#old men got me back on my bullshit again

[blackholesun321]

It’s the yearning—

the miscommunication the seeing our dreams in each other but realizing those dreams aren’t what the other wants. It’s the rivalry, turned friendship, turned something more, turned bitter. It’s the I miss what we had but what we had wasn’t real enough for what we want.

It’s the years apart. It’s the getting older but never getting over each other. It’s the I could see we are two missing puzzle pieces forcefully fitted to the wrong ends of each other. Because we knew we’d fit together, but we’re to impatient and desperate and scared to truly- Try.

It’s the settling for something less. It’s the fear of something more. It’s the fear of ever really saying how we feel because in the end that won’t change us won’t fix us won’t help us be something we aren’t.

It’s the love and the pain and the effort is to much— and theres to much bad between us to ever be something else. But we have these moments, these seconds, these glimpses in between of what could have been if we didn’t let each other truly see one another— and what we could have had instead of running from that truth.

Because it’s to painful to fight for you, when all we ever do is fight.

[imagine-you]

won't somebody come take me home? [Logan/Reader]

Summary: You've been abandoned to the Void after experiencing heartbreak in your universe. Instead of becoming food for Alioth or one of Cassandra's underlings, you find a new family with the resistance seeking to bring her down. When Johnny doesn't come back to the hideout, you keep watch in the hopes of seeing his return. Instead, you find a Deadpool variant fighting someone who looks achingly familiar. Someone who reminds you of your old life and the person who broke your heart. When you finally come face to face with a Logan after being pruned from your universe, you're not expecting the longing you're met with or the fact that in his universe, you were his wife. Word Count: 7.7k Author's Note: I've wanted to write for X-Men for so long and then I saw Deadpool and Wolverine and fell in love with Logan all over again. If you like this, please let me know! I'm so nervous about writing for a new fandom. And if you want to see more X-Men stuff from me, please let me know that as well! Reader's song for this is definitely I'm With You by Avril Lavigne, but I kind of imagine Logan's ends up being Hanging By a Moment by Lifehouse.

closer to where I started // all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me

Read on AO3

Everyone in the Void had a tragic backstory that was befitting a hero or villain or anything in between. You were the ones who were lost, abandoned, or forgotten by your worlds and the people you cared about more than anyone else.

You didn't remember much about how you got to the Void, but you had a pretty good understanding of why you were dropped into the barren wasteland for the multiverse's landfill.

Like most people in the Void, you were here because of heartbreak. The one person you had loved with your entire being had loved someone else. You had given him your all, but he only gave you a piece of himself. And when he ripped that piece of himself away, leaving you aching and broken, you were swept out like unwanted trash and right into the Void.

"What's got you so down today, ma chérie?" Remy dropped down into the chair at your side.

You huffed out a laugh that was nowhere near amused. "Besides the fact that we're all stuck here and trying to avoid Cassandra and her wandering fingers?" You brought your hand up and wriggled them in Remy's face, reluctantly letting out a laugh when he snapped his teeth at them.

"Ah, there's that smile," he mused, bumping his shoulder into yours. "You thinkin' 'bout your old life?"

You rolled your eyes, inanely feeling your throat tighten as you fought the urge to cry. You kept your gaze on the bottle of whiskey on the table. Remy reached for it, but he met resistance and turned a glare on you.

You shrugged your shoulders before dropping the forcefield. "I had a dream about him last night," you admitted with a scowl. "About what happened and how no one on my team had my back. How they all thought it was inevitable." You snorted before you quickly grabbed the bottle and took a swig, relishing the burn that traveled down your throat and sent warmth pulsing through your chest. You handed it over to Remy, ignoring his obvious annoyance.

"Listen, you're a lot better off now than you were with those fuckers," he consoled as he finally wrapped his hand around the bottle. "But don't go gettin' between me and my drink, now," he warned, his eyes briefly flashing red before fading away. "I'm not like those assholes who abandoned you. You've got nothin' to hate me for."

"You're real shit at pep talks, you know that?" Johnny cut in, knocking into Remy as he walked by. "Leave Y/N alone. She doesn't want to put up with your bullshit right now."

"And you suppose she wants to put up with yours? All you've got is bullshit," Remy taunted, idly twirling a card between his fingers. It was half a threat, but Johnny would only fight fire with fire and Remy knew it. Elektra had forbidden both of them from using their powers in the hideout, since they had almost burned it down last time.

"Will you both just stop?" You groaned, letting your head hit the table. Someone reached out to pat you on the shoulder, but you didn't bother to look and see who did it. "I love and respect you both dearly, but if you leave another scorch mark in here, then we'll all be in trouble."

Remy obediently stowed the card back up his sleeve while Johnny rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever," he sighed before making for the door. “See you later.”

"Where are you going?" You called, watching him retreat.

"I'll be around," Johnny answered, shooting you a smirk over his shoulder. "I always come back, don't I?"

You didn't get a chance to respond before he was gone. You always worried about Johnny when he went on his little trips around the Void. He swore he would be careful not to run into any of Cassandra's goons, but you knew all of your days were limited. Whether it was Alioth or Cassandra or one of the many rogue Deadpools wandering around, it was only a matter of time before trouble found you.

Remy stood up and placed the half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of you. "Just this once," he allowed with a wink. "You appreciate that, though, you hear?"

"Thanks," you muttered before reaching for the bottle.

You spent the rest of the day trying to block out the dream while you trained with Laura.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn't realize you had company.

"Damn, what's got you so riled up?"

You turned to look at Eric, surprised to see him standing there. You then realized your knuckles had split open and you had trashed the makeshift punching bag you had made out of an old blanket and some sand.

"Nothing," you deflected, half-tempted to go invisible just so no one could see you. Even though he was wearing sunglasses, you knew you had his full attention and you didn't want another lecture on leaving your past behind.

No one on your team was good at that, but you were arguably the worst at letting your pain go.

You always hated when you dreamt about Logan. His last words to you echoing in your mind over and over. You hadn't been enough for him, but Jean? Jean was everything he wanted. You supposed your powers paled in comparison and you would never measure up when all you could do was conjure forcefields and become invisible. Logan had been in love with her from the first moment he laid eyes on her, but you had never seen that look on his face when he looked at you.

It was a pity that you had given Logan everything only to be cast aside for the one who truly held his heart.

If Johnny were there, he would have told Blade to mind his own business, but he still hadn't come back.

"Again," Laura prompted, drawing your attention towards the punching bag. It was half-demolished, but you figured you still had some fight in you.

You noticed her shake her head at Eric as you turned away and focused all your hurt into your fists, watching the bag fall apart.

Johnny hadn't returned by the next morning and you were starting to worry.

You considered everyone your family, but you had a special bond with Johnny. He had been the first person to welcome you to the resistance and you, specifically your powers, had reminded him of his sister. He opened up to you about how much he missed his team, his family, and you told him about the heartbreak you had endured in your universe.

"I'll tell you what, if I ever get my hands on your Logan, I'll light the fucker on fire."

You felt a laugh bubble out of you. It was the first time you had laughed in ages and it felt so good to know you could still find joy in things. "He'd just regenerate."

"Not when I'm done with him," Johnny promised. "I'll cook him 'til he's just a heap of ash and then you'll dance on his remains."

You shook your head, but let Johnny carry on with his elaborate plan for revenge on your behalf. Johnny would never meet your Logan and you knew you would never actually see him again. Everyone in the Void was forgotten and there was no escape.

"You worried about Johnny?" Elektra wondered, coming to stand at your side.

You were keeping an eye on the horizon, searching for any sign that Johnny was coming home.

"It's not like him to be gone this long without some kind of message he's okay.

"He's gotten this far, hasn't he?" Elektra pointed out, shooting you a reassuring look. "He'll be fine."

You nodded your head, but didn't budge from your spot.

"You plan on staying out here all night?" Elektra asked.

"If I have to," you admitted with a shrug of your shoulders. "What if he's in trouble?"

"Then you won't be any help to him sleep-deprived," she answered.

"I've had worse," you deflected with a forced grin.

Elektra sighed, but didn't try to dissuade you again.

You had a pair of binoculars Laura had scavenged and you were doing your best to keep an eye on your surroundings. You were surveying a forest when something caught your attention. You focused on the sight, wondering for a moment if Elektra had been right and sleep deprivation was messing with your mind.

You pulled the binoculars away and blinked a few times before looking through them again.

"Ah fuck," you groaned when you realized that what you were seeing was real.

"What's wrong?" Laura asked, startling you.

"Shit," you hissed, nearly dropping the binoculars. You handed them over and pointed towards what previously held your attention. "You see that?"

"Is that--?" Laura cut herself off before shooting you a disbelieving look. "It's him."

"With a Deadpool," you confirmed with a nod of your head.

"We should get them before someone else does," Laura suggested, handing the binoculars back to you.

You hesitated, knowing she was right, but hating the idea of seeing him again.

"I can go alone," Laura offered. You knew she also loved her Logan, but he had been like a father to her up until his final moments. Your Logan had managed to bring you nothing but pain and insecurity.

"No," you told her with a firm shake of your head. Johnny had gone off alone and now it had been almost two days since the last time you saw him. In the Void, that was as good as a death sentence. "I'll go with you."

You let the others know you were off to rescue two new recruits to the resistance and helpfully left out the fact that one of those people was a Logan variant.

Laura led the way and you followed in her tracks. You kept yourself invisible, knowing that if anyone came after Laura, then you could use your presence as a surprise. You had also learned to use your forcefields as a weapon as much as a defense and you were ready if anyone tried to attack.

Once you got to the station wagon, you let yourself become visible again. You slowly approached the car while Laura investigated the clearing for any signs that you might have been followed. You could see the Deadpool variant wrapped up in the seatbelts, but you couldn't help but let your focus stray to Logan.

He was different from your Logan, but seeing his face hurt all the same. Your Logan had taken everything from you and given nothing back except for pain. This Logan was a stranger, but he still brought up familiar feelings. Love and confusion and agony.

"Is he yours?" Laura wondered, finally joining you in your study of Logan.

"No," you assured her. "Mine would've never been caught dead in the yellow suit," you admitted with just the tiniest hint of relief. You never wanted to see your Logan again, but you couldn't help but admit to yourself that didn't mean you never wanted to see any other Logan. You were scared, terrified of the pain he might cause you, but you hadn't been able to let go of the love you held for him. You were sure, even in that moment, that you would love Logan in every universe. It was too bad he wouldn't love you just the same.

Although, you supposed you didn't really have a Logan. You never did, since the one from your universe was never yours in the first place.

Doubt and wariness began to creep in and you started to herd Laura towards the Honda you were half-sure belonged to the Nicepool variant. "You drive," you prompted, opening the passenger door seat and carefully sitting among the wreckage and blood that was practically painted on every surface of the car.

Laura started the car and you glanced over your shoulder, waiting for the two backseat occupants to stir, but they were both still knocked out.

"They really did a number on each other," you muttered, your gaze already back on Logan.

Laura was silent for long enough that you thought she was ignoring you. "It's not your Logan," she reminded you after a couple of minutes. You realized you were still watching him and finally forced yourself to turn around in your seat.

"It's not," you confirmed, studying your hands in your lap. You let them shift in and out of visibility, a nervous habit you had when you were torn between fight and flight.

"Then he's not the one who hurt you," she continued, keeping her focus on the path in front of you.

"He's not the one who saved you," you shot back. The way she looked at this Logan like she was seeing her savior miraculously alive all over again had felt like a punch in the gut. You were both mourning and the source of it had just dropped right back into your lives. "He might be worse," you pointed out.

"He might be better," she argued with a quick glance at you. "He might not even know us."

"Yeah," you sighed, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, silently apologizing for being so defensive. "Eric's right," you conceded with a grimace. "I need to let it go."

"Hard to let something like that go," she allowed with a soft smile at you. She was the only one who knew the full story. Johnny knew most of it and the others knew enough, but Laura had loved her own Logan like family. She knew what it was like to lose him, albeit in a very different way.

When you got back to the hideout, Laura helped free Deadpool while you formed a forcefield around Logan and used it to lift him out of the car. Charles had claimed it was a form of telekinesis, but you always told him you were just controlling the forcefield. Whatever was inside it just happened to move with it. If you dropped the forcefield, then whatever was inside it would fall.

Laura dragged Deadpool inside while you let Logan hover through the air and into the hideout. Laura left Deadpool on the floor, but you were careful with Logan and let him hover just over the bed you used before letting him go.

Laura shot you a bemused look before going to let the others know you had company.

You weren't really sure what to do with yourself, so you settled for pacing from one end of the room to the other. You were halfway across the room when you heard a rustling noise behind you. You half-hoped it was Deadpool waking up, but when you turned around, it was to see Logan squinting up at the ceiling.

You froze, not daring to move a muscle. Logan blinked a few times before he began to sit up. He stopped and then tilted his head up, sniffing the air. You had always found the way he used his enhanced sense of smell adorable, even if no one else did. He suddenly turned and buried his face in your pillow, pulling in deep breaths. He reached up to clutch the pillow in his hand as he sat up, keeping it pressed to his face.

You weren't even really sure what was going on, so by the time he finally lowered the pillow and met your gaze, you were staring at him completely dumbstruck.

Several emotions warred for control on Logan's face when he saw you. Grief, despair, heartbreak, hope, disbelief, and relief. Finally, he seemed to pull them all together into a neutral expression.

"Y/N," he started, taking a step towards you.

You instinctively took a step back. You knew that this Logan wasn't the one who hurt you, but it was hard to let all of that go when someone who looked exactly like your Logan was staring right at you.

"You're alive," he tried again, taking another step, as if he was drawn to you.

"I am," you answered, your hands clenched into fists at your side. You couldn't handle the way Logan was looking at you. He looked at you like you were his whole world. You would have killed to get your Logan to look at you like that. But having it now, from a different Logan, felt equal parts thrilling and unsettling. "Who am I to you?" You asked, needing to know what you were dealing with now. You had assumed maybe you were part of Logan's team in his universe, but he was hopelessly in love with Jean and didn't give a fuck about you. The way he was looking at you told an entirely different story.

"You're--," he started before he looked down at his left hand. You could see a wedding band around his ring finger. "You're my wife," he finally admitted as he balled his hand into a fist. "You were, at least," he added with a grimace. "And me? What am I to you in your universe?"

You didn't know whether to tell the truth or lie. But Logan had always known you way too well and any story you spun would unravel as you told it. "I loved you," you finally confessed. "But you left me for someone else," you continued, noting the way Logan's expression tightened, rage flashing in his eyes.

"Who?" He growled, advancing on you.

It was your biggest shame and worst heartbreak, so you faltered over the name for a moment. But you weren't even in the same universe as her or him anymore and it was time for you to stop running from your pain.

"Jean. He left me for Jean, alright? It didn't matter that I loved him and it didn't matter that we were together. Scott died and Jean needed someone and apparently that couldn't be anyone but him. He told me it was nothing, but I knew. He never looked at me the way you just did. He looked at her like she was the only person he cared about and when he left me for her, I ended up here," you hissed, finally walking towards Logan. "And I bet neither of them ever gave a fuck that I just up and disappeared. So, seeing you now has brought up all the shit he put me through," you snarled, reaching out to push at his shoulder.

"Y/N, I--," he started, reaching out for you. His expression was nearly reverent as he let his hand fall on your shoulder.

"Don't," you said, pushing away from him. "I'm not your wife," you snapped, hating the way his expression closed off and was replaced with that look he got when he was trying not to feel anything at all.

"And I'm not him," he shot back. His gaze drifted to the side and he reached out to grab a bottle of Remy's whiskey. He popped the top off the bottle and took a long swig.

You heard someone groan before you looked over at Deadpool. He brought a hand up to his head and Logan turned to watch him. He took another drink, keeping the bottle close to his chest, as he approached Wade.

"Ugh, what's with the angry bear staring me down?" Wade wondered, finally sitting up. "Also, where the hell are we? Are we about to be skinned and used as decoration for some post-apocalyptic lair?"

"Do you ever shut up?" Logan growled, taking another drink.

You knew it took a lot to get Logan drunk, but at the rate he was going, he would end up there by nightfall.

Deadpool finally scanned the room and noticed you. He got to his feet and pointed a finger at you. "Oh, holy shit. You're Y/N! You're a big part of this guy's tragic backstory, I can tell ya that, so what are you doing here?" Wade reached out to clap a hand to Logan's shoulder and got brushed off.

"That's enough!" Elektra called before walking into the room.

Wade looked shocked to see Elektra, but his eyes went wide at the sight of Blade striding into the room. Gambit then made his entrance before Laura took up the rear of the group.

Introductions went around, before Wade started in on Gambit and his accent. You could tell Remy was reluctantly amused, but he was distracted by something else.

Remy dismissed Wade and focused in on Logan. He shot you a quick, concerned look before he began flipping a card as he studied Logan. "Well, we've never had a Wolverine up in here before. Not sure we've ever wanted one here before," he said with another look at you. "I can tell you now it's just a common courtesy to at least ask before you go drinking up all my liquor."

"It's a good thing I don't give a fuck," Logan responded before taking another drink.

Remy's eyes burned red as he muttered an insult under his breath. He let the card in his hand go, letting it slice the bottle of liquor in half. Glass and whiskey rained down on Logan's boots, but he looked unbothered. He reached out to grab another bottle before pulling the top off and taking a drink.

"Oh, you sure are an asshole, aren't you? I'm starting to see why you hate this one," Remy continued, aiming the last sentence at you.

"You hate him?" Wade asked, whipping his head back and forth, from you to Logan and back again. Wade gasped and turned to point an accusing finger at Logan. "You and you," he pointed to you, "aren't a you in your universe?" He pressed his hands together, letting his fingers interlock. "What'd he do? Was he too busy practicing his brooding in the mirror? He try to slip you a little adamantium surprise in the bedroom? Did he--"

"Shut up," Logan snapped, tightening his grip on the bottle in his hand.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," you admonished Wade.

Wade held his hands up in surrender, but he reached out to put a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, my friend," he consoled before he approached you. He held his arms out as he walked towards you. "Come here, baby bird, and tell Papa Deadpool all about it," he said as he wrapped his arms around you.

"Get your hands off her," Logan growled, unsheathing his claws.

You brought a forcefield up between you and Wade. It was big enough to encompass his chest and abdomen and you used it to forcefully push him back. You slammed him into the wall, easing up, just to slam him into it again.

"Alright, alright," he coughed out, holding his hands up in surrender. "Don't piss off the Invisible Woman, got it," he conceded as you let your forcefield drop.

You rolled your eyes before crossing your arms over your chest. "That's not what they call me." The reminder of Johnny's sister brought up the worry you had for him. "Where the hell did you two come from?"

Wade did most of the talking and explained about the TVA, Cassandra, and their near-miss with Alioth.

"No one's ever made it out of Cassandra's clutches before," Elektra observed with something verging on respect in her tone.

"No one alive," Eric interjected with an unimpressed glare at Deadpool.

"Well, she is quite terrifying and a little grabby," Wade allowed with a nod of his head.

"One of ours has been missing for two days," you told Wade, carefully not looking at Logan. Logan had been watching you the whole time and you knew he was only mourning a ghost, but you hated how much you liked finally having Logan's undivided attention. "His name is Johnny. Did you see him?"

"The little flameball might've made an appearance, sure, but he's not with us," Wade explained with a flippant wave of his hand.

"Yeah, because you fucking got him killed with your big mouth," Logan snapped at Wade.

"Johnny's dead?" You asked, not wanting to believe it. You loved the others like family, but Johnny had practically been a brother to you. Sure, he let his mouth get him in trouble half the time, but he always managed to get himself out of it. "What the hell happened?"

"Cassandra decided she liked his insides on the outside," Wade answered, "because she's a megalomaniacal, psychotic asshole. Johnny’s words, not mine."

"Well, we've all been knowin' that," Remy said, idly shuffling a deck of cards in his hands. "But what're we gonna do about her, huh? She's got an army and we've just got us."

"Look, you've all been forgotten by your universes, but we can still take her if we team up. You got a Magneto here?" Wade questioned, hope in his voice that you knew was about to be crushed.

You moved to sit down at the table while you listened to the conversation carry on. There was a lot happening all at once and you didn’t know how to process any of it. Wade was desperate to get back to his own timeline, but Logan only seemed resigned. You didn't know how to accept the fact that Johnny was dead and you didn't know how to ignore the fact that Logan was still watching you.

When a plan was made to go after Cassandra and use Juggernaut's helmet to block her powers, you reluctantly agreed that it had some merit. If only because you wanted to get any type of revenge on Cassandra that you could to avenge Johnny.

The others were all on board and you knew most of them wanted nothing more than to bring Cassandra down as well. It was a suicide mission for most of you, but you figured if it meant stopping Cassandra and saving someone's universe, even if that someone was Wade Wilson, then it might be worth it.

"I'm in," you found yourself saying.

"Like hell you are," Logan cut in. "You'll just get yourself killed again and I can't--"

"I'm not dead," you pointed out, aware that the others were watching the pair of you. "I'm right here, because I'm not the one you lost."

"Well, I sure as hell don't want to go losing you again. You can't tell me you think this whackjob's plan is actually going to work out? He’s an idiot."

“Sticks and stones,” Wade muttered, rocking on his heels as he looked at Logan. “Sticks and stones.”

"You can do whatever you want," you told Logan, finally standing from your seat at the table. "But I'm going and if I die? Then at least I die doing something that's not just hiding and waiting for my inevitable end. At least I can help someone, even if it's a Deadpool," you said, gesturing towards Wade.

"Thanks?" Wade tried, sounding torn between flattered and insulted.

You didn't give Logan a chance to reply, because you left the room, opting to walk outside to get some distance from him.

Later, you heard from Remy that you were heading out first thing in the morning. You agreed to be ready by then and spent the rest of the evening invisible. You wanted to be alone, but you also hated the idea of losing one last opportunity to talk to Logan, even if he wasn't yours.

He was outside, staring into the fire he started, and steadily drinking Remy's liquor. You approached him as Laura was leaving his side. Even though you were still invisible, she seemed to know you were there, and walked around you.

You stayed a few feet behind him, watching him frown into the fire.

"I know you're there," Logan called out, turning to look over his shoulder. "You were never good at hiding from me."

You let yourself go visible before you continued to walk towards him. "My Logan didn't really give a shit about me, so I guess he knew where to find me, he just didn't care," you observed with a sigh. Having this Logan around was only showing you what you had missed out on in your universe with your Logan. You reached out to grab the bottle from Logan before taking a drink and handing it back. "You know, I wanted nothing more than for him to love me back. But I wasn't enough for him. And he knew, he knew everything I felt for him, but he never felt the same. I was just someone to warm his bed while his thoughts were with someone else."

Logan was quiet for a few moments before he held the bottle back out to you.

"You've made it clear you're not my wife," he started, keeping his gaze on the fire. "But I don't think you get that I'm not him. I see you and, God, I wish I could keep you safe. I wasn't able to save her. I wasn't able to save any of them and it's my fault my team, my family, my wife are all gone. I walked away and they died because of it," he admitted and you could see a tear begin to slip down his cheek. You had never seen your Logan so vulnerable and you didn't know what to do with this one. "I don't want to lose you again. I know you're not her, but I don't want to walk away and know that you died because of it."

"Then don't walk away," you whispered, moving until you were right beside him. You could feel the heat emanating off him and it sent a shiver down your spine. You had felt the chilling sense of isolation for so long that feeling Logan again felt like you were coming back to life.

"I know I wasn't happy to see you," you allowed with a grimace. "But since you got here, you've done nothing but remind me that I could have had what I wanted all along, but I was stuck in the wrong damn universe. And maybe it was possible for my Logan to love me all along and I just wasn't enough."

"Your Logan is a fucking idiot," he growled, finally looking at you. "You're here in this shithole because of him and you're ready to sacrifice yourself for someone you don't even know. He was the one who wasn't good enough. I guess I'm more like him than I would want to be."

You took a chance and reached out to grab Logan's hand. You were both grieving different people and you knew you weren't his wife, but you wanted to offer him comfort all the same. You also couldn't deny that the feeling of Logan's hand in yours felt like a balm for the pain you had been carrying around since falling into the Void.

His hand tightened around yours and you saw some of the tension leave his shoulders.

"You're enough, Logan," you assured him. "And I believe in you," you confessed. "You don't have to go tomorrow, but I'm going to be there. And if this is the last moment I ever get with you, then there's one thing I want to do."

Logan furrowed his brow in confusion before his expression smoothed out into surprise. You had leaned forward, just barely letting your lips brush his, waiting for him to either lean in or push you away.

You waited for a beat longer, sure you were making an idiot of yourself, before you felt Logan's hand at your hip. He pulled you closer, practically into his lap, as he returned the kiss. It was passionate and tender and in turns aggressive and searching. His tongue was twined around yours and his teeth were nipping at your lips and your head was beginning to spin from the rush. Logan let out a whimper and his hand clutched your hip tighter, and you knew you were going to have a bruise there by the next morning, but you didn’t mind that there would be a reminder of this moment.

You reluctantly pulled away, meeting his eyes and noticing how Logan looked like he was ready to drag you back into another kiss.

"Thank you," you whispered, reaching up a hand to brush your thumb over his bottom lip. You let it drag down briefly and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to it. Your Logan had been rough and demanding and uncaring, but the love and want this Logan had poured into the kiss had shown you what it would have been like for the love of your life to love you back. Maybe, with that memory, your death the next day would be a little sweeter.

"Y/N," Logan started, but didn't continue.

You offered him a sad smile and started to stand. "I should try to sleep. I've got a big day tomorrow."

You moved to leave, but Logan reached out and grabbed your hand. He reeled you back towards him, causing you to drop down into his lap, but he caught you by the hips. He wrapped his arms around your waist and trailed his hand up your back before it was resting against the back of your neck. He pulled you down into another kiss, this one just as intense, but less frenzied. Logan kept you in place with just the slightest pressure of his hand on your neck and you let him pour everything he had into it.

By the time you pulled away, you were breathless and speechless, reluctant to leave now that you had another taste of him.

"I'll see you in the morning," Logan promised, finally releasing you from his hold.

It took you while to shake off your daze, but then you realized what he was telling you.

You felt a smile tug at your lips before you got off his lap.

"See you in the morning," you agreed before leaving Logan in search of your bed.

The drive in the Honda Odyssey was cramped, but Wade insisted if it could house an all-night brawl between a Deadpool and a Wolverine, then it would hold the rest of you just fine all the way to Cassandra's lair. And then he started spouting off something about safety features and cup holders and you started to wonder if following his plan had been the dumbest thing you had ever done.

You found yourself sneaking glances at Logan at the rear of the car. He was watching you the whole time and every time your eyes met, a little spark of heat shot through you. Maybe he wasn't your Logan, but he had helped you begin to heal all the same. And now you were starting to fall for an entirely different Logan who was likely leaving the Void while you stayed behind and died to get him out.

Life had never been fair to you, but you hated that it was downright cruel to you as well.

By the time you were arriving at Cassandra’s, you were starting to wonder if there had ever been a happy ending for you in store or if it was just supposed to be one tragedy after another.

You lined up with the others as you faced down Cassandra's henchmen. You could see Azazel popping in and out of view and Psylocke trailing through the crowd. Juggernaut was staring down the group while Toad perched high above, a smirk on his face. There were dozens of them and you had no idea how you were going to pull it off, but even if you did die, at least it was to save someone's universe, even if it wasn't your own.

"You know how long I've been waiting for this? Ooohuee, I'm about to make a name for myself here," Remy boasted, eagerly bouncing on his feet while he began to charge a card.

"I don't think any of you walk away from this," Logan pointed out, sending a quick glance your way.

"You just make sure they know what happened here today," Remy continued, not seeming to care that he was staring death right in the face.

"We'll watch your six," Blade told Logan and Wade. "You get up there and we'll get you that helmet."

Before he could follow Wade, Logan turned to you and pulled you close. He pressed a kiss to your lips, one full of longing and grief. "I don't want to leave you," he murmured into the kiss.

You pulled back to meet his eyes, ignoring the fact that you felt like you were losing him all over again. "What you're fighting for is more important," you told him. "Maybe we'll meet again in another universe."

"Maybe," he agreed before kissing you again.

This one was brief, but it left you wanting more.

You watched Logan follow Wade before you were caught up in the fight between your friends and Cassandra's lackies.

The fight was terrifying, because the stakes were so high. You flickered in and out of visibility as needed and used your forcefields to protect your friends or attack your enemies. You used a forcefield to gather rocks and then propelled it into someone just to turn invisible to avoid someone's knife.

You were exhausted as the battle waged on and you knew that circumstances were beginning to look dire for you and your friends. Most of you were hurt and bleeding, and the fight was beginning to drain out of you.

You got distracted by Laura taking Juggernaut out and managing to get his helmet up to where Logan and Wade were no doubt dealing with Cassandra despite Psylocke intervening. You moved towards them, but you felt a searing pain in your side and you looked down to see the end of Azazel’s tail sticking through your flesh.

He jerked you back towards him and a blade sliced through his tail, freeing you. You were quick to form a forcefield around Azazel before he could escape and you began to press in on the sides, shrinking it down so he had nowhere to go. You could see him trying to teleport out, but it wasn’t working, and a look of panic flashed across his face.

You kept pressing in until his skin started to split and blood began to pour. All at once, you swept the sides in, watching as Azazel was crushed. You let the forcefield go and watched as his remains fell to the ground with a splat.

“You squashed him like a bug,” Eric observed with a nod of his head, cleaning Azazel’s blood off his blade. “Impressive.”

“Thanks,” you smiled at Blade, glancing down at the gash in your side.

“Keep your head,” he warned you just as someone rushed at you. You went invisible and stepped to the side, letting them impale themselves on Eric’s sword.

The battle took twists and turns, but after getting stabbed in the shoulder and nearly losing consciousness when someone hit you on the back of the head, you realized that the bodies were starting to drop, but your friends were still standing.

You figured your victory would be short-lived when the skies began to darken and Alioth showed on the horizon.

“He’s looking for a meal,” Elektra grunted, avoiding a hit to the side before using one of her twin sais to bring someone to their knees. She finished them off with a strike to their neck before she turned to look at the rest of you. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

You were distracted by a portal opening up in the air above you and you looked up in time to see Logan and Wade jumping through it.

Someone grabbed your arm and you instinctively moved to hit them, but you realized it was Elektra.

"Come on!" She yelled over the roar of Alioth and pulled you to cover inside Cassandra's lair.

"That was a close one," Remy said as he helped Blade into the makeshift shelter.

"But they got away," Laura pointed out with a small, satisfied smile.

"And we got to kill the fuckers that've been making our lives hell," Remy added with a grin. "Any of you see that one trick I pulled? I got the cards charged up and then guy went boom."

He looked so pleased with himself that you couldn’t stop the helpless little laugh you let out. The past few days had felt absurd and surreal, and you couldn’t even tell if it was all some fever dream. Maybe Remy had spiked his liquor to keep unsuspecting people out of it and you were currently back in the hideout, riding out one terrifying trip.

But when you twisted to the side, you felt like your side was splitting open all over again and you let out a gasp. Elektra knelt at your side, studying your wound with a frown.

"So, what happens now? Are we just stuck here until we know it's clear? We go back to our hideout and wait forever? Half of us need some kind of medical attention,” she pointed out, searching around her until she found a discarded jacket. She pressed it against your side and you let out a hiss of pain.

"Well, we didn't die, so at least there’s that," you offered with a shrug of your shoulders. "I figure we've earned some retirement. Even if we're still stuck here," you allowed with a wince as you pressed a hand to your shoulder. The wound was deep and still bleeding, but you figured you had suffered worse before. You were going to need stitches and painkillers and some more of Remy’s liquor, but at least you were still breathing.

You weren't sure how long you waited for the storm to pass, but by the time you got back outside, it was already dark. Most of the bodies were gone, consumed by Alioth, and you leaned into Elektra’s side as she helped you navigate the various body parts left behind.

"Think the car will make it back?" Remy wondered, surveying the Odyssey with its crushed sides and flat tires. It was practically drenched in blood and viscera, nearly indistinguishable as a vehicle.

"Why don't you start it up and see?" Eric prompted, looking at Gambit like he thought he was a special kind of stupid. “Maybe we can ride one of your little cards back to the hideout. How far can you throw them?”

"That won't be necessary," a voice interrupted, startling you.

A portal had opened up to your left and a woman had walked through it. She had soldiers behind her who were wearing uniforms with a TVA logo stamped on the right arm.

"Wade Wilson struck a deal for all of you," the woman continued, surveying the group. "It's time for all of you to go home."

“Home?” Remy repeated with a skeptical look at the rest of you. “What if we don’t have a home?”

“Then wherever you’d like to be,” she amended. “With conditions, of course.”

It turned out that Wade and Logan not only saved Wade's universe, but every universe. Cassandra had wanted nothing to exist except for the Void where she reigned and both of them had managed to stop her.

You never considered that your fight with Cassandra’s minions wound end with anything except for your death. You certainly never thought you would have the option to leave the Void.

You definitely didn't want to return home, so you asked if you could stay in Wade's universe. Logan and Laura had opted to stay as well and since your variant had never been born in Wade’s universe, you were welcome to stay. It felt like you were getting the opportunity to carve out the kind of life you wanted all along. One where you knew you would be welcome and wanted without fearing that you would be abandoned for someone else.

Now, you were sitting around a table with Wade's family and the beginnings of a new one for you. Laura was sitting to your left and Logan to your right and you couldn't help but feel like this was where you had belonged all along.

Logan had admitted that he wasn't allowed to try to save the people in his universe, but he wanted to be whatever you needed or wanted him to be in your new one. You knew that was a daunting order for someone like Logan, so you settled for telling him that you wanted to start at the beginning.

You wanted to get to know this Logan, because even though you already loved him, you knew that you wanted a clean slate. One where you weren’t comparing him to your universe’s Logan and one where you gave him every opportunity to show you that he was better. You also didn’t want him to just see the ghost of his wife in you, so you wanted him to get to know you.

You soaked up the love and laughter that flowed through the room and met Logan's gaze. You weren't even surprised to see that he was already watching you. You reached out to grab his hand, delighting in the way he immediately welcomed your touch.

You no longer felt forgotten and hopeless. Everything you had yearned for, fought for, in your old life had quite literally dropped right into your new one and you couldn't have been more grateful for another shot at happiness.

From the way Logan smiled at you and brought your hand up to kiss the back of it, you knew he was just as appreciative at the opportunity to turn his life back around.

"Thank you," you whispered to him, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder.

"Nothing to thank me for," he answered before dropping another kiss on the crowd of your head.

You wanted to argue with him and tell him that he had saved you, but you figured you would tell him later. For now, you were going to enjoy the feeling of belonging you felt and look forward to the fact that there would be a later with Logan.

Edited To Add: I am writing a sequel! It's going to involve Cable (even though he didn't test well) and Logan getting payback on reader's original Wolverine on her behalf and a whole bunch of other fun surprises!! If you want to be tagged, just let me know!

The sequel is HERE for anyone interested!

This is now a whole series! Main post for the series is HERE.

[itneverendshere]

a circus ain't a love story - baby daddy! rafe.

request: "baby daddy! rafe where reader and rafe are not together and she’s going on dates with men and he’s jealous but not like possessive jealous but like 🤭 jealous?" @zyafics

warnings: cursing; rafe's an asshole but he's just going through it <3; a lil angsty??; lots of tension and pent-up frustration; they just need to fuck it out honestly.

rafe likes to think of himself as a changed man. 

long gone is the reckless impulsive guy that reigned horror in the outer banks. he’s grown now, the man of the family, and a father. he spends his days working hard, providing for his family, and cherishing every moment with his baby girl. 

but when he learns you’ve been seeing other men after your ‘amicable’ breakup, he feels like he’s nineteen and ranging in misplaced anger all over again. younger days, when his temper ruled his actions and consequences were an afterthought.

old insecurities resurface, whispering doubts and fears into his mind.

you’d broken up before, years ago, and it barely lasted a month before both of you caved in. but now? now, you have a baby together, and for some reason, the breakup feels…permanent. 

he thought you just needed a breather from him, a little space to settle your mind after going through all the changes with your pregnancy. maybe he took you for granted, maybe he became too comfortable, too complacent in the belief that your love was unshakeable. and he’s paying for it. 

“where the fuck are you going?”

he knows exactly where you’re going, he’s just a masochist.

rafe’s always been vocal about his thoughts around you, having virtually no filter between his brain and mouth. it’s something you’ve gotten used to after five years in a relationship, the man is nothing if not blunt and crass. but now, it's different.

you’re not a couple anymore. you shouldn't have to put up with his nagging bullshit. but you have a child together, which means that you’ll never be able to fully scratch him out of your system. 

how were you so good before and yet so terrible once your daughter got here? 

you sigh, choosing to keep your back to him. 

“date.”

you hear him snort, not even having to peek to know he’s shaking his head, blue eyes lingering between your new dress and the ceiling, “my bad. thought you were going to a gala.”

you turn then, hand on your waist as you take him in. it’s hard not to stare at his freshly shaved hair and it only makes you want to slap him stupid for not doing it years ago. what’s the point if you can’t have him? 

“why? it’s not illegal to put in effort.” you tilt your head slightly, ignoring the way his eyes are burning holes through your shiny legs.

he pulls his eyes back to your face, but all you can see is the imprinted vision of your daughter laying on his chest earlier, her chubby cheek pressed against his shirt and her little hand curled around his finger. 

rafe’s heart clenches, the bitterness of your words sinking deep into his bones. he knows what you're implying, knows that you're trying to hurt him.

“he’s worth all that, huh?”

you shrug your shoulder, pieces of your hair falling back as you attempt to act nonchalantly, “maybe he is.”

rafe’s lips twitch into a half-smirk, half-grimace, a familiar expression that used to make your heart race but now just knots your stomach.

“who is it this time? it’s just kinda hard to keep track of your dates.”

his gaze lingers on you, searching for something, perhaps a hint of the girl he fell in love with, buried beneath layers of resentment and exhaustion.

you grit your teeth, the frustration growing beneath the surface threatening to spill over, “you don’t know him.”

he shakes his head, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. “got yourself a touron?”

“don’t piss me off.”

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i’m not trying to. just curious.”

“his name is mike.”

rafe's lips quirk into a sardonic smile as he hears the name. "mike, huh? sounds like a guy who sells insurance or teaches yoga on the weekends."

you shoot him a glare, unamused by his jest. "can you just be serious for once?"

catching sight of the offended look in your face, he adds, “it’s not my fault you keep choosing the ugly ones.”

you stare at him incredulously, “you don’t even know him!”

“hear me out, okay? if you’re ever going to give charlotte a sibling might as well—“

you’d throw the mug on your kitchen table at his head if charlotte wasn’t sleeping in the room next door.

“you think you’re so fucking funny don’t you?!” 

rafe hushes you, one of his hands rising to his lips, “what happened to no cursing in the house?”

your eye twitches, fingers itching to wrap themselves around his throat. “i’ll strangle you right here, rafe.”

“you got a new kink, mama?”

his ability to push your buttons has always been unparalleled, and it seems he's mastered the art even more since your breakup. he still manages to evoke a weird mixture of irritation and fondness within you.

“you can’t keep doing this. i like mike, maybe i want to date mike.”

rafe's expression shifts, his brows furrowing slightly as if your words have struck a chord. but then, just as quickly, his facade hardens again. he raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "i’m just trying to help. you said the exact same thing about whatever his fucking name was two months ago.”

you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “see! you’re trying to patronize me.”

“’m not.”

“right,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, “course you aren’t.”

his taunting smirk is more than a little infuriating. “i just doubt this guy is gonna stick around.”

“oh, so that’s it?” you prod him, laughing in his face, hands curling into tight fists. you get closer, staring him down as you look upwards. “we’re back to lying to each other now?”

rafe’s face is contorted into a grimace; eyebrows furrowed, and you can feel his steady breathing before he speaks.

”i can do this all day.” he scoffs, a bitter edge creeping into his voice, “i think the moment you tell him about charlotte he’s gonna run back to whatever hole he creeped out of. you think he wants to be a daddy?”

“who said he has to? that’s your job. maybe i just want to fuck him, you ever think about that?” the admission feels like a betrayal and a liberation all at once.

it’s a familiar dance you two have been doing since the breakup – hurling accusations and blame at each other like weapons in a war neither of you can win.

rafe’s smirk fades into a scowl as your words hit him like a slap in the face. he takes a step back, one of his hands instinctively rising in a placating gesture, but there's a defiant glint in his eyes that tells you he's not backing down without a fight. 

his jaw tightens, “now you’re just trying to get under my skin.”

you throw your hands up in despair, “it’s always about you, unbelievable.” 

you feel like your heart is being vacuumed into your stomach as he stares.

“me?” his fingers dig into his chest, as if you’ve shot him right there, “you're the one who's constantly bringing up other guys, rubbing it in my face like- like i'm supposed to just sit back and take it."

you let out a slow controlled breath and attempt to loose your body movements. “we’re not doing this again.”

rafe knows he's treading on thin ice, but relents, “oh, m’sorry sweets. forgot you hate to be reminded i care.”

“care?” you laugh but it’s void of any humor, “is this your way of showing me you care? making me miserable? slut-shaming the mother of your daughter?”

“didn’t mean it like that, don’t twist my words.”

you square your shoulders, refusing to let him see the cracks in your armor. "you said what you said, and you can't take it back."

his jaw clenches, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his mind as he searches for the right words to say, “you’re pushing it.”

there’s a fiery anger in your eyes that makes his body warm. “so fucking what?”

without a word, rafe closes the distance between you, his movements tentative yet purposeful. his hand reaches out, fingers gripping your cheeks, his rough touch sending your body into a frenzy. you want to push him away, but the pull between you is too strong to resist. you’ve been yearning for his touch for months, no one knows how to pull your strings like he does.

“you drive me fucking insane, y’know that?”

you merely blink, pretending to be bored, “go fuck yourself.”

and then, in a rush of pent-up desire and frustration, rafe snakes a hand around the back of your head to pull you to meet him in a passionate kiss.

it’s all sorts of desperate as if trying to bridge the problems between you, you're arching into him as his hand trails down your spine. his tongue is brushing across yours in a tentative swipe before you’re meeting him halfway, kissing him urgently. there's a hunger in rafe’s touch, a desperation to reclaim what his lost, and you respond in kind, your hands roaming over his back, tracing the contours of his muscles with a familiarity that sends shivers down his spine.

“you’re not going on a fucking date.” he pants between kisses, the way his lips caress your face keeping you close distracting you momentarily.

“you can’t stop me.” 

his hand slides around your waist, over the curve of your ass, grabbing a handful in the process, “watch me.”

[222col]

"i'll sign an autograph later, but right now, you're in my seat." I ALMOST MOANED. The entire fic was the hottest thing i have ever read in my entire life. I know this is probably a bad idea but can you make a part 2 of Womanizer Art where he takes her out and end the night with them sleeping together just for him to stop texting her again but when he asks her to be in a committed relationship she rejects him and tells him to stop texting her. After the rejection Art tries to go back to his old ways sleeping with other girls but they don't feel like y/n or just gets depressed and only focuses on his career but he realizes that he's falling more and more for y/n no matter how hard he tried distracting himself while y/n is living her life as if nothing happened. So Art starts stalking her, going to places she goes and sabotaging her relationships with other men and he keeps texting her and sending her gifts and flowers to her house literally doing the kind of things he's has never done to another woman before until she gives in and agrees to be his girlfriend 😩 pretty please PLEASE PLEAAAAAASE 🧎‍♀️

!!!!!! thank u thank u thank u xxx yes omg love that idea but this will never be as good as @lovetrt's stalker!art but i will try my hardest 🧎🏻‍♀️ part two of this <3 | cw: slight forcefulness

"get out my fucking house." art orders the blonde in his bed when she attempts to hold him. "but-" he cuts her off with just a look. scrambling for her belongings and running out of his room. he slips his boxers back on and reaches for his phone on the nightstand. he sends yet another text to you.

can you stop being a brat and just text me back?

scrolling through the endless messages he's sent you before locking his phone and attempting to sleep once he hears the front door close.

it's been a month since your date with art. he took you to dinner and then of course back to his, where he fucked you silly on his bed again. you stayed the night, had breakfast with him before returning home. you enjoyed the date, and art's company, but as you told him, relationships weren't your thing. art isn't used to being told no, especially from girls, so when you stopped replying to his texts and wouldn't answer calls, he had to take matters into his own hands.

he's been fucking anything that moves and spending all his other free time on the tennis courts. agreeing to more brand campaigns, just in the hope that you'll see him on an ad somewhere and coming running back to his bed. art wakes up the next morning, checking his phone first thing, as he always does now, praying you'll have text him back.

not even if i actually let you fuck me with a racket?

art got in touch with patrick's buddy's now ex-girlfriend, begging for your address, telling her some bullshit like you left your watch at his and he wanted to mail it to you. she doesn't buy it, but she likes art, and does as he asks. he's been sending you flowers and presents every few days, but he knows it's time to take the next step. throwing on shorts, a t-shirt and his baseball cap, he drives to your apartment. there's a coffee shop opposite, ordering a drink and sitting outside, waiting for just a glimpse of you. he's sat there for a while, until the door to your building opens, and he sees you. an oversized t-shirt hides your underwear you lean over and kiss the man you're ushering out the door. art grits his teeth, his mind full of thoughts of fucking you on the stoop of your building.

the guy leaves, looking too smug for art's liking. he can't help himself. running over and stopping him in his tracks. "how do you know that girl?" he asks. "woah, hello? what's it to you, buddy?" the guy questions art. "just fucking tell me." art pushes, closing the distance between them, intimidating him. "she's just some girl i fuck." stepping back away from art. "how often?" art needs to know, he needs to be told you haven't slept with this random gym bro more than you have him. "alright, twenty questions, like twice a week." art's angry, tempted to knock this guy out, except that yeah, art may be taller, but he doesn't think he's as strong. "for how long?" art keeps questioning. "christ man, look i'm sorry if she's your girlfriend or something, i met her like two months ago, we've been hooking up since then." art's eyes narrow, looking down at him. "stay the fuck away from her." he seriously doesn't know what's come over him, normally he can't stand to look at a girl after he's come all over her, but now, here he is, squaring up to a stranger that fucked you.

art comes to the coffee shop opposite your apartment most mornings, warning of any of the guys that you walk to the door. spamming your phone with more and more texts, he can't take it anymore. arriving at the coffee shop again, waiting for you to kick the guy out of your bed. he catches the door to your building as someone leaves, no more than ten minutes after you showed the latest guy out of your apartment. he runs up to your door, turning the handle, silly little girl not locking her door, he thinks as he enters your apartment. you've driven him crazy, he could get anyone else he wanted, but he's here, breaking into your home because the five minutes he sees you every morning aren't enough anymore. he needs to feel you, breath you in, taste you.

there you are, stood in your kitchen, making coffee in nothing more than a bra and panties. he's already hard, coming up behind you, covering your mouth with his hand, immediately kissing your neck. you try to scream, eyes wide as you extend your neck, trying to get a glimpse of your perpetrator. art fucking donaldson. you push your body off of him. "you're a fucking psychopath!" you shout, trying to steady your breath. his hand reaches between your legs. "why are you so wet then?" he's right, you're soaked. you hate how your body is secretly loving what he's doing. he's so fucking desperate for you, you've never seen anything like it. you slap him across the face, he turns back to you, his eyes are dark and he's smirking. he reaches over and grabs you by the throat, "stop acting like you don't want to fuck me right now." a moan escapes your lips, satisfaction spreading over his face.

"tell me, tell me you don't want me to fuck you and i'll leave." pulling you closer by the grip around your neck. you can barely breathe, forcing your words out. "fuck me, please," it takes seconds for him to spin you round and bend you over the counter. pulling your panties down your legs. "good girl, you even said please." he pushes his shorts down his legs, spanking your ass before pushing himself into you. your knuckles turn white, gripping the side of the counter so hard, his hands on your hips, bruising your skin as he thrusts in and out of you. "such a dirty little slut aren't you, baby," he bites your earlobe, all you can do is nod your head as your eyes roll back. he spanks your ass again, gripping and biting and sucking every bit of your skin he can.

"you missed this dick, didn't you princess?" you're not lying when you tell him yes, he's the best sex you've ever had. he lifts one of your legs on to the counter, pushing himself in deeper. it's mere moments before you're a mess before him, screaming his name as you orgasm. he kisses your back as you do, not slowing down until he pushes himself over the line, pulling out of you as his come drips down your legs. you both stay still for a few seconds, collecting your breath before art spins you round to face him. "will you please, please, be my girlfriend, fuck me," he's kissing all over your face. "art, you've only taken me on one date, and i told you, i don't do relationships." he only stops kissing you to reply. "i don't fucking care," he wraps his arms around your naked body. you hate commitment, it petrifies you, but something, somewhere in you is screaming at you to say yes. "if i say yes, will you stop sitting at that damn coffee shop every morning?" you're teasing him, and for the first time, you see art shy. "i'm sorry, i don't know what's happening to me, i'm not usually this fucking obsessive, you've done something to me." his head is buried in the nape of your neck. "fine, yes, i will be your girlfriend." his head shoots up, kissing you so intensely. "fucking finally."

[just-some-random-blogger]

Accidental Targ

Scene III: i told you to hold my hand! | Masterlist

Daemon Targaryen x Modern!Reader

Summary: After coming to terms with the fact you were in King's Landing some two thousand years before your birth, you get reunited with your friend and try to manifest your way back to the present. For the meantime, Harwin Strong is your bodyguard.

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: fem!reader, time travel au, descriptions of reader's hair, incestuous gremlin!daemon, very sus and innappropriate boss-employee dynamics, low key sugar daddy!otto hightower vibes, crackfic, typos, etc.

A/N: GUYS I DID IT. I FINISHED IT 😫 Also, its come to my attention that perhaps the way i planned out everything geographically is ??? bad but no its not just roll with it AND!! remember yall voted for him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i have a feeling you didnt read the prompt fully but whatever HAHAHAA i honestly have no idea where i meant to take this fic, so ???? enjoy?? HAHHAAH

Shoot me if I ever say it again, but for now: gods bless capitalism, specifically for it desecrating a national landmark.

Where once I was one of the people who protested against the building of the High Garden Centre, girl, was I thankful that the old ruins of the fucking Red Keep laid there as a little ol' artsy featurette.

"What's that sound?" Daemon asks as we stand from our spot.

I turn to my side, never before so relieved to hear and see, no more than two blocks away, a rave spilling out of a club, the very one Libby and I were at before we got into this shit show. "That, my prince, is called EDM."

I hurriedly run to Libby's side to pick her up, but Daemon does that himself. He get down and pulls the blue haired woman on his back, and I help him. At the same time, I feel a buzz from my satchel.

My phone!

Daemon watches me as I frantically claw for my device. The amount of texts and call notifications that pop up on my screen is overwhelming. I decide to just let it go off and grab Daemon's arm, "come on."

We walk down from the ruins, shifting through the shrubs and foliage around it. I catch the sight a mall cop and feel agitated when he looks over. He couldn't care less though, the site was open to the public after all, and with a literal club being right there, we were the least of his worries.

We pass the rusty chain fence surrounding it, and draw near Harrenhal (the club). Once we're there, a bunch of men hoot and holler at me. I ignore them as they say something about my 'Targaryen' hair and it dawns on me they were probably calling me princess and lady because I was still in a fucking Targaryen era dress.

Still, I ignore the stupid fucks as they ask to see my pretty skirt, opting to walk faster instead. I was horrified by how loud and violent Daemon's scream was.

He shouted so gutturally that I couldn't understand a lick of The High Valyrian flaming out of his mouth. The vein on his neck popped out and I literally had to hold him back from charging and dropping Libby.

"Daemon, please!" I whimper, heart racing, "Libby's still on you-"

"Grab her and I'll fucking ram steel down- COME OVER HERE AND SAY THAT AGAIN. SAY THAT-"

Steel? I look to his belt. Fucking seven hells, he brought Dark Sister?

I look back at him with wide eyes, feeling nauseous now that I've caught how maddened he looked.

In a panic, I gently pat his face while pulling his arm back, "Daemon, please."

He doesn't look at me.

My voice gets softer and my eyes water, "Daemon, I beg you."

He huffs and clenches his jaw, still not sparing me a glance.

"We don't have time for them," I whisper and keep my hand on his cheek, "I'm just going to connect to the club's wifi from here, then I'll can call us an Ubor."

Daemon does not tear his gaze from the men, who eventually waddle away to whatever sewer they came from, still hollering bullshit as they did.

"Kesan daor nārhēdegon naejot nyetodha aōha irosh," Daemon mutters. I will not forget to slit your throats.

The relief that washed over me was unparalleled when I booked an Ubor set to arrive in 3 minutes. I whimper and rub my eyes, "okay, not long now."

Daemon finally looks at me, still visibly pissed, and adjusts Libby on his back.

I wipe my face, "we're just going to get in the c-" Fuck... I should probably prepare him for the car.

"Okay," I raise my hands, "we're going to get in a metal..." I motion to the space, "... there's going to be a- a- carriage? But with no horse... but and when I get in, you just get in with me, okay?"

Daemon's expression is now one of confusion.

I sigh and place a hand on his shoulder, "it's going to be okay."

His lips curl, "... OK."

I screw my eyes shut and shake my head rapidly, "I mean alright. Alright! ALRIGHT!"

Daemon takes in my visible frustration and nods slowly, "OK."

To be honest, Daemon was a pretty good Ubor passenger, save for the fact his sword nearly cut me, Libby, him and the fucking car seats when he tried to sit without removing his scabbard first. We were lucky the driver seemed to be used to... ren fair people.

He also seemed to be used to driving people to the ER. I was too relieved to think realize how fucked up that kinda is in the moment. Needless to say, I gave him 5 stars and an extra tip.

With Dark Sister in my grip and Libby in Daemon's arms, we finally made it to Lannister Medical Center.

The moment we get there, I run inside the ER and break down at the first nurse I see. I infodump everything, how Libby got attacked, how Harwin lost her, how some maesters tried to help us, how she lost a lot of blood, how I'm afraid she's going to die, how Daemon ended up carrying her, and I just keep going up until I saw Libby's blue hair scattered on a stretcher and the nurse told me to sit down.

I didn't have much fight in me left to argue, so I sit myself down on the bench. But then I see the nurse speaking to Daemon, who, seemed to be explaining what had happened, and I panic all over again.

Before I could stand though, another nurse was there to accommodate me. He did a checkup on me, asked me how I was feeling, and asked if I needed anything to calm down.

I told him I was fine and proceeded to answer his other questions. Daemon eventually came to my side and eyed him.

The nurse gives me a nod and offers a smile, "you seem to be physically well. Just let yourself relax. The doctors have your friend; they'll do their best to help her."

"Thank you."

The nurse nods again. He gives me and Daemon one last look before walking off.

I grab Daemon's hand once it's just the two of us. I look up and shudder, "we did it."

He looks down at me, violet eyes solemn. He brings a hand to my cheek and swipes at my cheek, "ȳdra daor limagon."

"I don't know what that means," I mumble.

"I said don't cry, pretty girl," he kneels in front of me, "worrying will not save your friend."

I stare at him, feeling my heart race and belly roll because of the look he had. He brushes my silver hair back behind my shoulders, only intensifying the flurry in my stomach. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, suddenly, my stomach growls. Oh.

Daemon turns his eyes to my belly as I clutch it.

"You want something to eat... prince?"

Daemon reaches a hand out, "lead the way."

I take his hand, grab Dark Sister, and hand it to him. He fastens his scabbard as we exit the ER and I go through my satchel, fishing for my wallet. Just before I get it, I remember that I blew most of my money on the Ubor.

"Fuck," I curse and turn to Daemon, "I don't have enough money."

Daemon rests his hand on his sword and simply stairs.

"I don't have coin," I clarify. I look around the road and figure our chances of riding a bus at this hour was nonexistent. I give him a look, "do you mind walking home with me?"

Daemon raises a brow, "as opposed to swimming home with you?"

I raise my brows and sigh, "Daemon-"

"Lead the way," he nods and points, "I am not one to tire easily."

I nod and slice through air to drive a point, "okay. No matter what happens," I reach out to him, "you have to hold my hand, okay?"

He looks at my hand then my face, his violet eyes sparkle with amusement. He chuckles but he links his fingers between mine (overkill if you ask me). I'm glad goosebumps don't form.

Daemon smiles softly, "you take me for a child, riña?"

"This child knows how to cross the street," I squeeze his hand harder than necessary and begin to walk off, "I'm not sure you do, kekepa." Grandfather.

Daemon laughs, full-on throwing his head back, "how hard is it to cross? You jus-"

His words go dry when an empty school bus passes us. He was so stunned by the yellow contraption, I had to tug his arm to continue walking.

Just then, a Megatron looking-ass truck drives down the street. I hiss and curse the 14 wheeler for emitting such horrible smoke, eyeing it as it drives away.

Meanwhile, I catch the prince's stunned reaction and almost feel bad for finding it funny. Almost.

We arrive at my apartment about 20 minutes later.

I press the elevator button and turn to Daemon, "don't put your arm between the door, okay?"

Daemon gives me a look.

The elevator opens and we step inside. Daemon gives me a look, "we have lifts you know."

I pull my head back, "you do?"

"At the wall," Daemon retorts as the elevator door closes.

"The wall?" I think for a moment, "ahh. You're right."

A beat.

I knit my brows, "wait, you've been to the wall?"

"Of course I've been to the wall."

The moment we get to my place, relief washes over me. I take my shoes off and scoop my hair in front, "fucking rip this dress off me."

Without a single thought between his brows, Daemon's reaches out to undo the ties at the back of my dress.

Just before he does this, I hear him walk in with his boots and nearly have a heart attack when he passes my threshold.

"OH, ABSOLUTELY NOT!" I turn and shove him back, "take your crusty boots off now!"

Daemon looks at me in bewilderment but walks back and doesn't protest as he removes his shoes. He places his shoes on the rack along with mine.

Not wasting time, he catches my arm and yanks me towards him. He spins me around and immediately undoes the back of my dress. I hastily begin to tug my dress down once I can.

He chuckles, "eager girl."

I rather literally jump out of my dress when I can. Pent-up rage overcomes me. I turn around and start kicking the dress away, releasing all my frustration and anger out on the thing. I curse 8th century Westeros and the Red Keep in particular and assault the object until I'm out of breath.

I proceed to jump onto my sofa and allow exhaustion to finally take over my being.

A second later, I catch Daemon's expression and realize, he probably thought he was going to get lucky when I asked him to basically strip me naked.

"Ahh," I get back on my feet, "sorry about," I point to the dress, "that."

Daemon says nothing as he steps closer. He reaches out for my hip and I swat his hand away. I shake my head, "this is my house."

He chuckles as I evade him on my way to the kitchen, which was not nearly as far as it should have been. The prince eyes the space, "yes. An impressive little room you've got." He follows after me, "I'd love to see the rest of it."

I look at him as I reach my fridge and open the door.

Daemon squints at the light that radiates on me. I cuss at the fact I only had cereal (no milk) and some vegetables that have gone bad. I grab the paper box and hand it to him. He blankly stares at it as I discard the vegetables.

Daemon's brows contort at he box, "it's cold."

I wash my hands, "yeah, refrigerators do that."

"Gra'-nola," he reads.

"Granola," I correct as I dry my hands on my shift.

I'm suddenly struck with the realization his grubby has have never seen antibacterial soap. I snatch the box from him and motion to the sink, "wash your hands."

Daemon turns to the sink and purses his lips.

For a second, I debate if he'd melt if he uses something antiseptic, but then figure I should still take my chances.

I prop the cereal on the counter and exemplify him how to wash his hands. Daemon, with slight reluctance, pumps some hand wash on his palm, opens the sink, and rinses.

I excitedly applaud him once he was done.

"A hand towel," he raises his dripping hands.

I look around even though I didn't have a hand towel. I shrug, "I usually just use my pants."

Daemon shakes his hands by the sink, "your pants?"

"Yeah. They're like clothes that you put on your-"

He grabs my shift and pulls me closer. He wipes his hands on it, "I know what pants are, princess."

I push him off and smirks as he dodges. I make a face, "well, I do so beg your pardon, your majesty."

The prince lets out a low laugh, "don't get too brazen, or I'll have you begging till you weep."

I quickly change the subject, "get that damned sword off your hip." I shoo him and rummage through my kitchen cabinets.

Daemon watches this and chuckles again. He tilts his head as he eyes my legs. He undoes his scabbard, sets it on my dining table, and pulls out a chair. He sits down just as I find a can of Sbam. Huzzah!

I grab a chopping board and open the can. A small smile spreads on the prince's lips as stares. But then, his expression drops when I shake, or try to shake, the processed meat out of the can.

I huff once I've succeeded, and I begin to cut the Sbam chunk, "you know this was in created during the war," I slice a piece, "it saved a lot of people from starvation."

"Which war?"

I freeze when he says this. I open my mouth then close it, unsure if recounting the details of world wars to him was a good idea, "you know what, never mind that."

Once I was done with the Sbam, I got a pan and heat it up. I get a plate and a loaf of bread, then place it on the table.

I click my tongue at the sight of his sword, "off the table!"

Daemon watches as I take Dark Sister and replace it with the plate and bread. I place the sword by the shoes and he takes the plastic wrapped bread. He feels the material and opens it, "what is this?"

"Bread," I retort, going back to my pan.

"No, I know that, but what's it wrapped with?"

I give him a quick look, "oh, plastic," I begin to cook the Sbam, "it's made of carbon... I think- I dunno- don't quote me on that."

Daemon opens the bag and takes a slice of bread. He pulls his had back, "it's sliced."

I beam and jump excitedly, "it is! It's sliced bread! Betty White is older than sliced bread! And so are you!"

Daemon ignores this as he sniffs the piece in his hand. He takes a bite then and makes a face, "why does it taste like that?"

"Like what?"

His brows knit and his eyes narrow, "like a pretender."

I burst into a laugh. I flip over the Sbam with a spatula, "imitation bread?"

"It wants so earnest to be bread," he pushes the loaf away and shakes his head, "but it clearly isn't."

I laugh even harder.

He snorts at my reaction. He smiles as leans back on his chair. A few moments later, he grows serious, "you ought to dismiss your royal baker."

Oh. My lips twitch and I chuckle under my breath, "ah, yes. My royal baker. Yes, I will dismiss my royal baker for making horrible sliced bread. Yes."

The Sbam was now cooked. I present it to him on a plate, "bon app-- ... I hope you like it."

Daemon leans forward to scrutinize the dish.

I press my lips into a line as I sit down next to him. I take a slice of imitation bread and fold in a slice of Sbam. I realize just how hungry I was after taking a bite. Through half-full mouth, I mutter, "it's good."

Daemon watches me and follows suit. He takes some bread and Sbam, then chomps.

I stop chewing. Wait, what if he gets an instant heart attack because his living fossil-self can't handle processed food?

He licks his lips and chews. I begin to grow more agitated as he makes a face.

"It's delicious," Daemon says, going in for another bite.

My agitation turns into shock, "really?!"

"Well, it's no roasted pork, but it'll suffice," he mutter between chews.

I let out a soft laugh and nod, "I'm glad it's enough for the prince."

"I'm honored the princess herself made it for me."

Aw, fuck. Who's gonna tell him?

There is a knock on my door. At the same time, my phone rings.

Daemon is alerted by the sound and I dash away to finally answer my phone.

"What is that?" the prince asks.

"It's my phone. Remember? You can call people with it."

Daemon narrows his eyes as I rummage my bag for my device. The knocking on the door gets louder.

I turn to the door, "just a minute."

I find my phone and feel my stomach drop at the caller ID. The banging on the door persists.

I answer the phone and head for the door, "hello?"

"Fucking hells!" the voice is worn and apparently worried, "where the fuck have you bee-"

"It's not you outside, is it?" I cut him off as I head for the door.

"What?! No! I'm in the fucking North, dammit! Your friends have been calling me nonstop, since fucking Sunday! -"

I open the door and my face falls. Standing before me is a man in a dark teal suit; his tie was loose, his stubble was thick, and he held what looked like a dozen bags in his hands.

"- You and Libby have been fucking missing for days! Where-"

"Mr. Hightower," I lower my phone as the man on the other end continues to chastise me.

Otto Hightower looks me up and down, then sighs, "out of the way."

Without another thought, I step back to let him in. He expertly slips out of his leather shoes then heads towards my sofa. He places all the bags on the coffee table. I follow after him.

I hear my name being shouted from my phone. I close the door and follow after Otto.

I listen in on the call again and I hiss when the voice pierces my ear drum, "Jon, calm down."

"CALM DOWN!? HOW CAN I BE CALM WHEN YOU WON'T TELL ME ANYTHING!?"

I begin to panic when Daemon walks over.

"Who is that?" Otto asks me. He notices Daemon, then makes a face, "who are you?"

I look at Otto, then Daemon, and dash over to the prince, grabbing his hand. I watch in real time the recognition and disbelief that floods the Targaryen's features as he watches the other slowly remove his tie.

"Libby and I got stuck in the ren-fair!" I reply to my phone.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU FUCKING CALL?!"

"MY PHONE DIED, JON!" I shout back a lie.

Otto's brow raises. He looks at me and mouths, "Jon?"

I ignore that and groan "LOOK! I'm fine! Libby's-- ... Libby's," I whisper softly, "in the ER-"

"THE ER-"

"I'M TAKING CARE OF HER!"

"WHY THE FUCK IS SHE IN THE ER?!"

"Libby's in the ER?" Otto mutters.

I raise a finger to answer my phone, "Jon, please. I'll explain everything tomorrow."

He screams my name and I have to rip my phone away from my ear again. I vaguely hear him rant about how I should explain why his sister is in the fucking ER.

"Jon, Jon, I love you but I have to go," I quip and immediately end the call. I turn on airplane mode and throw my phone on to the couch.

I release a breath and find myself pulling a smile as the man in the suit eyes me. He's about to speak, but Daemon beats him to it.

"What was that?" the prince asks, pulling me by the arm to face him.

I turn to him and make a face. It's Otto that answers for me, "her ex boyfriend."

I turn to Otto as he tilts his head and raises a brow, as if daring me to correct him.

I do, "my best friend's brother."

Daemon eyes Otto; the latter makes a face, "who used to your lover," he crosses his arms, "I'm offended you take his calls but not mine."

"And who are you?" Daemon hisses, stepping towards him.

Without missing a beat, Otto meets his gaze and scoffs, "who are you?"

Daemon's pulls his chin back and chuckles dryly. His expression screamed FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT.

I jump in front of him, my back presses his chest. I give a nervous laugh, "Mr. High- Director- Mr. Director- sir. This is Daemon."

Otto watches as I grip Daemon's hands behind me.

"And Daemon," I barely look at him over my shoulder, "this is... my... employe-"

"Otto Hightower," he cuts me off, bringing his hand into his breast pocket, "Director and CFO of King's Landing Holdings."

I wince, fuck.

"King's Landing?!" Daemon laughs out loud.

Otto produces a business card.

"It's a company!" I turn around and wave my hands, "it's a company! An establishment!"

Daemon does not tear his eyes away from him.

"He's my employer!" I explain.

Otto offers a piece of paper between his fingers.

The prince looks at it and slightly pushes me away, "what's he doing here then?"

"That's hardly any of your business," Otto retorts, tucking his business card back into his pocket.

Daemon laughs and finally turns to me. He mutters something in High Valyrian along the lines of 'let me do something' and 'stabbing'. I frantically shake my hand and push him back.

He thankfully relents and I sit him back down on my dining table.

My relief is fleeting when I realize the only reason Daemon didn't refute was because Otto was trailing right after me. My stomach drops when I feel a hand on my back.

Otto is right behind me. He places a few of the paper bags he brought on the table. He opens them, "I bought you dinner."

I turn to him, intent to tell him he shouldn't have.

"Amongst other things," he adds.

Daemon barks, "we have dinner."

"How did you even know I was home?" I say at the same time.

Otto's eyes flick to him, to the plate of Sbam on the table. His face is blank as looks back to me. He decides to remove his coat jacket, "I suppose you'd-" eyes Daemon, "-also think a candle equal to a campfire."

"Mister Hightower," I helplessly mutter.

He hangs his jacket on the backrest. He turns to me, "and you were missing--"

My expression sours.

"-- what did you expect me to do? I obviously utilized my connections. I'm offended you'd ask me such a thing."

Daemon mutters something in High Valyrian again.

"Of course, I had come see you myself," he looks at me through his lashes as rolls up his sleeves. My eyes dart to his sleeve tattoos and arm veins. When I begin to scrutinize the hairs on his skin, I realize I've stared to long.

In a panicked frenzy, I begin to unpack one of the paper bags. He, himself, brings out a stack of food containers and places them on the table.

The smell alone makes my stomach grumble.

Otto steps away and comes back with plates and cutlery. He places one plate in front of me, and has a prolonged stare at Daemon before placing the other in front of Daemon. He says, "I would hate for prince Daemon to be reduced to eating Sbam for dinner."

My expression drops. Daemon does not move an inch.

Otto turns to me and pulls out the chair. I take a moment before sitting down, because, really, did I have any other choice?

Otto opens the containers one by one and my mouth waters as I see lobster, lamb, and lemon cakes. He serves me meat and veggies, "I would assume you're not hurt like your friend."

I watch as he places food on my plate. I gulp before responding, "I'm just... tired."

"Then, I would also assume you'll not be attending work tomorrow," he takes my hand, putting the utensils in them. He scrapes a chair to my side and sits down next to me, urging me to eat with a motion.

I look at Mr. Hightower, "oh no- I will! I will-"

"You won't," he raises a hand, "see to it you're well rested."

I turn to my plate, feeling a flurry in my stomach over his words.

"Are you not going to serve your prince?" Daemon cuts in, raising his brows.

The lamb I was about to eat drops back to my plate.

The two glare, as if willing the other to spontaneously combust.

Before anything else could happen, I stand and reach out to Daemon's plate. I squeak when both grab me by the wrist.

My throat tightens.

My heart races when Daemon stands, "release her."

Otto raises his brows and tilts his head, "sit back down."

I rip my wrists out of their grips. Thankfully, neither put up a fight.

They stare at each other for what felt like ages. My agitation rockets when I see my boss begin to fidget with his hands the way he did when he was annoyed and ready to do something drastic.

I give Daemon a panicked look and grab his wrist, "kostilus." Please.

Daemon clenches his fist.

I continue to beg him until he sits.

I squeak when he grabs my chair by the seat and pulls me towards him. He mutters, "kesan daor emagon ao va bona run." I will not have you near that thing.

I turn to Director Hightower; I could see his annoyance building.

Fuck.

"Miste-" "Enjoy your meal then," he speaks as he stands. He grabs his coat and points, "I've bought some first aid things. I'm sure your friend can help you put that away."

I move to stand but Daemon stops me. He looks up at Otto in disgust, "do mind the steel contraptions on your way out."

I snap at Daemon, eyeing him hotly. He places a hand over my legs, ensuring I do not evade him. I watch as Mr. Hightower heads for the door, and in a split second decision, I turn to the prince and kiss him on the lips.

He is evidently taken aback, but it only takes him another second to get into it. Once he's put his guard down, I rip away from him and chase after my boss just as he exits my apartment.

"MR. HIGHTOWER!"

Otto turns around. I huff as I meet him just outside my door, "I'm really sorry about him. He's... he's just like that."

"You're not responsible for the actions of others," he retorts, nonchalant.

"I know. But still-"

"You are responsible for the company you keep," he adds.

I brush my silver hair back, "and you're not responsible for my well-being."

He snorts and shakes his head, "I'm your superior."

I press my lips into a thin line, deciding not to get into this conversation right now, "that, you are, Director."

We stare at each other for a moment. I examine his well-ironed suit, noticing how he didn't bother to fix his tie or buttons any more.

"I'll-"

"Is he not-" Daemon kicks the door open.

My eyes widen, "DAEMON-"

"-fucking gone yet?!" he points Dark Sister in an offensive stance. I yelp when he swings his weapon and scratches the door.

Otto's fight or flight instincts kick in and he takes flight down the hall.

"DAEMON-" I scream. I duck down and grab him by the torso, "STOP IT!"

Daemon screams out in High Valyrian. He laughs and lowers his sword, "yeah, you better run."

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Stop trying to feel everything

John Egan X Lieutenant Colonel!Reader

Summary: When a woman comes on the base, ranked higher than anyone. Bucky wants a date with her!

Warning: Historical inaccuracies/ sexism/ alcohol use/ mention of death/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 850

She made her way into the debrief room, she felt the men staring at her, she heard whispers. ‘’Gentleman, this is Lieutenant Colonel Rogers, she will be working with the AWPD (Air War Plan Division), I want you all on your best behaviour, she’s ranked higher than most of you here’’ Colonel Harding ordered. The men went silent as they heard her rank. Bucky looked at the woman, she was intimidating, her body language was telling that she was confident and didn’t took any of the men’s bullshit. ‘’Thank you, Colonel. Now boys, your next target is – ‘’ she was cut off by one of the men. ‘’Come on, doll, lose the uniform!’’ he yelled. She stooped what she was doing and looked at the men. She looked at him from up and down and looked at him in the eyes. Her gaze was intimidating. ‘’Misogyny, how refreshing, what’s next? Stay in the kitchen, you drive like a woman? Listen to me very carefully, I’m the one that helps deciding where you’re going to fly next, which bomb you’re going to drop and everything that you were trained to do. So go ahead, make another joke and I’ll have you arrest for assault by the M. P’s. Understood?’’ she didn’t break eye contact with the men, who quickly sat down with his head down. ‘’Can I continue?’’ she looked at the men in the room.

She quickly made a reputation for herself. She was strong and was fierce, many tried to get with her, all of them failed to do so. John Egan made it his personal objective to get a date with the Lieutenant Colonel Rogers. But as the number of missions grew, he slowly started to lose his mind, Bucky came back from a mission with a lot of casualties, he went to see one of the men injured in the hospital. Y/n was already there. ‘’I’ll let you rest, Bubbles, take care of yourself’’ she said, holding his hands. ‘’Thank you, Miss Rogers,’’ he said, smiling. She walked to the door, but when she walked past Major, she slowed down. ‘’Hello, Major, your friend, Curt, told me to say that he and other guys were going to go drink. He invited you.’’ She said as she walked out the room. Her perfume filled his nose, she smelled really good. ‘’Uh, thank you’’ he stuttered.

He was on the wing of his plane, drinking directly from the bottle. ‘’Curt, can you do me a favor?’’ He asked his friend. He nodded. ‘’Come here’’ he said, moving his fingers in a ‘Come here’ motion. ‘’I want you to hit me’’ he said. Y/n was driving her Jeep around the base. She heard someone yelling, so she drove where the noise came from. She saw Major Egan on the wing of the plane. She stopped the vehicle and got out. ‘’What’s wrong with you, Major?’’ she asked the brunette. ‘’Nothing, Miss.’’ He said, holding his nose. ‘’He just asked me to punch him!’’ Curt exclaimed. Y/n had to hold her laugh as she smiled in disbelief. ‘’Major Egan, come back down, right now’’ she ordered. He did as she asked and climbed down the plane. ‘’What’s going on with you?’’ she asked. ‘’I just want to feel something’’ he blurted out. Y/n felt bad for him. ‘’Hop in, Major’’ she tapped the seat next to her. He sat next to her; she hands him a tissue for his nose. ‘’You know you can do something else than getting punched’’ she said. ‘’I just don’t know what’’ he mumbled. ‘’Stop trying to feel everything, Major, the emotions you’re feeling are valid’’ she says to him. He looked at her, she didn’t know what to say, but he had a lump in his throat. ‘’Why are you shutting off to us, Lieutenant?’’ he asked her. She thought about an answer, but he was right. ‘’Because I can’t take dead pilots, again. I want to be strong; I can’t see my friends being dead, not again’’ she said. She’d been transferred from another base; she lost her old best friend and went a little crazy. Bucky looked at her, she had both hands on the steering wheel, but if one of them was free, he would take her hand. ‘’Yeah, I heard the rumors’’ he softly says. ‘’The one that say that I’m crazy?’’ she asks. ‘’Yeah, but I didn’t believe them’’ Y/n smiles. She stops the car near a tree. ‘’Listen, Major, normally, I’m supposed to get you in trouble for the hole ‘punch me’ situation. I take my job very seriously, and if they learn that I went soft on you, my reputation is ruined. So don’t do it again, or the M. Ps are going to get involved, got it?’’ she tired to sound intimidating. Bucky softly smiled. ‘’You can’t buy my silence that easily, Lieutenant’’ he teased. ‘’Alright, what do you want?’’ she laughed. ‘’A date?’’ his voice was full of hope. Y/n rolled her eyes and looked at the men. She found him attractive, and he was the only one that was persistent enough to try to have a date with her. ‘’Okay, I’ll go on a date with you, Major’’

[thesamoanqueen]

Anatomy of an affair

Warnings: age-gap (but we keep it legal), cheating.

A/N: I was talking to @alyyaanna and the anatomy professor's idea took control, I couldn't resist, so this one for her. It will have a sequel, this is just part 1.

They say the secret of a good relationship is friendship, I had scientifically proven that this wasn't the case being a test subject all my life. Tobert and I had grown up in the same neighborhood in Pendleton South Carolina, two nearby houses, our families loved each other, we went to school together, hung out with the same group of friends, we even broke our arms together – it was his fault –. For everyone we were two soul mates linked, it was inevitable in some way. We had done everything together our whole lives, the most mundane things and the first shameful experiences. Our relationship on paper was destined for success, absolute, overwhelming, our faces under the heading "goal couple", at least until I decided to study medicine in Boston and he stayed in our hometown. Our paths had separated for just three months before he had a bad accident at his uncle's construction company, he had begged me, it had been a tough decision, but I had agreed to come back to support him. But now that I had finally taken control of my life, in my second actual year of studies, Tobert was boycotting everything again.

For the entire previous year I had thought he was trying to distract himself from the void I had left in his life, filling it with trips and nights with co-workers and friends, but looking back I had been kidding myself. Our parents called every day to find out when we were getting married and if I would be home soon, but from him? Oh, well, a few calls, always short, couple of messages, often stupid ones, and a facetime on weekend for some creepy phone sex. He didn't come to visit me, he didn't organize anything when I returned home, for my last birthday he sent me a package with a sweater I suspected he hadn't chosen. And now, after months of tolerating it, I saw him in an IG story with a chick’s ass in his face.

- "Good Lord man!"

- "Sav have you seen? Sav?"

What I could see was that he was even enjoying it! He had the same stupid face of an old man who can't read the newspaper, the one has been in my face since we were fifteen, ending our moments like commercials on TV in his father's garage.

- "What’s with that face? Sav is it everything okay?"

- "Savannah…"

I had felt guilty for wanting to start again and leaving him behind, I was working hard to finish and return home, I had always pushed away the instinct that told me I deserved more and instead he was living his best life without worrying about hiding it. His behaviour was not somekind of abandonment syndrome, it was just one of his bullshit and evidences were everywhere. I was a freking clown, our relationship was a joke I had wanted to believe alone because after so many years it seemed impossible to think of anyone else to me, when he was simply used to having me there at his disposal and now he thought was free. I had wasted my life and almost burned my future…

Realization hit me in the cafeteria, my colleagues staring at me like at some psycopath and rightly so, because when the next story popped up on the screen, I snapped.

- "That asshole!" – my scream echoed throughout the entire hall, overcoming the chatter that always filled it.

The sudden silence that followed and the hand one of my friends smashed against my arm brought me back suddenly, but by then it was late. I had just made the scene I would probably always be remembered for. Standing with my latte dripping onto the couch and music now playing in the background like a bad theme for my drama, I saw dozens of eyes staring at me.

- "... Sav what’s you problem?! We got company... get your ass over here!" – my roommate whispered in a panic, nodding towards the two men who had been about to leave.

In slow motion I saw them both looking at me and to humiliation was added absolute terror when without thinking I raised my hand to wave an embarrassed greeting, restarting Tobert's story. Oh, they would definitely remember me for that scene.

There wasn't a person on the entire campus who didn't know about my performance and the worst thing certainly wasn't the rumors but rather pity looks, plus the extra tasks I had agreed to do to clean up my reputation and keep myself busy. I hadn't received any formal warning, not even a comment, but I didn't want to risk ruining my career after having already dropped out in the past. The idea of losing the opportunity of a lifetime to someone who had already gotten more than he deserved from me drove me crazy.

Tobert hadn't commented, probably his two brain cells hadn't yet met to discuss what to do or they didn't think it was serious, but I had clear ideas and I had chosen to run the circus, patiently planning the day I would have kicked him with my degree.

So armed with good will and courage I marched across campus with my head held high, ready to face my demons and regain total control. It was almost time for the anatomy course to start and I planned to pass with top marks, but to do so I also had to make sure that the new professor didn't just remember me for screaming that day in front of him and his predecessor. My friends talked about him constantly, but I didn't have time for gossip, I had to seem like the right person to invest in for the future of medicine. When I arrived in front of his studio, however, my intention seemed less simple than expected. The entire aisle had been assaulted by a crowd of students, mostly girls. If I had suffered from amnesia, I would have thought I was at a concert or among a nymphomaniacs cult. We weren't in California, those outfits were definitely out of season as well as indecent, what’s was wrong with all of them?

- "Do you think he will receive today?"

- "Ah, I hope so! I want to see him so bad!"

Forced to wait like everyone else, I caught up with the gossip I had refused to hear from my friends, discovering the new professor was not only charming, but also young and free, which explained the cult. I also sadly discovered firsthand he hated receiving students and from what I saw he didn't even respect the time when he should have been forced to do so. Sitting in my chair, I waited twice as long before seeing the other students go away resignedly with their tiny blouses and too short skirts, deciding to spending my time finishing the chemistry project I had to hand in the following week. With my head down and fixed not to give up, I continued typing on my keyboard until two voices distracted me.

- "You can't take care of it alone, it's not necessary and you shouldn't at all" – I knew Mr. Heyman, he was an authority everywhere thanks to his investments and was often in the area because of his daughter, as well as a good friend of the rector.

The other man with him, I had only seen him on the day of my drama and I must not have seen him well due to the shock, because if I had I would not have given dirty looks to all the girls who had waited for him with me. Was he really a professor? Since when were professors like that?! You couldn't be like that, it was disorienting, didn’t help to the teaching process.

- "I should find someone but I don't have time to waste, Paul" – he complained and his voice sent a shiver through my body as I watched them reach the door in front of me.

- "I could ask, I have some friends, I'm sure there will be many smart guys who would be honored to do it, extra credits or not."

- "I will do it."

I said without thinking, lost in thoughts I shouldn't have been having, and they both turned to look at me, just as confused and surprised by the interruption as I was.

I had planned to introduce myself, ask a few questions, apologize for the bad first impression and now I had just made another one, listening to conversations that didn't concern me, without even saying hello, volunteering for who knows what next. Perfect.

Once the confusion was over, Mr. Heyman looked at me with interest, almost analyzing me, and I quickly tried to put myself together, putting everything away to get up.

- "And you are?" – He asked, his hands hidden in the pockets of his elegant suit.

- "Savannah Naïs Simon. Among the best in my class" – I introduced myself without hesitation and once again mentally scolded myself.

Now I even praised myself?! I usually handled the pressure well, for that kind of career it was indispensable, after all, but all of a sudden I was making one misstep after another and I couldn't afford it, not now. Tobert wasn't there to screw things, I had no excuses, it was my time, it was up to me. Head held high, nerves strong, that's what I needed.

- "Among the best doesn't mean the best" – Mr. Heyman cut me off, shaking his head – "and we have to check it too. I'll make a call."

Struck dumb, I quickly tried to think of something, anything, to make my case. The other professors would have confirmed, but what would I look like standing there waiting for their help?

- "It's no use" – however, Professor Reigns, who had watched until that moment, stopped us both.

His voice really played tricks on my body, but when my eyes met his it was even worse. His expression conveyed nothing, I couldn't imagine what he was thinking, but he exuded authority and there was something magnetic about him, the kind of man capable of changing the atmosphere with just his presence.

- "Are you sure?" – he heard Mr. Heyman ask him, finally stopping looking at me.

- "I’ll take her" – he established, checking me for a brief moment and I held my breath without even realizing it.

He will… take me? for doing what? And was it positive or…

- "We start tomorrow morning" – he said, addressing me directly.

- "I will be on time" – I promised, even if he had already turned his back to me to open the door, Mr. Heyman following him without paying any more attention to me.

- "No phone Miss Simon" – he advised from afar, just before I was left completely alone in the aisle and I distinctly felt the weight of the entire campus falling on me.

I had risked making another scene, I had volunteered for something I didn't even know what it was, I would have had to move lessons to keep my word and I would have thrown away even the amount of time I had left to sleep. And once again that wasn't the worst, but the fact he remembered and had already targeted me before I could even apologize.

What awaited me was a role as an assistant for the entire duration of the course, but I only found out the following day, after spending the whole night awake. I wouldn't have much time to do anything else, it was clear from the first moment, but I had no intention of backing out after having volunteered. It wasn't just a way to make up for my bad impression, it was an opportunity for which anyone else would have gladly given an organ, I myself would have done so - who needed two kidneys? One was enough - and that would certainly help my career, I was lucky. Professor Reigns was a successful doctor, he had changed the landscape of pathological anatomy with his works and his presence was an honor for the university. Admissions to his course were closed after just one day and the program specified that a selection would still be made by him personally. Assisting him and observing how he worked could have given me a great advantage in the selection phase and that was what I was aiming for. Memorizing had always been my thing, but anatomy was much more than listing body parts.

However, reality once again did not correspond to my expectations and in the following three days, I felt more like a secretary than an assistant, with alla those emails and calls. He always arrived early and most of the time I found him sitting at his desk, looking at personal documents and boxes full of medical records. He worked with his head down for hours, often without speaking or taking a break, which wasn't good for my ambition, but at least it helped me not to get distracted because the rare times I saw him looking at me were a test of mental resistance.

His presence demanded attention, his imposing body promised what it shouldn't with the most banal gestures like a pen between his fingers. Calling him a good-looking man would have been an insult, the world was full of handsome and insignificant men, but he had something vaguely frightening, something I had never tasted before and it awakened an almost primordial impulse in me.

The sound of someone knocking on the door brought me out of my thoughts and I quickly straightened up, hoping nothing in me would give me away. I couldn't think about certain things, I wasn't there to daydream about affairs, not when my future was in play and my lifelong boyfriend had cheated on me. A student I had seen a couple of times appeared in the doorway, wearing a lab coat, a deep neckline underneath. Her blue eyes scanned the room where I was in search of what interested her and which was instead sitting in the near room.

- "I know it's not reception hour, but is the professor over there? I would like to talk to him in private about some things" – she said without even trying too hard to simulate and I batted my eyelashes at her, fascinated and annoyed at her courage before stopping her.

- "Unfortunately he is busy. If it’s important you can ask via email or otherwise wait for the course to start. Lessons start tomorrow morning, the time and place are already confirmed" – I anticipated, getting a reproachful look.

- "I need to see him now."

Oh, I could imagine it and I would have complimented the clever attempt to show up when no one was waiting if she hadn't been trying to call me dumb.

- "Can I help you now?" – I proposed without getting too upset and she seemed on the verge of losing her patience.

- "Can I have an appointment?"

- "Sure, I'll put you on the list."

I didn't see her expression, she was probably furious, but she didn't give me time, huffing her disappointment out of the studio, leaving me with the agenda in my hand. I closed it with a heavy breath, putting it back in my bag, where I had been advised to keep it so that it was always with me and never unattended. When I raised my head I almost had a heart attack, discovering Professor Reigns intent on staring at me from his desk, hands crossed, his expression curious.

- "I'm busy?" – he inquired and his low, rough voice made my neck tingle.

I hadn't told a lie, he was busy. He worked on those medical records all day, there was always some document on which he kept his eyes glued. Why was he staring at me like that? Maybe I shouldn't have spoken before asking yes, but my intentions weren't bad, I was trying to be helpful.

- "With the material for the research project and the visit to the rector this afternoon, plus I don't think she really had any questions" – I explained, clenching my fists praying that I could use them against myself because it would have been much better.

I spoke without being involved, I made decisions independently, now I also commented and implied. The unkind thoughts I'd had about Tobert were backfiring on me, bad karma.

- "Is that so?" – Professor Reigns asked curiously, leaning back in his chair and knowing for a fact it was better keep my mouth closed, I nodded, returning to look at my laptop in silence hoping to not have to explain anything else.

I couldn't talk about those things with a professor, someone who could have mentored me, it didn't matter if there wasn't that much of an age gap between us and we ended up on the topic. It was an off limits talk and I tried to focus on the topics outline he would analyze the following day during the first lesson, it had to be detailed and precise, but I couldn't even read what I had summarized until five minutes before.

- "Savannah right?" – I heard my name being called and even more shocked, I watched him finally get up from his desk to join me – "you want to be a cardiologist"

- "How... who"- I spluttered in surprise and putting hands in his pockets, he smiled at me amused.

A smile that would have knocked anyone out, perfect and soft, so incredibly unexpected on an authority figure like him. For three days he had paid almost no attention to me, only addressing me as necessary as Miss. Simon and I had never hoped for more than that, because of our first meeting and his role. Plus not many people knew my goal, after giving up and coming back was something I had learned to keep to myself.

- "Paul is a friend of mine and the rector's. He has his people. He was doubtful at first, but he thought better of it after a few calls and was right as always. You're doing a good job" – he replied, clarifying the doubts I wasn't even able to express and I felt my stomach tighten with emotion.

I knew I shouldn't expect recognition, not in such a competitive environment and when I was a nobody, but it was nice to know my effort was being noticed. Noticed moreover by people of that level. It was a rush of positive energy I really needed to give value to my sacrifices and know investing in myself was the right thing. Tobert and this sort of incestuous relationship we'd had had tried to screw everything, but I was still in the running.

- "I do my best, it's an honor" – I said enthusiastically, matching the smile he had given me, but he raised a hand to stop me, swinging his head.

- "Let's leave this out, I need support and an objective opinion at every lesson. I'm not a real professor, I'm a doctor, but it's an opportunity and everyone has something to pass on. Do you think you can do it, without distractions?" – He asked, throwing another dig at me, but this time I quickly got over it, nodding immediately.

At that point I would have done anything he asked me, I couldn't refuse him anything. It had been three days as a secretary, ignored and perpetually under pressure, but I had passed the test, I had earned his trust. He really wanted me to become his assistant now, he asked for my opinion even though we weren't equals in that field. Screw karma, I had already won in life at that point!

- "I can give my word Sir" – I promised and once again that smile appeared on his perfect face.

- "Good girl" – he approved, before leaving me again.

Those two words rang in my ears right inside my head, as dangerous as a spell and I had the impression of feeling my blood warm, while my body suddenly came alive and melted at the idea of having deserved that pet name. Subconsciously, I scratched my notebook, legs clenched under the desk as I watched the profile of his massive back. We had had an important moment and there I was holding my breath for something that Tobert had never in a lifetime been able to give me, after two words said without any intention.

I saw Mr. Reigns sit back down, rolling his shoulders with ease as he resumed whatever had occupied him before our chat. His eyes searched me one last time and a part of me that shouldn't have throbbed around nothing, making me lower my head to the lesson plan.

I was imagining it, it was in my head and it had to disappear as soon as possible.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @expert-texpert @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @joannasteez @reignsx @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @333creolelady @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @dreamsinfocus @vebner37 @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @mahi-wayy @jxtina-86 @harmshake @southerngirl41 @smile1318 @headoftheetable @sortudademais

[silent-stories]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇

Pairing: Eddie x GN!Reader

Summary: Eddie was not used to a kind of touch that was not violent until he met you.

Warnings: angst, fluff, domestic violence, blood

1972

Eddie was seven years old and didn't know how to ride a bike.

His mom had left about a year before and Eddie was a child but he wasn't stupid: he knew she wasn't coming back.

His father had lost his job and Eddie didn't know what he did all day - and often all night - outside their house.

No one had ever taught him to ride a bike. But that hadn't stopped him from trying to learn when he found an abandoned bicycle next to a garbage can on his way home from school.

The other kids made it look so easy.

The first time he fell he grazed his knee, which started bleeding when his skin scraped against the asphalt after his jeans ripped.

He wanted to cry but his father said real men didn't cry, so he got up and tried again.

The second time he fell, his arm hit the ground and blood started coming from the scrapes on his elbow as well.

The third time he ended up with his face against the asphalt and a cut on his left eyebrow.

He tried again and again, until even his hands were covered in blood and bruised.

When he got home he used a bottle of whiskey to disinfect the wounds, he didn't know if it was really useful but his father always did it when he came home bleeding.

In his room then, he cried. Not really from the pain of the wounds and the bruises that were starting to form, but because his mom had left him, his father hated him and no one cared about him enough to even teach him how to ride a damn bike.

1974

Eddie was nine years old and he was used to seeing his father come home drunk.

"What the fuck do you want?" the man asked seeing his son as he was stumbling into the house.

Eddie just stood there saying nothing, watching his father struggle to remove his jacket and missing the coat rack, then heading to the kitchen and opening the fridge.

"I told you to buy some beer." He said closing it and turning to look Eddie in the eye.

"I'm nine. They said they won't let me buy it." Eddie muttered and it was the truth.

The father walked towards him and Eddie had to keep from stepping back.

When he reached out his hand for him Eddie flinched but the hand stayed in front of him.

"The money."

Right, his dad was waiting for Eddie to give back the money he didn't spend on beer.

There was just one problem. Eddie had spent that money on a book. He had seen it displayed in a shop window next to a supermarket and hadn't resisted, only now did he realize how stupid he had been.

"So?" Repeated his father, "the money"

Eddie shook his head.

"No?" Eddie could hear a note of anger in his off-balance words. "No what?"

"I don't have your money, sir." Eddie muttered. He shouldn't have bought that book, he never should have.

The father's outstretched hand shot forward the kid and grabbed ​​the child's face, squeezing it between his fingers.

"What the fuck did you do with my money?"

"I'm sorry" the boy murmured as tears formed in his eyes.

"What the fuck did you do with them!?" He raised his voice, his hand still gripping Eddie's face, probably going to have a bruise the next day.

"I-I bought a book." He finally breathed.

"A book?" the father asked, his bloodshot eyes staring into the boy's.

Eddie nodded and before he could understand what was happening his father's hand had left his face and the other, clenched in a fist, reached his face.

Eddie's vision blurred as the punch hit his cheekbone and sent him to the ground.

His head was throbbing and his ears were ringing but he still understood what his father said before disappearing into the bedroom.

"Next time remember not to spend my money on bullshit."

Eddie curled up on the living room floor as he began to sob, one cheek resting on the cold floor as the other felt like on fire.

He stayed there until the sun came up.

1982

Eddie was seventeen and hadn't lived with his father for several years, which was good, but people at school had started calling him "freak."

He pretended that it didn't bother him, that it didn't hurt him and everyone seemed to believe it.

They looked at him with contempt and disgust and Eddie honestly didn't even know why. Was it the way he dressed? Was it because he liked metal?

The jocks had started to bump on him on purpose when walking in the hallways making him drop whatever he was holding in his hands.

But he was already used to things like that.

1986

Eddie was twenty-one and trying to graduate, for the third time.

He was part of a band and at lunch he ate with the other Hellfire members, so he could tell he had found some friends.

But there was also something else. Someone. You.

He'd met you one night when you'd picked up the kids after a Hellfire campaign, complaining that you were sick of babysitting but greeting Dustin by ruffling his short, dark curls, showing that you weren't really mad at any of them.

The thing that surprised Eddie was that you introduced yourself shaking his hand, a common gesture that people did so often but which happened to him so seldom.

He had never told anyone that that gesture had made him feel more "human" and less "freak" than he had ever felt during the last years of his life.

Since that day, every time you went to pick up the kids after a campaign you stayed there a bit more just to talk to him, sitting on a bench outside the school for a few minutes, and Eddie thought it was really weird for him that sometimes he almost wished the game would end soon, to see you again.

You were kind, you were not scared to be around him and you always managed to make him smile.

Sometimes your leg brushed his as you talked and Eddie felt a weird sensation in the pit of his stomach but he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

He liked having you close, he liked when your hand brushed his, when your shoulder touched his or when you put a hand on his arm as you burst out laughing at something stupid he said.

And every time he felt something weird, simultaneously feeling the urge to pull away from you, not to let him touch him the way you did, and the urge to push you closer to him, to grab your hand with his and intertwine his fingers with yours or put an arm around your shoulders.

Another thing that amazed Eddie is that at school you would greet him every time you saw him in the hallways, even just with a simple "hey", but you did it every time. He didn't expect you to want others to associate you with him but it looked like you didn't care.

It was when you gave him a hug, one day, that he realized he was completely screwed, because he liked you. He liked you in a way he'd never liked anyone before and didn't know what to do.

"I knew you could do it!"

It was stupid to be so happy for him since it was his third time taking that math test and it wouldn't alone determine the final result of the year but when you threw your arms around his neck, Eddie felt his heart burn in his chest.

He placed his hand on your back and as he held you close, he found himself burying his face in your hair, breathing in your perfume and hoping that moment would never end.

When you walked away Eddie wanted to pull you against him again but you said you were late for art class and ran away before he could say anything.

Eddie stood in the empty hallway for a few moments, trying to sort out his thoughts, trying to figure out what was happening to him.

His thoughts led him to the last time he had had human contact that wasn't any kind of violence. He finally came to the conclusion that you were the first person in many years, or perhaps for the first time in his life, who offered him a gentle touch.

His uncle wasn't one to physically show affection beyond a pat on the back once in a while and his mom probably gave him a hug once or twice when Eddie was four.

That was all.

The rest were just things Eddie preferred to forget.

And now that you had shown Eddie how a hug, or even just a touch, from someone he loved made him feel, he didn't want that feeling to end.

Fuck, he thought locking his locker with the intention of skipping biology class, he was really screwed.

"Thanks for the ride," Dustin said as you got out of your car in the school parking lot.

"You're lucky I have to drive past your house anyway." You rolled your eyes.

"I swear I'm going by bike tomorrow." He said as you walked side by side towards the school.

"Hey" you nudged him lightly "it's okay. I'm just kidding. You know I can give you a ride every day if you need it."

A huge smile appeared on Dustin's face but before he could say something his gaze met the crowd of people gathered in a sort of circle in front of the school. Some shouted, others cheered and laughed.

"What the hell?" You asked before walking towards the crowd with quick steps, followed by Dustin.

When you arrived, it looked like the show was already over.

You shouldered some students to get a glimpse of what was going on. In the center of the circle, Jason Carver was talking agitatedly with a teacher.

"He started it! I just defended myself!" Jason practically yelled at the teacher as he tried to calm him down.

"That's enough. You know very well that fights are not allowed in this school."

Fights?

"I know. And like I said, it wasn't my fault. I didn't start it." He replied confidently.

Liar. Jason was always the first to start a fight.

"As soon as you got here, Mr. Jones, he ran away. It's obviously his fault and he knows it too." Jason's tone was filled with anger and contempt.

Only at that moment you noticed the blood stain on Jason's white shirt, even though he didn't seem to be hurt.

The professor looked around. "What are you all still doing here? Everyone go to class!"

The crowd around Jason and the teacher began to dissipate and most of the students walked away.

"Mr. Jones, you don't understand!" Jason exclaimed dramatically, "that freak has to pay for what he did."

As you heard that word you turned to Dustin and your worried gazes met.

"Eddie." You both said at the same time.

You'd decided your history class could wait and you started looking all over the school for Eddie, you had told Dustin that if you found him, you'd let him know.

After checking out the music room as well, one of the few classes Eddie really liked you figured that if he wasn't inside school then he must have been out.

You looked around hoping that no teacher would see you sneaking out and you went out the back door.

You found Eddie sitting on the ground, his back against the school wall, his head down.

"Hey." You announced your presence slowly walking towards him.

Eddie's head snapped up.

"Holy shit." That was all you could say.

The right side of his face was covered in blood from a cut on his forehead and around his barely open eye was a dark purplish bruise. There were marks on her cheek, as if his face had been pressed into the ground and there was also a small wound on his lower lip.

"It's nothing, really. I'm fine." He said avoiding your gaze. "I've had worse."

"It doesn't look like nothing to me." You squatted down in front of him and wondered if his eyes were watering from physical pain or for some other reason. Up close his face looked in even worse shape and the urge to kill Jason with your own hands escalated to extreme levels. What did he do to his pretty face?

"C'mon, let's go clean up and disinfect the wounds, mh?" You said getting up and holding out a hand to help him getting up.

He stared at it for a moment.

"Trust me. There's no one in the infirmary now." You said.

Finally he grabbed it and got up, his hand was warm against yours.

You pushed the door again and entered the school, you were still holding his hand as you guided him towards the infirmary.

"It will hurt a little." You said soaking a cotton ball in the disinfectant and approaching Eddie, who was sitting on a cot.

"You're missing a class because of this" He said "I can do it myself."

You shrugged, "I really don't like history. Too many dates." Then you focused on his face.

You gently placed a hand on his left cheek to keep his face still and placed the cotton on the wound on his forehead, which fortunately had stopped bleeding.

You expected him to flinch, you knew how much it could hurt, instead he just closed his eyes and leaned into the touch of your hand. He seemed calm.

You finished disinfecting his forehead and pushed his hair behind his ear to clean the blood that had stained his temple.

His eyes were still closed, his hand still gently resting on the side of his face as you disinfected his cheekbone and lower lip.

"All done" you said putting down the blood stained cotton, moving your hands from his face and noting that he already looked much better than before "are you okay?"

Eddie opened his eyes again and his chocolate brown orbs silently stared at you with a look that was very reminiscent of the one of a puppy.

"Eddie." You called to him again, trying to figure out what was going on, then you felt something brush your fingers and you looked down.

His ringed hand had met yours. You watched as he slowly brought it back to his face, not saying a word.

You ran your thumb up his cheek and he seemed to relax as you did it.

"Thank you" he whispered "I like it when you do that."

"When I do what?" You asked.

"Your touch. I like it when you touch me." He muttered.

"Oh Eds." You brought your lips to his forehead for a kiss and then to his cheekbone, just below the bruise, barely brushing his skin trying to be as gentle as possible.

Then you slowly wrapped your arms around him, pushing his body against yours, being careful not to hurt him. He rested his head on your shoulder and his hands gripped the fabric of your shirt in an almost desperate way, as if he didn't want you to leave him.

You held him as you stroked his back and left a few kisses in his dark hair.

You realized that his reaction was probably caused by the fact that he hadn't received much affection in his life and your heart ached at the thought.

He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve all the awful things that happened in his life.

When you heard the bell announcing the end of first period, Eddie lifted his head and gently pushed you away from him.

"You should really go now."

You cupped his face but with one hand on his neck to avoid touching the wounds and you gently placed your lips on his cheek, on his jaw and then again on his forehead and temple.

"I love you so much, Eddie Munson, never forget that." You said then and he couldn't help but push you back in towards him for a hug.

"I love you too." he whispered.

You knew you weren't talking about that kind of love, not yet. And that was fine, for now.

You reached into his hair and dug your fingers into his curls, your nails scratching his scalp.

"You know what? I already skipped the first period, I don't think it will be a problem to take a day off. We can stay here a bit more."

He just pulled you closer.

[absurdthirst]

Evidence of a Date {Tim Rockford x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: SEX POLLEN(ish), snuff films, power of suggestion, hypnosis, compulsory need to fuck, rough sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral sex (male and female receiving)

Comments: Asked to assist Detective Rockford with finding evidence on a supposed snuff tape, you find it to be very different from what either one of you were expecting. Leading you to some surprising outcomes.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Tim Rockford MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Getting called into the Captain’s office is never a good thing. No matter how clean you keep your nose or what rank you are, even as a Detective. “You wanted to see me, sir?” Knocking and opening the door, you are surprised to see Rockford sitting in a chair opposite the captain’s desk. 

“Come in, shut the door.” He waves you in and your stomach twists, wondering what the hell is going on. You’ve worked with Tim before, but not recently. You’ve been too busy with your own caseload. “I need you to do something for me.” Captain Carnell is a no bullshit man, a pragmatist who hated sitting behind a desk. “Tim’s got a video he needs to go through, evidence.” You frown slightly, unsure why that should have any impact on you. “It’s a snuff film, supposedly and the forensic team refuses to touch it.” He grumbles and you still don’t quite understand. 

Tim shuffles awkwardly. “I need to watch it. And I need another set of eyes.” Your head turns towards him. “You can keep your mouth shut, unlike 90% of the others around here.” It’s true, cops like to gossip and if it is a snuff film, the details need to be kept quiet while the investigation is ongoing. 

“I see. And that’s why you called me in?” You ask the captain. 

“Yes.” Carnell nods. “Tim asked if your cases could be transferred and you to help him on this, and I think it’s a good idea. That way there’s no talk of sexism if the case goes nowhere.” 

You nod. “Of course.” You agree, not sure if you’re dreading watching the video or spending all your time with Tim more. It’s hard working with someone that you are hopelessly attracted to and know that it’s unrequited. “I’ll move my cases over to Robertson and we can get on the case right away.”

Your captain nods, “excellent. After closing time, go to the break room. He’s secured the room so it will be just you two.” Tim nods, crossing his arms and you glance between the two men. “Go back to your paperwork. Half an hour…the office will be closed up after everyone heads out and you can get started.” 

You nod and Tim shuffles a little as he exits the office, holding the door open for you. “Thanks for helping with this. It’s - it could be the breakthrough we need and I know it’s gonna be hard to watch but I’m glad you’re helping me with it.” Tim says quietly as you stand in the hallway before you get to the bullpen.

“It’s okay.” You don’t know what to expect. Hopefully it’s not too gory, you have been to plenty of crime scenes, but you had hoped to go to a party tonight after work. Even if you stay late to work on the case, you could get there later. “We’ll watch the tape and then make any notes before we go back through it again.”

Tim nods, reaching out to squeeze your upper arm. He can’t help but think you look gorgeous today. Well, every day really but you’d never want him. He’s older. He’s divorced and has a ten year old son. He’s got baggage and you deserve the world. With a sigh, he makes his way back to his desk, eager to finish the work day to spend time with you. God, he’s pathetic. He’s desperate to spend time with you. Even if it means watching a snuff tape. The day seems to drag by and finally he sees his colleagues starting to pack up and he wipes his hands on his pants, glancing across the room to your desk.

Your cases have been passed off you and endured the grumbling, telling Robertson to talk to the captain if he had a problem with it. Finishing up some paperwork while you wait for everyone else to go home. “You leaving?” One of the other detectives comes by your desk on his way out. 

“No.” You shake your head and look down at your file. “Backlog of paperwork. Captain’s on my ass about it.” You know most of them have every intention of heading down to the bar for happy hour. “Drink a beer for me though, okay?”

Tim is asked the same thing except he got waggled eyebrows as most of them know about his crush on you…everyone except you apparently. He sighs and pushes back from his desk after everyone is gone. “You want a coffee before we get started? I’ve got…something to add if you want to take the edge off.” He says, pulling out a small flask as he looks at you.

“Detective Rockford.” You sound scandalized, but you grin as you pick up your coffee cup. “Absolutely.” You laugh as you start to walk towards the break room. “At least if we can’t go for happy hour, we can brace ourselves for what is to come.” You tell him, emptying out the sludge in the pot and setting it to make a fresh batch. Lord only knows how long you will end up staying. “So where did you get this tape from?”

Tim sits down and sets the flask down on the little coffee table in front of the sofa in the break room. He’s slept on the sofa before. Especially when he was trying to crack the case of the old woman who was murdered for her inheritance. It kept him up all night and he ended up sleeping in the office a few times while looking over the case. “I have an inside contact. He’s looking for immunity and he left me a copy of the tape. Some mafia bullshit…it’s heavy. Supposedly.” He tells you, watching you make the coffee.

“So don’t plan on wanting to eat, got it.” You frown, deciding it was a stupid idea to ask Tim if he wanted to go out to that little dinner down the road from your apartment anyway. You were work colleagues, not romantically linked. “As long as it’s not a kid, I’ll be fine.” You admit softly, looking up from where you are pouring sugar and creamer in your cup to get it ready for the coffee. “I hate when it’s kids. I can’t imagine how you feel, having your son.”

Tim shakes his head, rubbing his cheek. “That - any kid - it kills me. Wondering what I’d do…how id feel if someone - I think you’d be locking me up because I’d burn the fucking world if something happened to Billy.” Tim confesses and you come over to the sofa with your cup and a cup for him. “Thanks sweetheart.” He says, grabbing the remote. He doesn’t call you sweetheart in front of the other guys but you’ve always been close to his heart. “You ready?” He asks you, wanting to make sure you’re mentally prepared.

It’s almost embarrassing how much you enjoy when he calls you sweetheart, not taking offense to it at all. It’s almost like an endearment and you cherish it. “I’m ready.” You tell him after taking a deep breath, knowing you need to be professional.

He grabs the flask, pouring a generous amount of whiskey in each mug before he sets it down. “Just to take the edge off.” He says before he takes a sip and hits play on the tape. He’s tense beside you, waiting to see the gruesome scene unfold.

"I hope that we don't have to finish the flask and go find a bottle." You murmur as you immediately take a large sip of your doctored coffee. Enjoying the slight burn before a naked woman walks into the view of the camera. Obviously set up in some kind of bedroom. "Well, fuck." You hiss. "It's gonna be one of those snuff films."

Tim shifts awkwardly as the woman comes over to the camera, her tits swaying as she adjusts it before she steps back and a man appears behind her. “Yeah. I, uh, I wasn’t told that this was - yeah. Sorry.” He blushes slightly, knowing he’s secretly wondered what you look like naked more than enough times.

"It's okay." You take another sip of your coffee before you look over at Tim for a split second, eyes flying back to the tv. You watch as the man starts to massage the woman's tits. "It's not like I've never watched porn before." You tell him, wanting him to relax slightly. "Caucasian female, approximately mid to late twenties, brown hair, Caucasian male, mid forties, short blond hair." You observe. "It looks like there is a tattoo on his left bicep."

Tim had completely forgotten to take any notes, his mind shamefully thinking about you naked and him behind you palming your tits. He leans forward, clasping his hands together to force himself to pay attention. He watches the couple fondle each other and he feels guilty that you’re having to watch this. “I- I’m not sure if he’s the one that gets killed.” Tim says, paying attention as the man’s hand slides down to rub the clit of the woman.

"Most snuff films, it's the woman who's murdered." You huff quietly, biting your lip and frowning slightly when the screen flashes for a split second. "I-" you shake your head, afraid you might have just imagined it. The woman's moan hadn't stopped so you just continue to watch. Your cunt bottoms out when the man slaps her pussy and then starts to rub again, his other hand still toying with her right nipple. "He's left-handed?" You ask, not quite sure but it's a strong theory. "Most often men finger a woman with their dominant hand."

“This is supposed to be the tape of the victim.” Tim says, trying to work through the evidence despite his cock twitching, suddenly aroused and he puts that down to being close to you.

You hum and lean in, trying to pretend the foreplay in the video isn't erotic, or you aren't getting turned on. It's natural, that's what you are trying to convince yourself of. That your panties would be soaked already if you were just watching a normal porn, alone in your room where you could pretend your hand was Tim's. Clearing your throat, you swear you see the screen flash again, but the audio doesn't stop.

Tim swears he saw something flash on the screen but he doesn’t bother telling you. He is trying to conceal his rapidly hardening cock. Sweat starts to bead on his forehead and he wipes it with the back of his hand. “I - this isn’t a normal snuff tape.” He murmurs, confused as the man pushes his fingers into the woman, her moan echoing in the break room as the image flashes on screen again and he pays attention. “You see that?” He asks, curious if you’ve seen it.

You gasp, but you don't know if it's from the fact that Tim might have seen the same flashes you have, or from how warm you are getting. How your entire body seems to be lighting up, aching for someone, Tim, to touch you. "I- yes?" You almost ask as you try to keep from moaning quietly.

“What - What does it say?” He asks, wondering if you’ve seen it better than he did and he tugs on his tie, loosening it and undoing the top button. Suddenly overheated, he shifts his feet and his fingers flex as he smothers down the urge to touch you.

“I don’t know. It’s- it’s flashing too fast to read.” You know you should probably stop the tape and go back, but you can’t. “Is it- fuck, it’s hot in here, right?” You ask him, biting your lip when the woman cums on the tape, moaning softly as you wonder if Tim would finger you before he fucks you or if he would just shove his cock into your needy pussy.

“Yeah. It is.” Tim murmurs, suddenly boiling hot and he unbuttons a couple more buttons on his shirt, his tie pulled over his head to fling it down on the sofa. The man grabs the woman, dragging her to the bed and he wastes no time pushing into her, her moan echoing in the room and the screen flashes again. This time slower. The word ‘Fuck’ flashes again, and again. Tim is rock hard now, unable to tear his eyes away from the tv.

“It’s saying ‘Fuck’.” You breathe out, unsure why someone would cut that word into a snuff film. “Right?” Your cunt is throbbing and you squirm as you watch the couple fuck on the screen. You bite your lip, trying to keep your breathing regulated and you want to touch yourself, or have Tim touch you.

“Ye-yeah. That’s what I- shit. It’s so hot.” He says, unbuttoning another couple of buttons and he undoes the wrist buttons, rolling his sleeves up. ‘Fuck’ flashes up on the screen again and Tim grunts, unable to resist palming his cock through his pants. “So-sorry. I- shit. I’m so hard it hurts.” He confesses, “you should - you should go.” He says, trying to get you away from him before he breaks.

You snort, pressing your thighs together. “Of course you are. We are watching two attractive people have sex.” You reason. “And it’s been a long goddamn time since a man made me cum.

Tim frowns, turning his head for a second to look at you before he focuses on the screen again. “It has? How? You’re - Jesus. You’re gorgeous. I always thought you had a secret boyfriend or something and just didn’t tell us.” He admits as the man fucks the woman harder and the screen flashes again. ‘Fuck’ Flashes and almost burns in his retinas as he sees it when he blinks.

You squirm again, wanting to shove your hand into your panties and rub your clit. “No time to date.” You groan. “You know how it is. Long hours. Turbulent cases. I just- have a vibrator.” You hiss when the screen flashes again. “Fuck! Why does it keep telling me to fuck?” You cry.

Tim bites his lip, his gaze flicking between you and the screen. The man flips the woman over to push back inside of her, making her cry out. ‘Fuck’ flashes again and Tim shakes his head, “I don’t - shit - I can’t - I need to-” He surges forward to cup your cheeks, pressing his lips to yours as ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ repeats in his mind over and over again until he no longer controls himself.

It’s such a fucking relief to feel his lips against yours that you let out a small sob. Pulling him closer and pressing your entire body against his as ‘Fuck’ flashes in your mind again and again. Driven by some unseen force that is practically compelling you to touch the other detective. The need for him clawing under your skin like a drug.

His hands slide down to grab your waist, dragging you not his lap as his tongue slides into your mouth. The moans continue on the tv and the word ‘Fuck’ continues flashing in his mind. “Fuck.” He rasps out. “I- I can’t stop. Tell me to stop.” He managed to choke out despite grabbing your hips to drag you down on top of him.

“Don’t stop.” You gasp out, rolling your hips down shamelessly to grind against his hard cock. You don’t know why you need him inside you, but you desperately do. “Touch me, Tim.” You beg breathlessly. “Please baby.”

He can’t deny you. He helps you grind down on his cock, his hands sliding up to squeeze your tits through your blouse. “I - shit - I need to - to be inside of you.” He tells you, reaching down to work on unbuttoning your pants and he pushes his hand inside to find you wet and ready for him.

"Fuck." You whimper at the first touch of his thick fingers against your clit. "Yes, need- fuck, I need your cock." You groan out, reaching down around his own hand in your pants to squeeze his cock through his. "Now Tim." You insist.

Tim groans when you squeeze him and he slides his fingers between your folds, groaning at how wet you are. “Fuck. I- stand up. Take your pants off.” He demands, working on his belt buckle and his cock is aching, he’s in pain. The word ‘Fuck’ keeps flashing on the screen as the moans continue to pour out of the tv speakers.

Scrambling to your feet, you nearly fall over in your haste to strip down. Pushing down your pants and kicking them off with your panties, your knees shake in need and you are panting like you've just finished a marathon. "Oh fuck." you turn back around and find Tim with his cock in his hand, pumping it furiously. "Oh shit, let me- I need-" You dive back onto his lap, eager to sink down on his thick, uncut cock.

He grabs your ass as you reach between you to grip his cock and he groans when you start to sink down onto him. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck” starts to echo on the tv but Tim isn’t paying attention, to obsessed with the way you are sinking onto his cock. You’re so wet and tight and he loses his ability to breathe as you settle into his cock.

The slightly intense, grim detective looks amazing as he moans for you. Feeling his cock scrub against your walls in the best way as he breaks you open. Making your mouth drop open and a loud moan of his name, your arms wrapped around his neck to keep you upright.

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiittt.” He hisses in delight, groaning your name as you start to rock on top of him and his hands slide up to work on the buttons of your shirt, wanting to feel every inch of you. The buttons become tiresome so he just rips your blouse, sending buttons flying across the room and he groans when he finally gets access to your tits, pulling them out of your bra so he can duck down and take a nipple into his mouth.

“Oh fuck!” You cry out when his mouth attacks your breasts. Never imagining he would be such a dominant lover. Tearing your shirt off has you clenching down around him and squeezing him tight in your walls. “More.” You beg, tangling your fingers into his hair and tugging on it, pressing him into your breast. “More, baby, fuck.”

He bites down, sucking on your tits, alternating as he groans into your flesh and you whimper, making his cock twitch inside of you. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck’ continues on the screen, the moans stopping from the couple as yours replace them, the words on the screen flashing constantly and Tim hisses as he grabs your ass, lifting you up to place you on the sofa so he can fuck into you.

“Oh fuck.” You whine when his cock slips out of you but the second he is driving back into you, your scream rings out. Scratching your nails down his shirt, you wish he was undressed. At least so you could feel his skin under your fingers.

He grunts, leaning down to kiss along your neck. “Imagined this so many fucking times.” He admits shamelessly, “imagined fucking you on my desk. In my bed. In here. In the captain's office. Imagined you a fuck ton. Shit. So tight. Knew you would be.” He rambles, his thrusts deep and slightly frantic as the mantra continues around you.

You moan, unable to believe that he would imagine fucking you. You have never thought he noticed you beyond working together. “Imagined how good you’d feel. How thick you would be.” You confess as he punches deep inside you. “Better that I could have imagined.”

Tim groans, spurred on by your words and the repeated mantra urging him on and he hisses your name as he pushes deep. “Wanna - wanna feel you cum.” He says, reaching down to rub your clit.

You shudder, clenching down around him and digging your nails into his shoulder as you lunge up to bite his chin. “Yes, fuck, fuck me harder.” You beg, driven by this invisible force.

He clenches his jaw, pushing deeper, harder, faster. Sweat beads on his forehead as he kneels on the sofa, lifting your thigh over his hip to get even deeper inside of you, his fingers rubbing your clit.

“Tim, oh fuck, oh fuck.” You choke out, feeling that familiar polling in the pit of your stomach. Except it’s better than using your toy at home. The nerves screaming in pleasure and you kiss every inch of skin you can reach.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck” repeats over and over and Tim hisses as he rocks into you, trying to get you to cum. It’s like he needs you to cum like he needs to breathe. “That’s it. Shit. Gettin’ so wet on my cock. Cum for me. Cum for me.” He begs, his cock twitching as he gets closer to his own orgasm.

The harsh, jarring thrusts are everything you need and more. Pushing you closer every time his hips snap forward and if there was ever a question of Tim Rockford’s ability in bed, this answered it. “Gonna baby.” You squeal, not making any sense, but it doesn’t matter. Your orgasm crashes through you and all you can do is cry out wordlessly.

“Yesss. That’s it. Good girl.” Tim hisses as you clamp down around him and he swears he could fuck you all night long just to hear you cry out his name like that. He rocks you through it, his jaw clenching and he releases a deep groan as he buries his cock deep and cums inside of you, painting your walls.

You whine, loving the feeling of his hot cum filling you up. Panting as you try to catch your breath when he drops his head on your shoulder. “Fuck.”

“Fuck.” He echoes, his cock still hard inside of you. The mantra is still playing on the tv and it’s wiggled into Tim’s head, making him ache for more. “I need - wanna fuck you from behind.”

You are surprised that he can keep going, but you can’t deny that your body still aches for more. “Yessss.” You hiss, clenching down around him and biting your lip. “Fuck me again. Never stop fucking me.”

Tim groans, pulling out of you and his dark eyes focus on the cum dripping out of you and he watches you shift onto your knees. His fingers wrap around his cock as you position yourself until he’s notching himself at your entrance and pushes into you with a groan.

“Fuck!” You cry out, enjoying the sharp ping of pain when he pushes deep and his cock hits the back of your cervix from this angle. “Jesus how are you single with a dick like that?” You moan.

“The job.” He chuckles, grabbing your hips and he starts to push deep, setting another harsh pace. “Divorced. Father of one. Not exactly - exactly Prince Charming.” He says breathlessly as his cock hits hard against your cervix.

“Fuuuuuuck.” You whine, dropping your head down onto the back of the sofa and rocking your hips back. “Don’t- fuck, don’t stop.” You beg him, barely getting the words out as he slams into you over and over again.

“I can’t.” He says truthfully and he slams into you, over and over. Desperate to hear and feel you cum for him again. “Can’t fucking stop. You’re - shit - this pussy is - fuck. Never wanna pull out.”

Moaning softly, all you can do is clench around him while you take his cock over and over again. Feeling like he's in your guts every time he snaps his hips forward and you want him even deeper. "Don't." you pant over your shoulder. "Just fuck me forever."

Tim nods, sweat glistening on his forehead and neck as he pushes into you over and over again. “I will, baby. Oh I fucking will.” He promises and groans when you clench around him. The tv keeps flashing and he hears ‘Fuck’ in the back of his mind over and over. “Jesus Christ. Never wanna stop.”

Your eyes slip closed. 'Fuck' flashing in your mind over and over again. Like you are possessed by this need to fuck. You moan his name and push your hips back. Needing more. Needing him deeper inside you. It doesn't matter that you've always dreamed of having sex with him, you need more of it. You whine, biting your lip so hard that you almost feel your teeth break the skin. Humming in agreement as you push back more forcefully. Letting his hips slam against your ass hard enough to rock you forward and press your chest against the back of the sofa.

“Good girl. That’s it. Yes. Yes.” Tim grunts, loving how you are pushing back against him. “Keep going. Keep - fuck - need you to cum again.” He pleads, leaning over your body to kiss along your neck, his hand cupping your tit to squeeze and pinch the nipple.

Gasping at the pain, you reach down. Frantically rubbing your clit as he hammers into you from behind. Striking that perfect spot deep inside you. "Gonna cum!" you squeal seconds before you clench down around him.

“That’s it, baby. Cum. Cum. Shit - need you to-” He chokes when you clamp down on his cock and he groans when you soak him, his cock nearly trapped inside of you but he manages to move to work you through it and he’s so close. “Shit. Baby. I- I’m gonna - I gotta - fuuuuuuckkkk.” He growls as he cums for the second time, painting your walls.

Whimpering Tim's name, you relax into the sofa, feeling him coating the inside of your cunt in his seed. Closing your eyes and sighing at the feeling, a small smile on your face. "So good. Feels so good." You moan quietly.

Tim exhales shakily, turning his head to see the screen has gone gray and he pants, leaning in to kiss your neck before he slowly pulls out of you, his cock finally going soft. “Shit.” He hisses and shifts to sit down on the sofa.

You turn slightly, grabbing your ruined shirt to sit down so you don’t leak cum all over the sofa. Other officers use it too. “God.” You pant, flopping back and trying to catch your breath. “That was- holy shit.”

Tim’s chest heaves, the mantra finally leaving his mind and he leans against the sofa after tucking himself away. “I guess…I guess it’s not, uh, it’s not a snuff tape.” He chuckles breathlessly.

"No." You frown slightly, wondering why it was said to be a snuff film when you think you saw both people in the film, alive and exhausted. "I- it was so strange. I kept seeing the word 'Fuck' flash on the screen between the scenes. Did you?"

“Yeah. It’s like - it’s like it burned into my retinas and all I could think of was fucking you and Jesus…I - did you want me to - or have I just-?” He can’t even sound out his thoughts, too horrified at the thought of it being what it could be. 

"No!" Your eyes widen and you quickly shake your head. "I wanted you to." You promise, rushing to reassure him that it was something you had been very enthusiastic to experience. "I needed you too. It was like I had to have you or I was going to go crazy." You admit. "I thought I was pretty good at hiding my feelings."

The detective’s head swivels over to look at you. “You mean you- this wasn’t just the crazy hypnosis snuff video? You - Christ above, sweetheart. You have any fucking idea how many times I’ve thought about touching you…about being inside you…about loving you.” He adds softer than his prior exclamation.

You bite your lip, trying and failing not to grin at his confession. It seems like what could have been something troubling has turned out pretty fucking good. "So, I guess it was a good thing that you watched this with me rather than Robertson." You joke softly.

Tim’s eyes go wide as he turns to look at you, “thank the fucking Lord.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “That video…I don’t know what the fuck that was but we, uh, we gotta report it because this - it might not be so consensual for the next ones that get it and it could be dangerous.” He says, trying to focus on his job again instead of the way your lips look utterly kissable again.

"Who gave you this tape again?" You ask with a frown. "Why would they tell you it's a snuff film when it's.....obviously not?" It is concerning that it was given to a detective, and you wonder if it was meant to cause havoc in the department. Or the crime lab. "Normally this would be examined by the crime lab......not us."

“Yeah. The, uh, you know Greg? He gave it to me. Told me the crime lab didn’t have a working VHS so I’d have to watch it if I wanted to get the evidence from it.” He says and frowns, “he - he kinda knew I had a thing for you. Might’ve mentioned it when he noticed how pissed I’d get when the others talked about you behind your back.”

"Others talk about me?" You frown slightly, although you know shit talking is a part of being a cop. Especially a female detective in a male dominated field. "And Greg told you to watch this...with me?"

“They - they talk about your body. Your ass…what they wanna do to you. I- I try to shut them down. Say it’s disrespectful and yeah…he told me to get the captain to have you assigned to the case and I thought it was just to have your brains on the case…not - not this.” He gestures to the tv.

"Do you think Greg knew what was on the tape?" You ask quietly. reaching out and taking his hand and squeezing it gently for his kindness. For sticking up for you.

Tim looks down at your hands and shakes his head, “I don’t know babe. I- shit. I’m so sorry I put you in this situation. We gotta try and trace this tape back. We can’t let this shit get out.” He says, caressing the back of your hand with his thumb.

"I know." You nod as you look over at where the tv is still displaying a gray screen. "Maybe we need to take the video out of the station." You hum. "You know how nosy all these assholes are."

Tim nods, “I can take it home. Hide it.” He says, squeezing your hand again. “And I- I wouldn’t mind going to dinner with you sometime.” He adds, staring at the gray screen as he anxiously awaits your answer.

"I don't think we are going to get much work done tonight." You admit. "And I don't know about you, but I'm starving." You shrug. "I would say let's go to that dinner around the corner, but you ripped my shirt, so how about I make you dinner at my place?"

Tim nods, “how about I meet you at your place and I can pick up some Chinese food. Save you cooking.” He adds, “and then maybe we can talk about what happened when we are clear headed.”

"That sounds good." You agree, standing up and picking up your panties and pants after you tuck your boobs back into your bra. You wonder if he will blow you off, or if he wants to actually meet you at your place.

He knows your order from late nights in the station with everyone. He stands up, adjusting his shirt and he grabs his tie, shoving it into his pocket. “Sorry about your shirt. You, uh, want to use my jacket?” He offers, knowing you’ll want your decency when you leave.

"I've got an extra shirt in my desk drawer." You tell him with a grin. "For those all nighters." You know he understands that. Most detectives keep a complete change of clothes in a drawer just in case. "But help me hunt down the buttons?"

Tim nods, kneeling down and he blushes when he sees how far the buttons went. “I was - Jesus. That video made me feral.” He admits and picks up a few buttons. He hands them to you and when you stand there, he gently reaches up to cup your cheek, his eyes meeting yours as he leans in to kiss you softly.

You've kissed, but it had been frantic and needy. This is so much more gentle. A real kiss that is not because of that video. "I- thank you." You murmur quietly.

“You deserved better than that for our first time.” He murmurs as he pulls back, “I’ll make it up to you.” He promises as he looks at you. “Lemme grab your shirt from your desk just in case.”

“I don’t know.” You admit as you pull your pants back on. “I think multiple orgasms and being fucked within an inch of my life was a great first time.” You laugh. “Although I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get to suck your cock.”

Tim smirks, feeling confident now that you want him again and enjoyed earlier. “Don’t you worry baby. Maybe later…we can explore each other a little more.” He smirks and you giggle. “Let’s get out of here.” He says, walking over to the TV to eject the tape.

“That’s an amazingly suggestive tape.” You hum as you watch him analyze the tape like it might tell him its secrets. “Let’s go, Rockford.” You order with a smirk. “I’m starving and the captain authorized overtime, but I’d rather have our next viewing of the tape be in my bed.”

Tim’s eyes widen, “you wanna - I’d rather have you without watching the tape.” He tells you and you smirk, nodding, “that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” He grins and follows you into the bullpen so you can collect your things. “You wanna come in my car or I can follow you?”

You smirk and shrug. "I might as well take my car." You tell him, "since I think that we won't be back in the office until next week." You wink at him. "Might cause some rumors if I leave it here."

Tim nods, willing to follow your lead and he grabs his things as you put the shirt on. “Come on, babe.” He says once you’re ready and he guides you out of the station to your car, glancing around to check out the surroundings like he always does.

You smile at the way that his hand rests on your hip. Protective and possessive. Waiting until you unlock the door to hold it open for you. "I'll meet you at my place?" You ask, glancing over at him. "You remember how to get there?"

He knows where you live, having dropped you off during late night stakeouts and ops. He waits until you’re in your car with the door locked before he makes his way over to his vehicle, quick to leave the parking lot and follow you to your house.

It's a bit nerve wracking, knowing Tim is following you. Excited in a way that you don't understand, you keep watching his car in your rearview mirror.

He grips the steering wheel, a little nervous actually to be going to your place if you are regretting sleeping with him. He calls up the Chinese restaurant to place your orders and he makes his way there. After picking up the food, he makes his way to your place and rings the doorbell with the food in hand.

In the spare time you had while Tim got the food, you had jumped into a quick shower. Bare feet and comfortable clothes are what greets him when he knocks on the door and you open it with a smile. "Hi." You greet him, waving him in. "Do you want a beer? Something stronger?"

Tim chuckles, “tempted to have something stronger but a beer will do. I don’t wanna be on anything around you. Especially after that fucking tape.” The tape is currently hidden in his glove box. “I wanna be sober around you.”

You nod in agreement and lean in to press your lips to his. "A beer it is." You hum, closing the door behind him and leading him into the kitchen. "I'll get the beers and some plates."

Tim checks your door is locked before he follows you into the kitchen, setting the bag of food down on your counter. “I haven’t been in here since you hosted that party after Samson closed that cold case.”

“Yeah, that’s been awhile.” You open the fridge and grab two beers to open before you turn back to him. “That  was right after you and your wife divorced.” You wince slightly. “I’m sorry about that. I know it was rough. I hated that you were under a lot of stress during that time.” 

Tom shakes his head as he takes the beer from your hand. “It was over a long time ago. We - we stayed together for our son and - shit. She really gave me hell.” He confesses, “anyway. I, uh, I guess I never really asked about your dating life. Never wanted to know if you had a boyfriend that I could be jealous of.

“No dating life, not when I wanted someone at work.” You confess. 

Tim's eyes widen as he absorbs your words before he chuckles, "you mean you were lusting after Jackson?" He teases, knowing the nearly retired old man is not the one you wanted. "I, uh, seriously though...I didn't know. I was a little busy eying you up without being a creepy asshole." He admits, licking his lips.

“You shouldn’t have worried about being creepy.” You smile softly. Despite the fact that you had been junior to him. It’s one of the reasons you respect him, he wouldn’t abuse his authority. Now both of you are equals, so there is no worry about improprieties. “Although now you can eye me up however you want.”

"Well that's good to know." His eyes slowly trail along your body, enjoying the fact that he can unashamedly admire you. "You're so fucking pretty, baby." He says after a moment, his fingers flexing around the beer bottle.

“Do you want to eat and talk, talk or just eat?” You ask, not sure what he wants to do. Despite the fucking that had happened at the station, you still want to touch him, but you know you can’t just act like a horny teenager.

"Let's talk and eat. You need to eat after how I - you know." He clears his throat and blushes a little. "I kinda - I kinda wanna touch you again but only if you want." He adds, suddenly nervous.

“I want to touch you too.” It’s endearing that he had fucked you so hard earlier and now he’s blushing. “If you want, of course.” You smirk slightly as you turn back to the cabinets to get the plates and silverware.

Tim’s eyes drop down to your ass as you get the plates. “Of course I want to.” He scoffs like you asked him a ridiculous question. “Baby, let’s sit down and eat. You need food after I - well, I’m starving.” He admits, taking out the containers after opening the bag.

You hum, dipping out some of the food onto plates and take them over to the small table while Tim carries the beers. “We do need to refill the tanks, so to speak.” You laugh. “I have to admit, I was shocked when you kept fucking me.”

“So was I!” Tim exclaims with wide eyes. “I ain’t eighteen anymore and I- shit - that kind of stamina…not my normal gig I gotta be honest. Usually I cum once and that’s it. I need a nap and a snack before I’m ready to go again.”

“A nap and a snack, huh?” You giggle at that, finding him too cute and you lean over to press a kiss to his lips. “I’m normally a ‘once and I’m good’ kind of girl too. But tonight?” You point to his sweet and sour chicken. “Eat your snack baby.”

He grins, liking the way you think and he must admit he’s eager to have you again. He grabs a plate to start serving up his food and he grabs his beer and follows you into the living room after you’ve grabbed your own plate. “You wanna watch something on RV?” You ask and Tim bites his lip, “maybe not the best considering the last thing we watched.”

You snort and nod, biting your lip as the two of you sit down. “So, where do you see this going?” You ask quietly. “Something serious? Causal? I wouldn’t blame you after the divorce.”

Tim sets his plate down on your coffee table, "honestly? I kinda want to date you. I want to take you out for dinner and see where this goes." He admits, "unless you want casual but...I'm not really a casual kind of guy."

“I don’t really like casual either.” You admit, turning towards him after setting your own plate down. “I would have put up with it for you.”

He's taken back at your confession and he smiles, "guess we both suck at casual. I was thinking about asking you out, you know? I just didn't want to be that creepy older guy that asks you on a date and makes it awkward at work when you said no."

“I would have said yes.” You promise, leaning in and touching his hand. “Tonight just….sped up the timeline.” You joke. “And will give us one hell of a first date story.”

Snorting, he nods as he takes a bite of orange chicken as he squeezes your hand with his free one. “Yeah. Maybe we can edit it a little bit.” He teases, “and hopefully you include the detail of me having a big cock.” He jokes, winking at you.

You giggle and your cunt clenches. “Don’t worry. That fact will be repeated with the high praise on how well you use that cock.” You promise. “Don’t think I’ve ever been fucked so well.”

Tim can’t help but grin with pride at your statement and he swears he will make you feel that way if you let him touch you again. “Sounds good to me, sweetheart.”

Both of you finish your meal, chatting about different things, different cases you had been working on. Setting your plate down with a content sigh, you drain the last drops of your beer and look over at Tim. “So, do you want to go back to my bedroom? We could take a nap, or….”

He watches you for a moment, “bedroom…I wanna touch you in a bed. I wanna have my mind be my own when I touch you next.” He says, reaching for your hand to pull you closer so he can lean in and press his lips to yours.

You can agree with that. As much as you needed him back at the station, you want to be in control. This time, your arms go around his neck because you want to keep the kiss going, slowly feeling his mouth out as it starts to deepen.

His tongue slides against yours and he groans into your mouth, loving how you feel as your fingers tangle in his hair. “Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth when you’re a little rougher but he loves it.

You love how his embrace is solid. The steady weight of him beside you makes you shift to straddle him. Settling back into his lap and pressing close, there’s not the urgency of before, but you are learning each other

His hands trail along your body, enjoying how you feel pressed against him, and the kisses are slow, passionate and he loves it. His hands slide down to squeeze your ass and he can’t resist slapping your cheeks before he grabs them again.

“Tim!” You gasp into his mouth and laugh, enjoying the smug smirk on his handsome face. Reaching up, you tangle your fingers back into his hair as you continue to make out. You know how he feels inside, but this is almost more intimate.

He kisses along your jaw, down your neck and bites gently over your pulse. “You’re so Goddamn beautiful. Inside and out. Why you want me, I’ll never know.” He confesses, knowing he’s fucked up but he’s gonna take this opportunity to be with you by the fucking horns and ride it as long as you want him.

“Because you are a good man.” You’ve seen plenty of men who pretend to be good but they are rotten at their core. Tim Rockford is honest, noble. “I want to take you to bed,” you confess softly. “Can you go again, or should we just cuddle?”

Tim nods, "I can go again." He is surprisingly half hard and he rocks up to grind against you, showing you he can be ready. "Let's go to your bedroom." He says, smacking your ass again and you stand up. He stands up after you and takes your outstretched hand as you guide him to your room.

In your bedroom, that’s where your personality shines. The bright, beautiful colors of your bedding and the natural light. The bookshelves are loaded down with novels and the slightly messy open closet door. “Sorry.” You move to close the door. “Didn’t think I would have company today when I left.”

Tim snorts, "this is nothing. You should see my place. It's chaos. My boy leaves his fucking legos on the floor and guess who steps on them in the middle of the night?" Tim asks you, eyebrows raised.

You giggle, imagining him cursing and stumbling over the blocks in the dark. “Ouch.” You wince sympathetically. “I know that hurts.”

"It does." He tells you with wide eyes, glancing around your room before he exhales softly and steps closer to you. He reaches up to cup your cheek, "I really do think you're beautiful." He murmurs, his dark eyes burning into yours. "Can I eat you out?" He asks, curious if you'll be happy for him to do that.

It’s your turn to be surprised by the request. “I- yes.” You sputter. “It’s- are you sure? You want to do that? I mean, I’m not complaining, but we- you came inside me.”

Tim snorts, “I put it there. I’m sure I can clean up my mess.” He says and smirks at you, reaching for the hem of your shirt. “Let’s get naked. I wanna see all of you. Wanna taste every inch of you. Take my time.”

“It’ll be nice seeing you this time.” You admit with a grin, letting him pull your shirt over your head and reaching for the buttons of his collared shirt. “Never had a boyfriend who would go down on me after sex.” You admit with a giggle.

Tim lets you push his shirt off of his shoulders and he’s a little self conscious. He’s not toned. He’s strong but he’s not abs and no body fat. He likes his food and he doesn’t tend to have a lot of time to exercise. He flusters slightly when you run your fingers down his chest.

“Sexy,” you coo softly, wanting to touch and kiss every inch of him. You knew that you were attracted to Tim, but your cunt is dripping at the sight of his chest and he hasn’t even removed his pants yet. “So fucking sexy.”

“You are.” He hums with a smirk and he reaches for your bra, unclasping it to pull it down your arms before he flings it across the room. “Baby. Fuck. You’re so sexy.” He murmurs and reaches up to cup your tits, squeezing them. “Great tits.”

You laugh, amused at the awe-filled look on his face as he palms your tits. As if he can't believe that he is touching them. "You've got a great cock." You hum, reaching down and cupping him. "Feels good. I want to see how it feels in my mouth instead of my pussy."

Tim groans at your filthy words. "Shit baby. You - you are fucking incredible." He compliments you as he gropes your tits. "Wanna - wanna make you cum. How do you wanna cum?" He asks, curious and eager.

You whine, eyes closing at the feeling of his hands on your body and the promise in his words. Anything you want is yours it seems. “I want you to eat me out.” You admit breathlessly. If his head game is good, this man is the complete package.

"Fuck. Take your pants off." He demands, his cock aching in his pants and he decides to push them down after unbuckling his belt. His boxers soon follow after he kicks off his shoes while you strip down to nothing. "Shit. So fucking gorgeous. Lay down." He demands again, the edge in his voice is raspy but commanding.

You shiver, laying down and wondering why it’s so sexy that he is taking control. You watch him, greedy as your eyes roam over his nude body. “Come here.” You beg, wanting him to touch you.

He shifts to kneel on the bed, his hands trailing along your thighs until he's pushing your legs open so he can take in the sight of your cunt. "Fuck, I-" He can't say another word as he surges forward to bury his face in your cum slick folds.

Crying out, your hands tangle in his hair. Closing your eyes, you enjoy how eagerly his tongue flicks over your clit. It’s magical, breath stealing as he devours you. Making you so glad that you had invited him home.

He groans into your flesh, loving how you taste, and he hisses when you tug on his hair in a way that makes his cock twitch against your sheets. His fingers dig into your thighs as he keeps you spread open so he can devour you.

Tim isn’t proper when he is eating you out. He’s messy, ravenous. The sexy little grunts and sighs as he takes you apart with every flick of his tongue has you moaning his name, rolling your hips down to meet his eager tongue.

"Fuck. You taste-" He groans as he pulls back for a second before he surges forward to bury his face in your folds again. He loves the tangy taste of your arousal and the salt of his cum. He doesn't give a shit about tasting his own essence on your flesh and he laps at your clit.

“Tim, oh fuck, baby.” You moan, rolling your hips again and whimpering his name once more when he tightens his grip on you.

He shifts, letting go of your flesh so he can push two thick digits inside of you. Calloused from holding a pen all the damn time and he curls them before he resumes sucking on your clit like a candy.

“Shit.” You hiss, shuddering and your breath catching at the curl of his fingers deep inside of you. Pressing perfectly against that magical place that makes you squeal out his name when he presses again.

He groans your name, “that’s it baby. That’s it.” He mumbles into your cunt when your walls flutter around his fingers, pressing against that spot over and over again. “Cum for me.” He demands before he resumes sucking your clit.

It doesn’t take you long. Only a few more minutes before he is pulling you apart. Your nerves fraying and your entire body bursting with pleasure when you start to come apart. Crying out his name and flooding his mouth with your cum.

Tim eagerly laps up every drop. He pumps his fingers into you, loving how you moan and writhe under his mouth. He caresses your thigh as he works you through it until he feels you relax, practically melt into your mattress.

You whimper, letting go of his hair and trying to drag him up to you for a kiss. Desperate to give him the same kind of pleasure that he had just given you.

His lips meet yours and he slowly withdraws his fingers, enjoying the way you slide your tongue against his and his wet digits grip your thigh. “Wanna be inside of you again.” He murmurs between kisses he presses to your jaw, needing to hear you say you want him again.

“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” You ask breathlessly. You’ve imagined it so many times but if he would rather fuck you, you are all for it. “I will always want you inside me.”

Tim bites his lip as you lay under him. “I kinda want you to suck my cock. Then I want to fuck you.” He decides and you giggle, pushing on his chest. He obediently shifts to lay down, his hard cock resting on his stomach and you move onto your knees.

“Fuck.” You whimper, wrapping your fingers around his cock and giving him a slow squeeze. “Imagined myself on my knees for you so many times.” You admit. “Even wondered if I could fit under your desk.” That makes you giggle again, imagine having his cock down your throat while he types up a report. “Now I get to taste you.” Lowering your head, you wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, tongue pressing against the bead of pre-cum.

“Oh fuck.” Tim hisses when you take him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around the head of his cock. “Baby. You look so pretty like this.” He murmurs, unable to close his eyes, wanting to see every second of this and burn it into his memory.

You preen under his praise, taking him deeper and wanting to give him the best blowjob he’s ever had in his entire fucking life. Holding onto his hip while you take him down to the back of your throat and swallowing around him.

“Jesus.” Tim hisses as you swallow around him, your jaw almost unhinged as you take him deeper and your eyes are watering. “Fuck, sweetheart. Look so good.” He murmurs, reaching down to caress your cheek, enjoying the feel of his cock pressing against your cheek.

You hum, letting it vibrate through him with a grin. Enjoying the feeling of his hand on your cheek while you concentrate on not choking. You want to take him deeper, to wrap your lips around the base and you slide your fingers out from around the base to hold onto his hips.

“Oh oh oh shittt.” He hisses before he pants, his cock twitching down your throat as your nose brushes the coarse hair at the base of his cock. “Baby. Baby. Shit. You gotta - I can’t - it’s too much.” He admits and grabs the back of your neck, trying to pull you off of his length.

You lift off of him with a gasp of air. “You don’t want to-“ you bite your lip but Tim shakes his head. “Want to be inside you.” He reminds you, rolling your body under his again and your legs fall open to brace on either side of his hips.

He’s slower this time. Hovering over you, he reaches down to grip his cock and he positions himself at your entrance. He pushes into you, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as he braces his hand on the side of your head.

This time, he slides into you an inch at a time. Slow enough that you swear you feel his heartbeat fluttering against your pussy walls. Letting you moan softly and wrap your legs around his back, heels pressed into his tiny ass as you enjoy being split open by him again.

He exhales shakily once he’s fully inside of you. Groaning your name as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Fucking perfect.” He murmurs, cock twitching when you clench around him. “Gonna take our time. Want you to cum again for me.”

As frantic as the time in the station was, this is equally as slow. More like love making than anything else as Tim slowly pushes and drags his cock in and out of your walls. It's a good thing, since you are a little sore from earlier, but you wouldn't have him stop for anything in the world as you two kiss.

His lips press against yours over and over again, his weight shifting onto his forearms so he can press his body against yours. Your heels dig into his ass, pushing him impossibly deeper with every thrust into you and he swears he could stay like this forever.

You moan his name, holding him tight as you move with him. Wanting to be as close as you can get without crawling up inside his skin. “Fuck.” You whimper, his pelvis rubbing against your clit as he grinds down into you. It’s intense and totally consuming in the best possible way as he builds you back up.

"So fucking beautiful. So fucking smart. Too good for me. Too fucking good for me." He murmurs as he kisses along your neck while he rocks into you, his hand reaching back to lift your thigh higher so he can grind even deeper into you.

“Why?” You gasp out, unable to comprehend why he would think you’re too good for him. “Handsome, smart, sexy, capable.” You groan, clenching around him. “You’re a fucking catch.”

Tim chuckles against your neck. “I fucking - I got more baggage than a Goddamn airport, baby girl. I gotta - I have an ex wife and a son. It’s not - most women don’t wanna get involved in the drama.” He explains breathlessly as he rocks into you.

“No drama.” You moan, tightening your legs around him. “Mileage.” You tease playfully. Despite having an ex-wife, you know that he’s a good man, not a perfect one - but a good man. His son, well, he would be part of the deal and you couldn’t imagine thinking otherwise.

“Mileage.” He repeats with a chuckle. “Like an old corvette.” He jokes and slides his hands under you, getting even closer to you. His hips rock against yours a little faster, wanting to feel you cum around him.

“Classics are still fucking sexy.” You whimper when he hits deep inside you, striking the perfect angle. “There, fuck, right there Tim.” You beg, digging your nails into his shoulders.

He frowns, concentrating on that spot to make you cum. He pushes into you a little faster, not changing the angle of his hips and he watches your brow furrow and your mouth fall open. “Shit baby. Look so good.” He murmurs, “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes!” You gasp, feeling the tension nearly snap the next time his hips rocket forward. Almost cumming right then. You just need one more thrust. Your body lurches when he pulls back, lifting up to meet him, and you squeal his name when he thrusts back into you, making stars erupt behind your eyes.

“Shit.” Tim hisses when you clamp down on his cock. “That’s it baby. Shit. So tight.” He pants, loving how wet you feel around him as your nails dig into his back. He works you through it, slow and deep despite the vice grip on his cock, and he kisses slowly along your neck.

“So good.” You whimper, panting for breath as you come down from your high. “Want you to cum.” You murmur softly. “Fill me up again.”

Tim clenches his jaw, his pace picking up a little more as you tell him to cum. He pants, rocking into you harder and faster, practically folding your body in half as he seeks his own high until he chokes, his body coming to a halt as his cock twitches. His hot cum paints your walls and he hisses your name as he rides his orgasm.

He’s fucking gorgeous when he cums. His eyes are closed, jaw slack with pleasure as he pumps you full of cum. Groaning and twitching deep inside of you, making you moan again. “Fuck baby.” You coo, caressing his neck and cheek. “Amazing.”

He exhales heavily as he relaxes. His lips meet yours as he leans down to kiss you. The kiss is slow, his tongue caressing yours, and he enjoys being inside of you.

You let the kiss linger, not in any rush to pull away and you don’t drop your legs from around him until your breathing has calmed down.

Tim nudges his nose against yours, shifting onto his side with you while he's still inside of you, not wanting to pull out just yet. "So I should definitely take you on an actual date." He says, his dark eyes on you.

“Maybe.” You smile as you answer him, leaning up for another kiss. “Maybe a romantic crime scene. We can flirt over evidence markers.”

Tim chuckles, “we do that anyway. But I mean, an actual dinner. Wanna take you out. Wine and dine you. What do the kids say nowadays?” He teases, nudging his nose against yours. “Well, they say Netflix and Chill.” Tim snorts, “pretty sure we already did that. Snuff Tape and Fuck.” He jokes before his face gets serious, “dinner. Wanna treat you right.”

“That sounds good to me, detective.” You murmur with a smile. While you don’t know why the film came to be in your possession or who had made it, you’re sure that you’ll figure it out. After all, Tim Rockford is a legend on the police force, solving cases and in this case, putting this one to bed.

[dreaming-hibi]

Everyone seems to forget that Tsuna is affected not by one but by TWO "bad" parents. In this essay I will bring down both Iemitsu and Nana.

Iemitsu is considered a bad parent because Tsuna himself says so, and we gotta trust what the victim says. If Tsuna claims his father is a deadbeat father, than that's what his father is. Iemitsu might be a respected chief, an understanding mentor and a loving husband, there is no denying he fulfills those roles wonderfully well however, he falls short on his role as a father and that's the role Tsuna most needs out of him. Tsuna doesn't need his father to be a respected chief or an understanding mentor or a loving husband, he needs his father to be a father first and foremost. Instead, Iemitsu tells Nana to claim he was dead/missing. And she did (and I'll be coming back to this later). Now, not only did Tsuna have to live with the fact that his father up and left the house, he had to live with the fact that his father was also, very likely, dead.

Iemitsu-father was dead to Tsuna for two years, the boy had definitely come to terms with it by the start of the series. Except, Iemitsu wasn't dead at all. While it's treated as a comedy skit in the manga, the absolute rollercoaster of emotion Tsuna must have felt at that moment is unimaginable. "I lived with my mom and dad but then my dad started leaving for work until one day he stopped coming home, and then my mom told he was missing but he actually wasn't... oh, and he involved me in some dangerous mafia business", try explaining that to a therapist.

Offenses committed by Iemitsu:

Leave his son without an explanation while his son was at a vulnerable age (Tsuna was at least old enough to remember his dad leaving the house)

Telling his wife to write him off as dead/missing because "It's more romantic that way" (I haven't seen the episode in years but I just checked and that's exactly what he said, wtf)

Appearing in his son's life after being "dead" for years without a reasonable explanation (and no, claiming that he was doing that to protect his family is not an explanation, that's an excuse)

Appearing in his son's life only after he got said son involved in the mafia business

Disappearing as soon as everything is over and not being heard of again until he wants to

Acting like a father when he killed that role himself

I can understand the first offense, after all, Tsuna was a small boy when Iemitsu left. "You were a child, there was no need for you to know" is something adults repeatedly say when they refuse to elaborate on why they kept a child in the dark; and that's something I understand, I don't condone it but I do understand it. But Tsuna was clearly at an age where he could remember his dad leaving, he was at an age where he was emotionally grown-up enough to see his father leaving the house as being the same as being abandoned.

ツナ 「オレと母さんを残して ずっと家を空けてたあんな奴に・・・」

Tsuna uses the word 残す (nokosu) which means "to leave (behind)", which often carries a sense of forgetfulness, as though the act of leaving something behind was done because the person forgot about. "He left behind my mom and me" = "He forgot about us and left". And then he goes on to say "That guy (derogative) was always away from home", which further drives the point that Tsuna has some strong resentment towards his father for leaving without being heard of.

The second offense is, in my humble opinion, bullshit. The japanese use this particular word 「ロマン」 (roman) which is many times translated as "romantic", but which is used to describe a feeling of "pursuing impossible dreams or ideals which deeply define a character". This particular word is mostly used by japanese men to describe a feeling of longing for impossible dreams and ideals that women just cannot understand.

.

.

See what I mean?

Nana (I'm coming for you so sit tight) is so japanese in her essence that she's a woman who is attracted by the idea of a man chasing his impossible dreams (a man who is living the roman), and Iemitsu feeds on that by telling her to write him off as gone and "as becoming one with the stars", because that's more romantic than telling your kid his dad will be doing construction work. A husband and a wife who very obviously love each other and who both think living by their ideals is a much higher priority than their responsibility towards the child they brought into the world. The third offense shows how different Iemitsu and Tsuna are. Iemitsu claims he was keeping his family in the dark because that was how he protected them (through ignorance), and that's bullshit and Tsuna shows us exactly why, like a 100 or so chapters later. During the Future Arc, Tsuna was made to choice between telling his friends the whole truth or keeping them in the dark for their own safety (like Iemitsu). Tsuna decides to say the truth, because he knows what it means and what it feels like to be kept in the dark, especially regarding something that concerns the person directly. Tsuna made that decision because he had been in a similar position.

The fourth offense is perhaps there to show how incapable of being a father Iemitsu is. Iemitsu reappears in Tsuna's life only after Tsuna becomes involved with the mafia, because that's what Iemitsu is good at: the mafia. Perhaps Iemitsu was more involved in the mafia than he was in a normal family situation, which is why he lacks as a father, because he very simply doesn't know how to be a father. He can train, mentor and support Tsuna in the mafia way because that's what he knows how to do, however, that's not what Tsuna needs nor wants. Tsuna needed a father, but that father wrote himself off (so Tsuna unknowingly got another father and this one refuses to leave him alone) and Tsuna had to come to terms with the fact that he didn't have a father to depend on. And that's where the conflict between Tsuna and Iemitsu comes from: Iemitsu trying to act like a dad to the son he had educated to think of him as dead.

To Tsuna the situation must be something like this: his dad gave him up for adoption and now keeps coming back, trying to act like a dad because now the two of them shared the same hobby.

Sorry, Iemitsu, Tsuna found himself a better dad! Although you succeeded in ruining the dad-role for him, so now he's left with some complicated feelings towards Reborn, whom he sees as a figure he can depend on but whom he cannot call "dad" in fear it might end up like it did with you.

His fifth offense ties in with his fourth. Iemitsu only appears when there is something about the mafia going on and then disappears as soon as the situation is no longer related to the mafia. He only tries to act like a father to Tsuna when the mafia is involved, and that is absolute bullshit because that boy needs a father even outside of the mafia.

And finally his last and most important offense: how Iemitsu killed the image of a father in Tsuna's head.

At hearing the news that his father will be back home, after 2 years, Tsuna's shocked reaction is treated more as a joke than a legitimate emotion someone might have towards the sudden undeadness of a father. Nana, his own mother, even goes as far as belittling him and his intelligence when she says (more explicitly in the anime): "Aww Tsuna, you actually believed that story about his disappearance?" and then "How do you think we pay for your school expenses and food, if he were really gone?"

Iemitsu intentionally killed the existence known as "dad" in Tsuna's head, and Nana helped. Tsuna started the series convinced he no longer had a dad, which is why he ended up depending on Reborn, because Reborn was the first authoritative figure that called him a loser to his face while also believing Tsuna was much more than that. Reborn appeared exactly as the kind of figure Tsuna didn't know he needed in his life.

Though both Reborn and Iemitsu are there because of the mafia, Reborn stays for more than just the mafia, and Tsuna can see that. Iemitsu only interacts with Tsuna when the mafia is involved, while Reborn is there for him regardless of whether or not the mafia is involved. Reborn was sent there to make Tsuna the next boss, yet all Reborn did was make this loser of a kid get some confidence in himself and make some friends. Between a tutor whose intentions he knows (he's there to make him boss but somehow he's also trying to make him into a better person) and a dad whose intentions he doesn't know (he tries to teach him this mafia thing he really doesn't want to be involved in), Tsuna's heart chose the one figure he didn't know he always wanted in his life.

Nice going, Tsuna!

I bring this conversation between Tsuna and Iemitsu, which I think further shows the conflict between them.

ツナ 「帰ってこなかったあんたが オレの何が知っている!!」

家光 「お前は愛する母さんとの間に生まれた 俺の息子だ」

Tsuna: "What could you possibly understand about me?! If you're never home!" Iemitsu: "You are my son, born between me and the woman I love."

In what is a typical parent cliche, Iemitsu claims he knows Tsuna solely based on the fact that Tsuna is his son. This is a psychological trap which many parents seem to fall for: a belief that they will always know their children best because it is their children (and that their children might not know themselves because they are still children). Iemitsu fails to acknowledge that Tsuna is his own person and that he might not want to live by his ideals. As to why parents do this? Well, ego, most likely. A parent thinks themselves a god because they created a child, and refuse to acknowledge the fact that their child is just another person they will have to learn to know.

Now, Sawada Nana. The amount of information on this woman is so little that she might as well be of little influence to the plot, expect she's not!

Let's start from the beginning. Nana is described as being kind, but her kindness seems to only go so far, as she will and does ignore things she does not want to deal with. Reborn kicks her son in front of her? She leaves them alone. Her son keeps coming home with mysterious injuries? She ignores it.

Again, all of these are treated as comedy, and Nana is just like any other anime/manga mother. She appears as a 1-dimensional character with no other role than to be there for every other character that isn't her son.

Nana, like Iemitsu, does the bare minimum for Tsuna as a mother. She does provide him with meals and a roof, however she completely neglects the emotional support the boy very obviously needs. There are instances in which she even belittles his feelings (such as when Tsuna was freaking out over his father's appearance and she proceeded to laugh and point out his naiveness at believing her lie).

What kind of freaking mother makes fun of their son for believing something they said?

Certainly not a good one!

And lastly, it was Nana who allowed and helped Iemitsu in being a bad father. Tsuna holds his mother in high respect because he believes Iemitsu abandoned her too, and that is why it is easier for him to forgive her and not his father. However, it was through Nana's emotional neglect that Iemitsu ended up ruining the image of a father in Tsuna's head — her passiveness is what allowed Tsuna to grow into the weak-willed character we meet in the beginning of the series.

In conclusion, both Iemitsu and Nana are to blame for Tsuna's loser behavior. So, if we're gonna talk about how bad of a father Iemitsu is, we should acknowledge the fact that Tsuna has a mother who allowed all of that to happen.

You're welcome to step up and shoot me, I'm open to constructive criticism!

[mynameisjag]

Quick Prompt: Wanting What Someone Else Has.

Scott finds out about the new Logan, Wade doesn't care about Scott's problems. Logan isn't even aware.

Wade stared at Scott.

Scott stared at Wade.

At least the mercenary assumed he was, kind of hard to tell, you know…with the glasses…

He’d give him a point for managing to get the drop on him though, showed up late enough not to be any help, early enough were they hadn’t left the mark's disgustingly beige mansion.

It looked better with the splashes of red everywhere.

Even the boring ass, uncomfortable lounges that they were sitting on, looked better with the splatter.

Cyclops was sitting on the less messy one, so maybe he didn’t agree or he just choose that one because then they could just sit and stare at each other face to face.

“Where’s Logan?”

“Better question, how are you alive? This better not be some multiverse MCU bullshit.”

Logan was probably eating his fill in the kitchen, the owners pervert party was catered and why leave and get underwhelming fast food when there was free rich fucks food that was going to go to waste anyway.

Lo had talked about his…hunting trips…sometimes, always on the move, always going from target to target, that at one point it was just sensible to eat what was there, rest, take what was need and move on. Considering how most of the fucks he went after were people of high importance, government jobs or just rich assholes, their was always alcohol, fancy foods, and wallets that no one noticed was gone till it was too late.

So this current hit was just another day for the feral.

Scott’s Logan was more man then his, could easily be mistaken for just another human without powers.

Wade’s though, his had lost himself to the calling of his inner animal and became it as he hunted those that had hurt his family. Body changing to its new needs, becoming the human predator he needed to be.

Logan hated it, hated what his body became, his behavior, his instincts, everything that changed, he hated it all. He spent so long trying to fit the profile others had tried to shove him into that losing himself to what was himself was a failure in his eyes. A shameful failure.

It wasn’t true of course and they were working on that, both supporting each other because they both were so fucked up but at least they were fucked up together.

Wade talked to the air and the millions of eyes that watched them, Logan would snarl and make more animal sounds then use his voice at times.

The merc highly doubted the X-men, at least this version, were going to be able to handle his Wolverine.

“There’s no dog for you to collar here, laser pointer, so why don’t you make your way back to whoever else has found the well of life in that mansion and fuck off.”

Seemed like he might have hit a nerve as that frown somehow got deeper, “I’m here for my friend.”

“You’re a good couple of states away from your Wolverine’s grave, can get you an Uber there if your that directionally challenged.”

“We know he is here, with you-“

“-Nope! Again, you have eye issues not hearing, your-hear that strain on that-your Logan is dead.” Deadpool reached forward to grab a drink he had set on the end table earlier before getting interrupted, “speaking of dead, you still haven’t answered how you’re still kicking around.”

“Your life isn’t the only one that involves time travels.”

“Oh, good, just the normal X-men bullshit then, should we be expecting the other Logan then?”

“No…he is still…gone…his body, or what we can find of it, is now resting back at the mansion…not all of us are back.”

“Oooh, I probably should have put that puzzle back together before jumping…everyone is still on the fence on whether or not old Wolves would have gotten a kick out of me playing Ninja Warrior with his tibias?”

“And what does that mean?”

“Ignore it and my little chats with the “gremlins” as Honey Bunny puts it, now, I’m going to guess you thought if you couldn’t have one, you figured you could take mine? Did Daddy Professor not drill in manners in all of that training, it’s rude to take other people’s stuff.”

“He isn’t your ‘stuff’, you don’t know how to handle him.”

At that precise moment, Logan ran past in the background, on all fours and a chunk of meat in his mouth, the merc was glad that Cyclops couldn’t follow his line of sight because of the mask. Cause all the red head had to do was slightly turn his head and he would see the man he was searching for bounding upstairs like an overly excited puppy with a new toy.

Either the man found fresh grade A steak or he had decided that some one smelled delicious and took a chuck. 50 50 chance on either option really and at least the blood was everywhere here instead of back in the apartment.

Al was less likely to complain when she didn’t slip and slide through puddles of blood.

“Handle him? Scottie too Hottie!”, at this point he lifts his mask enough to sip at the drink in his hand, grimacing at the flavor, how did they make fruit soda taste bad, “ugh, high society tastes are awful,” he wiggles the can at the other man, “want it?”

“No.”

“Don’t blame you, I can how ever blame you for thinking that for some shit reason that Lobunny, wait fuck that’s a Pokémon, Lo Bun Bun, is unable to think for himself and that I somehow can stop him from going wherever he wants to go.”

“He hasn’t came home, yet, if he was able to go-“

“That place isn’t his home, you are not his X-men, he is not a replacement, well, he is an anchor being replacement but not a ‘pick up where the last Logan left off’ replacement. So what ever regrets or amends you wanted to have, they should be aimed at the grave and not the man you wished was the one you lost,” Deadpool threw the can over the others head, before flipping over the couch he was on, landing on his feet and giving double finger guns at the X-man before the can could hit the wall, “well, good chat, but we gotta go!”

Scott was standing up now, face serious and ready to counter argue when flashing lights from outside reflected in the windows, sirens coming closer, “is that the police?”

“Yeah!,” now the mercenary was opening a window, hanging halfway out of it as he made grabby hands at something above him, “hope you got a ride,” blue colored gloves grabbed his red ones and he was yanked out and upward, “tootles!”

Scott took a deep breath, calming himself down before turning and heading toward his own escape.

He’ll try another day.

[wosowffc]

TREMBLING HANDS

First time writing a fic so please bear with me.

TW . Panic attack

Here I were sat slumped against a old rusting rickety park bench. The great Katie McCabes sister-yeah I was nothing like that- cold of the wind sending chills over my legs and nose turning red.

Let me take you back to my last 12 shitty hours of my life.

I came home taking my little brother home from school. The school that was next to my school where I should have been, you see I haven't been attending there in the last few weeks I'm fed up with teacher bullshit and all there fucking shouting and whining. Done.

I had walked through the door to an unusually quiet home which isn't how it normally is, it's normally muisic here a bit of tv there some people walking upstairs someones cooking people are in the kitchen but no. There's no noise.

They had found out. Now I stand here as ma and da are screaming at me, I'm only 15 I can't leave school yet but I'm done I've been hiding in the park each day.

I got my jumper and went I went far. And by far I went to London that's where I am now slumped against this old rusty rickety park bench I stand up and get to London coloney.

The security try stop my but I don't let down just going round them and running to the building them chasing me I know this place Katie brought me over to London a few weeks ago for a trail so I know the way round I make it to the lounge while there two rightly big men chasing me.

I cluch Katie like it's all I have burying my face in her chest and she wraps her arms around me moving to her knees as mine give in. I heard the men leave. my trembling hands, my sharp quick breaths and the cold sweat going down my back what the hell is happneing

"Ka" is all I could manage to get out between breathes I feel myself being lifted to and being taking to a diffrent room when I'm sat down and claw at my jumper

"Yn! Do you know how many people has been looking for you ma has garde looking for you" katie shouts not noticing how pale you are and not hearing your breathing.

"I...help" you say while laying down on you back whole body has now followed your hands and all shake with eachother

Katie's relises know what happned before she call out to someone for an ice pack which before you try open your eyes or speak again is on the back of your neck an instant relief.

"Take a second, I'm not leaving I've got you, it's just me ok" Katie rubs your arm and she kneels next to you calmly for about 15 mins for you to fully calm

You sit up to scared to look at her but she pulls you in both now say on the floor ur head on her chest and her arms rubbing you bag and tightly wrapped around you.

[sneakyparsnipslicer]

The Cult Of Knives

[Sorry it's been a while folks, hoping you've all been OK. This came to me in a lucid dream. I've captioned all the photos so you can imagine what each character looks like, enjoy!]

It's an age old mistake, you've seen it in movies no doubt. One thing you never, ever find yourself doing is going within five metres of an abandoned cabin in the woods.

It all began late one afternoon, I'd left my apartment to go for my daily jog. It was a standard part of my daily routine by now; finish work, jog around town, go home. Plain and simple. Work kept me on a little longer that day so it pushed my jog a little further ahead. It wasn't so bad when I started, but soon enough the sky began to darken. On the outskirts of town is a field that leads to a bridge, and near the other side of the bridge is a forest. I used to go camping with my friends back in my school years, but now at 27 I don't really hear from them anymore. They all went off to do their own thing.

Anyway, as I got to the forest, I was relieved. I'd forgotten to go for a piss whilst at home and at least in the forest I could piss in a secluded area. I jogged a little way in, found a bush and did my business. When I'd finished I looked around, remembering those good times with my friends. I decided to have a look around for old time's sake. It's funny how places like these can hold so many memories for certain people. Right there by the river, that's where we all sat blaring Panic! At The Disco in the dead of night, that's where Charlie and Jeanette had sneaked off to have a little… fun. We were barely of the legal age back then, so funny looking back at it now, thinking we were giving the middle finger to society. And of course there it stands, The Old Murder Cabin.

The guys used to tell stories about this cabin, full of bullshit of course, used to scare the girls. Stories of there being an axe murderer living there who cut people up to sell as meat on the market. I remember once me and Paul had dared to break in there one night. It was empty, so it's safe to say the stories fell a bit flat after that. Shane never did forgive us for ruining that for us all. Still, it was like time had stood still here, like I was 18 again.

It was beginning to get darker now and I was thinking about heading back home when I stopped in my tracks. For a moment I could've sworn I heard voices. As soon as I started to pay attention they stopped. Had I imagined it? I cautiously crept along the wall towards a window, holding my breath I peeked in. Inside was the long abandoned kitchen, nothing seemed to be inside. I heaved a sigh of relief and chuckled, just my imagination. Though looking back in again I did notice that the table and chairs had been organised. When Paul and I had gone in years ago it was all slumped against walls and the chairs were upturned. Maybe someone had been living in there at some point. I felt like I shouldn't investigate and decided it would be wise to head home, that's when a huge hand with a cloth swooped out of nowhere, covering my mouth and nose. An arm tightened around my chest and though I tried to break free, the chloroform made short work of me.

'Knew I could see someone down by the river, like a moth to the flame!' someone laughed.

'You reckon he'll do?' asked another. I felt a foot sharply kick me in the side of my stomach and that's where I woke up coughing and spluttering, gasping for air.

'Transpierce, Sabre, restrain him' ordered another voice. Next thing I knew two blurry figures were hoisting me onto a hard surface and were busy on either side of me, fastening belts around my wrists. As my vision began to return to me, I could see that I was tied to the kitchen table inside the cabin. On either side of me stood two burly, hairy and muscular men. The room was lit by candles so this whole premise felt very unsettling and dreary.

'What's going on?' I asked, looking around for answers.

'Looks like you picked a bad night to stumble into the woods kiddo!' said a voice ahead of me. There stood another man built quite similarly to the two either side of me. I couldn't help noticing they were all shirtless, showing off their pecs and abs.

'Sorry, I thought this place was abandoned, I didn't mean to interrupt you all' I said, looking between them. The one ahead of me shook his head and folded his arms.

'Well to be fair it was until about a month ago, that's where I stumbled upon this place' he explained.

'Ah, love what you've done with the place!' I said, laughing nervously. At which they all chuckled in unison.

'He seems rather sweet doesn't he lads?' he asked the other two, to which they both nodded.

'Oh definitely!' said the man on my right.

'A perfect match!' said the man on my left.

'Good, I think so too. Transpierce, go and get Mateusz would you?' the man at the front asked as he moved over to take over his post. The man to my left, Transpierce nodded and walked off to the other room.

'Transpierce, that's an unusual name' I said, looking nervously into the man's eyes, I could only assume he was their leader.

'He chose it himself, we all do. I'm Bayonet, and our friend over there is Sabre' said Bayonet, moving his hands to examine my shoulders.

'Bayonet, that's a kind of knife, right?' I asked him. Bayonet smiled and nodded.

'Intelligent too! I appreciate a man that knows his knives!' he grinned, looking deeply into my eyes. I was feeling really uncomfortable by this point. We seemed to be getting along, but why was I still restrained? He looked up and down my body and sighed.

'It's a pity, you'd have been welcome to join my little Cult as you are, but there are certain… requirements I must enforce' Bayonet said. He left my side and walked over to the doorway that Transpierce had left through.

'Transpierce? Mateuz? What's taking you two so long?' Bayonet demanded.

'Just a moment Boss, he's almost ready!' called Transpierce from the other room.

'Good!' announced Bayonet, satisfied. He turned back to look at me.

'It's always a special occasion when we acquire a new Suit'.

What did he mean, suit? I was in my t-shirt and shorts, and they sure weren't wearing any suits. Bayonet turned his attention to a wooden chest in the corner of the room and pulled out a satchel containing various tools. As he searched the satchel, Transpierce returned to the room accompanied by a skinny-looking guy, either he was drenched in water or covered in some sort of gel that glistened in the candle light. I had to assume this was Mateusz.

'Alright then Matty, this is your moment. Your induction. In your own time' said Bayonet, turning around, holding a syringe and a bottle of glowing green liquid. Mateusz nodded hesitantly and made his way over to me. Our eyes locked and we regarded eachother for a moment. Not gonna lie, he was pretty cute, though he wasn't built and muscular like the other guys. He placed a greasy palm on my left leg and I shuddered. It was cold and strangely felt like a cut to the skin. He moved his hand slowly up my leg to my groin and the others stood back and watched.

Mateusz licked his lips and placed one hand on the table, hoisting himself on top of it, standing above me looking down, he gently lowered himself to sit on my crotch. I'm not usually into twinks but this guy was doing it for me somehow. He moved both of his hands along my arms to my restrained hands and filled them with his own, locking fingers with me. He moved to lay down on top of me and began to kiss me. This guy was good, tonguing my mouth and exploring, I could feel his hardening shaft grinding into me. He pulled away and I moaned. Whatever this guy wanted to do to me, I was his. He sat back up and began to pull his boxers off, letting his erect dick spring free. It had to be 7 inches long. I licked my lips, was I about to get to taste it? He moved to sit on my chest and he cupped my jaw in his hands, staring silently again. Then he moved to position his dick into my mouth and began to face fuck me. I so wished I could hold his body but my hands were restrained. As if they could read my mind, Sabre and Transpierce approached and undid the belt buckles, allowing me to put my hands on his bubble butt. I wanted all of that inside me. Mateusz continued to fuck, panting and groaning, eventually he came in my mouth and I swallowed his thick, creamy load. He pulled himself off me. I gasped for air as I laid down on the table, unable to take my eyes off Mateusz. Him unable to take his eyes off me, he caught his breath and began to smile, chuckling.

Assuming it was my turn to repay him the favour, I moved to pull my t-shirt off, but he stopped me, shaking his head.

'I'm not done yet, that was foreplay!' he said winking. I looked at him bewildered, face fucking was foreplay to him?!

It was at this point Bayonet approached with his syringe and injected the green, glowing substance into Mateusz's arm. It took a moment, but his skin began to glow green and the gel he seemed to have been coated in made him appear to turn rubbery. It was like he was now a hot, humanoid version of Flubber.

'Oh we're going to enjoy this!' Mateusz said, glowing before me. He squeaked and squelched as he moved and returned to sit atop me. He kissed me again, but this time his lips got sucked in, then his head began to get sucked into my mouth, squeaking as it went. I placed my hands on his shoulders and they ran down his slick body as it gradually began to suction into my own. As his torso, ass, dick, arms, legs and feet began to slide into me, my stomach began to balloon out and glow green under my clothes. The other men whooped and cheered. Underneath my skin, I could feel Mateusz repositioning himself, arms into the correct places, legs where they should be. My own skin was beginning to balloon out too, as muscle began to build, my clothes began to rip to shreds. I began to grow pecs and abs just like the other guys, my hands belonged to Mateusz now and he moved them below what remained of my boxers and began to pump our expanded dick. Both of us moaning in unison. I could feel my load getting ready to shoot and that's the last thing I can remember.

Mateusz groaned in pleasure as cum shot out from his new dick, two thick strings and then excess green liquid spewed out. He looked to the ceiling, sweat glistening on his new chiseled body. His friends surrounded him and smiled proudly at him, they'd been masturbating as they watched his merging with the captive jogger and moaned as they emptied their loads over him, christening him a new man, rubbing it all into his skin. Panting, Bayonet helped him to his feet and kissed him.

'Speak your new name, Brother!' he cried. Mateusz thought for a moment.

'Call me Machete!' he decided. Transpierce, Sabre and Bayonet looked between eachother and nodded approvingly.

'Very well! From this night forth you are complete, you are our beautiful Brother Machete!' said Bayonet proudly, hugging him tightly. Now they had four complete members to their ranks, in time their ranks would grow and the Cult of Knives would amass many more followers, but for now it was time they all got some action from Machete!

[itneverendshere]

we say we’re different but we got the same eyes - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

you needed to stop taking other people shift’s. 

it’s not like you wanted to, but at least they were paying you to do so, enough to let you actually chill this summer without stressing about rent or whatever else adulthood decided to throw at you.

all you had to do was show up and do the job. first at lila’s dinner, now at the bougie country club, as a cart girl.

you’d done this before, and sure, the old men were always a little too handsy with their beer guts hanging over their tacky polos, but at least they tipped well. you could tolerate them. smile, giggle at their half-assed jokes, and let them feel like they still had it. 

fine. pay me for my pain, grandpa. 

today however, instead of your usual sugar-daddy wannabes, you were babysitting frat boys. fresh out of their first year of college, probably still hungover from their last keg stand.

nineteen-year-old idiots in pastel shorts and backwards hats, making everything about themselves.

“bro, you remember that party at kappa? dude, swear i blacked out after like, five shots.”

wow, five whole shots? congrats, you absolute child. should i get you a sticker for that?

don’t even get started on their conversations about girls. one of them, chad or brad or whatever his stupid name was, just had to loudly detail how some poor innocent girl “totally wanted him last night but was playing hard to get.”

yeah, bro, she was probably just trying to get through the night without having to mace your entitled ass.

it was constant. the whole damn morning. all they talked about was frat parties, girls they didn’t deserve, and how they "couldn’t wait to get back to school."

you'd give anything to remind them how utterly irrelevant their frat status was in the real world, but you couldn’t. nope. you had to keep your game face on, pour their drinks, and pretend like they weren’t giving you a headache that rivaled your worst hangovers.

at least the elderly snobs tipped well. sure, they were pretentious and acted like you were beneath them, but they'd slip you a twenty or more with a smug little wink. that made it easier to tolerate their "i’ve been golfing here since before you were born" bullshit.

but these brats?

half the time they forgot to tip at all, and when they did remember, it was a crumpled five like they were doing you some grand favor. and of course, of course, they couldn’t just keep their obnoxious, beer-breath comments to themselves. no, they had to make it worse by hitting on you—hard. 

painfully hard. it was like watching a car crash in slow motion, except instead of pulling over to help, you were stuck right in the middle, praying someone would just tow your ass out.

“yo, what’s your name again?” one of them asks. bryce, probably. his face just screams bryce.

he's leaning against the cart like he thinks it's going to make him look cool, but really, he’s just sloshing his drink all over the place. classy.

“it’s on my name tag,” you deadpan, pointing to the little badge pinned to your polo. you're not about to give him any more than that.

but he's not letting it go. “oh yeah? cute name for a cute girl. you single or what?”

jesus christ. here we go.

you resist the urge to roll your eyes so hard they’d get stuck in the back of your head. 

“’m here to work,” you sigh, voice sweet enough to mask the absolute disdain you're feeling. you know what comes next.

they always think they can charm you if they just keep going, like you are some kind of challenge.

“c’mon, don’t be like that,” another one chimes in, this one wearing sunglasses even though it's barely 9 a.m.

who do you think you are, pitbull? 

he gives you this sleazy grin like he thinks he's smoother than he actually is. “we could take you out after your shift. grab a drink. bet you’re fun, huh?”

fun? FUN?! if by fun he means fantasizing about driving this cart straight into the water hazard just to escape this conversation, then sure, you're a real blast.

you look around the course, hoping maybe one of the older golfers needs a refill or something—anything to get you away from this nightmare. no luck. it's just you and these clowns.

“i don’t date customers,” you say, a line you’d perfected at this point.

you plaster on your fakest smile, the kind that said please tip me and then leave me the hell alone. but bryce wasn’t giving up.

“you’re really gonna turn us down? i mean, we’re the best thing on this course right now.”

best thing?

the only thing they're the best at seems to be embarrassing themselves. this is the type of guy who probably thinks buying a girl a drink meant she owns him something.

you can't even be mad; it's almost... sad. almost.

“maybe you should focus on your game,” you suggest, glancing at his scorecard. “you’re, what, ten over par already?”

that shuts him up real quick, his face going from cocky to confused like he didn't expect you to know how golf worked.

his friend with the sunglasses? he's still trying.

“we can show you a good time, y’know. we’ve got a house down on the beach. you like boats?”

ah, yes. the boat move. the go-to for guys who think a half-assed yacht and a cooler full of cheap beer is the height of luxury.

you’d seen it a million times in this godforsaken town.

you're not impressed.

you shoot them another smile, “i like tips.”

they all blink confusedly, clearly not used to a girl calling them out so directly. the frat boys mumble something between themselves, looking awkward for the first time all day.

finally, one of them fishes a crumpled twenty out of his pocket and tosses it your way. 

oh, wow, big spender. 

you scoop it up, shoving it into your pocket and giving them a little nod. “thanks, boys. good luck with your game.”

you thought the twenty bucks might’ve bought you a few minutes of peace, but no. they're back at it, swinging at golf balls like they aren't trying to flirt in between their awful shots.

you roll the cart over to the next part of the course, half-listening to their constant chatter.

something about “last semester” this, and “pledge party” that. god, they just never stop. it's like someone hit the repeat button on the world’s most annoying playlist.

one of them calls you over again, like he can't wait five minutes for his next drink. you start prepping them, half tuning them out, just trying to get through it, when suddenly, miraculously, they shut the hell up.

for a second, you think maybe the universe is finally doing you a favor. you don't even question it, just start pouring drinks faster.

a quiet frat boy is a gift. but then you hear it:

“dude!” one of them practically tackles the other, all wide-eyed and hyped up like a little kid who just saw his favorite cartoon character. “is that rafe fucking cameron?!”

oh, for fuck’s sake.

your stomach drops. of course it has to be him. because clearly, your morning isn't being shitty enough. you don't even look at first. 

one of the guys starts flipping out, hitting his buddy’s shoulder like it's the coolest thing to ever happen.

“bro, no way. no way. that’s rafe cameron? he used to be the president of our frat, man. two years ago! he’s a fucking legend!”

legend? you almost laugh.

the only legend rafe is to you it's a legendary asshole. a smug, infuriating, gorgeous asshole who you have been avoiding like the plague. the same one who has been blowing up your phone nonstop, trying to get back into your life.

the same one you swore down you’d never sleep with again after he pulled that stunt at the dinner—and then, of course, ended up in his bed two nights ago. you haven't spoken to him since. you’d been ignoring him again—well, trying to—but now here he is. in the flesh. and these idiots are drooling over him like he's some kind of frat god.

you turn your head, and he's striding across the green like he doesn't have a care in the world. of course he looks good. he always does.

wayfarer’s pushed up in his hair, that cocky-ass grin on his face, wearing a polo like he's the face of a country club catalog. you know he’d see you any second. hell, he probably already has. 

yeah, you’d been avoiding him, and yeah, maybe you’d blocked his number twice, but that didn’t stop him from calling with a different one. or from somehow finding you the other night at the party when you were weak enough to let him back in, only to get burned again.

“holy shit, he’s coming this way,” one of the frat boys mutters, shaking with excitement.

you don't move, don't acknowledge him. but you can feel his eyes on you. it's like a sixth sense at this point. you'd crave it so much before, when it was all a silly game in your head, see how much you could push until he cracked and gave into you. now it's a curse.

the boys are watching him approach like he's some kind of celebrity.

“should we say something to him?” one whispers. “i heard he’s like, killing it in the business world now. family’s loaded.”

yeah, you think bitterly. killing it. if you count being a trust fund brat as an accomplishment.

rafe's closer now, and you know this moment is inevitable. the frat boys are giddy, already nudging each other, probably ready to beg him for networking advice or whatever the hell frat bros did.

you keep your eyes down, focusing on pouring the drinks, acting like you don't even notice him. like he doesn't phase you in the slightest.

“hey,” a familiar voice drawls. you don't have to lift your head to know it's him. naturally, he stops right by you. because why wouldn’t he?

“rafe fucking cameron!” one of the guys yells, unable to keep it together anymore. “you’re like a legend, man. kappa forever!”

you never cringed so hard in your life.

rafe smirks, that signature look spreading across his face. “yeah, somethin' like that.”

you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral. no way in hell are you about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still gets to you. 

everyone else around you are tripping over their words just to get his attention. it's embarrassing to watch. the kids acting like he's some kind of messiah, not just some white rich guy with a trust fund and a bad attitude half the time.

“man, the outer banks is fucking sick,” one of them says, bouncing on his feet like an overexcited puppy. “we’ve been hitting the beaches, bars, y’know, living it up. and bro, the girls here? smoking hot.”

here we go. 

you pretend to be very invested in the cooler, rearranging the ice just to keep your hands busy. they're about to start pointing at you any second now; you can sense it.

the way they keep looking over at you made it obvious they're gearing up for something.

and then, like clockwork, it happens.

“yeah, man,” one of them gestures way too enthusiastically in your direction. “that cart girl over there? we’ve been trying all morning.”

oh, fuck right off, you resist the urge to throw a bottle at him.

you’d rather die than hear what lame pickup line is coming next, but what you really don't want to hear is whatever rafe's about to say.

there was a pause, as if he's taking a second to let it sink in. and when he finally does speak, his voice is all smooth confidence, casual as anything.

“so,” he starts, still with smirk you hate and know so well, “you’ve met my girl?”

my girl? my fucking girl?

one of them, manages to stammer, “uh—wait, she’s… she’s your girl?”

you can feel the tension creeping up the back of your neck. this's exactly why you’ve been avoiding him.

no matter what happened between you, no matter how messy things got, he always acted like he owned you in private. never in front of his friends, like just because you ended up in his bed, you were his to claim whenever he felt like it.

still keeping your eyes glued to the drinks, you feel your blood boil. you aren't his fucking girl. you're barely on speaking terms, aside from that one weak moment.

he's only saying it to mess with you.

one of the frat boys lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “damn, man. didn’t know you were still pulling like that.” he shoots a glance at you again, not even bothering to hide the once-over.

rafe just chuckles, that low, infuriating laugh of his, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. “what can i say?” he drawls, as if the whole thing is just a game to him. “guess i’ve still got it.”

you're this close—this close—to snapping. you can feel your fists clenching at your sides. you're not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. not here. not in front of these frat boys who're still looking at you like some kind of trophy.

rafe’s voice is closer now. you don't have to look up to know he's standing right by the cart.

“you good over there?” he asks, that fake casual tone still lingering.

you don't answer. just kept doing your job, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts. but he isn't going to let it go. he never did when he wanted to prove a point.

“hey, baby.” he greets you again, leaning in slightly. you can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. “you gonna pretend you don’t know me now?”

you take a deep breath, finally turning to face him. he's standing way too close, sunglasses pushed up on his head, that stupid expression plastered across his face.

the frat boys are all watching, wide-eyed, like they just stumbled onto some kind of reality show drama.

“you’re funny, cameron.” the guys all exchange glances, clearly picking up on the tension but too dumb to understand it, “can you guys give us a minute?”

one of them pipes up with an awkward laugh, “wait, but we—”

you don't let him finish. “one. minute.” 

they finally catch on that it isn't a request and before they can awkwardly protest or ask why, rafe tilts his head towards them, craning his neck just enough to raise a single brow. the change in his posture is subtle but enough to have them clamming up instantly.

like magic, their frat-boy bravado melts right off. it's wild how fast a bunch of college boys can shrink under the gaze of someone like him.

the power trip they’ve been riding for the last hour stop.

“uh, yeah, you know what?” one of them coughs out, backing up so fast he almost trips over his golf bag. “we should, uh… we’ll hit the bathroom. real quick.”

“yeah, yeah, we’ll be right back,” another one adds, practically stumbling over himself to follow.

they scatter like scared puppies, tails tucked between their legs, and you can't help the small, satisfied smirk that twitches at the corner of your mouth.

finally, a moment of peace.

except, it's not peace. not with rafe standing there. 

as soon as the frat boys are out of earshot, you spin around, without thinking, you shove him in the chest with both hands, hard enough to catch him off guard. he stumbles back a step, his face twisting into a look of surprise.

"are you fucking crazy?" you snap, "do you not get the fucking hint, country club? i don’t want this. i don’t want you here, and i sure as hell don’t want your bullshit claims that ’m your girl in front of those idiots. leave. me. alone.”

he steadies himself, raising both hands as if trying to calm you down. “’m trying to be better, okay? ’m trying. i apologized the other night, didn’t i? ’m—”

“no, you didn’t!” you look at him like he's the dumbest man on earth, cutting him off, your hands balled into fists at your sides. “you didn’t apologize! you said i was overreacting, that i was being ‘dramatic.’ then, you fucked me and acted like that made it all better.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes a deep breath as he glances around the mostly empty golf course before his eyes move back to you, his voice low but firm. "that’s not how i meant it—"

“you always have an excuse,” you interrupt, stepping closer, not backing down. “every time, it’s the same thing. you think a half-assed apology or a night in bed makes up for the way you treat me in public? like ‘m just some thing you get to claim whenever you feel like it?"

he visibly recoils at the word you chose, like it hurts him, “i know,” he finally mutters “i know i was a dick at that dinner. but ’m trying, okay? i’ve been calling you, texting you—”

“i didn’t ask. am i that good in bed? go find someone else.”

rafe’s hand flies up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh escaping him. he draggs his tongue against his cheek. his voice coming out clipped, “i don’t want someone else,” he grunts out, sounding more exasperated than ever. “jesus fucking christ.”

you let out a laugh, stepping back, eyes rolling.

“oh, right. that’s it? ’m really that good in bed, huh? that’s why you’re here?” you cross your arms, your tone biting, daring him to say otherwise. “that’s all this has ever been, right? physical. you don’t call unless you want something. so what now? why are you trying so hard? what the hell are you trying for?”

he doesn't respond right away, his fingers are digging into the bridge of his nose like he's trying to hold himself together. the silence continues, and you can see him wrestling with his words. he's never been the type to say what he was feeling.

everything is buried under layers of cocky bravado, that impenetrable wall he put up to keep everyone at arm’s length. including you.

finally, he dropps his hand and takes a step closer, his voice coming out rough like he's forcing the words out. “’m here because i don’t want someone else. i want you, alright? can you just get that through your fucking head?”

you scoff, “because i know you and won’t get attached?”

he snaps, raising his voice, “no! fuck, it’s not that simple.”

"not that simple?" your hands are shaking, and you accidentally knock over one of the bottles you’d been holding before, sending it tumbling to the ground. you don't bother picking it up.

“it’s pretty fucking simple. we’re just fucking. so, tell me, what exactly is complicated about that? you call, i come over, we have sex, and that’s it. so why the fuck do you start ignoring me in public like ’m some kind of fucking disease?”

rafe opens his mouth, but you don't spare him the chance to speak, you're on a roll, months of pent-up frustration. 

“i don’t give a fuck if you’re with someone else, rafe!” you can hear the bitterness dripping from every word. you're practically spitting them out, “what pisses me off is that you had the audacity—the fucking nerve—to ask me to stay that night. do you know how fucking stupid i felt? how the fuck do you think i felt when you acted like i didn’t exist the next day?”

you can feel your hands trembling again, the adrenaline making you shaky, cursing under your breath.

“for once, i was nice enough to care about you, to stay, and that’s the shit you pulled. treated me like a ghost. like i was nothing.”

he just stands there, staring at you, his jaw tight, but he doesn't say a word. his face is hard to read, but you don't care about his feelings. you're not done yet.

“i was fine with the sex. i was fine with leaving afterwards and then you had to go and fuck it all over.”

rafe’s blue eyes flash, and you can see the realization hit him, like he's connecting the dots too fast for your liking.

his brows furrow as he breathes out, “wait. you’re mad at me because i made you—” he hesitates, like the word is foreign in his mouth, “care for me?”

you let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “oh, for fuck's sake, country club. don't flatter yourself.”

“you always do that shit,” he points out, stepping closer “you never call me by my name when we’re having a serious conversation. it's almost like you’re running away.”

you arch an eyebrow, incredulous. “are you delusional? you’re the one acting like a child.”

“’m not being delusional. you only say my name in my room when it’s just the two of us.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he's trying to keep this moment between you, his blue eyes lock onto yours making your stomach twist. “’m clearly not the only one who’s pretending here; you’re just as bad.”

you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you walk back, trying to create space, but he closes the distance with easy confidence.

“pretending? please. ‘m not the one playing house in my bedroom while acting like i don’t know you outside of it.”

rafe lets out a low, frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair like he's close to losing it. 

“god, you’re fucking infuriating,” he mutters, voice gruff, “you think i don’t fucking feel it too? you’re the only one pissed off, the only one confused?” his voice dipps lower in frustration. “i can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard i try. "

“oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” you mocked back, “must be so hard, huh? being obsessed with a girl you can’t even respect in public.”

his hand reaches out to grab your wrist. you gasp, not out of fear but because the heat of his touch awakes the resting butterflies in your stomach. you hate how much your skin reacts to him, how just the feel of his grip makes your brain go foggy and shut down.

“i do respect you,” he growls, as if you just insulted him, “i just—fuck.” his eyes dart between yours, as if searching for something. then, like clockwork, he points at your work uniform—the stupid polo and that absurdly short skirt that's practically a sin in itself.

“this,” he grits out, fingers gesturing to the tight polo that does absolutely nothing but make your boobs look way too inviting, “is not okay.”

you blink, pretending to be unaffected, but his words have a way of crawling under your skin.

“oh, right,” you nod sarcastically, even though your pulse has kicked up a notch. “blame my uniform, like that’s the reason you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

rafe groans like you're causing him actual physical pain, his hands gripping the edge of the golf cart now, knuckles turning white.

“shit, yeah, i’ll blame the uniform,” he says, eyes blazing as he corners you. “that tiny-ass skirt, walking around in front of me all day, making me lose my goddamn mind.”

just like that, his hand slide right under your mini skirt, his fingers gripping a handful of your ass with a confidence that makes your breath hitch.

the sudden contact sends a rush of heat through you, and a soft gasp escapes your glossy lips.

that’s when he takes his chance.

with another low groan, rafe seizes the moment, pressing his body against yours, leaning down as he kisses you, his tongue sliding into your mouth, the kiss deepening in an instant.

it's not sweet—you can tell that now because you know that hidden part of him, you can tell the difference when it comes out. today he's desperate like he’s been waiting to it for days and can't take it anymore.

he's a starved man on a mission. it's a feverish mess of spit and teeth, his grip on you impossibly tight.

his hand still kneads your ass, blunt fingernails digging into your skin trying to keep you from bolting away. at the same time, his other hand slides up to your neck, firm but not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you locked in place—he's daring you to pull away, knowing full well you won't.

logic doesn't stand a chance against the way his lips move against yours, he's sucking all the fight from you.

his tongue slides against yours, and your stomach jumps at the sensation, making you gasp. you try to pull back for a second, needing air, needing space, but his grip on your neck tightens, holding you in place as his lips move against yours like he'll die if you stop.

and maybe he would. maybe he's just as messed up about all of this as you are.

rafe’s teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and right then and there, you know your panties are already ruined. you can't stop the small whimper that escapes your throat, and he moans at the sound, his hips pressing harder against yours, making you feel just how much he wants you.

“fuck,” he almost whines against your lips, like he's barely keeping himself from fucking you out there in the open, not giving a shit if anyone's watching. his hand on your neck glides around to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he tuggs slightly, tilting your head back so he can kiss you even harder, his lips moving against yours in a way that makes it impossible to think straight. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

the truth is, you do. you know exactly what you do to him because he's doing the same thing to you.

but there's no way in hell you’ll admit that. not when he already has you completely under his spell, melting into his touch, drowning in the way he kisses you like he owns you.

you attempt to hold onto that edge of disdain you always throw his way when things get too personal. his breath is hot and ragged as he hovers.

his hand, still tangled in your hair, loosens slightly but stays there. it's so fucking unfair—the way he just sneaks under your skin, the way your body betrays you every time he gets close. you hate it.

especially with the way his fingers are already sliding up your bare thigh under that ridiculously skirt, as if he owns every single inch of you, like he has a goddamn right to touch you like that.

and instead of pushing him away like you should, you find yourself leaning into him. and fuck, the look in his eyes—all black, wild, like he it's his last shred of self-control—is enough to make your pulse skyrocket.

“asshole,” it comes out weak, pathetic and almost breathless, and you hate yourself for it.

“yeah,” he whispers back, lips brushing yours, his hand still in your hair, still holding you close. “but you like it.”

god, maybe you did.

the frat boys finally return, their laughter breaking the bubble that had you on a leash.

within seconds, you're pushing rafe’s hands away, stepping back as of them claps him on the back.

“we miss anything?”

“nah, just catchin’ up,” rafe said, brushing off the whole thing as if it's no big deal.

you, on the other hand, pick up one of the empty glasses, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

one of the guys chuckles. “man, you two… y’all good?”

no. not when there's the slightest of the slightest possibility that you're starting to feel something for him. not the stupid crush you had before, or the simple curiosity of figuring out how he was in bed. 

real, scary, big girl feelings. 

no way. not after everything. not after he pulled that same crap, acting like you didn’t know you in front of his friends, then turning around and getting all possessive when it suited him.

 “better than ever.”

eyes locked on rafe, you bite out the final blow.

“yeah, better than ever. just like every other fucking rich frat boy—using daddy’s money, pretending you’re a god. but deep down, you’re all the same. losers. why don’t you keep them company, huh? you’re all family after all.”

his blue eyes drop to the green field at the mention of his dad, but he keeps quiet despite realizing you’re doing this on purpose.

he’ll let you have this one because he knows it’s deserving. fuck he’d probably let you punch him in the face if you asked him to. 

you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him behind, knowing you hit him exactly where it hurt.

[wholoveseggs]

Indulgences

18+ ---- {Masterlist}

Part Two

Elijah returns to the club, seeking solace in the dimly lit corners. You navigate the allure of his wealth and charm while trapped in the grip of your possessive boyfriend.

3.5k words - Warnings: light smut, red door elijah {my interpretation of him}, drug use, adult themes, domestic abuse, violence, blood drinking.

Please be aware that there is domestic abuse going on in this part, do not read if you are uncomfortable.

{Part One} {Part Three} {Part Four}{Moodboard->}

"Baby, that's not what we discussed," Jordan whined, his hands finding their way to your body.

You were trying to cook dinner for the two of you, something simple and quick. Jordan's hands roamed your body, groping your breasts and ass. You sighed, pushing his hands away.

"I paid you back already, I'm keeping the rest, I earned it," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Babe, don't be like that; I got bills too," he cooed, stepping closer to you, kissing your neck.

"I'm not in the mood," you snapped, pushing him away.

"You're always in the mood," he murmured, his hand slipping between your legs.

"No, Jordan, I'm not," you protested, trying to squirm away from him. He held you firmly, his grip tight.

"Come on, babe, just a quickie," he said, his tone pleading.

"I have work soon," you replied, trying to stay calm.

He grew rigid, his jaw clenched, a familiar fury filling his gaze.

"So it's just a matter of time until you're riding some other guy's cock?"

You were stunned, his words cutting through you. You couldn't find the words to respond.

"You think I'm stupid? I know what you do," he sneered, his words dripping with venom.

"Jordan, please, we've been over this," you snapped in frustration.

He grabbed your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin. "Don't fucking talk to me like that," he growled, his eyes narrowed.

"Let go of me," you cried, trying to pull away.

He gripped your arm, pulling you towards him. His free hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing, his fingers pressing into your flesh.

"Thirty thousand for a lap dance, that's fucking bullshit. You must've sucked his dick, or something. You're not worth that much." His voice was cold, his eyes filled with rage.

"I didn't do anything, I danced for him and his brother, that's all. I didn't sleep with him," you choked out, tears filling your eyes. "You know I don't do that," you added, trying to reason with him.

"You're a fucking liar," he hissed, his hand tightening around your throat.

You struggled against him, desperate to break free.

"You're hurting me; please stop," you begged, clawing at his hands.

He let go, his expression shifting to one of feigned concern. "Babe, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," he said, his hands cupping your face.

Your mind was a foggy mess; you felt so disoriented. "You always lose control when you get high," you murmured, trying to calm your racing heart.

"I know, I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing you.

"It's okay," you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I just love you so much and I hate the thought of other men touching you," he said, his voice soft, sincere.

"I know, it's not like that," you reassured him, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

"Come on, baby, I'll finish dinner; you go get ready for work," he said, stepping back, a smile on his face.

"Are you sure?" you asked, glancing at the clock.

"Yeah, go on," he replied, ushering you towards the bedroom.

You showered and got dressed, your mind racing. He'd apologized, again, but he never changed, not really. The abuse would stop for a while, then he'd be back to his old ways, blaming you, making you feel worthless. You looked in the mirror, examining the marks on your throat. They were faint but noticeable, and you wondered if you should cover them up. You applied concealer to the bruises, but you knew they were still there, a reminder of the power Jordan had over you.

After dinner you snuck into your bedroom and stuffed the money into your purse, then left for work. You would stash it in your locker, it could get stolen, but it was safer than leaving it with Jordan.

You stepped into the club, the loud music pulsing through the air, the smell of alcohol and sweat filling your nose. You went to the bar, greeted the bartender, and picked up a tray of drinks. You made your rounds, delivering the drinks to the various tables, smiling when the clients complimented you.

You watched the dancers, their bodies twisting and grinding against the poles, their faces masks of ecstasy. You wondered if you would ever get there, if you would ever reach that point of bliss, where your body and mind were completely at peace.

The night went on, and you continued to serve drinks, flirting and teasing the customers. It was a slow night, no VIPs or special clients. You wandered back to the dressing room, lighting a cigarette, the smoke filling your lungs.

You sat at your vanity, a frown on your face, the red mark on your neck was getting more and more noticeable.

You sighed, and pulled out a small baggie with your last remaining pill, you crushed it with the back of a nearby hairbrush and snorted it, the drug burning your nose.

"That fucking hot client from the other night is in the lobby," Tiffany announced as she walked in with Kelly, her voice breathless.

"The one with the fancy suit?" Kelly asked, her eyes wide.

"What about the other one? I heard 'Stace and 'Ton made twenty grand each off him," another girl named Jenna added.

"No, just the suit guy," Tiffany replied, her voice excited.

You perked up, the drugs kicking in, the rush of chemicals making you feel better.

"How many? What room?" Kelly asked, a wicked grin on her face.

"Platinum again, and he requested a specific girl," Tiffany answered.

"Lucky bitch, do you know who? Not Stacy, I hope," Jenna pouted, a frown on her face.

"No clue, Mitch was handling the booking, and you know how he is," Tiffany sighed, her lips pursed.

"Suit guy is so fine; I'd pay him to let me sit on his face," Kelly said, her cheeks flushed.

You laughed, your body relaxing, the stress of the day fading away.

"You think he'd be into that? Letting you sit on his face?" Jenna asked, a mischievous look in her eye.

"Only one way to find out," Kelly replied, her eyes twinkling.

"If he's paying twenty grand for a dance, he probably has a fetish, or he's some sort of freak," Jenna mused, her eyebrows furrowed.

"I don't care; he's hot and he pays well, and that's all I need," Kelly retorted.

"Wait, y/n, didn't you see him the other night?" Tiffany asked, her eyes locking onto you.

"Yeah, I did," you replied, trying not to sound too excited.

"What was he like? What did he want?" Kelly questioned, her voice eager.

"It was pretty normal, just a dance and some conversation; he was polite and well-mannered," you answered, trying not to think too much about the events of that night; it was all hazy in your mind.

"Do you think you're the one he requested?" Jenna asked, her voice hopeful.

"I doubt it; he probably doesn't remember me," you replied, shaking your head.

"Well, let's find out, shall we?" Kelly said, grabbing your hand and leading you to the lobby.

You followed her, your heart pounding, the drugs making your blood rush, your mind cloudy. You weren't expecting to have to do a private dance, and you were afraid that you were far too high for such an occasion.

You entered the lobby, the air smelling of cigars and cologne, the soft murmur of voices filling the air. Mitch spotted you before you saw him.

"There you are. You are needed in the platinum room," he said, his eyes darting between you and Kelly.

"Just me?" You asked, your voice soft.

"Yes, just you. You've been requested," he replied, a frown on his face.

"Oh, um, alright. I'll be right there," you murmured, turning to Kelly.

"Guess I was right, lucky bitch," she grinned, giving you a playful smack on the ass.

You left the lobby, your heart pounding, the walk up to the suite feeling longer than it usually did. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves, and opened the door.

The room was the same as before, the lighting soft, the furniture plush, but the atmosphere was different. It was charged, electrified, the tension in the air thick and heavy.

Elijah was sitting in the center of the couch, his legs crossed, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His dark eyes were locked onto you, a hungry look in them.

"Hello, how are you?" His voice was smooth and velvety.

You walked over to him, a sway in your hips, and sat next to him.

"I didn't expect to see you again," you cooed, looking up at him.

"Me neither," he replied, his eyes never leaving yours.

You smiled and touched his chest; his suit jacket was already off, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone.

You leaned forward, your lips close to his, and whispered, "What do you need, handsome?"

His lips curled into a smile, a seductive expression crossing his face, "you," he replied.

You straddled him, your knees resting on either side of his hips, his hands automatically coming to rest on your waist.

"Is this okay?" You asked, your hands roaming over his chest.

"More than okay," he murmured, his hands slipping lower, cupping your ass.

You grind against him, the friction between your legs making you wet, the drugs amplifying the feeling. The way he was looking at you, like he wanted to devour you, was driving you wild. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"You're not as shy tonight," you teased, your lips grazing his jaw.

"You make it hard to be shy," he replied, his breath warm against your neck.

"Tell me what you want, handsome," you whispered, your tongue flicking over his earlobe.

He hummed in response, grazing his teeth along your neck, sending a shiver through you. You were intoxicated by his presence, his scent, the feel of his body against yours, you didn't know if it was the drugs or the man himself. You suddenly felt a sharp pain in your neck, and gasped, trying to pull away, but he just pressed you closer to him, his mouth working against your skin.

You felt a tingling sensation, a warm pleasure radiating from the spot, the feeling spreading through your body. Your mind was clouded, your thoughts jumbled, the drugs making everything feel surreal.

"It's okay, don't fight it," Elijah whispered, his voice low, soothing.

You let out a moan, the feeling overwhelming you, your body arching against him.

"That's it, good girl," he praised, his fingers gripping your ass.

You lost yourself in the sensations, your body responding to his touch, his voice. He pulled back, blood on his lips and took your trembling hands in his.

"Don't be afraid" he cooed, his thumb tracing circles on your palm.

You looked into his eyes, and saw a strange glint, something animalistic, almost predatory. His eyes were too dark, too deep, and you could feel yourself getting lost in them.

"You're not human are you? You're something else." You said, your voice barely a whisper.

"No, not all of me," he replied, a faint smile on his face. "I'm a vampire," he admitted, searching your face for a reaction.

Your pulse quickened, and a cold fear crept into your chest, mixing with the drugged up warmth. Your mind racing, trying to process his words, trying to understand them. You felt a strange sense of deja vu, flashes of the first night you danced for him, the feeling of his hands on you, his lips against yours, the taste of his blood.

"You’ve done this before haven't you? You drank my blood. I don't remember but I can feel it," you confessed, your voice quiet.

"Yes, beautiful, I made you forget ," Elijah replied, his tone reassuring.

"You'll do it again won't you? Erase my memories? Make me forget?" You asked, even though you knew the answer.

"Yes, I'm afraid so." He said, his thumb brushing over your lips.

"Why?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

"It's easier for both of us, less complicated. This way we can both enjoy each other's company," he replied, a sly smile on his face.

"It must get lonely, being a vampire," you muttered, holding his gaze.

"Sometimes," he agreed, a sadness in his eyes.

"Is this why you're here?" You asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

"In part," he admitted, his hands gently caressing your arms.

"Have you ever been in love?" You asked, not knowing why.

He looked away, and you could see the pain, the grief in his eyes.

"Only a few times, it's a rare thing, a blessing and a curse," he replied, his eyes filled with emotion.

"How can love be a curse?" You inquired, genuinely curious.

"It can consume you, possess you, make you do things you wouldn't normally do," he said, his voice distant.

"Like what?" You pressed, leaning closer to him.

"Killing the people who get in the way," he answered, his tone dark, his gaze intense.

"Have you ever done that? Killed someone?" You asked, a small part of you fearing the answer.

"Yes, many times," he confessed, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Does it make you feel better? Less lonely?" You wondered, the question leaving your lips before you could stop it.

He gave you a strange look, searching your face, trying to read you. You could see a mixture of emotions playing behind his eyes, a myriad of different feelings. You could see his hunger, his desire, but there was also something else, something like guilt, pain, longing.

"I don't want it to, but there's something... intoxicating, about taking a life, about having that power," he explained, his voice hushed.

"Is it because you are a vampire? Or is it because it's who you are?" You asked, your eyes darting between his, waiting for his answer.

He shifted a little, contemplating your question, his brow furrowed. You could see him wrestling with his conscience, but he seemed determined to be truthful.

"I'm not sure; the two seem inextricably linked. There is this beast within me, and lately I've become more aware of it, it's harder to control," he confessed, his eyes distant.

You reached out and touched his face, drawing his gaze back to you. He looked into your eyes, and you could see the fear, the uncertainty, the doubt. You could see the real Elijah, the man behind the mask, and it was heartbreaking. He was a broken man, a lonely soul, and you wanted to help him.

"What happens when you give into this beast? What happens if you stop fighting it?" You asked, your voice filled with worry.

He gave you a sad smile, his fingers tracing down your neck, resting on your chest.

"What happens, my dear, is insanity," he replied, a mournful tone to his voice.

A shudder ran through you, a chill seeping into your bones. He wasn't lying, you could feel it, sense it, and it was terrifying. He resonated power, a raw energy, a force that could tear you apart, consume you.

"I'm afraid if I fall over the edge that I will be lost forever, that there will be no coming back, no salvation," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly.

"What if you weren't alone? What if you had someone to share it with, someone who could help you fight?" You suggested, looking into his eyes, feeling his pain.

"The woman I loved married another, she did it for duty, a selfless act to protect her child," he admitted, his eyes shimmering with tears.

"I can't help but think if I told her how I felt, that I loved her, everything would've been different," he continued, his voice filled with longing, and a sense of regret.

"Did you ever try?" You asked, feeling as if you already knew the answer.

"Yes," he chuckled humorlessly, "on her wedding day, but she wouldn't let me say it,"

"I'm sorry. No one should feel so alone," you said, pulling him into an embrace.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his body warm against yours.

"Can you do something for me?" He asked, his breath warm on your neck.

"Of course," you murmured, closing your eyes, savoring the moment.

"Tell me you love me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Like you mean it."

You tensed, you had a lot of strange requests from clients, but this was different, this was personal, vulnerable. You hesitated, the words trapped in your throat, an ache in your chest. It was a lie, you both knew it, but there was a sense of power, of possession, in giving it to him, in letting him have this false truth.

"I love you," you breathed, a strange thrill coursing through you, a heat coiling in the pit of your stomach.

There was a look of pain in his eyes, a sadness that broke your heart. You wondered how often he heard those words, how many people he lost, and the thought sent a wave of sorrow through you.

"Can you say it again? " He murmured, his eyes pleading.

You kissed him, a soft, tender kiss, and repeated, "I love you."

"One more time, please," he whispered, his lips grazing yours.

"I love you,”

You could feel him smile against you, a soft sigh escaping him, his arms tightening around you. A part of you wanted it to be true, wanted to be there for him, to love him. Your lives were so different, worlds apart, but in that moment, you felt connected, in a way you had never experienced before.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice husky, a smirk on his face.

"For what?" You asked, your breath catching in your throat.

"For indulging me," he replied, his hands trailing up your back.

"You don't have to thank me," you replied, looking into his eyes.

"I- I don't do this often, if at all; I just needed to hear someone say that," he confessed, his voice barely audible.

You held him close, trying to comfort him, to take away his pain. The drugs were making you feel warm, fuzzy, and there was a hunger growing within you, a heat between your legs. But you pulled away, shame and guilt eating at you. Your job was to please him, to help him forget his troubles, to gain his gratitude for tips. You're not supposed to sleep with clients and especially not supposed to fall for them.

"Time is almost up handsome," you said, forcing yourself to disengage, to pull back, your brain screaming "no" at you.

You stood up, your heart aching, a dull throb between your legs. You wanted him, the ache turning into a need, and you were on the verge of throwing caution to the wind. To hell with the rules, the job, your life.

"Very well," he said, rising to his feet, his gaze lingering on your body.

"A tip," he offered, his lips curling into a grin.

"Only if you think I deserve it," you teased, a small smile on your face.

He approached you, his dark eyes filled with desire, his hands gently cupping your face. You looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat, your mind reeling, and then his lips were on yours, soft, tender, sweet. It was a kiss filled with emotion, with need, with longing.

"You won't remember anything we discussed until I see you again," he murmured against your lips.

And with that, he walked out, leaving you standing in the middle of the room, a sense of emptiness filling you. You went to the mirror and checked yourself. Your make up was perfect, your hair artfully disheveled, your body still damp with sweat. You looked as if nothing had happened, as if Elijah had never been there, all you had as proof was the large stack of hundreds in your hand and an inexplicable ache in your heart.

{Part One} {Part Three} {Part Four}{Moodboard->}

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[daydreamgoddess14]

Saturday Mornings

MASTERLIST

🤸‍♀️ Well , well, well, didn't take long to get me back on my bullshit, did it? 🤣 I bring you a Roy Kent smutty one shot. Enjoy the gorgeousness of this man 🥵

Roy doesn't have a thing for Phoebe's dance teacher. Until he does. 👀

For @littleesilvia 😘

Saturday Mornings

Saturday morning had always been for Phoebe. From the day she was born, Roy had dedicated every Saturday morning to her. In the first weeks of her birth, he'd let himself into his sister's house and picked up a squawking Phoebe from the moses basket and taken care of her from 6-10 am so his sister could get more sleep. In those early days, he'd spoken to her in his deep, gruff voice while she drifted in and out of sleep. Then they'd go for a walk to the shop, the neighbours peeping into the buggy until Roy had growled at them to "Fuck off and stop gawping at her, she's trying to fucking sleep." As she got a little older, it became cartoons and cereal - devoured together on the sofa, and then a trip to the park. He'd arranged everything for 9 years around his Saturday mornings with Phoebe. Even away matches with a midday kick off didn't stop him, it didn't matter if it was an hour, or five hours - match day or no match day, rain or shine, if he was single or not, Uncle Roy would be there. Their time alone together moved through her swimming lessons phase, gymnastics phase, and morphed into his coaching her kids team. He wanted to be on board with this next phase - really, he did. 

 

After 8 weeks of lessons, he'd finally put his finger on what the problem was. The dancing was nothing new, Phoebe had tried ballet, tap, some weird toddler baby dance shit. 16 weeks ago, she'd switched to some kind of pop/tween dance class with a lovely older woman who mostly sat to one side and pointed to each move, each music transition. It had been great, 8.30-9.30am every Saturday, fucking wonderful. Then 8 weeks ago, that woman had switched classes and you had taken over. You, with your tight Tik Tok leggings and your cropped t-shirt. You who showed the kids each move over and over again. The number of dad's attending the class had suddenly gone up. It had been 6 months since he thought that he and Keeley could try again, but she'd made it clear that that was not the case. He'd been single for longer than 6 months before, sure, but not for a long time. Back then in his younger days, he'd thought nothing of a mutually convenient resolution with a friend until he met his next significant other. He’d come to the conclusion now that he was too fucking old for a friends with benefits situation. 

 

If it was just Saturday mornings that were the problem, he could live with that. He started out by taking a book and ignoring the class completely, but Phoebe did not like that at all. So he switched to audiobooks, brought a pair of fucking ear buds so he could drown out the sound of your voice, your gentle encouragement and the giggles. If it wasn’t the leggings going to tip him over the edge, it was going to be the giggles. Or the praise. Weird, he didn’t realise he had a bit of a praise kink before. Then he heard you in a breathy voice saying something that definitely could apply to situations other than a 9 year olds dance class and nearly had to leave the room. No, it wasn’t just Saturday mornings anymore. You came to mind now at the most inconvenient times. Sitting on the bike while Jamie pulled him along at 5am when shouting at Jamie in the street would have been frowned upon and they instead trained quietly, whenever one of the kids dance routine songs came on the radio and he was forced to relive watching you teach them, at night in the dark when he was alone, in the shower… He absolutely had to stop thinking about you like this. Like you’d see it in his eyes when you waved good morning, or when he held his bank card over your little hand held machine to pay for the classes. He also couldn’t stand the very much married men who flirted so openly with you. Clearly telling their wives at home, no love, I’ll take little… Mabel to dance class, you stay here and have a lie in and a cup of tea.  

 

It was funny how they’d migrated from the later morning class which was run by a woman who had the body shape of a fucking pencil. Beautiful, yeah she wasn’t bad. But she didn’t have the strong thighs you did, the sweeping curve of your hip into a cute little waist. He couldn’t go another week like this. Had to stop now, stop being so pervy. He was no better than the other blokes who came to watch their kids' class. Except he was slightly better, because he was actually single. 

“Uncle Roy, we’re here, come on!” Phoebe was already half out of the car. He braced himself for another week of torture.

“Good morning guys! Come in, I’m just getting set up.” You called out from across the room. He was a bit too early really. Not intentionally, of course not. You were still in your hoodie, still setting up the portable speaker and drinking a Costa coffee. You put a song on in the background and he had to hold his breath while you pulled off the warm grey sweater. As it came off, it pulled the baggy cropped t-shirt up as well, exposing your sports bra underneath, the soft skin of your stomach. It was definitely soft whenever he thought about it anyway. You straightened yourself out and sat on the floor, stretching your legs out in front of you and reaching forward to your toes. Phoebe lept out of her seat, threw her coat at Roy and plonked herself down in front of you, mirroring your pose. “Joining me for a warm up Phoebs?” 

“It’s important to warm up. My Uncle Roy is a football coach and he says it’s the most important part.”

“He’s not wrong.” You smiled, moving through some other poses and stretches. He was a dead man. This was it. The end, this was how it was going to go. You stretch your arms up as far as you can reach them, stretching out your back with a little pop. He tried to ignore the fucking Grecian vase shape your body made, truly. Until you’d made a noise a little too close to a moan for his liking, followed by, “Holy shit that feels good.”

 

Fucking hell. Fucking hell .

 

“Sorry Phebs, didn’t mean to swear.”

“It’s ok. I’ll let you off the first time, but you owe me a pound next time.”

“Aww thanks.” The class soon filled up, he wished he’d taken a seat way at the back, out of the way so he could either look at you without it being so noticeable, or ignore you completely. He totally respected your classes, he really did. It was a tricky thing, conducting an age appropriate class for 9 year olds which avoided sexualising dance moves but also made them feel like they were able to move their bodies how they wanted to. Of course, it’s not always the dance moves themselves which could be seen as sexual, more often it’s the person watching who makes that connotation. And he tried so, so hard not to do that. Tried desperately to not think about how your body would move underneath his, on top of his, the beautiful sounds he could draw from you. He needed to get out, feigned a phone call, holding up his phone as he got to the door so you knew he’d be right outside if Phoebe needed anything. He didn’t think you’d even seen him until you gave him a little thumbs up. 

 

At the end of the class, you encourage the kids to just sit for a minute. You all usually end up sprawled on your backs, not having to make eye contact makes it easier for some of the kids to talk openly if they wanted help or an opinion on something. It was somewhat of an eye opener for the parents as well. This week, you had the kids sit up so they could see you, 

“I thought I might take you on a little trip, if you guys fancy it? I was going to go and see the new Barbie film after class next week. If any of you want to come with me, with your grown up - of course - then we could have a really exciting morning! I’m not allowed to take any of you without another grown up though, ok? So you’ll have to check with them first.” You handed each of them a little pink party invite. He already knew before Phoebe asked. Their match next week was on Sunday so he was free all of Saturday morning. He had no excuse to not take her, he also didn’t think he wanted one. 

 

He hoped you were a little bit dumb. It was a horrible thought, he knew that, to wish stupidity on someone. But if there was any chance of him making a full recovery and banishing you to the depths of his mind, never to turn up again - especially not when he was in the shower with his hand around himself, he really fucking hoped that you were dumber than a box of rocks. You weren’t. He already had an inkling of that, but he could still live in hope. 

“Fancy the Barbie movie next week?” You’d asked brightly as he’d held out his card to pay, he wasn’t sure if it was the physical and mental turmoil of having to watch you for the last hour, but he thought he could detect a sliver of hope in your voice.

“Fucking probably, she won’t let me say no.” Phoebe held out a hand for her pound. “Add it to my tab.” 

 

And of course, that’s how he found himself in a dark cinema the following week with a gaggle of kids around him. He was still trying to work out if it was a blessing or a curse that he’d ended up sitting next to you - it had certainly earned him glares from one or two of the other grown ups. As you laughed again at another joke aimed to sail just over pre-teen heads, he knew it was a curse. It had to be. Forced to listen to that laugh for two hours? Fucking torture. When you cried, he knew he was done for. He reached over, just a little and patted the back of your hand in comfort. Just a little there, there gesture. You’d only fucking gripped his hand and squeezed it, he stole a glance at you and you’d given him a watery smile and a little lopsided shrug. Then you’d let go of his hand, and turned back to the movie. He had to spend the remaining 45 minutes of the film trying not to think about your warm hands carefully exploring his body. 

 

The following week, he did it.

“Would you like to go for a coffee sometime?” He asked quietly as his card payment went through. He didn’t think you’d heard him until you looked up sharply.

"Aren't you like way out of my league?"

"What league is that then?”

“Well, you're in the ridiculously fit footballer league? Y’know for people who date supermodels and influencers?”

“I wouldn't fucking know about that.”

“I'm sure you would, I'm sure they don’t kick you out once you retire. Once a fit footballer, always a fit footballer? Is that the name of it? The… F. I. T? Or is it just the R.F.F.L?”

“What's that stand for?”

“No idea, it's your league, you tell me. Footballers Into Tits?”

“That’s a shit acronym”

“I know. I can do better, promise. Give me a minute.”

“I'm sure you'd be alright in that league” He said quietly,

“Excuse me? That was very cheeky. Ohh, maybe it could stand for ‘Filthy rich but Impossibly Tedious’?”

“That’s pretty good, definitely suits some footballers I know. Alright, fine. What fucking league are you in, then?”

“Whatever the Conference equivalent of the F.I.T is.”

“Now that can’t be true.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know?”

“I just fucking do. Is it a yes to coffee?”

“I mean, I still think you’re way too high up the F.I.T for me, but sure.”

“It’s the R.F.F.L actually.” He smirks as you hand him a flyer for the class. 

“My number is on there.” You tell him, then you’d walked away without taking his number, which meant he was going to have to be the one to contact you first. No, you definitely weren’t dumb. Shit .

 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was a combination of factors really, a busy week at work meant though he’d messaged you quickly, he wasn’t actually able to meet for coffee until the end of the week. So you’d spent all week in a message exchange which had ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous.

“Would you rather fight 100 tiny Jamie Tartt’s or 1 giant one?”

“100 tiny ones. I’d fucking stamp on them all.”

“Figured out what league you’re in.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Champions League.”

“Fuck off am I. I’ve wikipedia’d your dating history mate. Gina Gershon? I think I should cancel coffee now…”

“Fuck, please don’t.”

“Do you always try so hard to look like you’re not looking at dance class?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uhuh. Ok.”

“Yes, I do. Every week is torture.”

“Jamie says I’m too old for the R.F.F.L.”

“Maybe that works in my favour. If I’m up against Gina fucking Gershon, I’d have no chance.”

“You’re not up against anyone.”

“I've been thinking about you all morning.”

“Was that flirting? Were you just flirting with me?”

“Shut up. See you later.”

And now… well. Coffee at 3pm on a Friday turned into dinner at 6pm, dessert at 8pm and a nightcap at 10pm in his kitchen. You tapped the edge of your empty tumbler,

“Another?” He asked, leaning against the counter just across from you.

“No, thank you. I should… go.” The lift at the end meant it could have been a statement, could have been a question. He nodded,

“Early class.”

“Yep. I think we lost track of time.”

“Or not,” he offered,

“Or not,” you bit your lip and he felt indecision fluttering in his chest. He pushed off the counter and closed the gap between you both in only one step.

“If I kissed you now, would you be mad?” He asked softly, he could see your body tremble with the breath you took.

“Think I’d be more mad if you didn’t.” He watched you hold his gaze for as long as you could before looking at his mouth. He took the tumbler from you and put it on the counter before placing a careful hand on your hip and leaning down to kiss you. The warm whisky taste of vanilla and honey mingled with the chocolate from your dessert and Roy realised that no, he hadn’t been tortured before, watching you teach a bunch of kids how to dance wasn’t the way he was going to go. This was. Right here in his kitchen with your arms winding around his neck and bringing him as close as you could possibly get him. Your fingers scratching through his hair. He pressed you into the counter, 

“I’ve thought about doing this for a long time,” he whispered, kissing down your neck, making you gasp. He pulled away quickly, worried that it was too much too soon, “Shit, sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” He went to move further back to give you space but your hands gripped his shirt to pull him back in,

“Please, I don’t want to stop,” you breathed heavily, “I don’t want you to stop.” You said, more firmly. He was against you again in an instant,

“Sure?” He asked, “You’re sure?” You stepped up to kiss him, making your feelings very clear,

“I’m sure.” Your fingers flew to the buttons of his shirt, undoing the first couple. He pulled you away from the counter, strong arms wrapped around your back and lifted you enough to move you both to the sofa. You stumbled against the cushions, falling backwards and pulling him with you so that he landed heavily on top of you.

"Oof."

“Fuck, sorry. You ok?” He sits back up on his knees, allowing you to automatically move your legs to either side of his and sit up,

“Never better,” his smile catches you off guard, “fuck, you’re gorgeous.” You mumble, reaching for him. The feeling is more than mutual. He needs to feel your kiss again, desperate to feel your skin on his. It’s better than anything he’d spent the last 8 weeks dreaming of. And the sounds you made as his hands and kisses explored your body were enough to drive him insane. He moves further down your body, pulling your skirt down with him and immediately turns to trail kisses and little bites along your inner thigh while his hand reaches up to link fingers with yours.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his breath hot against your hip. The simple request alone made your body turn to liquid against him. He’d spent so long thinking about (denying, debating, ignoring) the effect you had on him, he hadn’t actually considered that you would be just as affected by him. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he looked y’know, alright , for an older bloke. But still, seeing it first hand… seeing it first hand, hearing it first hand, from you was really something else entirely. You tugged his hand to bring up back up to you but he shook his head, his beard catching the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, “busy,” he said, his voice muffled. He focused on nothing but you, losing himself in each gasp, moan and clutch of your hand still holding his. He worked you through one bone-shaking orgasm without stopping, leaving you a shuddering mess as he went straight for another. Looking up at you, he could see the hand that wasn’t clinging onto him had covered your eyes. This time when you squeezed his hand, he made his way back up your body and settled between your legs. “You ok?” he asked, leaving soft kisses on your jaw before finally capturing your mouth in a filthy kiss. You didn’t speak, just shook your head. “You taste fucking incredible.” He kissed you again and you whimpered, finally moving your hand away from your eyes.

“I’ve got a problem.”

“Oh yeah?” He said, moving back to your neck, a hand slipping behind you to unclip your bra.

“Yeah I thought you’d only want a one night thing but that’s impossible now.”

“It was fucking impossible anyway. One night is definitely not enough time.”

“Oh,” you whispered weakly. “Good. Please-, oh fuck,” he caught a nipple lightly between his teeth, “please don’t stop.” So he didn’t, and he never would again if it was up to him. When he’d been (much) younger, he fully grasped the importance and concept of consent. He was a professional footballer - it wasn’t just important, it was crucial. But as he’d gotten older, he finally realised just how much better saying, and hearing, the words made everything. Being able to ask, “may I?” and “I need to hear you say it” and waiting, waiting, waiting, for the breathy response had never left him so wrecked before. He pushed into you in long, slow strokes while you met him with each roll of your hips. When you hold his jaw tightly to bring his gaze to yours, he nearly falls apart but he's determined to get you there first and he knows you're so close. "You feel so good-," you whisper, "So good."

"Fuck, I need-"

"I know, I'm right with you." His name is on you lips as you come and he thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. When he joins you, he kisses you with such depth it's like you were made for him. You lay still together for a while as you catch your breath. He keeps his nose in the crook of your neck while his hand softly smooths across your ribs and the side of your breasts. Your legs no longer lock around him, you stretch out and enjoy the weight of his body covering you. 

"'M crushing you," he mumbles. His voice so low in your ear makes you shiver and despite you not being ready for another round quite so soon, your hips buck, "Fucking hell, give me a minute," he laughs.

"You're not crushing me, and I'm not ready yet either," you grin into his hairline and kiss his temple. 

"Hmm if you say so." He rocks against you, half hard again already, needing to hear the broken little moan that ghosts over his head. "Come on, I want you in a bed this time."

 

He wasn't happy when you had to tear yourself from his bed at 7am to go home. He wasn't happy when he picked Phoebe up at 8am. He wasn't happy in the drive thru Costa queue at 8.10am. He was happy at 8.20am when he finally got to hand you your coffee and see your smile as you stretched out on the floor of the dance studio. He was perfectly happy knowing that you'd be torturing his Saturday mornings for a while longer. 

 

FIN