in order?”

“Gratitude?!” She snipes back. “Isn't it enough that I’ve painted a rosy picture of a…”

Murderer.

She can’t bring herself to say the word, there is still a seed of doubt in her mind, yet Larys knows what she means regardless.

“Alleged,” he corrects her. “All Aemond wants to do is say thank you, surely a phone call couldn’t hurt?”

“Do not give him my phone number,” she seethes.

“Very well. But you’ll be at the trial?”

“It’s a closed courtroom.”

“It is. Selected press only, to avoid it becoming a media circus, but I can get you on the list.”

“I’m not supposed to be covering the trial.”

“And you won’t be, don’t worry, I can still get you in.”

“You’ve come this far. May as well see it through to the end.”

Aemond’s words echo in her mind, and she relents with a sigh. It’s not as if she isn’t curious. “Alright, fine.”

“Excellent. See you then.”

The line goes dead.

The trial is to last three days. A day for the prosecution to deliver their testimonies, a day for the defense to present their case, and a day for the jury to deliberate and then pass their verdict, with subsequent sentencing from the judge. Rhaenyra is pushing for a murder sentence, while the other side of the family argue it was an accident.

The tightly wound knots of dread that have made their home inside of her over the last month are prominent as ever as she arrives at the courthouse on the first day. She is ushered in after giving her name, though not towards the sparsely populated press seats as she had assumed she would be.

Bile rises acridly in her throat, her eyes widening in horror as she realises she is being led towards the public gallery to sit with Aemond’s side of the family. Despite wanting to remain neutral, she is being given a side, without the option to choose, though deep down she knows she had subconsciously made her choice the moment she decided to interview Aemond. The idea makes her feel nauseated.

The entire family is tense as she takes a seat next to them. Aegon side eyes her uncomfortably, while Helaena, though she forces a smile, is fidgety and withdrawn. It’s clear she would rather be anywhere but here. Otto bristles at the sight of her, rising slightly from his seat, before Alicent places a hand on his forearm, urging him back down again.

“Aemond wants her here,” she whispers, patting her father’s hand as he sighs and turns his gaze ahead.

Despite defending her presence, the Hightower matriarch doesn’t acknowledge her, keeping her eyes fixed upon her nails, which look red raw around the edges.

An eerie silence falls over the courtroom as Aemond is led out towards the dock, accompanied by a prison officer. He is stony raised as he is seated, keeping his attention fixed on a far point towards the back of the room, though she is certain that for just a second she sees his eye flicker to her, the briefest of smirks tugging at the corners of his mouth. Her stomach somersaults and she forces herself to look away. When she looks back, he’s staring towards the back of the courtroom once more.

“All rise for the honourable Judge Wylde,” a member of staff calls out, and she stands with everyone else, watching as the judge sweeps into the courtroom, taking a seat at the bench, before they are all instructed to sit once more.

Rhaenyra’s solicitor, Erryk Cargyll, delivers the opening statement for the prosecution’s case, claiming that his client has grounds to believe that the death of her son was deliberate and premeditated.

The hours feel as though they drag by as statements are delivered by Rhaenyra, her sons, Jacaerys and Joffrey, and her husband, Laenor. Though all are clearly emotional, and still reeling from the death of Lucerys, none of them actually saw what happened. The evidence is all purely circumstantial, with nothing concrete. Rhaenyra appears visibly distressed, and her heart aches for her knowing that Larys is likely to tear her apart during his questioning.

She isn’t wrong. Larys’ questions hinge upon the fact that her dislike for her half siblings is what guides her judgements and he repeatedly asks if she saw what happened. She appears flustered, stumbling over her words, growing more emotional as the questioning grows more pointed.

Looking over at Alicent, she sees a harrowed look in her eyes, her expression solemn as she stares wide eyed at her former friend from the public gallery, gripping her father’s hand tightly. It is awful to watch, and she is desperate to leave.

Unsurprisingly, Aemond is calm and collected as he is questioned by both Larys and Erryk, keeping his answers clipped and simple. Saying that he had been eager to get away from the family gathering, and had not seen Lucerys as he’d struck him in his haste to drive off. He never falters, even under the heated cross examination from Erryk, asking if he’d been motivated by the injury sustained as a child in his killing of Lucerys. Aemond replies with a simple “no, it was an accident”,

By the time the court is adjourned for the day, she is exhausted both mentally and emotionally. She feels for Rhaenyra, it is clear to see how much she loves her son, and she just wants justice for him. Yet her case is flimsy, and she knows that Aemond’s defense will deal the killing blow tomorrow. On the other hand, Aemond could be telling the truth, in which case, horrible as it is, is it fair that he should be hauled over the coals for an accident? He’ll serve a prison sentence either way.

Despite her tiredness, sleep does not come easy for her that night, knowing she will have to do this all again tomorrow.

The following day, as she’d expected, the defence tears apart Rhaenyra’s case, especially when they call Dr. Orwyle to the witness stand. He is apparently the doctor that had treated Aemond when he initially lost his eye, and had helped him with pain management and rehabilitation in the years that followed.

The doctor’s statement deduces that Aemond’s lack of depth perception means it is not advisable for him to drive at night, due to reduced visibility, so it is entirely plausible he would not have seen Lucerys at all as he’d driven away.

Larys’ closing statement underscores it all; “so, you see your honour, my client was in such emotional distress that evening that he felt he had no choice but to leave. It was an honest accident. Is Aemond Targaryen careless? Yes. But a killer? No.”

“Fucking liar!” Rhaenyra cries out, jumping to her feet, her voice fraught with emotion.

“Order!” Judge Wylde shouts across the courtroom.

She bows her head, drawing in a withering sigh. The trial is over, it’s just the verdict and sentencing to go now.

When she looks back up, a shiver runs the length of her spine; Aemond is staring directly at her. He’s smiling.

She allows her curiosity to get the better of her, once the court is adjourned for the day, catching up to Aegon as he walks from the courtroom. He whips around as she gently grabs his arm, his brows knitting together in confusion as he looks at her.

“I’ll never hear the end of it from Mum, if she sees me talking to you,” he mutters, attempting to pull away.

“I know,” she says, stepping in front of him to block his path, “but I’ll be quick. I just need to know, when I asked you the other day if you thought Aemond had killed Luceys on purpose, what would you have said if Helaena hadn’t interrupted us?”

Aegon sighs, rolling his eyes as he steps around her. “I think you already knew the answer to that when you omitted my interview. It doesn’t matter really though, does it?” He says to her, as he begins walking away. “He’s going to prison either way.”

His words bring her little comfort, and she stands, watching with unease, as he descends the steps at the front of the building. In a sense, he is right, it doesn’t matter now, and her article is already published. She hates herself for it.

She feels sick with nerves the following day, as the final closing statements are read out, and she’s unsure why. Aemond is nothing to her, and yet she feels that she has played a part in this all the same, will somehow be responsible for whatever verdict is reached, whether it’s the right one or not.

 The faces of Rhaenyra, Laenor and Jacaerys are sullen and angry on one side of the courtroom, while Alicent and Helaena look fraught with worry. Otto and Aegon sit stony faced and impassive.

It takes the jury just one hour to reach their verdict.

The clerk of the court calls out, “Will the foreman of the jury please stand? Have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?”

When the foreman answers in the affirmative, the clerk continues. “On the first count in the indictment, murder in the first degree, do you find the accused guilty or not guilty?”

“Not guilty.”

Rhaenyra collapses into Laenor’s arms with a sob, as Jacaerys jumps to his feet, shouting obscenities. It’s not until Judge Wylde threatens to have him removed that order is restored in the court, and the verdict can continue.

She looks to Aemond, sitting in the dock, his gaze lowered, the silver strands of his hair obscuring his face, so she’s unable to see his reaction, but she can tell from the movement of his wrists that he’s fiddling with his fingers. Is he nervous? He has been so stoic throughout this entire process, to see him falter is unnerving. She finds herself unable to look away as the final verdict is read out.

“On the second count in the indictment, manslaughter, do you find the accused guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty.”

Aemond looks to his mother as the verdict is read out, her brown eyes doleful and filled with tears as she gazes back at him. Rhaenyra storms from the courtroom, the heavy wooden double doors flinging wide open as she departs, quickly followed by Laenor and Jacaerys.

“He’s going to prison,” Helaena whispers sadly.

“That was always going to happen,” Aegon retorts with a heavy sigh.

When the judge passes a sentence of ten years, Alicent buries her face in her hands and sobs.

“He’ll be out in five, if he behaves himself”, Otto says quietly, in an attempt to reassure her.

“But our family is torn apart forever,” she whispers tearfully.

She has seen all she needs to see, and cannot stomach watching or hearing anymore. Rising from her seat, she hurries from the courtroom and outside to the top of the steps, sucking in steadying breaths to help calm the rising panic within her.

Her obligation to Aemond is complete, so she doesn’t understand why this has affected her the way it has. Likely the result of being trapped in such a toxic setting for the last three days, which makes her all the more determined to get away.

Pulling out her phone, she is about to open the taxi app, when Larys calls to her from the entryway of the courthouse. “He’d like to see you.”

“What?!” She asks incredulously, turning to look at him with a scowl. “What for?!”

“To say thank you, and goodbye. You rejected the offer of a phone call, perhaps you can give Aemond a few moments of your time to say his piece in person?”

“I’ve just given three days of my life watching a grieving mother be made a mockery of for his benefit, don’t you think he’s had enough from me already?”

“I can get you into the holding room for a few minutes, before his family go to see him, ahead of him being transferred back to Dragonstone. Just a few minutes, and then all of this is behind you. He has asked to see you specifically.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose exasperatedly. “You aren’t going to take no for an answer, are you?”

Aemond would look handsome in the all black, expensively tailored suit he’d worn for court, were it not for the handcuffs that bind his wrists together, reminding her that he’s a convicted criminal.

“Speak then,” she says, as she sits down opposite him.

“I just wanted to say thank you, truly, for the article you wrote. You really are a talented writer, and I’m sure great things are in store for you.”

She purses her lips, humming in acknowledgement, uncomfortable with the compliment. “That’s quite alright.”

“I really enjoyed our chats together. I’m going to miss them.”

She frowns, not at the words themselves, but the fact that they are sincere. He means what he’s saying. “It was for a professional purpose,” she insists.

He shakes his head, leaning forward against the table. “I know you enjoyed them too.”

She shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “Well, they’re over now.”

“They don’t have to be,” he says with a shrug, “ten years is a long time, plenty of time for us to chat.”

She leans back, away from him, the familiar weight of dread settling over her once more. “Aemond, I don’t think that’s a–”

He lurches forward across the table, grabbing her forearm, almost painfully so, his tone desperate and pleading. “Say you’ll come to visit me!”

She is unsure of whether it’s because there’s a part of her that secretly wants to, because she can’t bear to see the look of anguish in his eye any longer, or if she just wants him to let go of her so she can leave, but she finds herself whispering back in a trembling voice “okay, I will”.

It is not a promise she keeps.

Larys had been right, her article about Aemond is the spark that reignites her career. In the weeks following the publication of the feature, her email inbox had been inundated with offers of work from editors across a variety of different media outlets.

She had spent a long time chained to a desk at “The Wall” of the Duskendale Gazette, she did not much fancy swapping one static position for another. Eager to spread her wings, she had handed in her notice, despite Royce’s offer of a promotion. She craved freedom, and with her pick of what publications to write for, she made a successful career of freelancing. Over the next few years she had articles published in broadsheet newspapers and glossy, high end magazines alike, covering current events and interviewing high profile public figures. She made a comfortable living, until eventually she accepted the job of commissioning editor at Gold Cloak, a fashion and lifestyle magazine with a huge circulation and an even larger salary. She is almost able to put to the back of her mind the person who put her there in the first place. Almost.

In the months following Aemond’s sentencing, she had received several calls from an unknown number. On the one occasion she had picked up, it had begun with the automated message “an inmate from Dragonstone Prison is trying to reach you…” She had hung up immediately, her heart lurching, remembering she had said she would visit him, but knowing full well she couldn't. Not because of the morality of the situation, but because of how strong her desire to go actually was. That was a part of her she was eager to suppress. As the calls had continued, she had eventually opted to change her number, and after that they had stopped.

Aemond Targaryen is no more than a meager itch at the back of her mind now. It has been five years since she last spoke to him.

The sunshine warms her skin through the glass of the café window as she sits at the rounded wooden table, leaning back in her chair as her eyes scan over the article she has just had emailed to her. Deadline day is approaching for Gold Cloak, as they gear up to go to print with their next issue, and the last few stragglers are finally submitting their copy. It’s an odd sensation to be appraising the words of others, instead of writing her own, but she’s worked hard to get to this point, and it’s satisfying to be in a position where she is considered senior enough to dictate the contents of a major publication, not just contribute towards it.

Making the most of a work from home day, she has elected to visit her local coffee shop, watching the world pass by on a busy side street of King’s Landing, while the spicy aroma of her chai latte comforts her as she works.

She frowns when the sunlight she had been enjoying morphs into muted darkness. Her breath hitches, and she lets out a frightened gasp as she looks up to see Aemond standing over her.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says softly, “I saw you as I was passing and I wanted to say hello.”

His words do little to comfort her, and her eyes desperately scan the coffee shop. It’s relatively busy, with lots of people, witnesses. Good.

He smirks. “I’m not here to hurt you, don’t worry.”

She swallows thickly, shifting to sit fully upright in her seat. “What are you–”

“I only served half my sentence, I was let out on good behaviour. I’m not an escapee, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“Right, right…” she mutters, attempting to get her thoughts in order as her heart feels like it’s set upon hammering its way out of her chest.

“Mind if I sit?” Aemond says, gesturing to the empty seat opposite hers. “Might make you feel better if I’m not looming over you.”

What can she say? She looks around the café again, deciding she doesn’t want to cause a scene. “Yeah, sure.”

He pulls out the chair, sitting opposite her. Aemond is not quite as intimidating as she remembers him, though she supposes the only time she’d ever seen him before was in prison sweats or dressed for court. Today, as the sun dapples across his pale skin, he looks softer somehow, not nearly as scary as she’d once thought. His long silver blonde hair is pulled up into a low bun, and he’s dressed casually in a black leather jacket, a dark green henley and black slacks tucked into black Doc Martens.

She closes her laptop, perching her elbows on the edge of the table and resting her chin on her hands as she looks at him.

“I’m sorry I never–”

“So what are you–”

They both pause, smiling awkwardly as they begin to talk over each other, before Aemond gestures towards her. “You first.”

She nods, leaning back again, drumming her fingers softly on the table. “I never did come to visit you. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs out of his jacket, letting it drape across the back of the chair. “It was wrong of me to ask you, to be honest,” he admits, “I’d just never opened up to anyone like that before, and though I knew the consequences of the accident, none of it really felt like it was happening until it did. I panicked.”

The accident.

She finds it odd that he refers to in such a way, but he seems so different now, less tense, and she feels herself beginning to relax. Perhaps it really was an accident?

Wrapping her hands around her cup in a bid to ground herself, she nods. “So how long have you been out?”

“A few weeks,” he tells her, his hands coming to rest upon the table as he turns a stray sugar packet around in his fingers. “It’s been a bit of an adjustment.”

“You’re looking well through,” she blurts, before she has time to stop herself.

He smirks and she feels her skin grow hot as he retorts “I could say the same about you.”

She clears her throat, eager to switch gears in the conversation. “So, are you gonna grab a coffee, or are you just passing through?”

“Well, actually, since I’ve run into you, I wondered if perhaps you’d like to join me for something stronger?”

She raises her eyebrows. She knows it’s a bad idea, the trouble is the voice telling her that is not as loud as the one screaming at her to say yes.

“What are you having?” Aemond asks as they stand at the bar of Maegor’s Holdfast.

“Glass of Rioja, please.”

Aemond nods, turning to the bartender. “Bottle of Rioja and two glasses, please.”

“A whole bottle?!” She hisses, as the bartender moves away to fetch their order.

Aemond gives an easy shrug. “We’re both having the same thing, it makes more sense to share a bottle, than two separate glasses.”

“So, what are you doing with yourself these days?” Aemond asks, as they sit in a cosy corner of the pub, sipping their wine.

“Working, mostly,” she tells him, “I’m commissioning editor for Gold Cloak Magazine.”

“Impressive,” he says, raising his glass to her. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

“Thanks to you,” she replies quietly, a heated feeling of shame feeling as though it envelopes her. She’s keen to change the subject. “So, what’s going on with you?”

“I can’t return to Red Keep Legal, I’m no longer allowed to practice law. I figured I’d study in another field, maybe history or philosophy, see where that takes me. I’m living back with my mother until I get back on my feet.”

“How’s the family?”

“Mother is okay. Fussing over me far too much now that I’m back. Grandfather has retired, he’s gone back to Oldtown, got himself a nice little cottage. It’s fairly quiet at the house, feels empty.”

“Are Helaena and Aegon not there anymore?”

Aemond shakes his head, taking a long sip of wine before speaking again. “Helaena’s currently overseas in Qarth, doing a conservation study on some sort of beetle. Aegon’s gone to Braavos, he’s decided a life by the sea suits him better now that he’s sober.”

“Aegon’s sober?!”

“Yeah, it surprised me too. Apparently his drinking got quite a lot worse after I was put away. Mother finally had enough and forced him back to rehab. It stuck this time.”

“Good for him. I’m pleased.”

“Hmm. Enough about my family, I want to know all about your new job. Tell me everything.”

Over the next few hours, they fall into effortless conversation, and as one bottle of wine turns into two, it’s easy to forget the nature of their unusual relationship, it feels as though she’s chatting with an old friend.

She tells him all about the freelance work she’s undertaken over the last few years, as well as how she found herself with a job offer from Gold Cloak. They chat about music, films, share jokes and anecdotes, though always careful to avoid mention of Aemond’s incarceration or anything related to it. Aemond is witty, oddly charming and fiercely intelligent, if she hadn't interviewed him in the wake of his nephew’s murder then she could definitely see him as someone she’d be attracted to.

As she drains her final glass of wine, the second empty bottle calling out like a beacon that it’s time to go home, she feels fuzzy headed, her eyes and limbs heavy.

Oh shit, I’m drunk.

She stumbles as she rises from her seat, and Aemond places a steadying hand on her arm, the warmth she sees in his smile as he looks down at her taking her breath away. He looks nothing like a killer, just an ordinary man.

“Come on,” he says, offering her his arm, “I’ll walk you home.”

It doesn’t occur to her to ask how he knows where she lives as he walks her back to her block of flats. Her mind feeling thick from the effects of the wine, she doesn’t resist when he leans down, his lips pressing against hers as he steps her backwards over the threshold of her front door.

He dominates the kiss, the taste of red wine upon his lips potent and sweet. He holds her tight against him, his mouth devouring hers. Their movements are needy and desperate as her hands help to push his jacket from his shoulders and it drops to the floor, along with her laptop bag, with a soft thump. It’s enough to temporarily break her out of her passionate haze and she pulls back reluctantly, her voice a shaky whisper.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Hmmm, and yet it’s happening anyway,” he replies huskily, his hand coming to rest at the back of her neck as he kisses her hungrily once more, his tongue licking greedily at hers.

Every part of her mind that is screaming at her to stop is silenced by his lips, all sense and inhibitions dulled by alcohol. Having been career focused for so long, her love life has taken a backseat, she can’t remember the last time anyone touched her like this. It’s exhilarating to feel wanted, desired, and so she loses herself in the sensation, her mouth moving against his with equal enthusiasm as they stumble back towards the sofa.

He presses her into the plushness of the cushions, the pair of them hastily kicking off their shoes, before he settles on top of her. He trails hot, open mouthed kisses over her jaw and neck, before bringing a hand to the front of her blouse, a quick flick of his wrist tears it open, sending buttons clattering onto the glass top surface of the nearby coffee table.

Before she is able to protest, she is silenced once more by the feel of his mouth upon her, lavishing attention to the swell of her breasts, visible over the tops of the cups of her bra. How is he able to do that, to obliterate all of her thoughts through mere touch alone? It’s dizzying, and her breaths quicken, turning to soft pants as his path continues downwards, leaving a blazing trail in its wake as he shifts his lips to her stomach. His hands roughly tug down her leggings, as he pulls away, tossing them carelessly over his shoulder once they’re all the way off.

As he rests on his haunches over her, she is painfully aware of the imbalance; he kneels before her, fully dressed, while she is beneath him in just her underwear. She squirms slightly in embarrassment, feeling her skin grow heated.

It’s as if he’s able to read her mind, his lips twitching with the ghost of a smirk as his seeing eye stares her down, darkened with arousal. Grabbing the hem of his shirt he tugs it up over his head, allowing it to follow the same path her leggings had.

She feels her core throb with want as her gaze travels down his bare torso. Lean, lithe hardened muscle defines his chest and abdomen in a way that she has only ever seen before in Grecian statues. He descends upon her again, not giving her the opportunity to admire him for long, covering her body with his own as he captures her lips again, his teeth nipping delicately at her bottom lip.

His knee nudges its way between her legs, pushing against her through the lace of her knickers, and she whines into the kiss, her mind immediately racing back to all the times his knee had bumped hers during their interviews. Is this what he’d wanted all along? The idea makes her pulse thrum and her blood run hot. It’s sick and twisted, but she can’t find herself to care, not when the friction of his actions feels so agonisingly addictive. 

His lips pull away from hers, and his hand snakes between their bodies, taking up the space his knee had occupied until just a moment ago. He cups her mound through the fabric of her underwear, humming in satisfaction as she bucks her hips against his palm, chasing the pressure his knee had given her.

“Eager little thing,” he whispers darkly, hooking a finger into the elastic of her gusset and tugging it to one side.

It isn’t until the coolness of the air hits her bare flesh that she realises just how wet she is, and she’d feel ashamed were it not for the fact she can see Aemond’s pupil dilate at the sight of it.

He teases the pads of his fingers through her folds, spreading the stickiness of her arousal from her sensitive bud to her opening and back again. Her breath hitches at the sensation, every nerve ending in her body feeling as though it’s aflame.

“You’re soaking,” he murmurs, eye flickering up to meet hers.

She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can get the words out, he’s bringing his fingers away from her core and pushing them past her lips and into her mouth. She mewls around his digits at the tart taste of herself upon her tongue, and as he takes her hand, bringing it forward to cup the hardness of him through his trousers, she finds herself sucking on them, palming at him eagerly simultaneously.

He groans quietly, pressing himself against her touch. “Good girl.”

Withdrawing his fingers from her mouth and swatting her hand away gently, he unbuckles his belt, leaning back over her as he unbuttons and unzips his trousers, pushing them down along with his boxers just enough to free his erection.

She cannot see it, but the feel of it, heavy and leaking, pressing against her entrance is enough to have her walls clenching, eager to take him inside. The initial stretch to accommodate him as he presses forward causes them both to sigh softly in unison, his brows furrowing with exertion as he pushes all the way in to the hilt. The fullness of it makes her ache, and she rolls her hips impatiently, desperate for him to move.

“So needy,” he chastises quietly.

“Please,” is all she’s able to whimper in response.

His hand moves to the back of her head, grabbing a fistful of her hair and gripping it tightly. He holds her in place, so she has no choice but to look at him as he drags his hips back before snapping them forward again.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

She should stop this, they’ve gone too far already, but the buzz of the wine is still coursing its way through her, and with every brush of the head of his cock against the sensitive spot deep inside of her, the urge to put an end to what’s happening rapidly fades.

Her legs tangle with his, as she meets him thrust for thrust. He is slow to withdraw, but quick to slam forward again, driving him impossibly deep into her. His grip on her hair and the forced eye contact make it almost too much to bear. The intensity with which he looks at her, studies the contortions of pleasure her features morph into, is torturous, yet she never wants it to end.

Clinging to him tightly, her fingernails dig crescent moons into the flesh of his shoulder blades, his jaw beginning to slacken as with every push forward she feels him pulsate. He’s getting close, and she is too, the tell tale tensing of her thighs and quivering inside of her letting her know she’s edging closer to her peak.

She is desperate to turn her face away, not wanting to be staring directly into his eye as she falls apart, but Aemond’s grip on her hair is iron clad, she cannot move her head. With one last push forward, she tightens and spasms around him, a broken cry escaping her as she stares at him, eyes wide and brows knitted together as warm waves of pleasure ripple through her.

Something akin to a growl rumbles in Aemond’s throat, and she feels him still, knowing he’s about to reach his own end. Not wanting her own ecstasy to be short lived by him pulling out, she is quick to reassure him in a breathy whisper.

“I’m on the pill.”

“I know,” he groans, before letting go, spilling himself inside of her with a grunt. He lets go of her hair, burying his face into the crook of her neck as his body shudders, his length twitching and pulsing within her sensitive heat.

They remain tangled together for a few moments, both breathing heavily as they attempt to recover and slowly come back down to earth. As the blissful fog begins to lift, she is struck by a realisation.

I know.

“How do you know I’m on the pill?” She asks, her voice quiet and hoarse.

Aemond lays quiet for a moment, his breaths warm and moist against the flesh of her neck as they calm. When he eventually pulls back and looks at her, there’s something different in the way he looks at her. His stare is cold, almost crazed, similar to what she had seen the day they’d first met in the visitors room of Dragonstone Prison.

“I know everything about you,” he says with a soft smile, that doesn’t play upon the rest of his features.

Her heart lurches in her chest, fear turning her blood icy, the effects of the wine disappearing entirely as she’s left starkly sobered.

“What do you mean?” She asks quietly.

He hums thoughtfully, brushing her hair away from her face in a gesture that could be considered affectionate, were it not for the sudden change in atmosphere.

“I suppose there’s no point in keeping secrets, not now we know each other so…intimately,” he muses. “I enjoyed our talks together, I wanted them to continue, but when it became clear to me that that wasn’t reciprocated, I needed a way to continue to keep in touch. So I had you watched, followed, everything you did was reported back to me. It’s made the last five years more bearable still having a connection to you. It’s been better still being able to keep tabs myself over the last few weeks.”

Tears prickle her eyes, a wave of nausea sweeping over her. “You’re sick!”

“Am I?” He asks, cocking his head as he strokes her hair absentmindedly. “Or is that you? Because for me, our little tryst seems perfectly normal, an inevitability, considering my interest in you. However, for you, you barely know me. I’m someone you interviewed half a decade ago, and you opened your legs for me the very same day I happened to make you aware I was back in your life. I’d say that makes you a whore.”

“Get off!” She cries, squirming beneath him, attempting to push him off. The thought that his softening member is still nestled within her has her reeling with disgust. He is stronger than she is though, and refuses to budge, keeping her right where she is, as he grips her jaw tightly, forcing her to look at him.

“Behave,” he hisses, “you’ve seen what happens to people who anger me. You sat through an entire trial for it.”

“That was manslaughter,” she says in a trembling voice, a tear trickling down her cheek.

“That’s what I was sentenced for, yes, but I’ll tell you a secret…I saw Lucerys, and I drove my car towards him anyway.”

He laughs softly, as he gazes down at her, her eyes widened in horror, as her chest heaves. “His expression was rather similar to yours, actually, when he realised what was about to happen.”

“You’re a murderer,” she sobs, frantically trying to push him off of her.

“Oh, darling,” he soothes mockingly, “but you did such a wonderful job of portraying me as otherwise.”

“What are you going to do to me?!” She asks, panic fluttering acridly up from her chest and into her throat.

“Nothing at all, if you don’t overreact. Don’t get any funny ideas about going to the police either.”

“What?!”

“I don’t think your career could withstand such an enormous blunder, not a second time anyway. Imagine how that would look, the second time you’ve painted a criminal as a saint, and not only that but this time you’ve slept with him. That would be quite the fall from grace.”

He pins her wrists above her head, though all the fight has left her, she sags beneath him, hot tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “I can’t believe this…”

“Believe it,” he hisses. “You’ve built your career on the back of me, and I think it’s about time you repay the favour. For five years you’ve enjoyed success, all thanks to me, while I rotted in prison. You owe me.”

“What do you want from me?” She asks weakly.

“Nothing I haven’t had already,” he tells her, leaning down to run the tip of her nose against her cheek. “Be sweet to me, and I’ll be sweet to you, because if you try to take me down over this, I can guarantee you have much more to lose than I do.”

Her stomach turns, her eyes closing in defeat. There is no escape from this, she simply has to accept her fate or endure mutually assured destruction.

Aemond’s expression has softened when she opens her eyes again. His hands move from her wrists to her hands, entwining their fingers. “There she is,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “No more tears now, you’ll spoil all the fun we’re going to have together.”

This is a nightmare, This is a nightmare. Wake up.

As she feels him harden inside of her once more, the heartbreaking realisation that she’s not dreaming settles over her. This is a waking nightmare, and it’s only just beginning.

Part two || Series masterlist

[zepskies]

Every Second Counts - Part 2

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: I decided to put this chapter out a bit early due to some Father's Day stuff tomorrow. I was blown away by the response from you guys on Part 1!! Thank you so much. 🥰 I had some trepidation writing a new character, but I'm so glad you guys seem to enjoy where this little series is going so far. It makes me even more excited to bring you the next chapter of ESC! 💜

Song Inspo: “Too Late” by The Paper Kites

Word Count: 5.3K

Tags/Warnings: Shaw family feels, a bit of mystery, tinge of fluff and mutual pining, and a twist…

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 2: “Family Reunion”

The next day after he left, you finally managed to get Charlie on the phone. He implored you not to try and find him.

He claimed he was staying with a friend for now, and was picking up some odd jobs through a connection at the museum—another security guard who knew how to get extra work. 

“What kind of extra work?” you asked. You sunk back into the couch in your living room and held a hand to your aching head. You had already lost sleep over this, worrying about where he was and what the hell he was doing.

“It’s better that you don’t know,” Charlie said.

He really knew how to frustrate you to the nth degree.

“Charlie, just come home. Please,” you said. Tears burned in your eyes, choking your words. “I’m sorry for what I said, okay? We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”

You heard him sigh.

“You had a right to be mad,” he said. “I’m the big brother, remember? But I’m…I’m a fucking mess. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“We take care of each other, and you know that,” you said sharply, wiping at your eyes in frustration.

“Listen, I’ll come home when I can, okay? Be good.”

“Charlie! Ch—” The call ended, and you nearly tossed your phone in aggravation.

“That stubborn fucking idiot,” you muttered.

Four months later, your worry was eating you alive.

Charlie refused to come home or tell you where he was staying. The only time you got to see him was when you visited him on his night shift at the museum. You tried to talk him into coming home, but your brother remained stubborn.

“You get that from Dad,” you’d told him once, while watching him eat some leftover meatloaf you’d made for him. The two of you stood outside the museum on his break.

Charlie had smirked at you. “Yeah, well, you share the disease.”

You’d rolled your eyes at that.

But just when you thought you were starting to get through to him, now, he’d stopped answering your calls. For that matter, the museum hadn’t even seen or heard from him in a week or so.

So here you sat, in the living room of Dory’s apartment, crying into a jar of Nutella that you’d long ago stopped spreading over the strawberries she’d laid out. You had a chocolate-covered butterknife in one hand and a used Kleenex in the other.

Dory was sat next to you on the couch, rubbing your back with sympathy and concern in her own eyes.

“You should call the police,” she advised.

You’d thought of that, but if Charlie was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then depending on what it was, you didn’t want necessarily want him locked up in a cell. He wasn’t a bad person, he was just…lost. You wanted him to get help.

You set down the butterknife beside the jar and turned to her, after drying your eyes the best you could.

“Do you think your brother would be willing to come back to Wyoming?” you said. After a beat of hesitation, you specified:

“Colter, the tracker.”

You hadn’t had a chance to meet him when he dropped in a couple of months ago, but she’d told you about his brief visit to find a graduate student who had been kidnapped, and nearly killed by a professor in the Sciences department for uncovering a flaw in the man’s research. That flaw would have costed him his entire grant, and possibly his career and reputation. 

The terrible incident had caused an uproar on campus. Students were released from their classes for an entire day after the professor was arrested. 

Now, Dory considered your question with a thoughtful nod. “I’ll call him.”

You were grateful, but your face became pained as something occurred to you. You held up a hand.

“Wait, I just realized I can’t pay him,” you said. You didn’t have more than a thousand dollars in your savings account, and that was for emergencies. Like the time Charlie nearly burned the house down after a lighting mishap with his bong.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry about that,” Dory said. She laid a comforting hand on your arm. “He’d do this as a favor to me.”

“I don’t know,” you replied, your brows furrowing. “That’s a pretty big favor.”

She’d told you what some of Colter’s fees could run up to, but she tried to quell your reservations and promised to call him regardless.

However, the more you thought about it, you already had a phone number in your cell…for the one person who would understand the part of your brother that you might never be able to. 

After you left Dory’s apartment, you debated the idea in your head for the entire drive home. 

And when you got to the house, you picked up your cell, and you called him. Your nerves had you pacing back and forth across the living room as it rang. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help smiling just at the sound of his voice, smooth and pleased, and a hint surprised.

“Hey,” you replied, biting your lip. “How are you?”

“I’m good. You’ve got good timing too. I just came off a job,” he said.

“Oh really? Where are you?”

“Well, I’m states-side now. Just got back from South America.”

“Oh, wow,” you said, blinking incredulously.

What the hell was he doing there? you had to wonder. Maybe he was protecting some Latin American emissary. Or maybe, he was doing things you didn’t want to think about. Your brother had filled you in a bit about civilian contract jobs in recent weeks, as he’d considered going after those himself.

“They can pay very well, from what I hear,” Charlie had said. “The problem with that is, it kind of defeats the purpose of leaving the military.”

Despite that mildly troubling thought, you tried to focus on the fact that you had this man on the phone at all.

A smile formed across your lips. “Did you get yourself a nice tan?”

“Eh, not really. Was more of a night job,” he said. “But uh…how are you doing? Not gonna lie, I’m surprised to hear from you.”

“Yeah, I’m…I’m not all that good, if I’m honest,” you said.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. You heard the concern in his voice. You steeled yourself before you answered.

“Russell, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you for a big favor.”

“Hmm, this sounds serious,” he said.

“Yeah, it is,” you agreed. When you next took a breath, it came out unsteady. “My brother’s missing.”

It was a bright Saturday morning when you welcomed Russell Shaw into your house. He looked around, finding family pictures, bookshelves, paintings, candles, all things that began to shade in who you were in the comfort of your home.

“It’s nice,” he said. “It’s uh, homey.”

You smiled and closed the door behind him.

“Well, it’s the house we grew up in,” you replied.

You and Charlie had of course inherited it after your parents’ passing. Their life insurance policies had helped pay off the three-bedroom house while you two were still in school. Your grandparents helped a lot back then too, and had even moved in for a time. Now they each had plots beside your parents at Grandview Cemetery.

“You want some coffee? I know you had a long drive,” you asked.

“Sure,” Russell agreed. He followed you to the kitchen, where you put on the coffee pot. You made a discreet glance at him. He looked virtually the same, with that familiar green jacket, jeans, boots, and a Jimi Hendrix shirt. You'd had a feeling he was a classic rock guy.

“Look, not that I wasn’t glad to get your call,” Russell said, “but you do know that I’m not the tracker in the family, right?”

“Dory did offer to call Colter, but I can’t afford to pay him,” you said.

“I could help with that,” said Russell. You raised up a hand to stop him there.

“I don’t want that kind of help from you,” you said firmly. “I didn’t call you for money, Russell. I called you because you’ll probably understand where Charlie’s head’s at. Better than me, anyway.”

He hesitated, but nodded in understanding. When the coffeemaker dinged, finished percolating, you turned to make him a mug with cream and sugar, as per his request.

While he waited for the coffee to cool, he admired you for a moment. Even in a plain V-neck shirt and a pair of jeans, your hair swung up in a ponytail, you were still a sight. (Your lipstick did match your shirt though. That made him smile.)

And Russell could admit, it was good to see you again.

“Me and Colter reconnected recently. Did Dory tell you?” he said.

Your brows raised high in surprise. “Oh yeah?”

The two of you found your way back to the living room with your mugs.

“Yeah. We talked for the first time in…shit, over twenty years,” Russell laughed, raking a hand through his hair.

Not only had he been able to say his piece to Colter about their…family issues, they’d also solved a case of their own, with Colter agreeing to help him find his friend Doug, who worked for the same black ops contract agency as Russell. The Horizon Group.

The aftermath of that still left Russell with a bitter taste in his mouth when he thought of how Horizon would’ve left Doug to rot, if it hadn’t been for him and Colter pressing their luck and digging deeper into who’d taken his friend.

That whole mess had also made Russell begin to wonder if maybe he needed a new line of work after all. But, because the money was just that good, he’d ended up on a new job by the end of the month.

Your voice soon broke him from his thoughts.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you said. You reached over and touched his arm, with warmth in your eyes. 

Russell gave you a smile. The closeness between you brought up memories of that dusty bar, and the taste of lime and tequila on your soft, supple lips. But you subtly cleared your throat and took your hand back. He hid a twinge of disappointment.

“So what’s going on with your brother?” Russell asked.

Get back on track, he reminded himself.

You sighed. “Damn Charlie.”

Over coffee, you explained that Charlie took off a few months ago, the night you got back from the bar. You had seen him only briefly, whenever you were able to catch him at the museum after work. He’d been keeping in touch with you on a weekly basis, but now, he hadn’t called in almost two weeks. You couldn’t get ahold of him on any of the numbers you had. They all seemed to be burner phones. Plus, he’d been let go from his job at the museum after not showing up for the past week. 

“What’s he into, extracurricular-wise?” Russell asked.

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me,” you said in frustration. Tears prickled at your eyes, and your lower lip trembled. “He said it was safer that way.”

Russell laid a supportive hand over yours, earning your watery gaze.

“And you haven’t gone to the police?” he asked.

“I think he’s gotten into something…dangerous. I don’t want to get him in more trouble than he might be already,” you said. “I just want him to get help for his problems. Physically and mentally.”

Russell nodded. He understood that you wanted to protect your brother. Sometimes though, getting into “trouble” was the rock bottom someone needed in order to face their problems.

“Does he have friends?” he asked. “Some kinda crowd he hangs around with?”

“Not anymore. I think he’s lost touch with his Air Force buddies,” you said, though you tried to think. Your brows furrowed as something occurred to you. “He knew someone at work, at the museum. Another security guard on his same shift. After they cut his hours down to part-time, Charlie said the guy knew how to get extra work.”

“Okay, that’s definitely where we start,” said Russell. “Let me just give Dory a call. If I don’t let her know I’m in town, I don’t even wanna know the consequences.”

You laughed through your tears and tried to brush them away. 

“Yeah, do that. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Russell took one look at you, and he tightened his hold on your hand.

“Hey,” he said.

You glanced up at him, as tears clung to your lashes. His heart couldn’t help but clench for you. He really didn’t like to see you like this.

“We’re gonna find him. You’ve got my word,” he said. 

You were desperate to believe him. So you nodded, sniffling as you tried and failed to keep yourself together. You were scared, for the first time in a long time. 

“All right, come ‘ere,” Russell said. When he guided you into his arms, you went willingly. You pressed your face into his chest to hide your weeping. His hold was warm and strong enough to make you feel secure. Just for this moment, you didn’t have to pretend you had everything handled.

“He’s the only family I have,” you reminded him. He nodded.

“I hear ya. We’ll get him home,” he said. “And I am going to call Colter. Don’t worry about the rest. I’ll square it up with him.”

“Russell—” you protested, but he just squeezed you playfully. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll pull big brother rank. He’s got no choice,” he joked. 

You shook your head, but you allowed him to comfort you for a bit longer. Because all too soon, you’d have to steel yourself again. You’d have to be the version of yourself that you always had to be, ever since you were fourteen years old.

You invited Dory over to your house, where the three of you were soon joined by the last of the Shaw siblings: the one you had yet to meet.

Colter made it in time for dinner that afternoon. The tall blonde took up your doorway with his broad shoulders and offered you a polite smile, along with his hand. 

“Hi, I’m Colter,” he said. 

You mentally tripped up a bit as you shook his hand and gave him your name. Did all the Shaw siblings have to be so damn attractive?

“Uh, yes, please come in.” You ushered him into your home and led him into the living room, where Russell stood from the couch. 

“Ahh, there he is,” Russell grinned, slapping his younger brother on the shoulder. 

“Here you are,” Colter gestured at him. “Where the hell did you take off to after last time?”

“Ah, you know. Argentina was fun.”

“I’m sure it was.”

You paused in the doorway, just watching the brothers in mystification. Dory shot you a questioning look as she came over from the kitchen. You met her with raised brows. 

“What?” Dory asked. A smile played on her lips.

“Do all of you have to be so unbelievably pretty?” you whispered over to her. Dory smirked and bumped your shoulder, nodding at Colter. 

“What, you wanna make out with him too?” she teased. 

Your mouth dropped open in disbelief. Dory just laughed and moved on to say hello to the other blonde. She pulled him down into a hug, and he reciprocated warmly.  

Russell then laid a hand on Colter’s shoulder, as well as Dory’s. He wore a big, proud grin.

“Hey. Look at us, huh?” he said. 

Dory sniffed as tears welled up in her eyes, looking up at both of her brothers. Colter wore a more reserved smile, but he did wrap an arm around his sister and thump his older brother on the back.

You smiled. You were lingering by the kitchen doorway. If nothing else, you were glad that this whole mess had been able to bring Dory back together with her family. 

You decided to give them a moment, and you wandered back into the kitchen. There you took a beat for yourself, mainly to breathe.  

When you again thought of Charlie, you had to wonder just what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

Later, the four of you sat in the living room so you could explain everything you knew so far to Colter. He took all the information in with a pensive expression that didn’t reveal much to you. 

“So you said he was struggling?” he said. 

“Yes, after he got out of the military,” you confessed. “He had a hard time figuring himself out. I got him the job at the museum, but I don’t think it was enough for him.”

“Why is that?” Colter asked. He saw that you were reluctant to explain. “I need to know the full picture of who Charlie is if I’m going to be able to figure out his probable moves.”

You sighed. “Well, he was seeing a VA psychiatrist for a while. They wanted to put him on antidepressants, but he stopped going. He…started self-medicating instead.”

That part was hard to admit, but it was the truth. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t any longer. 

“What substances?” Colter asked. 

“Alcohol, mainly,” you replied. “At his worst, there were hard drugs, but I got him to tone it down just to weed every now and then.”

You bit at your thumbnail out of habit, but you forced yourself to stop, folding your hands in your lap. You didn’t see judgment in Colter’s eyes, just him taking in the information. You couldn’t help but glance at Dory, where you found her sympathy. She knew enough about what you’d been dealing with for the past few years. Russell seemed understanding as well. 

“Anything else I should know?” Colter asked. You shook your head. You felt bad about revealing Charlie’s business like this, but you knew it was the only way to help him. Still, you felt you had to defend him a little.

“Look, my brother has his problems, but he’s a good man,” you said. “He, um…he basically half raised me, after our parents died.”

Dory also knew this story. She rested a hand on your back, and you gave her what smile you could. 

“How old were you?” Russell asked. He earned your attention, and you met his sympathetic gaze.

“Fourteen,” you answered. “It was a car accident.”

He took that in, nodding slowly. “I’m sorry.”

The way he met your eyes when he said it, you believed him. You subtly cleared your throat and directed the conversation back.   

“So, I don’t have a lot of money. But I can give you something for your services,” you said to Colter. Both Russell and Dory met you with similar looks. 

“I’ve got it,” Dory says, before Russell had the chance. Colter waved her off though.

“In this case, it’s not necessary,” he said, focusing on you again. “So Charlie was working at the local museum?”

You breathed a note of relief at his generosity. Dory, Russell, and now Colter…they were all good people in their own way. You felt emotion rise in your throat.

“Yes, it’s about ten minutes away,” you managed to reply. “It’s closed now, but his coworker could be on shift. They always have security in place.”

You grabbed your purse to go with them when Colter and Russell stood, but the former raised a placating hand. 

“It’s best if you stayed here,” Colter said.

Your brows rose. “I don’t think so.”

Colter’s mouth parted, and he blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to push back quite like that; calm and matter of fact.

“Ah, well, it’s really for your safety—”

“I’m not going to sit and wait,” you said. “That’s all I’ve been doing for months. I may not be an expert tracker, or have been in the army, but I do know my brother. And we are going to find him.”

Behind you, Dory was giving Colter a warning shake of her head. She knew just how stubborn you could be. Meanwhile, Russell came up on your other side with a smile.

“What’s the harm in her coming along to the museum?” he said, sliding his brother a teasing look. “Unless the T. rex wakes up all the mummies, Ben Stiller style.”

You wanted to point out that that wasn’t exactly the plot of Night at the Museum, but you held it in with a smile. You gave Colter an expectant look.

He sighed at Russell’s antics, but he turned to you with a nod.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said. 

“I’ll head home then,” said Dory. “Call me if you need anything.” 

You gave her a hug after she gathered up her purse. 

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, rubbing your back. “Colter’s the best.” 

“All right, fine. And what am I? Chopped liver?” Russell remarked, gesturing wide with his hands. You all filtered out of your house, and you locked the door behind you.  

“Oh, you’re special, all right,” Dory quipped back, but she gave her eldest brother a warm hug as well, then patted Colter on the arm before she left.

Russell shot Colter a playful smirk. “I got the hug.”

Colter rolled his eyes and pointed over to his big pickup truck. 

“Just get in the car, please.”

You had to smile at all their sibling teasing. It reminded you of how you and Charlie used to cut up, when things were good. On your way down the driveway, you hesitated by the Chevy Chevelle parked next to your own car. She was still black and sleek and beautiful.

You happened to glance up, and there was Russell, getting into his brother’s pickup. He winked at you across the driveway. You turned your face to hide your smile (and your blush) as you climbed into your car.

Colter noted the exchange when he buckled up into the driver’s seat. He watched Russell do the same on the passenger side, all while wearing a certain smile on his face. When he noticed how Colter was looking at him, his brows raised.

“What?” said Russell.

“What was that?” Colter asked.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right,” Colter chuckled. He began to pull the car out of the driveway after you in your car, so he could follow you. “What, do you two have a thing or something? Is that why she called you before me?”

Russell shrugged, but his smile was telling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mhmm. Convincing,” Colter said, but his lips tugged upward as well. His good humor diminished though, when he considered the last time he saw his brother. “How’s the arm?”

Russell gave a thumbs up with his left arm—the one that previously had a bullet run through it. It was still healing, even now.

“It’s good,” he said.

“Did you see a doctor?”

“Sure did.”

Riiiight. Another thing Colter wasn’t sure was the truth, but he’d give Russell that one.

“And that unfinished business?” Colter asked.

Russell’s smile faded, but he nodded. “Finished.”

After a moment, Colter nodded as well. 

“Okay,” he said. 

Something occured to him then. He paused, and he reached into his pocket. He held up a small, closed pocketknife with a wooden handle, and he gave it back to Russell. It had the man's name carved on the side.

Russell's smile returned as he flipped the old keepsake through his fingers.

"Thanks for keeping it safe for me," he said.

Colter smiled back. "Thanks for trusting me with it."

Colter parked next to you at the museum. It was closed, but the security guard, Jimmy, did know your brother. 

“I haven’t seen Charlie since he quit last week,” Jimmy claimed.

“He quit?” you said. “They told me he just never came back.”

“Yeah, well, same thing,” he said.

The front doors of the museum opened, and out came Dr. Feinman, your former boss, and the Head Manager. You left Jimmy’s questioning up to Russell and Colter with a meaningful look, and you went to intercept Feinman.

“Hi, sir, how’re you doing?” you asked. Your name fell from his lips in surprise. 

“My dear, it’s good to see you, but why are you here after hours?” he asked, his British accent lilting.

“I’m trying to find Charlie. He’s been missing, well, officially for about a week,” you said. “I was actually surprised to see you here so late.”

The man cleared his throat. He smoothed a hand over his tie and suit jacket.

“Yes, well, we could’ve used Charlie’s help. We’ve had to double our security efforts,” he said. “We’re currently dealing with a sensitive issue, so the museum will be closed until it is resolved.”

“You’re doubling your security efforts… Was something stolen?” you asked. 

Feinman clearly didn’t want to tell you this, but you knew you’d hit the nail on the head by the look on his face.

“Please, keep that information to yourself,” he said. 

“What was stolen?” you asked in concern. 

“I’m afraid I cannot disclose that information. Not even for you, dear,” he said. “I do hope you find your brother though.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that, and as a matter of fact,” you began, but Feinman waved an apologetic hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m in a terrible rush just now. But call my office tomorrow and Brenda will help you with whatever you may need,” he said. “Good evening.”

“Wait, Dr. Feinman,” you tried, but he was already breezing past you and heading toward his Mercedes in the parking lot.

Meanwhile, Colter and Russell weren’t having much better luck with Jimmy. 

“Look, I really don’t know where Charlie is,” he said. “Haven’t seen or heard from him since he took off.”

“He said you connected him with someone who could give him some work on the sly,” Russell said, leveling a hand at the man’s chest. “Who did you connect him with, and what kind of work are we talking?”

Jimmy blew out a breath, like this was really inconveniencing his day. (Or night, at this point.)

“What, you’ve got somewhere to be?” Colter said. “You’re getting paid to stand right here, and we have no problem sharing your shift all night. You might as well just tell us what we want to know.”

Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck in annoyance.

“All right,” he snapped. “I hooked him up with this guy I knew through a mutual acquaintance, who just needed some muscle. I guess you could call it private security.”

“A mutual acquaintance?” Colter repeated. 

“What’re you, James Bond? Who did you connect him with?” Russell pressed.

Jimmy was reluctant to talk. You came back over to join them, and the security guard became even more tight-lipped.

“You guys should go. I don’t have to talk to you, and I’ve got a job to do,” he said.

When he tried to continue his patrol around the museum, you stepped deliberately in his way. You didn’t have the patience for this, and you would no longer be a doormat, letting the Goldsteins and the Feinmans of this world push past you.

“Look, Jimmy, if you don’t give us something we can go on to find my brother, you know where I’m going to go?” you asked. But you spoke before he could respond. “To the police. And your name is the only one I have to give them. Now, if you don’t want that to be you, then give me a different name.”

Jimmy looked down at you, and then over at your intimidating shadows, Russell and Colter. Jimmy sighed.

“Eddie,” he gave, finally.

Russell raised his hands, as if to say, Is that it?

“What, Eddie Vedder? Eddie who? Come on,” Russell said.

“Eddie Mendez,” Jimmy replied in a lowered voice. “I don’t know where he lives. I don’t have his number. And that 'mutual acquaintance' is doing some time in lockup. But Eddie hangs out at a bar called Howley’s.”

You and Russell shared a meaningful look at that. You turned back to Jimmy. 

“Okay. What was stolen here at the museum?” you said. “That’s why it’s been closed, right?” 

“I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “I wasn’t on shift, and Dr. Feinman keeps a tight lid on that kind of thing.”

“We’ll need to get into his office then,” Colter said. 

You blinked wider at Colter. Wait, was he really suggesting you guys break into the museum?

Jimmy pointed to the black device attached to the ceiling above them. 

“See the cameras?” he said. “That's not happening on my dime.”

Colter looked up, and he saw the cameras strategically installed across the front of the museum. 

“Then take us where the cameras don’t see,” he said.

You, Colter, and Russell were able to break into the museum via a storage unit door, thanks to Jimmy’s texted instructions. You couldn’t believe you were actually doing this, but it was for Charlie, you reminded yourself.

You remembered where to find Feinman’s office. You paid for a lot of your undergrad expenses, namely your books and tuition, by working full-time as an office assistant here, and the occasional tour guide. 

You led them to the room where the inventory records were kept. Colter gave you his gloves so you didn’t leave prints, and you were able to pinpoint what was labelled as missing from the latest shipment. 

“Oh great,” you muttered. 

“What was taken?” Colter asked.

“A collection of Native American weapons. Dated almost eight hundred years old,” you said, shaking your head. “The collection is valued at $1.5 million dollars.”

Russell and Colter shared a look. 

“That’s some big motive,” Russell said. 

“When did they go missing?” Colter asked. 

“Almost two weeks ago,” you said. Your brows furrowed the more you read, as you realized something. “Just a few days before Charlie left the museum…” 

The timing wasn’t lost on anyone. But if Charlie was a suspect, Feinman hadn’t let on to that at all. You checked the exact date the artifacts went missing again: a Tuesday night. Charlie didn’t typically work on Mondays or Tuesdays, you realized. And he’d left after the artifacts went missing. So maybe they hadn’t thought to question him yet. One small blessing.  

You sighed. With that information gathered, the three of you put back everything you uncovered and left the building the same way you came in. Jimmy was nowhere in sight, probably patrolling the other end of the museum on purpose.

When you all made it back to the parking lot, you turned to Colter and Russell.

“Okay, what’s next?” you asked. “Howley’s right? To find Eddie.”

“Actually, I think it’s best Russell and I take it from here,” Colter said. “We don’t know what kind of character Eddie Mendez is, but from how reluctant Jimmy was to tell us, it doesn’t sound good.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Russell drew closer and touched your arm. You could see in his face that he agreed with his brother, even though he hadn’t said anything yet.

“Look, you’ve been a huge help,” he said. “But let us work on this, okay? We’ll call you when we find something.”

Still, your lips pursed. “Russell, he’s my brother.”

“I know. Punching out drunks is one thing, but this might be a little different,” he said, grasping your arms gently. “Will you give me some peace of mind, knowing you’re home safe?”

He brushed one of his thumbs along your skin. Already you had goosebumps. From the cold chill on the air, or from him, you weren’t sure. But that simple touch, along with his earnest, imploring gaze broke you down.

“All right. I get it. I’m not the Special Ops guy,” you said. “But call me afterward so I know how it went.”

“Okay, will do,” Russell agreed. He let you go so you could go to your car. You shot the brothers one last look before you climbed in and peeled out of the parking lot.

Russell expelled a sigh of relief. He got into the passenger side of his brother’s pickup while Colter started it up.

Thanks to the late hour, and how little traffic there was on the road, it didn’t take you long to get home.

You’d debated whether you should just go to Howley’s anyway, but you didn’t want to get in the way, or make Russell worry for that matter. You smiled, despite yourself.

His touch had tingled across your arms, and whenever he absently laid a hand on the small of your back, supportive or guiding.

Thinking about him just made your heart ache. Because after this was over, he’d be gone again—on a new mysterious job, perhaps on the other side of the world.

You’d been regretting how you left things with him at the bar for months, but now you were glad you hadn’t gone any further with him that night. Your heart was too easily ensnared, it seemed, and Russell didn’t seem to be a “strings attached” kind of guy.

When you parked in front of your house, you let out a tense breath. Russell and Colter would find Charlie. You believed in them. You just hoped your brother was all right, wherever he was.

You pulled your cell out of your purse to call Dory as you headed for the front door. You wanted to give her an update and let her know that you were back at home.

The call began to ring just as you slipped your key into the lock. Unfortunately, you never got a chance to open it.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around you from behind and yanked you back, and a firm hand over your mouth smothered your scream.

AN: 🫣 *Whispers* Sorryyy. But hey! What did you think of the reader's reunion with Russell, as well as the little Shaw Family Reunion? Plus, we got a bit of the reader working with Russell and Colter on the case.

Now, the real timer starts...

Next Time:

You were led into what sounded like a warehouse. You couldn’t know for sure with this musty bag over your head and your wrists bound together with zip ties, but you clenched your teeth and tried to stop sniffling. Your fear made your heart pump fast and loud in your ears.

Voices echoed around you, arguing, yelling about shipments. You were shoved hard to the ground, and you gasped, instinctively throwing your hands out when your knees hit the hard cement. 

“No…” 

That voice was all too familiar. 

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

Series Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

[chrisevansonly]

lando no-rizz that's it, that's the inspiration

oh i like this teehee…

𝐅𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 | 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬

ʚsmau

ʚ lando norris x female reader

ʚ they call him lando norizz, but that is far from the truth

ʚ thank you for requesting this!!<3

ʚ faceclaim is sabrina carpenter

thisisyn

liked by landonorris, lilyhme, sonymusic and 432,000 others

blondie on film 💗

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landonorris

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my muse

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>thisisyn i’d love too🧡

thisisyn

liked by zendaya, landonorris, pheobebridgers and 1M others

my love my love my love 🥰🥰

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landonorris

liked by thisisyn, charles_leclerc, dualipa and 1.3M others

not to be sappy but you are my entire world, my soulmate for real…thank you for saying yes to that date 4 years ago today, my life wouldn’t be nearly as fun, exciting and filled with love like it is now.

love you forever blondie

tagged thisisyn

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username 4 YEARS?!

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charles_leclerc 4 years of hearing you sing her songs at all hours of the day

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thisisyn aww my love!! it’s been the best four years of my life! i love you so much, thank you for everything you do for me and to support me! i love you silly boy❤️

>landonorris not nearly as much as i love you ❤️

username OH THEYRE SO IN LOVE

username Y/N WE WERE SUPPOSED TO GET MARRIED

thisisyn

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris, madidiaz and 1.2M others

four years with the absolute love of my life, there is no other man who is more perfect for me than you are. you love me, support me, and make sure i’m smiling no matter what. thank you for bringing me to all your races and coming to basically all my concerts! i don’t know what id do without you

love you forever curly

tagged landonorris

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username CURLY AND BLONDIE😭

username i think i need some kleenex

carlossainz55 thank you for making lando annoyingly happy :)

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landonorris

liked by quadrant, thisisyn, flonorrisshowjumping and 746,000 others

certified @:thisisyn fan page

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thisisyn

liked by mclaren, landonorris, vogue and 955,000 others

thank you admin for sending me these photos of my boy, i love him so much i simply can’t😭😭

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thisisyn and landonorris

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo, quadrant and 1.4M others

signing off for the summer break for a much needed vacation, see you all in a few weeks❤️

see 92,000 comments

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[blackynsupremacy]

NURSING COOPER BACK

TO HEALTH

HEADCANONS

pairing: cooper koch x black!fem!reader

summary: cooper’s feeling under the weather, now it’s time for you to return the favor of making him feel better.

contains: based off this request, fluff, mild swearing, cooper being clingy and vulnerable, one suggestive joke, this can be perceived as platonic or romantic, it’s up to the reader.

taglist: @greengoblinswifey @thabiddie23 @hopefully-saturn @jkr820 @hoffmansgirl @austeenbootler @niteskysx @sabrinasopposite @thabiddie23 @hnch33rios @xoxoglittergossip @supaprettyg @motherismotheringggg @oscarisaackissmykitty @simply-lovley44 @elitesanjisimp @gxuxhdjdu @venic-bxtch @stargirl-mayaa @miguelspvssy

• when it comes to a project, cooper will put his all into it.

• he doesn’t care if it’s a major or minor role, he’ll probably work himself to the bone to perfect his craft.

• “cooper, don’t work yourself to death now!” you’d warn him as he’d come home in such a peaked state. the usual tanned glow of his skin diminished to a faint paleness.

• “oh, i’ll be okay! i think i’ll be—achoo!” he sneezed. covering his face with his arm. he tried waving off your warning. he loves how much you care for him, but never wants you to worry.

• he attempts to speak again, but his words are cut short with continuous sneezes.

• it gets worse when he starts to cough, his throat now irritated.

• “lord, have mercy.” you say, placing the back of your hand on his head. “you’re burning up—shit, you’re shivering!”

• cooper had definitely come down with something and it was escalating with more symptoms.

• you had the flu not too long ago and cooper being the kind person he is, took great care of you.

• although you appreciated his kindness, you tried to warn him to keep his distance, so he didn’t meet the same fate.

• did he listen? girl, no. he couldn’t stay away from you even if you were throwing up that’s how much he cares.

• now look at him. sneezing, coughing, and shit. he’s hard-headed.

• it didn’t take long for you to drag him to the bathroom. you figured his nose was stuffy and that he was going to feel some aches, so you ran him the steamiest bath and gathered some fresh towels.

• “cooper, take your clothes off.” you blatantly instructed, setting the towels down on the sink.

• he raised his brows in piqued interest at your statement, “aw, sweet. you ran us a bath. is this your way of making me feel better—a-achoo!” he sneezed again, his voice now nasally.

• you scoff, playfully rolling your eyes and handing him some tissue.

• even when he’s sick he’s still a charmer.

• “no, sneezy. i ran you a bath. soak in there, wash up, and you can steam up the shower to open up those sinuses. take your time and i’ll take care of the rest.”

• you leave him to it. while he’s soaking, you set out some clean pajamas and socks for him to wear.

• you had to run some errands to ensure he got the care he needed, so you left a note before your departure.

• you go the extra mile. setting him up a teladoc appointment, picking up some otc meds until he gets a prescription, ginger ale, kleenex, and ingredients for some homemade chicken soup.

• when you get home, you see cooper laying down on the sofa wrapped comfortably in a blanket while watching recorded reruns of rupaul’s drag race.

• when he lays his tired hazel eyes on you, he instantly lights up.

• “yay, you’re back!” he’d excitedly cheer before being cut off by his own coughs.

• you don’t hesitate to ask how his in-home sauna turned out. you were delighted to hear that it helped a little.

• you remind him to call into work and let them know of his illness.

• he wasn’t shivering as much, but he was still warm, so you gave him some tylenol and water.

• his teladoc appointment was in a few minutes, so you let him know he’ll get a call from the doctor shortly.

• as he proceeds to the visit, you’re already cooking up your family’s special recipe of chicken soup that’s guaranteed to help cooper get better. it’d helped you so much through your life, you hope it’ll do the same for him.

• after the appointment is done, he lets you know that he has a prescription to pick up later in which you offer to drive.

• “oh, no, sweetheart. you don’t have to!” he tries to protest, but you insist because he’s been there for you in times like these, so it’s only fair you return the favor.

• of course you feed his spoiled self the soup. for a six foot one toned heartthrob, cooper was a big baby when ill. you’re still rocking with him though.

• his sense of taste is gone, but he still believes it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. you fed him two bowls.

• you rub vick’s vapo rub on his chest and give him a glass of ginger-ale. (if yk yk)

• he hates that you had to leave him again to go get his medicine from the pharmacy.

• you know cooper so well, you don’t hesitate to give out his name and birthday to make the process smoother.

• when you return, you instruct him to take the medication immediately to get it into his system with plenty of water.

• he’s super clingy.

• you try to give cooper his space, so that he could get some sleep, but he holds onto your hand, prompting you to stay with those puppy eyes.

• “please, don’t go—i need you.”

• you give in to that big softie.

• he lays his head on your lap and wants you to read to him until he falls asleep. he finds your voice soothing.

• if you’re a singer, get that 80s or 90s slow r&b cover ready, sis.

• when he dozes off, you observe his peaceful countenance.

• it was like an angel had fallen into your lap.

• you softly touch his head, you sigh in relief as his temperature went down.

• “get well soon, cooper.” you affectionately whisper, placing a kiss atop of his curls, leaving him to slumber the woes of his illness away.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Treat You Better

Synopsis: You are Urban's godsister and have been in Jack’s life ever since he was six years old. Urban would always mention how you were off limits, but it didn't stop Jack’s feelings for you. When your boyfriend cheats on you for the second time, Jack is determined to prove to you that he can treat you better than he ever did.

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Reader

Do not engage if underage

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Jack was growing more worried by the second as he peered over at you next to him with tears still streaming down your face. This had been going on for the past hour and a half with you showing up on his doorstep at one in the morning. You still hadn’t said a word and Jack couldn't figure out for the life of him what could have happened in a matter of fifteen minutes after all of you had gone home from being out the majority of the day for you to come to him crying.

“Baby girl? You’ve been crying for almost two hours. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

All he got in response were sniffles as you held out your hand and he quickly put another kleenex in it so that you would be able to wipe your face.

That was when he decided to call Urban if you weren’t going to talk.

The two of you would talk a lot seeing as though you have always been close. You were Urban’s godsister, but Urban simply saw you as his sister since 85% of the time when you two were growing up, you would be around each other. Your parents often traveled for work, so you spent a lot of time in Louisville with Urban and the rest of his friends.

Once Jack’s career started to take off, Urban was always with him, but since he is extremely protective over you, right along with Jack and the rest of Private Garden, Jack decided that you should be his “personal assistant” even though all you really did was travel with them and helped out when it was needed. A lot of Jack’s fans thought that the two of you were in a secret relationship or were friends with benefits, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. But if it was left up to Jack, the two of you would be in a relationship at this very moment. Jack has always had the biggest crush on you, but refrained from making a move since Urban has said time and time again how you were off limits.

So, what did he do?

Watch on the sidelines how your boyfriends would treat you like shit and when your heart got broken, he was the one to pick up the pieces. He knew you deserved better than that and would honestly do anything to be able to show you. He knew that he could treat you better than any of your boyfriends have and was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to pursue it.

He knew that Urban was going to be pissed at him, but he would just have to deal with it. For the time being, he spent time with other women for simply a distraction in order to take his mind off of you. But, it never lasted long and by the end of the night, you would be slowly creeping back into his thoughts.

“Y/N, either you tell me or I’m calling Urb.” Jack said while looking at you anticipating some type of reaction, but he got absolutely nothing.

“You have to meet me halfway here. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s happening.”

All you did was give him more sniffles in response as you laid your head in his lap and attempted to drift off to sleep.

So, he knew the next step was to call Urban.

“Hello?”

“We have a situation.” Jack answered as he looked down to see you now wide awake and scrolling on your phone.

“Oh shit, what is it?”

“Y/N.”

“What’s wrong?!?”

“She showed up on my doorstep fifteen minutes after we left crying. She’s been crying for almost two hours and hasn’t said a word.”

All Urban did was sigh in response.

“I'm on my way.”

20 minutes later, you still hadn't said a word as you now helped yourself to Jack’s pantry full of snacks. He simply sat at the island in the kitchen watching you as you opened a bag of doritos. You heard the front door and knew that Urban would soon be making an appearance but all you did was continue to eat chips and poured yourself a glass of Arizona iced tea that Jack kept in his house specifically for you.

“Y/N….” You heard Urban say as you sat next to Jack.

He got nothing in response and sighed.

“This has been going on for two hours.” Jack told him as you had now laid your head on his shoulder and started to once again scroll through your phone when Urban snatched it away from you which led you to pout and immediately try to grab for it.

“No. I'm not giving it back until you talk.” Urban said, leading you to roll your eyes and sigh.

“He cheated on me. Now give me my phone back.” You answered and tried to grab for it again, but Urban put it further out of your reach.

“I…. Not again.” Jack said as he sighed and shook his head and Urban looked at him dumbfounded.

“What do you mean not again!?”

“He did it before and I only told Jack because I knew you already didn't like him and didn't want me to date him. And when I told him we were in a different country so he couldn't do anything.”

“I'm beating his ass.” Urban muttered as he started to get up from the island, but you immediately stopped him by moving to grab his hand.

“No! absolutely not!”

“Why’d you tell us if you didn’t want us to beat his ass? He CHEATED on you. I’ve never liked his ass anyway. My instincts were right from the beginning.”

“I just want to sleep and not think about it. I broke up with him and it's over and done with.”

“But…”

“Can we drop this? I'm tired and don't we have to be up at like nine in the morning?” You asked as you got up from the island.

“We could have been asleep if you would have said what happened from the beginning.” Urban said and all you did was roll your eyes.

“Jack, can I sleep here? I need to borrow a shirt. Second drawer?” You asked as you made your way towards the steps knowing that he wasn't going to say no since this happened often.

“Not you inviting yourself over and then now taking over this man's bed and clothes.” Urban said and you simply shrugged.

“Jack loves me and lets me do whatever I want. Not my fault the bed in the guest room is so comfy.”

“Have at it, but you owe us breakfast for all this.” Jack said as he put your cup that you used in the dishwasher and put the chips back in the pantry while you snatched your phone from Urban.

“Sure, sure.”

Once upstairs, you heard the front door open indicating that Urban had left and you went to Jack’s dresser and opened the second drawer grabbing one of his shirts and quickly changed into it before making your way down the hall to the guest room. When you got settled, you were scrolling on Instagram since you weren't tired when a text from Jack came through on your phone.

Favorite White Boy 💖- You deserved better than him and the way that he treated you. I'm always going to be here for you and just want you to be happy. But the offer still stands if you want me and Urb to kick his ass

You- I love you bunches. I'll be okay, promise. At this point, he's not even worth it.

Favorite White Boy 💖- I love you back tenfold. Get some sleep so you have enough energy later to deal with me bothering you

You- I don't think there's enough energy in the world for that

Favorite White Boy 💖- 🙄

Over the next several weeks, your ex-boyfriend had been blowing up your phone non-stop and Jack saw how frustrated it made you and quickly made a point to grab your phone and block his number and questioned why you hadn't done it already.

But that was when you had an idea.

“Jack, you know how you're my favorite person in the world?” You asked while batting your eyelashes and he just looked at you and laughed.

“What is it this time?”

“I need you to pretend to be in a relationship with me to make him jealous.”

“Wait, what?” Jack was taken aback because that was the last thing that he expected that you would ask him. How was he supposed to pretend to be in a relationship with you when he was actually in love with you and wanted for this to become reality?

“I just don't feel like he's going to leave me alone unless he sees me with someone else. And you're the perfect person for it. People already think that we're in a relationship anyway. I can’t even tell you how many times that people ask me that when I go out by myself.”

“That's what restraining orders are for, stink.”

“Jack, please? I need you to make this work.”

“And what are we supposed to tell Urban? You know he will lose his shit.” Not that he cared at that point even though that was his best friend.

“We aren't telling him anything. I have an entire plan to make this work.”

“Sweetheart, that's…”

“Just trust me on this.”

“And Urb is still going to ask questions.”

“Just let me worry about him. So your answer is yes?”

Jack sat there for a minute as he looked at you and sighed.

“I feel like this is going to end up coming to bite me in the ass, but okay.”

“You always say that you would do anything for me!”

“Not you trying to guilt trip me.” Jack replied as he laughed and shook his head.

“It's what I'm good at.” You said while shrugging.

“But if we want to make this believable, we need to go all in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Get your phone and open the camera.”

You followed directions and was caught off guard as Jack kissed your cheek and realizing that this was what he was talking about, you quickly snapped the photo.

But you also couldn't help the intense amount of butterflies that had erupted in your stomach.

“Damn, we cute. Okay send this to him. Making this my contact photo too.” Jack said as he stole your phone and opened it up to your contacts to see that your ex had in fact been messaging you multiple times since you broke up with him.

“He's a pathetic piece of shit, but it's his loss. You're mine now. Well at least for the time being.” Jack said as he winked at you and handed you your phone back.

If only this could be real was the only thing he thought as you took your phone back.

“Uh, shouldn't you mention this to Neelam? I don’t want her bombarding me.” You asked as you placed it back down on the table as you saw yet another Instagram notification.

“It’s only for a little while, right? I don’t think we need to.”

Weeks had gone by when you decided to actually post a picture on social media because your ex boyfriend didn't seem to be understanding that you weren't taking him back. You were out of chances and fucks to give and he needed to deal with the consequences of his actions.

Liked by jackharlow, shloob_, neelamthadhani, taylorrooks, saweetie, claybornharlow, and 971 others

y/n: nothing compares to those late nights with him 💕

urbanwyatt: WHO IS THIS?

saweetie: 👀👀👀

urbanwyatt: answer your phone, NEOW

Comments on this post have been limited

After you posted the picture, Urban had been blowing up your phone trying to figure out who the mystery man was, but you honestly didn’t know what to tell him. You and Jack had taken it a few days ago when you had gone on a late night food run and the kicker is the fact that your ex was still blowing up your phone despite you posting pictures of you and Jack on a weekly basis. Now as for Urban, you guess he was confused because the only other pictures you posted would be on your close friends story that he didn't know existed because you blocked him from seeing certain ones not being in the mood to give him an explanation. Now you didn't care.

However, you weren’t sure if you just wanted to come clean altogether and tell him that this was all fake in order to get back at your ex, simply because you were starting to feel things for Jack as much as you wanted to deny it. No, not starting to, they've been there.

You weren’t even sure if you could call this a fake relationship anymore.

The stolen glances

The brushing of fingertips against each other’s skin

The late night phone calls and good morning texts (sometimes Jack would even facetime you before he started his day in order to hear your voice)

The kisses that Jack would give you on your cheek that were dangerously close to your mouth

You were honestly scared of what Urban was going to think, but you had to remember that you weren’t a little girl anymore that he always had to protect. Your judge of character had obviously failed you in the past, but this was different.

Jack was different.

You wanted this and you wanted Jack. All you could do was hope that he felt the same.

The two of you had always spent time together, but even more so now that Jack was back in Louisville trying to plan for Gazebo Fest and you were helping him with some ideas and different things that he should include for the entire weekend. The two of you had been brainstorming well into the night when Jack noticed that it was around three in the morning. The texts from Urban had gone unanswered and you decided to text him back when you woke up later in the day. 

“I didn’t even realize what time it was. You want to pick this back up later?” Jack asked as he got up from the couch and stretched. It took everything in you not to stare as his hoodie lifted up and you could see a peek of his happy trail.

“That’s fine, do you remember where I put my keys?”

“Now what makes you think that I’m going to have you leave by yourself at this time of night?”

“It’s morning, Jackman.” You replied as you got up yourself to stretch and laughed.

“You know what I mean. Just sleep upstairs with me. Well not with me… I….”

“Yes, I got it.” You said as you laughed from Jack turning a bright shade of red.

Oh, how much you did want that to become a reality.

“Did you ever respond to Urb?”

“No, I’ll do it later. Sleep is more important right now.” You replied as you headed up the stairs first with Jack slowly coming up behind you. He was doing everything in his power to not stare at your ass in your leggings, but was failing miserably. Since he was so close to you, he could tell that you weren’t wearing anything underneath them and the thoughts that were running through his mind were quickly silenced when you spoke up.

“Gazebo fest is going to be amazing and I’m so happy that you’re doing it. I can tell that your heart is in this and I’m going to do anything I can to help you.” You confessed as you made your way into Jack’s bedroom and made a beeline for the second drawer.

“Thank you, I always appreciate you helping me. And I need to make you your own drawer for when you come over here. I think a pair of your shorts are in there too.”

“Well, I mean I do live here when I’m not with Urban so it’s only right.” You replied as you found the shorts and the t-shirt that you were looking for.

“Okay, Harlow, to be continued later.” You said as you reached up to kiss his cheek and your arms immediately went around his neck. He returned the hug as he squeezed you tightly and kissed the top of your head.

“Goodnight princess.”

Tossing and turning in your sleep and waking up every few minutes, you couldn’t get comfortable and knew that getting any type of rest was not going to be a reality but when it started to thunder and lightning outside that took the cake. Ever since you were small, you were terrified of them and although you've gotten better since you've gotten older, a lot of the time you still found yourself going into Urban's room.

So, your next best solution was to go and bother Jack.

However, once you opened the bedroom door in order to go to him, he was standing in front of it looking as if he was about to knock.

“Jack?”

“I was coming to get you because I know that you don’t like thunderstorms and I wanted to talk to you about something. I can’t wait any longer.”

“Umm, okay.” You quietly said as he grabbed your hand and led you back to his bedroom, once inside, you stood with your back against the wall near the door suddenly becoming nervous.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I can’t do this anymore.” Jack blurted out, but it didn’t come out higher than a whisper.

“Can’t do what, bubs? What’s wrong?”

“Pretend to be in a relationship with you when I’m completely in love with you and have been for the longest time. I just….”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“From the time we were younger Urban has always said how you were off limits, so all I did was distract myself and fill the void with talking to other girls even though you were the only one I wanted. If you don’t feel the same way….”

“Who said that I didn’t feel the same way?”

“Oh, you do?”

“I see the way that you treat me and the people around you and I just want a relationship like that. Someone to love me, which I already know you do. Listen to my dreams and my fears, remember my favorite color and what I want to order from my favorite fast food place, falling asleep on the phone with each other, being able to satisfy me because he definitely couldn't do any of those things despite how long we were together.”

Jack was quiet as he thought about what you had just confessed to him.

“I promise if you give me the chance that I’m not going to waste it. Let me show you how you deserve to be treated.” He said as he stepped closer to you. You felt as if your voice was going to fail you so all you did was nod your head.

“But for now, why don't you let me take care of that for you?” Jack asked as he stroked your face.

Your heartbeat increased as you had suddenly become nervous. I mean this was Jack that we were talking about and you had been around him since you were six years old. But now almost 20 years later, you saw him in a different light than before and that was terrifying. Terrifying because the feelings that you were having weren't supposed to be happening and yet they were, making you more nervous. So nervous in fact that you still hadn’t answered Jack’s question.

“Y/N, sweetheart you haven't answered my question.” Jack asked again as he leaned down to kiss the shell of your ear as you were pinned against him and the wall.

Jack then placed a finger underneath your chin to lift your head so that he could see your face.

“I…” You started to say, but you stopped yourself.

“You told me how he never satisfied you as long as you two were together and you have someone in front of you at this very moment that wants to make you feel good and do everything that he didn't. Are you going to let me?” He asked as he searched your eyes for an answer. When he still didn't get one, he leaned down and softly met his lips with yours and your heart fluttered as you slowly kissed him back.

“This might not be your first time, but it's your first time with me and I promise to take my time with you. I don't plan on this being the last time it happens either.” Jack whispered in your ear as his right hand snaked underneath the back of your shirt and unclasped your bra in one swift movement.

Since Jack had you pinned against the wall, his right hand reached up to massage your breast as his other hand made its way lower to cup your ass.

“You never gave me an answer, Y/N. I want you squirming underneath me, begging me to let you cum.” Jack had now moved his attention to focus on your neck as he tilted your head to the side and kissed upward starting from your collar bone. As he made his way higher, he softly bit down on your warm skin and soothed it by gently sucking on that same spot which led to a moan escaping your lips.

If this was your reaction when he had barely touched you, you knew that you were going to be in for it when he had you underneath of him.

“Yes.” Was all you had the strength to breathe out as Jack smirked before kissing the side of your mouth.

You gently pushed Jack away from you as you gathered the material of the bottom of your shirt in your hands and gently moved it up over your head. Since your bra was already loose by Jack’s doing, it simply fell from your shoulders and landed at your feet.

Capturing you in a kiss, Jack’s hand slipped into your shorts and discovered that you weren't wearing anything underneath. He gently grazed his fingers over your folds as you were growing wetter by each second that was passing. 

Soon he began to kiss down your neck and made a trail down your entire body until he was on his knees in front of you. Hooking his thumbs in each side of your shorts, he slowly pulled them down and tossed them behind him.

“I need to taste you. Spread those legs for me.”

An opportunity didn't present itself to do as you were instructed by Jack and he slowly spread your legs himself as he placed one of them on his shoulder and took one long painfully slow lick across your folds earning a moan from you.

“Mmm.”

He slowly licked again and you couldn't help but to grab a fistful of his curly hair as he continued to use his mouth to pleasure you.

“You taste so good, baby. Keep still for me.”

As difficult as it was, you tried your best as you felt one of his fingers slip inside you. He was moving painfully slow as you bucked your hips towards him, but all he did was keep the pace the same.

“Be patient, princess. I want to take my time with you and we have all night. There's no rush.” Jack said as he lightly kissed the inside of your thigh and his mouth immediately attached back to you.

A minute later, you were caught off guard as Jack moved your other leg to be placed on his other shoulder and was now holding you up against the wall. 

“You taste so good, baby. Just like I knew you would.”

You glanced down to see your juices all over Jack's face as you let spit dribble from your mouth and onto your chest to immediately begin pulling and massaging your nipples. You had gotten them pierced a few weeks ago and they were still a little sore, but the sensation and pleasure that it gave you led to you throwing your head back and continuing to do it as you planned on cumming all over Jack’s face.

He looked up and saw you with your head thrown back, eyes closed and letting out soft moans which was music to his ears. He was getting bricked up by the second as he watched you and planned on putting you in every position that he possibly could before both of you tapped out.

Since Jack had been enjoying his view in front of him, he decided to step it up a bit and now put all of his attention onto your clit knowing that you would soon come undone in front of him.

As soon as he began to suck on it, you loudly gasped as your hands went back into Jack's Hair to pull him even closer if that was possible.

“Oh, fuck. Baby stay right there. Shit, that feels so good.” You breathed out as Jack began to suck harder, making you squirm.

However, there was nowhere to go seeing as Jack was holding you in place making sure that you would stay where he wanted you.

A string of curse words erupted from your mouth as you finally came all over Jack’s face, but that didn't stop him from still eating you out and keeping a tight hold on your legs.

“Shit!”

“You gonna cum all over my face again? Hmm, baby?” Jack asked and he got a nod in response as your juices once again made its way onto his face.

Your breathing was erratic as Jack was now kissing along the insides of your thighs again in order to give you a chance to catch your breath.

Once you did, your hands cupped his face as he set you back down on your feet and immediately brought him down into a kiss as your hand snuck underneath his shirt and your nails were scratching along his abs.

“Now why am I the only one without clothes on?” You playfully asked him and in response his shirt was now on the floor.

“We can't have that, now can we?” Jack asked as you shook your head no and he grabbed your hand to lead you to the bed. Once in front of it, he backed the two of you up until your legs had made contact with it and kissed you before he gently laid you down.

“Move to the top of the bed for me.” Jack said as his shorts and boxer briefs came off in one swift movement.

Your eyes went wide as you saw how big he was and he slowly began stroking himself as he peered down at you.

There was no way that you were backing out now.

Jack was admiring you as you began to notice the precum leaking from the tip and your mouth instantly watered.

“You're so beautiful, baby. You ready for me?”

Thinking that a simple nod would do, that was your response as Jack shook his head.

“Need to hear you say it.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I'm ready for you.”

Smirking, Jack climbed on top of you and began nipping and kissing at your skin making the river in between your thighs increase.

“Still sore?” He asked as he began playing with your breasts and you let out a quiet yes, but at the same time gently moved his head lower to take one of them in his mouth.

He lightly sucked going back and forth between both of them as he had inserted two of his fingers in you in order to get you ready for him. 

You were caught off guard as he slipped himself inside you and captured you in a kiss at the same time earning a gasp to escape from your lips.

As he slowly moved in and out of you, his mouth found its way back to your breast as he sucked harder and bit down on the sensitive skin making you gasp.

Your arms immediately went around his neck as he increased his pace and his hold on your hips became tighter.

That was probably going to leave a bruise, but you were entirely in too much pleasure to care.

“Jack…” You softly said as you tried to reach down to massage your clit. 

He gently pushed your hand away and he stopped mid stroke to peer down at you.

“That's my job, baby all I want you to do is cum for me. Put your legs on my shoulders.”

“I… I'm not that flexible.”

“Trust me, yes you are. And didn't I just have them on my shoulders a little while ago?” Jack replied to you as your legs were actually now behind your head as he pushed them forward and resumed pleasuring you.

“How good am I making you feel, baby? I need to hear it.”

“So good, so so good.”

“Better than touching yourself as you thought about me? Because I know you have.”

“Yes!”

“You imagined me eating you out, sucking on that clit and giving you this dick? Because I know I have thought about having you underneath me moaning my name.”

“Mmm hmm, baby don't stop.”

“I don't plan on it, look at that pretty pussy creaming for me.”

Jack quickly slid out of you and took a long lick across your folds as you whimpered underneath him. He stayed there for a few more minutes before sliding himself back into you earning a moan to escape from both of your mouths.

That was when your phone started ringing on Jack's bedside table and promptly told you to ignore it as he saw you look in that direction.

“Ignore it, baby.”

“What if it's Important?” You asked as Jack grabbed it before you could to see who it was.

“Only important thing right now is me making you cum, but if you insist.”

He quickly answered it by putting it on speaker phone as he smirked.

“Y/N? Hello?”

You recognized that voice of being your ex-boyfriend's and had no idea on why he would be calling you and you were obviously too focused on Jack to respond. You had blocked him when you first broke up with him so had no idea how the call even went through.

That was when Jack increased his pace once more earning a loud moan to escape your lips.

“Hmm, Jack, baby don't stop, don't stop. I'm almost there.”

“Then cum for me. Cum all over my dick.”

Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks as you yelled his name and Jack hit his peak soon after you did. As he was peppering kisses along your entire body, he grabbed your phone that he had put beside you and spoke, surprised that he hadn’t hung up yet.

“Do me a favor, Matt and don’t call my girlfriend’s phone again.”

Jack tossed your phone to the side as he leaned down to place several kisses on your lips which you gladly accepted and once you two broke apart, Jack promptly laid his head on your chest as you ran your fingers through his hair.

The two of you listened to each other’s breathing before Jack attempted to get up, but was pulled back by you.

“I’m coming right back, I promise.”

You nodded your head as he made his way into the bathroom and emerged with a warm wet cloth to wipe you off. Once he was finished, he put it in the hamper to lay back down next to you. Picking up his phone and glancing at the time, it was close to five in the morning and neither of you had been to sleep.

“Princess, it’s almost five in the morning and we need to go to sleep.” 

You moved to lay on his chest as his arms wrapped around you before answering him.

“It’s Saturday.”

“Fine, I’m ordering your french toast, but after that we’re sleeping.”

Every Saturday since the two of you were thirteen, you and Jack would always get french toast whether it was his mom making it or going out to a restaurant to get it.

As Jack picked his phone back up to order breakfast for the two of you, you suddenly had a realization.

“I can’t believe you answered my phone.”

“I had to let him know that you were spoken for.”

It was around noon when Jack heard a knock on the door waking him up out of his sleep. He glanced down at you to see that you were fast asleep on his chest and not wanting to disturb you, he slowly moved you over in the hopes of not waking you up and found some shorts for him to put on.

He made his way downstairs and opened the door to see Urban staring at him with a pissed off look on his face.

“Where the hell is Y/N? And why aren’t you two answering your phones?” Urban asked as he brushed past him and went into the living room.

“She’s sleeping. We were up until like five in the morning planning for Gazebo Fest so she just stayed over.”

Urban was quiet for a second and then put two and two together.

“You two have been spending a lot of time with each other.”

Oh, shit was the first thing Jack thought as those words left Urban’s mouth.

“Uh yeah? We always do.” Jack answered, trying to downplay it.

“Like more than usual. You were the one she posted on her instagram, aren’t you?”

“We just went out for food, it was no big deal so why are you trying to make it one?”

“I’ve said it from day one that she is off limits because I know how yall are.”

“Urb, here me out. Why are you so against this? I like Y/N and I'm 98% sure that she likes me back and I'm good enough for her! I'm not like these other dudes out here that don't deserve her. I know and you do too that I'm going to treat her like she deserves.” Jack expressed as he pleaded his case. He knew that it would eventually come down to this. He wasn’t quite ready to fully tell Urban that the two of you were in fact together. 

"You are literally the biggest WHORE that I know of. Ain't no way in HELL. She's been off limits from the beginning and you know that."

"Look who's talking! We're adults now and she can decide for herself who she wants to date." Jack quickly shot back looking at his best friend in disbelief.

"Her track record says otherwise. She's my godsister and I'm going to do what I need to do in order to protect her."

"But from me? Protect her from me? Do you hear yourself right now? So you’re going to shelter her for the rest of her life?”

"Especially from you. I've seen your track record too with relationships and she's not someone that you hit it and quit it. And I’m not sheltering her. I’m protecting her from no good assholes.” Urban replied, keeping his voice low in the hopes that you wouldn't hear him.

"I'm not going to do that with her and did you low key just call me an asshole? You know how important she is to me!” Jack was now fuming and shaking his head at him in disbelief.

"Like I said. She's my baby sister and I said no. I don't give a fuck about how you feel. End of discussion.”

“The fuck it is. We can agree to disagree.”

As Urban was getting ready to respond, you walked in the room beaming, wearing Jack’s clothes and holding Jack’s dog CoCo in your arms.

“Jack Jack, are we ready to go? I still need to find something to wear though.” You asked as you scratched behind her ears.

“Where are you two going?” Urban asked while getting a slight attitude.

“Jack promised me an ice cream date with just the two of us. Since we couldn't do it yesterday.” You responded and Urban shot Jack the evil eye while all he did was come closer to you.

“Are you two okay? You both look tense.” You asked looking at both of their faces and Urban couldn't help but to blurt it out.

“I don't want you dating Jack.” Was all he said and you looked at him dumbfounded.

“Well Urby, that isn't for you to decide. I can date whoever I want. But I would at least think that you would approve of me dating your best friend.”

“I don't want you to get hurt.”

“Jack would never hurt me in a million years and you need to get that through your head and get over it. We mean a lot to each other and I would think that you would be happy. You don't want to see me happy?”

“Yes! Of course I do, but…”

“But what, Urban?”

“He thinks that I'm going to use you essentially and when I get what I want, leave you high and dry. Oh and also said that I'm the biggest whore he knows.” Jack finally spoke up and you looked at Urban who simply shrugged.

“I've seen him do it countless times before and he's not a relationship type of guy.”

“Urban, I love you with all of my heart, but until I ask you for your opinion, stay out of my love life. I am tired of you coddling me like I can't take care of myself. I'm not a baby anymore.”

“Fine, but when he cheats on you and breaks your heart remember that I warned you. Oh, and don't come crying to me because all I'm going to do is say I told you so.” Urban replied as he walked away bumping Jack’s shoulder on purpose but he decided to ignore him.

“Urby!”

“Nope, don't want to hear it.”

“URBAN HENRY WYATT!”

“Enjoy your date.”

As he walked off, you turned back to Jack Who could tell that you were clearly upset.

“Just give him some time. He'll come around.” Jack told you as he kissed your forehead, but he wasn't quite sure if he believed those words himself.

Urban was avoiding Jack as well as you at all costs unless it was absolutely necessary. You were starting to feel guilty and you felt as if this entire thing was your fault and the last thing that you wanted to do was come between them. Gazebo Fest was approaching fast, and you knew deep down that Jack wanted Urban there, but because of what was currently happening, you highly doubt that it would happen unless you gave him a little push. 

After a few weeks of pleading, Urban finally agreed to go out to lunch with you, but made it clear that Jack was in fact not invited. This was your opportunity to fix what was going on between the two of them.

You and Urban were sitting across from each other scanning over the menu when he was the first to speak.

“Y/N, out with it. I know you’re here to convince me to talk to him, but I still don’t want to.”

“Urby, Jack has been your best friend since forever and you are being a little dramatic and acting like a diva. I love you and I love him and we are in a relationship together because we make each other happy. Will you please just talk to him?”

Silence.

“Urban! He needs you.”

Silence.

“There are a lot of things that I can fix for him, but trying to fill the void of his best friend is not one of them. Gazebo is literally next weekend and he needs you to be there and support him.”

“Yeah, support him as he went behind my back and fucked my little sister?”

You sighed and massaged your temples because you were getting absolutely nowhere with him.

“If I knew that you were going to be this much of an asshole when I finally got with the person that I wanted to be with, I would have never done it. I don’t want to come in between the two of you so I’m going to break up with him. Have fun supporting two broken hearted people because you couldn’t stand them to be happy. I’m leaving.”

“Y/N, baby girl, hold on.” Urban said as he grabbed your hand from across the table, but quickly snatched it back. 

“No, you’ve made your opinion known and I hear you loud and clear.”

Getting up from the table, you made your way outside to Jack’s Jeep and climbed in making your way back to his house.

You weren’t going to break up with Jack, but needed something to get a reaction out of Urban to make him show up next weekend.

One thing that Urban did not want to deal with was a broken hearted Jack. He’s gone through it too many times and he sat there with his thoughts running a mile a minute as he weighed the pros and cons of the two of you being in a relationship with each other. 

He wanted for you to be happy as well as his best friend so who was he to get in the way of it?

The following weekend, Jack couldn’t contain his excitement as the weekend for Gazebo Fest was finally here. Although Urban hadn’t reached out to him, he was still going to try and make the best of it with the support of his family and other friends and of course having you by his side was a plus.

The two of you were holding hands as you walked side by side behind the Gazebo stage when you caught the sight of Urban out of the corner of your eye. Jack was talking to Vince Staples and didn’t realize that he was there until he turned his head and saw him and you saw his eyes light up making a small smile grow on your face. While Vince went to get ready for his set, Urban came over to the two of you and Jack immediately embraced him as he let your hand go.

When they broke apart, Urban shoved his hands in his pockets and had a solemn look on his face.

“I’ve been an asshole to both of you and I’m sorry. You are two of the most important people in my life and if this is what you two want to do then I’ll support it.” He said as you also hugged him and he kissed your forehead.

“About time you came to your senses.” You replied when you moved away from him and pinched his cheek earning him to swat your hand away.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Jack asked, wanting another confirmation and Urban slowly nodded his head.

“I hope you two didn’t think that you were getting rid of me that easily.”

“Our next step was to kidnap you in the middle of the night and hide your weed.” You blurted out which instantly made Jack laugh as Urban rolled his eyes.

“Hold on, wait a minute. I thought you told me that you were breaking up with Jack because you didn’t want to come in between us?” Urban asked as Jack’s eyes went wide.

“WAIT, WHAT?”

“Urban, I literally only told you that to guilt trip you and get you to show up today and look, it worked! Oh look at that Mama Maggie is here! Bye!” You said as you started to run after her.

“Y/N! GET BACK HERE! YOU DIDN'T TELL ME THAT PART OF THE PLAN!” Jack exclaimed as you got further and further away from him. 

When the two of them were by themselves, Urban took this as an opportunity.

“Look, I know that you’re going to take care of her but I will seriously cut your dick off if you hurt her. Best friend or not, your ass is grass and I’m the lawnmower.” Urban said as he looked over at you talking to Maggie and Brian.

“Hmm, what kind of ring do you think she wants?” Jack asked as he followed his gaze. 

“RING? What?! The two of you have been dating for six minutes and twenty five seconds!”

“I’m thinking princess cut.”

“Look as long as I’m the best man.”

“Y/N might want you in her bridal party so we probably have to rock, paper, scissors for it.”

“I… seriously?”

“But on a real note, I’m happy you came. I really needed you.”

“And that’s exactly what Y/N told me.”

“I can’t explain it, Urb but she makes me better and makes me want to be better.”

“That’s just the type of person she is and I’m happy that she’s with you.”

“Oh, this might be TMI, but her ex called when we were….”

“Ew, spare me the details please if this is going where I think it is.”

“Right, but I answered and all he heard was her moaning my name as she came and I told him not to call my girlfriend’s phone again.”

“I thought I said spare me the details? But I know you gagged his ass.”

Making your way back over to them, you hugged Jack and then reached up to kiss him.

“Gag me with a spoon.”

“Urban, you approved this so get over it!” 

[constantcrisis19]

Peer Pressure - Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O

AN: I originally wanted this to be a oneshot, but the premise kinda got away from me and I ended up having to split it into two parts. Hope you enjoy reading about two stubborn idiots dancing around each other! Will their mutual pining be resolved in the next part... stick around to find out!

Word Count: 2,372

You howled with laughter as you leaned back in your seat on the couch, clutching at your aching stomach and wheezing when Soap shot you a glare that wasn’t nearly as effective as he probably would’ve liked due to how watery and bloodshot his eyes were. The Scot was seated across from you on the other couch, his body practically vibrating as he tried to breathe through the pain of chugging hot sauce straight from the bottle.

Gaz’s own pleasant laugh joined yours as Soap slammed the glass bottle down onto the coffee table between you and pushed it as far away from himself as he could manage as he coughed, the sound quickly followed by a sniffle miserable enough that you pushed yourself to your feet in order to go and grab the box of tissues that was on the table where Ghost and Price where playing cards.

“Hey, Ghost. You winning or losing?” Ghost turned his head just enough to watch you as you approached, his dark eyes still as intense as they were when lined with coal despite the fact that the man was wearing one of his worn blaclavas as opposed to his usual skull mask, the bottom half rolled up to reveal his mouth and the lit cigarette that he had pinched between scarred lips.

“You tell me.” Ghost muttered boredly as he angled his cards in a way that allowed you to see his hand without revealing his cards to Price, who was lazily puffing on a cigar as he watched the two of you interact with an amused quirk to his mouth. 

“Hmm. I don’t know, sir.” You mused as you leaned in closer to speak directly into his ear in order to avoid being overheard by Price. “I think you might have to make your peace with the fact that you have a shit poker face without your mask.” 

You watched with barely concealed glee as Ghost’s brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before widening in shock, his mouth snapping shut and cutting off whatever –no doubt– scathing response he was gearing up to dish out when you brushed your palm over his arm and up to his shoulder, the solid muscles hidden underneath his oversized sweatshirt flexing at the teasing contact.

You flashed him a toothy smile when he didn't shrug off the touch and left your hand on his shoulder as you leaned forward in order to reach for the box of kleenex with your other hand, giving him one last friendly pat on the shoulder before pulling away and making your way back to where Gaz and Soap had devolved into throwing crude barbs at each other.

You carelessly flopped down onto the couch next to Soap and lazily tossed the box into his lap, the Scot pausing his petty squabbling with Gaz in favor of roughly pulling several tissues from the box before shoving the wadded up kleenex under his running nose.

“I thought ye two were about ta save us the fuckin’ misery of watchin’ ya dafties continue ta dance around each other an’ finally kiss.” Soap stated as soon as he had cleared his sinuses, the Scot leaning forward with the intent to place his disgusting tissues onto the coffee table, the movement promptly halted when you placed a hand on his chest and shoved him back into the cushions with a dirty look.

“Read one too many bodice rippers have we, Suds?” You snapped back as you pointed over to the trash can located in the tiny kitchen space like the twenty-something year old Scottsman was just a child, much to Gaz’s amusement if his barely muffled chuckles were any indication. “Wash your hands. And eat some butter while you’re over there, it’ll help with the pain.” You recommended as you released him from his seat, the Scot pushing to his feet with the used tissues in hand.

“Piss off.” Soap grumbled petulantly as he wandered away toward the kitchenette, briefly pausing his trek and tossing the tissues that he was holding into the wastebasket before continuing on to the sink. Your eyes tracked his movements as he flicked the water on and pumped a sizable dollop of soap into his hands before scrubbing rigorously.

Once he was finished with that, instead of using a paper towel like a normal person, you watched as the Scot wiped his hands off on his jeans like a heathen before moving over to the  fridge, the man bending over slightly in order to rummage through its contents, presumably for something to help with his burning throat and tongue like you’d suggested.

“You started it.” You called after him before turning your attention over to Gaz, who had a wide smile on his face as he watched you and Soap bicker like siblings. You raised a brow as you met his smug, all-knowing stare and he subtly nodded over to where Ghost and Price were sitting, the latter dealing both of them into another round of what you were pretty sure was Omaha. 

“He’s got a point you know.” Gaz said quietly and you whipped your head back around to face him so fast that something in your neck popped and went warm. “Come on, it's glaringly obvious that the two of you like each other. You already have everybody’s blessing, I say just go for it.” Gaz shrugged, his smile going from shit-eating to something softer and encouraging.

“Alright, I’m solid.” Soap declared cheerfully as he vaulted over the arm of the couch and landed onto the cushions next to you with a grunt, jostling you hard enough that you slammed into his side. Soap took advantage of your closeness and threw an arm over your shoulder in order to trap you next to him, his keen eyes darting between you and Gaz for a moment before his brows furrowed. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nope, not at all. Let's get back to it, yeah?.” Gaz stated, the other Sergeant sounding impressively convincing as he shook his head. “Soap, it’s your turn to pick who goes next.” He said in order to redirect Soap’s suspicions by reminding him of where they left off in their game.

“So… Elf…” Soap said conversationally as he slung an arm over the backrest of the couch behind your head –his frankly ridiculous bicep flexing with the movement– as a mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You glanced at Gaz when the other man snorted, shooting him a half-hearted glare before turning your attention to Soap and leveling his faux innocent gaze with a flat, unimpressed look at his not-so-subtle attempt at revenge.

“You are so fucking petty.” You groaned as you rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to stab the Sergent when Soap merely ignored you, continuing on as if you hadn’t even spoken with all the bull-headed stubbornness of a true Scotsman.

“I dare you to convince Ghost to join our game.” Soap finished with a mischievous smile, his eyes practically twinkling with mirth as he turned his head to stare down at where he had you tucked under his arm.

“First of all, you didn’t give me the chance to pick between truth or dare.” You stated while reaching up over your head in order to take his arm and move it away from you. “And secondly, seriously? I have more of a chance growing gills and living out the rest of my days in the ocean than getting Ghost to agree to play fucking Truth or Dare.” You scoffed, the very idea of Ghost engaging in such a childish activity was ludicrous, and Soap shifted on the couch until he could turn his body to face you head on.

“Not up to the challenge then? That’s alright.” Soap shrugged agreeably and you felt your eye twitch, your expression twisting into a scowl as Soap leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs and getting comfortable. “We can just consider your turn over on account of you being a lily-livered milksop and you can do my laundry for me for the next-”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m not pussying out, I’m just saying that if it comes to blows, I’m sending him your way.” You snarled, cutting off Soap’s tirade as you abruptly pushed to your feet and stalked away from the two snickering shitheads still occupying the couch and armchair respectfully.

“Fair ‘nough.” Soap called after you, the smile obvious in his voice, and you didn’t bother giving a verbal response, merely settling for flicking him off over your shoulder without bothering to turn around. 

You shook your head with a reluctant smile when the cackling behind you grew louder with the gesture, your determined march slowing some as you approached the table for a second time, Price and Ghost right where you’d left them, only this time Price was puffing on a cigar and the two were locked in the midst of a new game.

“Price, sir, I need to borrow Ghost for a bit.” You said, shamelessly interrupting the two as you brought your hands behind your back, your left hand gripping your right wrist in a lazy mimicry of parade rest. Price looked up from his cards, raising a single brow at you from under his stupid hat before he reached up with his free hand in order to pull the cigar away from his mouth in preparation to speak, but Ghost beat him to it.

“What for?” Ghost asked, reaching out to take the cigar when Price offered it to him. You tried and failed not to stare as Simon rolled up his mask until it was bunched up over the bridge of his nose before taking a puff and slowly letting the smoke trickle out from between his full lips.

“Need a fourth player.” You said after clearing your throat and shifting your weight from foot to foot, fighting the blush that wanted to brighten your cheeks when Ghost's eyes lazily slid down your body to stare at your scuffed up boots at the restless movement before the corner of his lips quirked up into a smug smile.

“Seemed to be doing just fine without me.” Ghost said, his tone giving away none of his obvious amusement –as if he'd forgotten that his mask wasn't hiding his face from view– and you shifted position in order to cross your arms over your chest as you breathed a deep sigh of defeat.

“Well, looks like I owe Soap a favor then since I couldn't complete my turn.” You mused solemnly as your previously confident expression melted into one of faux resignation, and you had to resist the nearly overwhelming impulse to give up the charade and laugh when you saw Ghost visibly perk up at your statement, his sudden interest in the proceedings obvious enough that even Price cracked a smile at his expense.

“That so?” Ghost drawled with a disinterested tone, completely contradicting the intense way that he was watching you, his keen eyes searching and serious as you spoke.

“Yeah.” You said, drawing out the word as you frowned, forcing your gaze away from Ghost’s in favor of staring at the wall just behind his broad shoulder. “And you know how much of a flirt he is, I can only imagine what he might choose as his prize.” You said suggestively, silently reveling in the way Ghost’s dark eyes narrowed at the implications behind your words, the man carefully setting his cards face down onto the table.

You resisted the urge to grin or pump your fist in victory at Ghost taking the bait, aware of how intently the man was watching you, and instead settled for staring back, careful not to give anything away cause while you knew that you would most likely only end up doing Soap’s laundry like he’d said, Ghost didn’t know that, and you could use that to your advantage.

“S’pose I could use a break from cards.” Ghost finally said before he rose from his seat, some of your triumphant smugness dissipating once the Lieutenant stood in front of you at his full height, his imposing stature causing him to loom over you somewhat threateningly.

“That's great, Lt. You're really doing me a solid by…” You trailed off mid sentence, planting your feet and swallowing against the growing urge to back away as Ghost slowly approached until he was standing in front of you with only inches of space left between the two of you, the man using his full height in order to loom over you in a way that usually had recruits wetting themselves in fear.

“Can’t leave you to suffer Johnny's depraved whims.” Ghost murmured softly as he leaned down into your personal space, the hot breaths fanning out over your face smelling of tobacco and mint. You swallowed audibly as you realized how close his face was to yours –your lips mere centimeters from touching–and you flushed with embarrassment at the turn your inner musings had taken when Ghost pulled back, allowing you to catch sight of his teasing smile before he rolled his mask back down over his face.

You were frozen in place for a few moments, Ghost moving past you in order to make his way over to the sitting area where Soap and Gaz were impatiently waiting for you to return, before you were able to shake yourself out of your daze and glare daggers at Ghost’s wide back.

“My hero.” You muttered under your breath before releasing a deep, long-suffering sigh, only bothering to pry your furious gaze from Ghost when you heard Price snort from where he was still seated at the table. You reluctantly turned to meet Price’s neutral gaze, rolling your eyes in exasperation when the man lifted a single brow, his smile the same one he wore when he knew something someone else didn’t. 

You shot him an irritable scowl and flicked him off, ignoring the sharp bark of laughter that your childish antics earned you in favor of pivoting around on your heel in order to follow after Ghost without a word, quickening your step until you caught up to the Lieutenant.

Prompt: Truth or Dare

[dogstarbytes]

greenie

pairings: platonic ted x gender neutral reader, platonic schlatt x gender neutral reader

pronouns used: they/them

summary: schlatt + ted helping you through a green-out (separate drabbles)

trigger warnings: vomiting, greening out, marijuana

w.c: 1,018

ted nivison

you knew you were going to green out; you hadn’t smoked in weeks. but you still overdid yourself, smoking a joint and a half with your close friend, ted nivison. 

he knew almost immediately when your voice trailed off that you were gonna green. so, like the good friend he was, he got up from his seat and went to the kitchen to fetch you some snacks and aplenty of water before coming back out to the living room. 

“here,” he pressed the bottle of water against your cheek until you grabbed it from him, “drink up.” setting the snacks on the table in front of you, he brought a hand to the crown of your spine and massaged gently. 

you hummed a ‘thank you’, taking slow gulps of water as he continued to alleviate your anxiety. 

after a few moments, you tried to munch on some crackers. but, to your misfortune, your mind rejected it, believing that if you ate anything you’d get sick immediately. though, with a bit of encouragement from ted, you took a small bite and chased it down with water. 

it wasn’t too long after that you were hunched over the toilet, ted kneeling next to you with a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently as a way to comfort you. you hadn’t thrown up yet; you were mostly just dry heaving. but it still freaked you the fuck out. 

“teddy...?” your voice was dry and ragged. you could’ve sworn you tasted your snack from last week in your saliva. ted squeezed your shoulder again, moving his other hand up and down your spine. 

“’m right here, dude. i've got you.” 

you took a deep, shaky breath, reaching for the bottled water on the bathroom sink and taking a drink. “god, i feel like i'm gonna die.” you propped your elbow on the toilet seat, leaning against your palm for support. “can you, um... can you turn on--” 

before you could finish your sentence, ted was already pulling out his phone to go to your spotify account. you laughed dryly when you heard ‘call this # now’ by the garden play from the speakerphone. 

“you know me so well.” you hummed. ted chuckled. 

“i’d hope so, you’re my best friend.” 

your heart melted at hearing that. “you’re my best friend, too.” 

you threw up almost immediately after that, heaving your guts out while ted pulled your hair away from your face while simultaneously rubbing your back as a form of comfort. 

“there you go, dude, there you go.” 

you couldn’t handle the smell; it was wafting up into your nostrils and making you want to throw up more. “fuck, this sucks.” 

ted pulled out some kleenex from its box, wiping the gunk-filled saliva off of your chin. 

“i know, i know. you're doing great though, dude, just try to relax.” he motioned to the bottle water; you nodded, and he grabbed it, twisting the cap off and putting it to your lips. you reached your hand up, but he shook his head. 

“i got it, just... open your mouth.” 

you do so, ted pouring some water in slowly. you cringed at the taste of the acidic spit mixing with the water and washing down your throat. 

“that’s fuckin’ rancid, jesus fuck.” 

ted chuckled softly brushing your cheek with the pad of his thumb gently. “you feel a little better though, don’t you?” 

you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “yeah.” 

after a few more minutes of hunching over the toilet in case you threw up again, you were in bed with ted, scrolling through netflix to find something to watch. you leaned against ted, resting your head on his shoulder with a contented hum. he smiled, wrapping an arm around you and clicking on one of your favorite shows. 

“teddy?” you whispered; he hummed in response. “thank you.” 

ted smiled and gave your shoulder a squeeze. 

“anytime.” 

jschlatt

"fuck...” 

you're hunched over the toilet, dry heaving your guts out. you didn’t understand why you were so close to greening; you didn’t even get that high.  

or, at least that’s what you thought. in reality, you’d gotten pretty fucked up, and the little voice in the back of your conscience knew it; you were just in denial. 

a knock wrapped against the bathroom door, and you didn’t even need to guess who was on the other side before it opened. 

“hey, greenie, food and water.” schlatt said, setting the snacks down on the sink counter before handing you the bottled water. “drink up.” 

you reached out and grabbed it, thankful that he’d already unscrewed the cap as you drank. schlatt, big arms crossed over his chest, can’t help but chuckle. 

“jesus christ, you’re fucked.” 

you groaned, flipping him the bird. “get fucked.” 

“hey, don’t gimme that. you're the one that went ham on the weed.” 

“i didn’t smoke that much!” 

schlatt laughed in disbelief. “not that much? you had three and a half joints, dumbass!” 

you broke out into a small fit of dry laughter, still hunched over the toilet. 

“it’s not usually this bad.” you defended, taking another swig of water. 

schlatt huffed. “coulda fooled me.”  

after a few more minutes of him distracting you, you finally had your ‘cleansing barf’, schlatt having to pull your hair into a half-done bun as you hacked up whatever snacks you’d eaten earlier. 

you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as the vomiting subsided. schlatt patted your shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze before speaking, 

“think you can move?” 

“nuh-uh.” you mumbled. 

“well, you’re gonna have to.” 

after a few moments of back and forth, he finally got you into bed, head in his lap as he scrolled through youtube, trying to find some random video to play. his hand patted your head, playing with your hair as he finally chose a video. you hummed, eyes puffy and half-lidded. 

“mm, schlatt?” you muttered; he hummed in response. “thank you.” 

you couldn’t see his face from where you were laying, but you knew there was a small smile pulling at his lips. 

“yeah, don’t mention it.”

———

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! uh, i realize i never got that birthday schlatt fic out like i said i was going to, and i dunno if it's tooooo late for one or not, but i might do like a birthday-reader fic or something with him + maybe ted to make up for it.

[redr0sewrites]

HEY HEY HEY YOU LIKE GOTH TELL ME MORE ABOUT YOUR ALT SCENE HEAD CANONS

🥀A/n: AJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSS YESS !!!! i could talk about this for hoursss ngl-

🥀all photos are from pinterest, credit to the original creators! i did not make these ♥️

Pandora Rosier:

in my head, i see her as like a lighter version of whimsigoth. definitely leaning more on the whimsical flowery fairy vibes heavier than the goth vibes, but still with alternative aspects! she definitely decorates her hair and braids with a TON of crystals and charms!!

purples and reds, flowy dresses, chunky rings, charm belts, layered crystal jewelry, cardigans, flowy sleeves, funky tights, etc

when it comes to music, she'd be a fan of The Cure, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Cocteau Twins, Kate Bush, and Strawberry Switchblade

Dorcas Meadows:

FAIRY/SOFT GRUNGE. HEAR ME OUTTTTT

a lot of forest greens and earthy tones, basically grunge with a bit of fairycore mixed in

lots of thrifted items, heavy earth tones, arm warmers, flower patterns, crystals, maxi skirts, doc martens + mary janes, dangly earrings, etc etc

when it comes to music, i think she'd listen to Kleenex, The Violent Femmes, Cheap Trick, Red Aunts, and The Raincoats

Barty Crouch Jr:

mix between metalhead punk and scene. like think punkrock mid 70's-early 80's crossed with early 2000's scene kid, and thats him

spikes, metal, leather, lots of oversized and ripped band shirts, stripes and heavy patterns, chains, chunky boots, fishnet/sheer tops, double statement belts, heavily dyed hair, liberty spikes, thin/mini brows and smudged eyeliner, etc

when it comes to music he is ALL over the place. think Nine Inch Nails, Rob Zombie, Paramore, Green Day, Soundgarden, Death Grips, etc. think like dad rock, but throw in a few early 2000's bands as well

sortaaa think like a cross between all these- finding a photo for him was SO hard lmfao neither of these r exactly whats in my head but close enough

Evan Rosier:

similar to Barty but less scene and more dad rock/metalhead and slightly toned down. definitely more earthy tones, less hot topic energy and more thrifted/handmade energy.

also wears a lot of jewelry and crystals in his hair, shares them w pandora!

not as many bright colors and patterns, heavy layers, earthy tones, cargo pants, converse, layered jewelry/crystals, chunky belts, statement baggy pants with decals, bleached shirts, torn aviator jackets, boots, bulky sweaters layered with band tees, etc

when it comes to music i think he'd listen to Nirvana, The Doors, Type O Negative, Specimen, and the Ramones

Regulus Black:

(twitching and convulsing he is my fav)

honestly i see him as either: victorian goth, or corporate goth

he either dresses like he's possessed by a small victorian child or ebeneazor scrooge and there is no in between

very masculine, lots of ruffles, detailed vests, cuffs and long sleeves, black trousers, heeled boots, loose flowy blouses, high collars, lots of grey, white, and black, long leather overcoats, heavy layers, rings, etc

finding photos for this was like a herculean task bro it was nearly impossible and this is about as close to what i see in my head as i could get but still... not perfect *sigh*

when it comes to music i think he'd listen to Veruca Salt, Talking Heads, Clan of Xymox (TRUST HE WOULD), Siouxsie and the Banshees, and Lebanon Hanover

Sirius Black:

i know everyone and their mother believes in punk Sirius, but hear me out- mall goth Sirius Black. PELPSLSPSLSPSLSPSLSS

i feel like he dresses both masculine and feminine a lot, his gender is very fluid and so are his outfits so he isn't strictly masculine or feminine

im thinking like early 2000's hot topic kid x mid/late 80's punk, definitely very mall goth inspired but a little more modern too

wide baggy pants with chains, chunky necklaces, mismatched earrings, skeleton gloves, leather jackets with studs and decals, sheer/fishnet tops, chunky boots and doc martens, chunky rings and bracelets, bracelets with studs/spikes, kandi or beads, trashy band or skater tees, thrifted cargo pants with patches, those specific red and black striped gloves/arm warmers that every mall goth person has, etc

when it comes to music i think he'd listen to The White Stripes, David Bowie, Bon Jovi, INXS, Meat Loaf, Three Days Grace, Green Day, and the Offspring

Remus Lupin:

grunge all the way. and i don't mean like tiktok grunge, i mean genuine early-mid 80's thrifted "fuck fast fashion" grunge. i also see him having a bit of the grunge/punk academia aesthetic, but overall very grunge centric style

in my head he doesn't wear a lot of jewelry, especially since silver burns him as a werewolf, so he'll wear the occasional ring or necklace but that's about it

grandpa sweaters, oversized hoodies, cargo pants, earthy tones, brown converse or loafers, faded band tees, jorts, greys and greens, collared shirts, chunky shoes, baggy trousers with patches, bleached clothing, aviator jackets, etc

when it comes to music i think he'd listen to David Bowie (duh), The Doors, Ramones, Talking Heads, Killing Joke, U2, Journey, INXS, Abba, The Calling, and Foo Fighters

Marlene Mckinnon:

RIOT GRRL. I KNOW IM RIGHT I KNOW IT I KNOW IT I WILL DEFEND THIS TILL THE DAY I DIE SHE IS SOOO RIOT GRRL

most of riotgrrl fashion is pretty much the more "feminine" version of punk, and shares some overlap with the "rockstar gf" aesthetic (which irritates me *just* a bit but thats a story for another time). in my head, i think of like a cross between misa amane, nana, and the mid-late 80's punk scene

think layered fishnets, leg warmers, micro mini skirts, lacy lingerie, graphic tank tops, feminist patches/pins, spikes and studs, lots of leather, chains, chunky boots, cross/pentagram motifs, bold animal prints, torn band tees, high heels, bright red lipstick, and basically anything that would serve as a great big "fuck you" to misogyny and beauty standards

i had the biggest riotgrrrl phase, so let me just say i am an EXPERT on the music. marlene would listen to Bikini Kill, Babes in Toyland, Veruca Salt, X Ray Spex, The Raincoats, Paramore, Kleenex, Hole, Dazey and the Scouts, Bratmobile, Slutever, Mommy Long Legs, Le Tigre, Destroy Boys, Cheap Perfume, and Lesbian Bed Death

Mary MacDonald:

GYARU!! i totally see Mary as a gyaru girlie, idk in my head i just see her rocking the makeup and lashes along w the style !!!

i sadly don't know too much about the Gyaru scene as there are many different types, but i did a little research and i feel like Mary would dress in the Ane Gyaru aesthetic- which is (PLEASE correct me if im wrong i am not an expert!!) an older, more "rebellious" and slightly darker version of Gyaru. Ane Gyaru is often mistaken with Onee Gyaru, but is different in a few ways. Ane is more rebellious and incorporates a darker color scheme, and overall has a more rough look. definitely more alternative than cutesy in comparison to other Gyaru styles, and i feel like it fits Mary well

think flashy animal prints, miniskirts, teased hair, long lashes, detailed hand bags, fluffy boots, furry leg warmers, silver jewelry, statement belts, lots of lace, leather and denim, and lots of makeup!

i genuinely do not know anythinggg about Gyaru music and i am sosoooosososos sorry 😭 if anyone has any ideas or recommendations for bands/gyaru music they think Mary would listen to, please lmk!!!

i will do a pt 2 so that i dont reach the photo limit but!!! hope u enjoyed!!!! PLSSS SEND IN MORE MARAUDERS ERA WRITING REQS YALL IVE BEEN OBSESSED- it could be x reader or just hcs like this whatever u want🧍

my two current hyperfixations in one post... someone sedate me...

[nanivinsmoke]

✩ Happy Ending

✩ kento!nanami x fem!reader

✩ warnings & tags: public sex, sex in a bathhouse, soapy sex, rough sex, handjobs, anal teasing, ass job, boobjob, degrading, squirting, creampie, panty sniffing (this is new for me), etc…

when a trip to the spa ends up….surprising.

nanami handed the receptionist his id, pushing up his glasses as he took a look around the nice, clean, establishment. he hadn’t been to a spa before and when his coworker gave him a coupon for this one; he decided to make use of it.

“enjoy, mr. nanami,” the receptionist smiled brightly, handing the blonde back his id, along with a towel and what he assumed was a wrapped up kleenex. what was he going to need that for?

he made his way into the private locker room that came with his coupon, and he began to undress. he looked into the mirror in front of him and looked at the noticeable changes on his body. his muscles were tense and there was some scarring from his last mission.

he looked at the sign next to the mirror and its lists of massages he could possibly get. ‘happy ending?’ he questioned to himself, wondering what it was since there was no description; only its time. whatever it was an hour of it must’ve been enjoyable. tapping the tablet right next to the sign, he scheduled his massage and headed to the adjoined bathhouse.

he placed his towel and glasses on a nearby shelf and stepped under a shower head, its scalding her comfortable waters easing some of the tension once he turned it on. he lathered up his nude body good, suds cascading down his body as it mixed with the water.

he rinsed off and hopped in the huge pool of water, he sat underneath the running fountain and closed his eyes as the warm waters hit his skin.

while he sat there, you stepped into the bathhouse, wearing a short red robe, holding a stool in one hand and two small buckets in the other. you placed the stool in the water beside him, startling a bit. “oh shit!”

“sorry, sir. didn’t mean to startle you. im here for your massage” you smiled, hoping to calm him down a bit before you got started. he took a look at you, eyes scanning your curves that poked out through the sheer robe. you were practically naked underneath it, besides the fact that your were wearing panties. mahogany irises darting back up to your cute face, searching your own for any malice.

ever since his last mission, he had been a little jumpy. it took a toll on him, and his body paid a price for it. he nodded his head, after realizing you had no ill intentions, and sat on the stool, his muscular back facing you. you dropped your robe to the side and got to work on him.

pouring a bucket of suds on to him, you lathered his body up and you could feel how tense he was. you started with his shoulders, easing out all the kinks and soreness, working your way down his back. nanami hadn’t had a massage in years and this by far was his best. the way your hands were soft and thorough against his rugged body was enough to make him relax. he was relaxed enough to even let out a groan.

the moan was starting to become pleasurable for him, having his body worked on was enough to make his dick twitch—and he immediately put his hands over his bulge. but, as you moved to the lower side of back—right above where his ass started—he couldn’t help but to throw his head back and let out a shrew of cuss words. his dick thumped as your thumbs kneaded and pressed into his muscles, and he was seconds away from fisting his cock—that is until you pulled away.

he sighed, feeling blue balled; he was going to get one off when you left. but, this was just the beginning of the massage; and you dumped your other bucket of suds onto your nude body—pressing your boobs into his back and reaching over and replacing his hand with yours, catching the six foot male by surprise.

“what are you—“ he wanted to speak but the way you were massaging his balls and his hard on had him sucking in some air. it didn’t take him long for him to understand what a happy endings massage meant, but he couldn’t resist his urges. he let you continue working your soft hands around his cock—looking down as your smaller hands wrapped around him; working down from his pink mushroom tip, to the bottom of his nine inches.

you could see the translucent droplets of his precum leaking out and the way his balls felt in your hands, just showed you how much he was pent up. he needed to release badly and you were going to pull out all the stops to help him.

the feeling of your soft lips being planted on his skin made him let out a shaky moan, his eyes were low and lidded and he could feel his orgasm coming. you moved your lips up to his neck and sucked on it, a deep moan escaping him—following his long await release. milky white ropes pool out and onto your fist, coating your soft skin.

his hips jerked as he came, his balls trying to empty out every last drop; before you removed your hand. he sighed, body still slightly twitching from his orgasm, before opening his mouth up to speak—only to let a moan out. brown eyes dart up to your face, seeing that pretty little smile while your round—soft tits, smothered his cock. your tits were covered with his cum and you opened your mouth, letting a string of spit glide off your tongue; and in between your tits.

he sat there in pure bliss, mouth agape while he watched you give his sensitive cock another milking. the way you looked so sexy while doing it and the plushy feeling of your tits had him spurting all over them in the matter of seconds. he let out deep groan, one that made you press your legs together. he was hunching over as you continued bouncing your tits on his sensitive shaft, trying to get every last drop out.

he pulled you back by your hair, the roughness taking you by surprise—pulling you up by your strands, so he could smash his lips onto yours. your eyes widened, but you closed them—letting him dominate you. the kiss was so lewd, he made out with your tongue, a spit trail following when you pulled away—only for you to slurp it back up. from that moment on, you knew he was different than most your customers. he was the only one to make you wet, the only one who had you craving for more.

with your previous customers you stuck to handjobs, oral, titjobs and sometimes assjobs. but, with him it was different. she was going to let him fuck her stupid. he reached behind you and grabbed two handfuls of your fat ass, holding you up and carrying you to the nearby recliner beach chair. he took a nice long look at you and noticed you still had his babies on your wet skin, along with your black panties.

big rough hands pull down your panties, ‘accidentally’ rubbing against your slit when he did— with your essence sticking to the fabric. with no hesitation he brought the fabric up to his face and took a big whiff of your cream; your scent taking over his mind. you could see his dick jump as he continued to smell you, your face hot with embarrassment as you watched him.

nanami then took his free hand and began to jerk himself off, the smell of your juices aroused him so much cock leaked white ropes; hitting your body once more. his hips jerked he rode out his third orgasm, his mind so fucked with the thought of you—it was like he was in trance. “so, much sir…” your voice soft, manicured hands rubbing his milky white cum into your skin.

dropping your black panties, he remembered about the kleenex and towel the receptionist gave him and he walked over to the stand; only for him to realize that it wasn’t a kleenex—instead it was their custom made condom.

nanami chuckled and brought over the items, only for him to catch you licking up his leftover nut. it was sexy for him to see, he never had anyone be so vulgar; yet he had never showed his kink off to another person.

the blonde held up the condom to you, non verbally asking you and you shook your head—a smirk etching on his lips. he hovered over you as you laid on the blue beach chair, cunt glistening with your slick. his eyes darted up to your plump lips and couldn’t help but to reattach his to yours. just by kissing him alone had your pussy thumping, you needed him; and the way your body was covered with goose bumps—let him know how much you needed him.

“turn around,” his voice deep and demanding—you couldn’t help but to comply. breasts smushed together on the chair, your fat ass so round and beautiful for him, and your legs were so damn sexy. just looking at you had him wanting to paint your skin with nothing but his cum.

skipping the foreplay, he went right to spreading your ass apart; showing off that pretty pussy. hole clenching around nothing, your slick slid down your cheeks—towards your pretty little ass hole. the way it was shining for him, he couldn’t help but to tease it—rubbing his thumb around it before dipping his finger in and out. the sweet melodic sounds from your lips was such a turn on for him, he could listen to it daily—a huge turn on for him.

nanami leaned down and placed his hard cock between your cheeks, suckin in some air from how you smothered him with its fatness. never in a million years did he think he would be trying out his fantasies, especially in a place like this. the way your slick coated his shaft and mushroom head as he moved, and made him throw his pretty blonde head back. this was unfucking believable for him and the more he moved, the hornier you became. and soon his pretty tannish cock was glistening with your juices.

“fuck, gonna cu—“ he couldn’t even finish his sentence as you wiggled your ass against him—hard—making him cum pretty ropes of white all over your ass. you shuddered, riding off your own orgasm as you continued to move against him. this was the first time you ever came from havin your ass cheeks fucked and the first time you ever had man cum this much.

pulling back, his dick slipped out from between, and you turned your head slightly to look at him.

“sir i hope—.“

“—kento” he corrected and you smiled.

“kento, i hope you have more left over. this time i want you to do it inside~” your voice was so seductive and the way your eyes were darkened with sheer lust, fueled him. pressing his tip at your soddened entrance had you sucking in some air, arching your back up slightly; as he proceeded to stretch you out.

“so…big~” he pushed himself deeper inside of you, the feeling of your wet spongy walls clinging to him, had him pulling out prematurely; slapping his dick against your cheeks—eliciting a whine from you.

“kento….i want all of it. every last drop—hngh~” he slammed himself inside of you, filling you to brim with his cock. he let you adjust to his size for a second, lifting you up slightly by your tummy—making a deep arch for him, pumping his cock in and out of you. grunts and groans puddled out of his mouth, brown eyes fixated on your ass clapping and rippling against him—watching the white film build up.

“so. fucking. wet!” he slapped your ass, hard, the stinging sensation was painful, yet pleasurable—making you scream. “more~!” you begged, teeth sinking into your bottom lip; turning your head slightly to look at him. your face contorted with arousal was enough for him to continue to punish your cheeks with his hands. the way it wobbled with each smack and his strokes were so hypnotizing, yet it only made his desire for you grow.

he grunted and pushed your head down, pounding your pretty pussy deep into the chair, irises rolling in the back of your head—showing nothing but white. he was fucking more than just your body. he was fucking your mind as well.

nanami could feel your walls spasming, clenching frantically around him, “go ahead and cum for me baby. show me how that pretty pussy could milk daddy’s cock.”

his vulgarness and his powerful thrusts, made your orgasm come quicker. his tip hit the spongy spot repeatedly, making you gush all over him. your walls contracted around him, as you came—his own orgasm following behind. he pushed himself in deeper, cunt sloppy and wet while he fucked you, “let me breed this pretty pussy. g’na let me do that, hm?”

you were so dizzy from your orgasm, all you could do was nod your head; before he shot his load deep inside of you—milking him as he pumped.

“fuck!” he cursed, slowing his stroke down before pulling out of you; his cum pooling out of you, until he plugged his fingers up into your cunt. he caught you by surprise as he wriggled his two fingers inside of you, mixing his fluids with yours—driving you insane, only for you to push him out as you squirted. he slapped your ass as the translucent liquid flew out of you, pulling your head back to kiss you—making you snap out of your euphoric daze.

“c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up doll and end your shift, so i can take care of you for the rest of the night.”

[jaehyunssi]

neighbor - l.mk

synopsis: after breaking up with your boyfriend, you spent hours crying in the middle of the night. your loud and nonstop cries made mark knocks your door to find out what’s going on

neighbor!mark x reader - fluff - oneshot please read slowly for full experience + listen to any fluff playlist u have!

“Mark?”

When you heard someone knocking at your door at one in the morning, you didn’t expect that it would be your neighbor, Mark. Well, living in a cheap apartment won’t give you any guarantee that the walls would be soundproof too, you guessed. But one thing that surprise you more is how the man you almost know nothing about is standing in front of your door, looking worried.

You take a breath from your mouth, since your nose is clogged from the excessive crying. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” If he has got to be honest, he doesn’t know either. One thing that led him to find himself standing in front of you is how long and loud you cried that whole night. Probably two or three hours, which made him somehow wants to run to see you, maybe making sure you’re okay, or, well, he doesn’t really have the clearest idea too.

You tilt your head. “Yes…?”

“I really want to answer you, but your face looks-“

“Hideous?” You cut his words. “I know. Well, isn’t that clear enough for someone who just got dumped.”

Mark swallows his saliva. He doesn’t even know anything about you yet other than a girl who lives one door on his right yet the first thing he knows about something personal from you is the fact that you broke up with your boyfriend, who he also didn’t know the existence of.

“You don’t look okay, you know.” He looks at you, still. From your puffy eyes to your red nose, maybe the tears that has dried up on your cheeks, or even your lips that looks more blushed than it always be. “You could use a friend.”

The man with the white t-shirt covering his upper body somewhat surprised you with his sentence. When you first saw Mark, knowing that he would be your new neighbor after replacing the previous one who got married, you never thought he would be someone who cares so much about a stranger crying. You can’t lie that you were afraid that he’ll ask you to shut up, but this is not in any scenario of what thought you wanted to happen.

“Only if you want to see kleenex all over the couch..”

He smiles after letting out a quick chuckle. “I can get used to that quickly.”

You opened the door voluntarily after confirming his willingness to see a stranger at her worst. The man took off his sandals before finally entering the living room. Finally witnessing the scene where you spent almost three hours crying over someone who cheated on you with your own enemy. He turns his head, looking at you that by now is closing the door.

“Told you.” You raised your eyebrows.

But he shakes his head. “This is not bad at all.”

“Not even The Notebook playing on the TV?”

“Well…” He squints his eyes. “Not really a great movie to be a companion for heartbroken person.”

You laughed. “Okay, Mr. Rotten Tomatoes, let me clean up this place for you.”

Everyone needs a friend, and a friend needs someone to be the friend for. For as long as Mark knows, he loves the feeling to be needed. He loves when someone asks him to hangout with them or just to help them do something, but this is the first time Mark ever asks for someone to need him. As someone who’s actually really friendly, he never thought he would find himself asking for someone to make him their friend, until he knocked on a girl’s apartment door today.

As Mark put the hot cocoa powder on a mug he found on your kitchen, he began to think of why he had never talked to you before. He felt stupid, but at the same time, it was such a great choice for him to see your face clearly now. Somewhat a great timing, somehow grateful that you got dumped, somewhat relieved that he can finally talk to someone that he can only look at since he moved to this apartment you both lived at.

He doesn’t even know what made him scared to talk to you before. You’re not even a scary person.

“Oh my… what?” You grab the warm mug Mark hands you to. “Did you make this while I was cleaning the living room? How did you even…”

He lifts his shoulder. “Well, I have to do something.”

“Oh, come sit here.” You pat on the couch you’re sitting on. It’s a long couch you’re proud of. You remember the first time you bought it and you brag it to everyone who has ever been to your apartment. It was somewhat your best purchase. “You’re my guest, you know. A new one, even.”

“I know but I wouldn’t want your tears on this drink.”

“You’re pretty annoying to someone you just know ten minutes ago.”

He smiles. Now that you realized, he never let go of his smile. “Do you want to tell me about that break up then?”

You shook your head before sipping the hot cocoa Mark made. “This is nice.” You look at him watching you drinking the masterpiece he made. If only you knew, Mark had to look at the instructions on the can before he made it for you. “Can I know about you instead?”

“Me?” He points at himself, which you nod to. “There’s nothing much to tell about me.”

“There must be something.”

“I think it’s safe to say I’m not that exciting to know about.” He wraps his arms on the head rest on top of the couch, almost erasing the distance between the two of you. You keep your position still, as you still looking at those brown eyes of his.

“I hope no one told you that.”

The man chuckles. “Just me.”

You sighed, then you stand up, wanting to put the already finished mug of hot cocoa on the kitchen sink. But the sudden movement made you stumble, almost falling down right to the floor, before you land your other feet on the right positiont as Mark instinctively holds your back.

“God, are you really okay?” He looks at you as he helps you stand correctly. His arms are holding yours as you try to gain your full vision. “Can I..” He lifts his hand, stopping right in front of your forehead until you give him a nod to touch it. His furrowed eyebrows gave you a hint of something wrong.

“(Y/n), should we go see a doctor? You’re having a fever.”

You shake your head while you close your eyes. “No, please. I want to stay.”

“This can get worse, you know?”

“I know, I know. But, please.”

Mark let out a heavy breath. He helps you sit on your couch, putting his hand once more on you, but this time, on your neck. Knowing that it’s really a fever, his face is now not giving any friendly expression.

“Wait, okay?” He told you before leaving you alone.

You nodded.

Mark quickly run to the kitchen, looking for any clean napkin as fast as he can before he runs it through water. He grabbed a bowl of water, trying to give you a compress, at least for you to get better than your now temperature. “(Y/n)? Hang on, okay?”

You nod, again.

Mark haven’t really done this before, so he doesn’t know if he needs a hot water or a warm one, a cold water or a lukewarm one. So he made 4 bowls of water, each one with its own temperature. He found your bedroom quickly, running from here and there to put the bowls right beside your bed.

“Hey.” You can hear his voice, the way he pants, trying to catch a breath after running around your apartment. “I’m gonna carry you, okay?” He asked.

“What? No… no…” You shake your head.

He crouched down, grab your cheek for him to get a better look at you. Probably now, probably just now, he just realized how beautiful the stranger in front of him is. He doesn’t know what’s hypnotizing, your eyes, or your nose, or your lips, or, is it just you.

“Let me help you.” He told you as his eyes go back from your eyes to your lips, then back to your eyes again. “Please.”

You can’t really think much of what’s happening, but hearing him pleading made you say okay.

Now, the only thing that you know is that you’re no longer at the couch now. You can see your arms wrapping on Mark’s shoulder and neck, you can’t even believe how close your face is to his. You began to wonder if any man has ever worried about you this much. You began to think if Mark knows how nice this feels to you.

“Hey…” You called him, not really know why you forgot his name. But you’re clearly not fully conscious.

Your call made Mark stopped in the middle of his way on carrying you to your bed, just right before your bedroom door. “Hey.” He smiles. “Are you okay?”

You smile at him back. “Yeah.”

“Okay, one more step.”

You probably passed out because you don’t know what happens after that, but Mark managed to carry you safely to your bed, gently put down your body and he didn’t wake you up. He keeps compressing you, with the cool water after looking up about it on the internet. Placing the compress, sinking it on the bowl, placing it again, repeating the step for probably an hour.

The man watches you. Hearing you snore on your sleep made him relieve. At least you didn’t have any trouble on sleeping, and that’s good enough for him to know that you’re going to have a good rest tonight. He smiles, he thinks he never smiled this much on a day throughout his life. Maybe he did, but maybe, he has been giving a different smile to you today.

Mark tucks your hair behind your ear, not wanting any strand of it to get wet from the water excess from the compress cloth. He can’t find something else more appealing to look at other than your sleeping face. It’s crazy to him, that taking care of you, who’s still a stranger that turns out to be sick after crying for three hours, would be something that feels somewhat like heaven.

Maybe you’re the heaven he’s been wondering about after all these times.

“(Y/n)?”

Even though he didn’t expect it, you woke up. “Hm?” You responded, not really sure what Mark just said.

“Ask me to stay.” He pleaded.

“… What?” You try to open your eyes, only to see him sitting down on the floor as his hands holding the compress on your forehead. “Mark… what are you… why are you there?”

Mark stays quiet, his other hand is on top of your blanket, making sure that you stayed warm. “Ask me to stay with you, (y/n).”

You look at him in his eyes. “But… why?”

“I’ll stay, if you want me to.”

Mark doesn’t have the slightest clue of how or why he would ask you to ask him to stay, but he wants to. He wants to stay, even if it means he’s going to stay up all night changing the compress, checking your temperature, making sure that the heat goes down, he wants to do all that.

“I can’t say no to that face.” You laughed.

And Mark think he just fell in love.

a/n - hey! im back and i bring something fluffy (again) since mark has been on my mind whenever i play niki or lauv lol. and yeah please talk to me about how u feel abt this!!! slid thru the askbox or make some notes<3 ily all thank u so much

[djs8891]

And NOW I have plans for Friday night.

The Off-Season final chapter sneak peek

The house felt empty. 

That’s what you noticed the first day you moved in. Three big suitcases, that was all you had as the Uber driver dropped you off in the driveway. 

The house didn’t look dilapidated. A caretaker had been tending to it for the four months it sat empty. But it still didn’t feel the same. There was no life in the walls, the sun felt dimmer as it streamed through the windows. The bedding was dusty, the floorboards creaked even when you purposely skipped notoriously loud steps. Everything felt wrong. 

It wasn’t until you went outside and found Poppy’s canoe rotting in the shed that you let yourself understand what was different. 

They were gone. Eli was gone. The baby was gone. It was just you, and an endless stream of consciousness, and the view of the cove, water lapping incessantly along the rocky shore. 

For the first time, you let yourself crumble. For the first time, you noticed your own heartbeat in your ears, the way your breath sounded as you hauled groceries inside, the stillness of a house that was filled with nothing but the ghosts of people you loved and the person you had once been. 

The house was quiet that way until the day Jake moved in. And then suddenly, there was life again. It was no longer empty. And even when it wasn’t boisterous or filled with music or the sound of talking, simply knowing he was around the corner was enough to fill the Maine house with something it had long been missing. 

Something you had been missing, too.

Hope. 

[ICYMI, full series masterlist here]

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