#poor sucker has been going through it

[victory-cookies]

taz amnesty/gravity falls crossover where the only connection is that duck is the park ranger who finds the book of bill. i’d like to imagine he’s straight up immune to bill’s “are you tired of being nice? don’t you just want to go ape shitt?” stuff bc he’s just done with being forced into situations. he doesn’t want to be the chosen one so he sure as hell ain’t gonna go in for this fucking murdering shit

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Led by candlelight

Blurb: You and Eddie are close- closer than what most people call ‘friends’ and there’s no hiding the affection for you have for one another… despite what your peers say about you.

Pairing: Best friend!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Book a dental appointment because your teeth are about to rot from how sweet this shit is.

-

divider by @cafekitsune

You and Eddie grew up together, your parents regularly said hello to one another and engaged in riveting conversation from time to time and you would always seek Eddie out on the playground. Even back then you two were inseparable. You would always long to hold his hand, just because you could and he would let you. He would always let you.

High school hasn’t been kind to Eddie, the long hair adoring his handsome face wasn’t for everyone’s taste. No one cared that tattoos are only a form of self expression and that they don’t automatically make you a ‘devil worshipper’. Jean jackets were considered ‘poor taste’ and overall your peers treated him like trash- he was the freak of Hawkin’s High… and it shattered your heart to see him commit to the role, because you knew him. You knew how hard he had it, his home life and everything in between and you saw right through his act. You saw his pain.

Eddie never let the tormenting affect his mood when he was around you. You were his sweetheart and he would be willing to bow down to death himself if it meant he could see a smile grace your face. He opens doors for you, he’ll pry your dented locker open for you whenever you need your books for your next class, he’ll walk you home- right to your front door! And he won’t leave until you get inside safely. Sometimes, he’ll even surprise you with underground concert tickets, even when he can’t afford them, just because he knows how much you love music and how you are always longing for a little bit of trouble and rebellion. He looks after you when you guys watch horror movies together, holding your hand and passing you pillows to use to block your vision from the screen when things get a little too frightening- And yeah, he laughs at you and he teases you about it but he treats you with such kindness that it makes your heart swell to even think of it. Kindness that he deserves to feel, too.

So, tonight, you decide that you want to show him how thankful you are for him. For everything that he is, and that he represents and everything that he does for you. You have Robin and Steve arrange a get together with Eddie, but in reality it’ll be you there instead at the location- ready to surprise him. Eddie thinks that they are going to explore a creepy abandoned house just out of Hawkins but when he gets there he’ll be met with a home cooked meal, lit by candlelight. In the past months, and in your years of knowing one another, you’ve come to notice that Eddie doesn’t cook. Not for himself, not at all, really and you can’t help the tears that prick your eyes when you think of your best friend, who you love so much, living and eating from cold tinned food every night. He deserves more. He deserves the world and you wish you could give it to him.

You are serving him ‘the world’ in the form of some red wine that you stole from your dad and some spaghetti bolognese. You chose spaghetti for 1 of 2 reasons. Number 1 being that everyone loves spaghetti, and number 2 being that it’s a pretty hard dish to fuck up- so it was the safest option. Plus, you paired it with garlic bread which you know Eddie is an absolute sucker for. He loves it when you bake some for your regular movie nights together so it would be borderline criminal to not supply some.

The clock is ticking and you are starting to get nervous. Darkness has clouded the sky as it succumbs to the night and you’re beginning to wish you brought more than three candles. Nonetheless, they do provide a gorgeous warm glow within the house which you still can’t wrap your head around why no one is living here. It is quite remarkable on the inside.

You take a few deep breaths, your mind clearing as you wait to see Eddie’s vans headlights glare through the foggy windows, which they do, sooner than you had expected and now you are contemplating on bolting out of the back door and sprinting away. You pace back and forth, the worn out floorboards creaking beneath your feet as you fight to regain composure. This is just Eddie, your Eddie- the Eddie you adore. He won’t hurt your feelings.. he won’t laugh in your face. It’s Eddie…

The front door whines on its hinges as Eddie enters inside, causing you to stop in your tracks like a deer in headlights. Dried rose petals decorate the floor leading to the small table you had acquired especially for this occasion and Eddie’s jaw hangs loose at the sight, his voice clearly having abandoned him.

“S.. surprise!!” It’s hard for you to smile with how nervous you are, your face keeps on twitching and Eddie can sense your discomfort, however, he can gauge that this is a different type of discomfort. You’re really anxious, “I cooked.. for us! It’s nothing fancy but I thought hey! Maybe Eddie will really like this and.. and so I just threw this together because well.. because uh.. I..” in your panic you hadn’t even noticed Eddie secure the front door and walk towards you, but he had, and now he is standing with his arms wrapped around your shoulders and your head resting against his chest.

You sigh softly, the smell of his cologne immediately acts as a relaxant and you feel like you can finally breathe in his embrace, “I want you to know how much I care about you.” You admit, your soft voice muffled by your busy buried in his t-shirt. Eddie holds you there for a moment, stroking your hair before he pulls away to see your face, his eyes searching yours.

“I already know, Sweetheart.” His ring clad thumb swipes across your cheek, “I have always known. You’re my person, remember? And I’m your Eddie. Always.” Your eyes flutter closed as you lean more into his touch, nodding meekly in agreement with him. Your heart has calmed in your chest and you suddenly get a whiff of the hot food waiting for you both on the table.

“You brought garlic bread, right?” Eddie quips, a grin forming on his face, “Cause’ if not then I’ll have to draw the line in this friendship.” You nudge his shoulder lightly, giggling at his remark as you pull a tinfoiled plate from your picnic basket.

“Do I look like a sadist to you? I would never see my Eddie go without his beloved garlic bread. Never!” Your hand finds your chest as you mime defensiveness and Eddie’s head falls back as he laughs, taking a seat at the tiny table across from you.

“Y’know, if I had know that you would be here waiting on me.. I would have dressed up a bit more.” He plucks at the Hellfire t-shirt that he is wearing and you look at him, doe eyed and oblivious.

“But you look great.” Your smile is so sincere and warm that it makes Eddie’s knees weak and he has never been more happy to be sitting down than he is right now. He wish you knew the affects you had on him.

“And you look stunning, Dove.” He glances at your outfit, “As always.” He quips with his classic Eddie charm and you begin to peel the tinfoil from the plate in your hands, trying to hide the growing heat on your face.

“Stop it.” You don’t mean it- you never do. You place the plate on the table, perfectly situated between the both of you and you hope that the garlic bread is enough to distract him from your love-sick grin, but it isn’t, “The food might be a little cold, I do apologise.”

“This is fine dining compared to what I usually have,” He twirls his plastic fork in the dish, “You don’t have to worry about me all the time.” He takes a gracious fork full of the spaghetti, a string of pasta slapping his face on the way in which causes your mouth to erupt in a fit of giggles.

“Holy shit-“

“What? What is it?” Your smile fades.

“This is fucking delicious!” Eddie rolls off of his chair, parading around the room before he suddenly comes to cup your face in his hands, “You are a miracle worker!” His lips press against your forehead and a confusion stricken look possesses your face as Eddie bursts into uncontrollable laughter.

“What? What did you-“ Your fingertips swipe at your forehead and when you glance at them you see the red sauce staining your skin, “Eddie!” You pout at your best friend who is laying on the floor, his arm shielding his face as he chuckles relentlessly. You can’t take it, you have to retaliate and the only thing nearby? A piece of the garlic bread. You launch the delicacy at him and an eerie silence fills the room as the bread thuds onto the floor, but you don’t get scared, you get excited. You get so pumped with butterflies that you are already on your feet and ready to run away from him if need be.

“Was that- the garlic bread?!” Eddie bounces up to his feet, his eyes wide with shock as he looks at you, “Ohhh, ohhh- Now you’ve done it. Wrong move, princess.” He glances at the spaghetti and your heart drops. Your fight or flight kicks in and you are running away from him before he has the chance to cover you in spaghetti and meat sauce. You are in a fit of giggles as you fight to climb the raggedy old staircase, your feet nearly betraying you as you reach the top. Looking down to see Eddie closing in behind you laughing as he does.

“I’m sorry, Ed’s! I’m sorry!” You’re squealing as he corners you in one of the empty rooms, your hands outstretched in front of you to try and keep him at arms length.

“You insult the bread… you insult me.” He shakes his head, his curly brown hair bouncing as he does, “How could you do this?” His eyebrows scrunch and his lips downturn into a frown as he attempts to trick you into feeling bad, “I thought we were friends-“ He sniffles before he makes a sudden movement toward you, ready to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, however…

“Wait! Wait!-“ you scream, stopping him in his tracks. He quirks an eyebrow and his hands land on his hips ,”I brought dessert.”

He takes a step away from you, “I’m listening.”

You’re choking on your own laughter as you try to think of an escape plan, however in moments like these, when you are faced with Eddie Munson- you just have to go with the flow, “It’s called, ‘eat my dust’.”

You sprint past him and you hear him groan behind you as you leave him standing in the room but it doesn’t take long to hear his footsteps thumping toward you. Eddie is faster than you, but you got a head-start.

This time, when Eddie catches up to you, he avoids negotiation all together. Grasping your waist he flips you up and over his shoulder, carrying you back to the main room where your dinner has definitely gotten cold. You thrash in his arms, swaying back and forth with every step that he takes and eventually you give in. You accept the fate of the sauce.

Eddie plonks you down on your seat and you squeeze eyes shut, bracing for impact… but the impact never comes. You reopen your eyes to see Eddie looking at you, his brown eyes are rounded and they reflect the love you carry for him. He is kneeling on both of his knees in front of you, his hands in his lap.

“I wanna tell you something…” He trails off and your heart sinks to your stomach, this sounds serious, “Gorgeous.. I have loved you since we were 9 years old. Hell! I probably loved you before then, too. And.. and you don’t got to say anything but you should know. You deserve to know that I, Eddie Munson, am in love you with. Hopelessly in love with you. I’d do anything for you- but I just couldn’t keep this from you. Not anymore…”

Silence wrapped around you like a thick blanket, caging any words deep within your chest- but you were going to tell him, even if it choked you to death, even if it fucking killed you- you weren’t going to let him walk away.

“I love you.” Your voice is a wheeze as you fight to let the words free, “God, I have loved you for so long, Ed’s.” Tears glisten in your eyes at the intense wave of emotion that consumes your entire body, “You are the only person I ever want to be around. The only person who knows me- truly knows me and.. and I want this. I want us. Forever.” Your vision is blurred but you smile at him, hoping that he is smiling too, and once the tears fall from your eyes you realise that he is. He is beaming.

“Us? Forever?” He edges closer to you, coming to rest between your legs, “I’ve never wanted anything more, baby.” And just like that, the kiss you have dreamt about, wrote about, fantasised about- is happening. It’s happening and you could float with total happiness.

You and Eddie. Forever.

It has a nice ring to it…

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas (lmk if you want added!)

[chevroletdean]

mirror sex [dean winchester] ── ✮⋆˙

kinktober 2024

ship: dean x afab!fem!reader genre: smut, angst to note/warnings: explicit – minors dni, established relationship, hunt almost gone wrong, canon-level violence, patching/stitching up wounds, dean’s self loathing tendencies, hurt/comfort, little bit of praise kink, fingering, porn with plot word count: 3.6k a/n: three days until halloween and i feel like i’m way behind on kinktober. i might just try to get to some of these during november as well, my apologies. also, the cat’s out of the bag: i’m a sucker for angst. i’m curious what you guys enjoy to read/write the most, are you more into fluff, smut, or angst?

Dean’s harsh on himself. Always. You knew that even before you started dating him. It’s how he grew up, after all. From a young age it’s been drilled into him by John; that he has to be tough and strong, that he isn’t allowed to think before he acts, that certain things have to be done – even when these things are ugly. Even when they turn other things ugly. Things like the sight of his hands afterwards. Things like his whole reflection, honestly.

It’s days like these where he enters autopilot, in a poor attempt of resorting to a self-defense mechanism. He can’t stand the reflection in the mirror, so he simply doesn’t look. He wouldn’t like what he sees, so he avoids it altogether, if he can.

Saving people, hunting things, the family business – killing monsters always sounds so heroic until you realize your decisions are cut-and-dry to the cruelest degree, until the soap can only scrub clean the red from your hands but not the guilt that still sticks to your skin, and until you begin to wonder who the actual monster is.

Dean’s harsh on himself in that he blames himself for everything. It’s all his responsibility, the weight of the world always on his shoulders.

Hunts go wrong. It’s part of the job, but that thought isn’t as comforting as it should be, because it doesn’t change anything and it doesn’t take away any of the gravity.

Dean and you had been tracking down this pack of aggressive werewolves. The job had sounded so easy, everything had been so straight-forward. Until you two realized that the town’s sheriff was in on it, and ultimately, so was his son. Partially, at least. Just a kid, barely twenty-one – about the age when Sam hit the library, when he should’ve hit on cute girls on campus, around the age of frat parties with beer-pong cups and hangovers.

A guy who had his whole life ahead of him, but had it snuffed out by a silver bullet to his chest. (or rather, by Dean’s finger pulling that trigger, if you’d ask Dean how it went down, because he sees no point in distancing himself from the narrative when it was his doing). Not because that kid wanted any of it. Hell, as Dean and you had been investigating the case, you came to realize all that boy wanted was a peaceful life. And you knew it was possible, some werewolves were able to build up normalcy without killing anybody, picket-fence and all, more so than your average hunter, sometimes.

But you had shot the sheriff, given that he’d been systematically kidnapping his victims throughout the years. And upon witnessing the silver piercing through his father’s chest, the student went downright feral. He attacked you and jumping you, going for a bite that never landed, was the last thing he ever did.

“You had to shoot him,” you told Dean in the car, just like he predicted you would.

“I know,” came Dean’s reply and those were the only words during the whole ride, just like you predicted they’d be.

Even upon arrival back at the bunker, he remains silent. The loudest noises are just his footsteps, which are heavier than usual as he drags you to your shared room, and ultimately the slam of the bathroom door that he shuts behind the two of you.

“Sit,” he says, voice laced with anger that you know he only directs at himself, and nudges you to the edge of the bathtub. You know better than to argue with him and despite the fact that there’s a nasty gash on his shoulder, you let him clean the minor scratch above your eyebrow first. You must’ve hit your head back when the werewolf slammed you against a shelf, but you’ve definitely had worse. But Dean puts others before himself and your wellbeing is always his priority.

Yet, his ministrations aren’t exactly gentle. He dabs the rubbing alcohol to your cut brow without any regard for the way you wince slightly. His eyes don’t meet yours as he shoves his hand into the cupboard and impatiently fishes for bandages. His jaw is clenched tightly as he patches you up with a bandaid.

He’s in his own head, clearly – or trying to keep those spiraling thoughts at bay within his self-critical mind. Those what ifs and should’ve dones would kill him otherwise.

You can only watch as he straightens his back, turns around, takes a step towards the sink opposite to the bathtub, slams the cabinet shut again, and keeps his gaze purposefully low. His eyes remain glued to his hands as he washes them, as if he doesn’t dare to lift his chin.

“Let me help you with your shoulder,” you mumble softly and he almost can’t hear you over the running water and the running thoughts. It’s your gentle touch that makes him snap out of it, but even as he raises his head at last, his eyes only land on the reflection of you. Your face peeks out over his shoulder, one of your arms wrapped around his middle, the other hand ghosting over his blood-soaked sleeve.

“No need, ‘m fine,” he grumbles, stubborn as ever. But as he turns off the faucet, the movement reminds him of the sharp ache and the dull throb in his arm. Just the graze of the sheriff’s bullet. He knows he got lucky, but he also can’t bring himself to care about any of that with every other dreadful aspect of today.

“A couple of inches away from death doesn’t fit my definition of fine, Dean.”

He can’t argue with that, it would be hypocritical. A droplet of blood on your forehead is enough to make him worry and who is he to deny you your concerns when he’s been injured too? Besides, he knows you can see right through him. Physical injuries are one thing, but the emotional damage often runs deeper than any blade or gun could.

Though his muscles are stiff, Dean doesn’t resist as you slowly peel off his flannel. His eyes are still fixated on you. He can’t bring himself to look at the wound himself, much less let his gaze drift anywhere close to his own reflection right now.

Your movements are mesmerizing enough to keep him distracted anyway.

You reach around him to turn the faucet back on and you grab a washcloth. You tie your messy hair back and out of the way and you carefully roll up the short sleeve of his shirt. You dampen the cloth and wipe the blood from his arm. Once you disinfect the wound, he ultimately looks away. Not because of the sting of the rubbing alcohol, but because of the pain he recognizes in your eyes. Your brows knit together and you frown slightly, sighing to yourself.

He can’t bear watching you pity or fuss over him when part of him feels like he deserves this.

“C’mon, ’s not even that bad, sweetheart,” he grumbles, but his voice is strained.

Your movements come to a halt as you blink up at the mirror, expecting to see his green eyes look back at you through the reflection. But Dean’s head hangs low again and his hands grip onto the edge of the sink he’s staring into.

“I’m glad it’s not,” you hum, but you still grab ahold of his hands and pull him away from the sink. “Sit.”

When you say that word, it sounds a thousand times softer than when he did. You know he hadn’t huffed it at you earlier, but rather didn’t bother concealing his bad mood. Still, his annoyances aren’t directed at you, so he makes an effort to pull you closer gently, in apologetic fashion. His hands settle on your hips as he sits down on the edge of the tub. You’re standing between his legs, surgical thread and needle in your hand.

“Lift your arms f’me, babe?”

When Dean follows your instructions without a witty remark about how eager you are to get him to strip, you know the self loathing is bad. You help him peel off his shirt, tossing it straight into the laundry basket. Luckily there aren’t any other major injuries, though you suspect a couple of bruises will bloom by tomorrow.

His hands go back to your hips, as if he’s able to steady and ground himself by holding you, to which you have no complaints. As long as he’ll let you stitch him up, you even let his bolder touches slide. You’re so focused on closing up the wound that you barely react to his fingers curling around the back of your thighs.

With this position, Dean’s practically forced to face the mirror again. It’s right behind you and with the way you’re half bent over, leaning down to his arm, the view is without obstruction. But his attention is fixated on the jeans-cladded plush in his palms. His hands wander higher, fingers splaying out over your curves. He gives your ass a gentle squeeze to which your breath hitches.

“Careful, unless you want to end up looking like Frankenstein’s monster,” you chuckle playfully, relieved that he’s in high enough spirits for teasing touches.

“Since when are you not into the scarred badass guys?”

“Touché,” you smile in response, “Although I prefer them in a confident mood.”

He groans, knowing where this is going, but he decides to play along. “What d’ya mean?”

Your smile curls into a smug grin as you shrug. “I mean,” you sigh and finish the last stitch, securing the thread into a knot and setting the needle aside. “Scarred, badass guys are even hotter when they know that they’re strong,” you continue, before you plant a kiss to his forehead, “that they’re brave…” Another kiss, to his nose this time.

A quiet growl escapes him as he instinctively tightens his grip on your ass. You know he doesn’t fully believe your words, but you’re adamant about convincing him, so you continue with your list: “…heroic.” More kisses, this time a chaste one directly to his lips, though Dean scoffs and pulls away almost immediately.

“Yeah, right,” he scowls. “Nothing screams hero more than murdering someone.”

“You saved me tonight,” you argue back, whilst gently cupping his face. “You’re definitely my hero.”

His gaze wanders from your lips up to your eyes, seeing nothing but gratitude and adoration in them. Both of which he feels undeserving of. Dean Winchester isn’t half the hero you think he is, he’s all kinds of screwed and his fucked up life consists of violence and regret most of the time. Yet you always look at him as if there’s something worth looking at. Even when he can’t see it himself.

“Just doing my job,” he replies and his voice feels thick and wrong on his own tongue.

“No,” you huff, your thumbs tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, the scruff grazing against the pads of your fingers. “It’s not your job to look after me, or to fight evil. But you’re damn good at it and you do it to make the world a better place. Just like you did today.”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow at your words, since he’s not exactly sure how shortening the lifespan of a young man can possibly add any plus points to his karma. But he understands where you’re coming from, even if he can’t accept it fully just yet. He doesn’t regret pulling the trigger either, he’d do it again – in a heartbeat – if it meant keeping you alive. In that regard, what he did was the right thing, but that didn’t mean it was an easy thing.

“You did what you had to do, babe,” you sigh, tilting his face up a little again before he could avert his gaze once more.

You’d tell him that he shouldn’t beat himself up over it, but that would be like talking to a wall. Your reasoning tends to reach him better than the loving reassurances, even though you both know you’re right. Maybe that boy didn’t deserve to die, werewolf or not, but in that moment it was either him or you.

Your lips land on him once more, this time on his jaw, before they wander down the hollow of his throat. Dean welcomes the sensation of your mouth on his neck, your teeth against his collarbones. Your hands on his chest, warm and soft and eager. So eager to make him feel good, to prove to him his own worth.

Your fingers are always enough to make his walls crumble. The sweet nothings you whisper to his ear always suffice. It might not heal him entirely, but his doubts are soothed for the moment whenever you need him. Whenever you give him what he needs. Whenever you love him.

Your hands reach the waistband of his denim pants, against which his cock is already beginning to strain. Once your touch ghosts over the prominent bulge, he snaps and indulges. In one swift movement, he stands up, his hands still tight on your hips as he picks you up and carries you to the sink. Within a second you find yourself positioned on the bathroom counter, your back nearly bumping against the mirror behind you and your legs draped around Dean’s waist. You’d complain about how he should be careful, lest he wants the fresh stitches to rip open, but your protest dies on Dean’s tongue, which he has already slipped past your lips.

Dean kisses you hard and with purpose, as if wanting to repay your praises. Where your mouth works its magic through words, he has always known different ways to use his. Always a man of actions, your boyfriend. His lips wander down your neck, making you gasp in delight.

He grunts, dizzy with the taste of you, your scent, your voice. You’re so soft under his calloused hands that he’s reminded once more of how close he was to losing you tonight. His impatient hands pull your shirt up over your chest, where his lips latch onto. He doesn’t even bother pulling it over your head fully, eager to search your heartbeat with his tongue, as if he’s able to taste that you’re still alive that way.

While you’re busy discarding your shirt properly, Dean’s mouth finds your nipple through the lace of your bra. You arch your back into his touch further, his name falling from your lips in a whimper that almost has his brain short-circuit.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he gruffs and pulls you off the counter, turning you in his arms so you’d face the mirror. His low voice is gravelly and half muffled by the column of your neck, which he still works some hickeys into. “Always treating me like some kind of hero when you’re the one keeping me alive and sane.”

His bare chest is pressed flush against your back and your hips are lodged against the edge of the sink, to which your shaky fingers grip so tightly that your knuckles turn white. You whimper again, softly, as you feel him rock his hips against your ass. Were it not for his large hands around you, one on your waist, the other cupping your breast, your knees would give out and you’d topple over.

Dean shoves a little harsher, his chest still flat against your back as he pushes you closer to the mirror. It’s fogging up slightly with how heavily you’re panting against the glass. Your eyes meet through the reflection and he finds himself not minding the mirror so long as you’re in the picture as well.

The bandaid that used to roughly match your skin color earlier now sticks out against your flushed face, red and warm all the way down to your neck and even your chest. Your lips are kiss-bitten, puffy and slightly parted as your ragged breath is interrupted by little mewls and whines.

Most days Dean’s looks in the mirror and hates what he sees. But he could get used to this view. At least he can appreciate the sight of his own hands on you, one around your throat, the other between your thighs, making you unravel, being held by yours as you reach for his wrists.

“Maybe scratch the sane part, you know you’re driving me crazy,” he revises his earlier statement as his deft fingers make quick work of your jean’s button and fly. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear and you shudder as he watches every small reaction of yours closely, like a hawk.

He shoves his hand straight into your underwear, satisfied when his fingers find your slick and his ears pick up on the meek moan. He’s barely even touched you yet, but you’re already soaking. You’re so damn responsive it almost makes him want to rip both your pants off and just take you until you’ll see stars. While patience is a virtue, it’s not Dean’s strong suit – yet he wants to take his time with you.

“Always taking such good care of me,” he whispers roughly, gently pinching your clit between his middle and ring finger. “My turn making my girl feel good.”

Using your previous methods on you now, he presses a soft kiss to your temple. His lips brush right against the edge of your bandaid. “My pretty girl,” he breathes, before his mouth wanders to your cheek, where he places another kiss.

“My smart girl, always using her pretty head to keep us alive.” God knows his words are true – your quick thinking and ability to stay level headed has saved the both of you out of dangerous situations more times than he can count.

One of his fingertips slips past your entrance, causing you to overhear whatever he adds to the list of compliments. You’re too distracted by the digit sinking deeper into your cunt with little resistance.

Your blush deepens further, fingers curling around the sink’s ceramic. Your eyelashes flutter and your eyes threaten to close, but Dean prevents your head from dropping low with a gentle nudge of his hand. His fingers tighten around your throat, firm enough to make you redirect your focus, but not enough to squeeze your windpipes, let alone hurt you in any way.

“Eyes on the mirror, doll,” he hums against your jaw. “Would be a shame if you were t’miss out on the show, huh? Look how pretty you are f’me, princess, all sensitive and needy.”

You squirm and whimper, struggling to follow his order with how he’s making your head spin. He’s not playing fair. How’re you supposed to focus on anything except him adding another finger to pump in and out of your cunt?

“Dean, please,” you moan, desperately trying to wiggle your hips. You aren’t even sure what it is you’re begging for, exactly. More of him. All of him. Not like you can’t already feel him throb against the curve of your ass.

“Wanna see you cum on my fingers first, baby,” he mumbles, nearly slurring over his own words. But the hand around your throat loosens its grip and he already moves it down to pull your pants lower. “Know you’re almost there, can feel you squeezing the shit out of my fingers.”

You half groan half sob, beyond flustered, but too far gone to argue back. Your legs are already shaking thanks to his fingers thrusting in and out of you and your breathing becomes more ragged with each intake of oxygen. You attempt to throw him a pleading glance through the mirror, but all you can see is your own messy state. Your gaze briefly flickers down, watching his thumb circle your clit in the reflection. However, your eyes are forced back up as Dean’s free hand winds up in your hair and pulls your head back until it’s settled against his uninjured shoulder.

“Eyes up here,” he quips and you’d want to wipe that smug smirk off his lips, were it not for his fingers curling inside of you and pushing you over the edge at last. Your mouth falls open and you cry out as liquid heat rushes through every fiber of your body. You see your own reflection, expression twisted into pleasure and bliss as your orgasm washes over you and you clamp down on Dean’s fingers. Your grip tightens around his wrist, which doesn’t stop him from guiding you through the ecstasy.

“So good for me,” Dean praises, or you think that’s what you hear in your hazy state. You’re still trying to catch your breath as he withdraws his hands from between your now sticky thighs. He brings it up to his mouth, giving his fingers a brief lick. You shudder in awe watching him. His pupils are blown wide, glistening tongue peeking out from those plump lips of his.

But he changes his mind at the last second.

“Not done with you yet, sweetheart,” he whispers and presses his fingers against your lips. You obediently open your mouth for him, welcoming his fingers in, though you flush more as you taste yourself on his skin.

Your walls flutter and clench around nothing just at that, but you have a feeling he’s about to do something about the empty feeling. He smirks knowingly, his cheek pressed against yours, your faces in the mirror side by side.

“Think I should show you how pretty you look taking my cock? I swear, it feels unfair that I’m always the only one who gets to enjoy the show.”

credit & links: ao3 ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request here taglist: comment a green heart 💚 to be added to the dean x reader taglist (please note: ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts)

@winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126 @zepskies @hot-and-confused

@spookyfunhottub @calibootsgirl

[starkeyisthelastname]

a little ruthless anal fun with pornstar!rafe for my sexy ass babe @rafesthroatbaby based on this 🥵💦

Rafe didn’t know how he felt about you wearing those sparkly tights out, it ignited something in him that almost made him want to punish you. How dare you go out like that without him knowing? Like he had room to talk, considering he couldn’t even stay five seconds longer after he fucked to cuddle you because it scared him.

So what did he do instead? Fuck you like the brutal man he was and this time he wasn’t playing around as he ripped the useless material open to expose your holes. His large hands spread open your cheeks, smirking to himself for what he was about to do. His thick fingers dipped themselves in your soaking pussy, plunging them in an out, as you let out a loud whine.

“Why you cryin’ for already, huh?” Rafe would cruelly laugh behind you as he yanked his fingers out to now rub all across your tight little asshole. Without warning, he spit on it, watching the thick salvia run down to your pretty folds as he slid those same two fingers in your puckered hole. “Shouldn’t be wearing this shit, if you don’t want your holes ruined.” He mumbled, more to himself as he unbuckled his belt with his free hand.

You barely had time to register what was happening, when two things happened. His belt was being wrapped around your throat and you felt the tip of cock enter your ass. You weren’t a stranger to anal, but not once had you ever had anyone even close to Rafe’s size back there. You let out a loud gasp, immediately tensing up as he pushed through the tight ring of muscles.

“R-Rafe.. you’re too big..” You breathe out, your poor cunt already clenching around nothing as he continued to push every delicious inch in.

You felt the tug of the belt against your neck, choking you as he began moving his toned hips. “Don’t fuckin tense up on me or it’s gonna hurt.” He spat, trying not lose control at how fucking good you felt. His eyes rolled back, one hand holding the strap of the belt as the other landed down hard on one of your asscheeks.

It didn’t take long for you to be a crying mess, his free hand holding your arms behind your back and the other continually yanking the belt around your throat. You had never had an orgasm from anal sex, and were almost embarrassed at how quick you were about to cum by his huge dick brutally fucking your ass. His hips smacked against yours, your fleshy ass bouncing with him as he fucked you into oblivion.

You were gone, a cock drunk babbling mess and Rafe knew it. The way you fell apart around him every single time, especially during this kind of nasty sex.. he wondered where you had been all his life. He got high off of you and he never wanted to come down. “You can tell all them other suckers that Rafe Cameron has ruined your asshole, yeah? My pretty little fuckin anal slut.”

[luveline]

hi can i request girl dad!aaron 🥺🥺 i am such a sucker for him, anything would be amazing thank you so much <3

hope this is okay!! —you have big news for your small family. 1.5k pregnant!mom!reader

When you first married his father, you weren't expecting Jack Hotchner to like you very much. Losing his mom so young, you wouldn't have blamed him for resenting you, or even hating you. You were like a stranger in his home. 

Things are different now. Jack lays in your lap with his head on your shoulder, and maybe he's a little too old for such a coddling cuddle, but who really cares? You love him and you love holding him, and if he wants some extra comfort tonight you're happy to give it. Plus, you have something you've been meaning to tell him.

“He doesn't have real headlights, did you know?” Jack asks. “They're just stickers.” 

You raise your brows at the car on screen. “No kidding.” You brush your fingers through his hair. He's blonde like his mom, though that blonde has turned brown the older he gets. 

“Race cars don't have headlights.”

“They don't need them,” you say. Jack smiles at you shyly and leans into your neck, clearly pleased. 

You're very, very glad that you ended up being someone he loved. It's a privilege to get to look after him, and to be his step mom. In the same way you're lucky to be Aaron's partner and Jane's mom, too. 

“Think dad's made dinner?” you ask. 

“No, he's probably just talking to Jane.” 

Yes, well. You can't blame him, nor would you want him to stop. He talks to Jane like she understands, and Jane, not even two years old, nearly brand new to the world, soaks him in. You can hear him if you strain, the dulcet cadence of his voice under the steady hum of the dishwasher. 

“That's okay, sweetheart, don't get upset,” he's saying, “it's okay. Come here, I've got you.” 

Jane starts to cry. You and Jack give one another the look, apprehensive in hoping it won't turn into a full blown melt down. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. “Sorry, where did you put her other pacifier?” 

You kiss Jack's hair. “Sorry, bub. Wanna come with me?” 

Jack wants to stay and watch Cars. You wrap him in a throw blanket and make your way into the Hotchner kitchen, where Aaron rifles through the drawers and cabinets with Jane held snugly to his chest. “I know,” he says, “I know. I'll get it.” 

You nudge him aside. You only know where the spare pacifier is because you put away the wooden spoons last night and pushed it back. You fish for it, a ladybug made of glittery red plastic, and Jane's crying slows as soon as you pull it free. She grizzles while you rinse it, but she settles when you hand it over. 

“This is not the best, is it? The pacifiers?” you murmur. 

“She dropped her other one and it rolled under the oven. And no. Not ideal.” He pats her back gently. “As long as she stops before she gets her big teeth, she'll be okay.” 

“Do you think it's a comfort issue?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. You worry about stuff like this constantly, but he knows kids are more hardy, and he isn't worried. “Sorry for making you get up.” 

He hates when she cries; he may see his kids as a hardy bunch, but he takes their upset as a personal failure half the time. His concern for her overrides his concern for you, but in a few weeks that might change. You can't imagine him calling you to find something again when your stomach is round as a honeydew. 

You've been meaning to tell him about that, too. 

You're not secret-keeping immorally, he does want another baby, but you've been having a little bit of fun. He's gone on cases so often lately that he hasn't been able to keep track of you, or your doctor's appointments.

You watch him with Jane, and you think about him with Jack, and you know he's going to be happy. He's told you as much before. 

“My poor girl,” he says, covering the back of Jane's head with his hand and pulling her under his chin. He looks as fine as ever, tall, dark and handsome to a fault. Jane's lips smack as she sucks and digs her teary cheek into his chest. 

You can feel his gaze on you. “Is now a good time?” he asks. 

You shrug. “For what?” 

“To tell me what you're not telling me.” 

“Oh, busted,” you croon, aiming for his shoulder. 

You do as Jane had and press your cheek to his front, your eye forced shut. 

“What do you think it is?” you ask. 

He makes a strange noise. You can practically hear the possibilities for your secret running through his head. His birthday is vaguely soon, so that's what he'll settle on first. But Aaron likes to disregard the obvious as most people do, only circling back to it when there's no other lead to follow. 

“How big of a secret is it?” he asks, rubbing Jane's back diligently. She makes a happy sound, and for a moment he forgets his plight to kiss the top of her head. 

You speak quietly, carefully, because it is big, huge news. “The pamphlets say it’s about the size of a strawberry.” 

He puts his cheek to Jane's head softly, looking at you in confusion. A second, another, and his eyebrows start to relax, rise, a smile on his lips like it's too good to be true. “You are?” he asks in surprise.

Jack appears in the doorway with the throw blanket trailing behind him. “Y/N, when are you coming back to watch TV?” 

“Jack, lovely, come here. I have something to tell you,” you say. 

Aaron grabs your wrist. When you meet his eyes, he squeezes gently. “You're sure?” he asks. 

“The doctor seemed pretty certain, handsome.” You lower your voice as Jack comes to stand in front of you. “Are you happy?” 

“Happy about what?” 

You put your hand on your stomach cautiously, worried about Aaron and how quiet he's being, and if it's as okay to tell Jack as you'd thought, but that action is what gets him. “I love you,” he says quizzically, as though his being happy is totally dependent on the fact. “Of course I'm happy. This is the best secret you could've kept.” 

“About what?” Jack asks, patting your arm. 

You bend down just a bit to see his face properly. “It's a secret you can't tell anyone for a while, okay? The only people who can know for now are me, you, and dad.” 

“Can I tell Jane?” he asks. 

“Yeah, buddy, you can tell your sister,” Aaron says. 

You peer at him from the corner of your eye, both concerned and pleased to see the wetness ringing his waterline, and the tenderness with which he holds Jane close, his thumb rubbing little circles into her back. 

“I'm going to have another baby,” you say. 

Jack's jaw drops. “Right now?” 

“No, not right now! You still remember last time?” you ask with a laugh, taking his shoulders into your hands. 

“You were crying and shouting for dad to hold your hand.” He pokes your stomach. “So it's like Jane?” 

“Maybe one day, sweetheart. For now, it's just a tiny baby.” 

Jack wants to see your stomach. He's expecting a much bigger bump than you have to offer, but you explain that eventually it'll get bigger again, and he seems quite pleased. Aaron makes sure to give him a hug and ask him if he's okay, to which Jack says, “Yes, but can we have a brother this time?” 

You rub the soft top of your stomach. “I'll see what I can do, Jack.” 

Aaron commandeers your attention, kissing you more times than you can count. You don't think you've ever seen him this happy now the reality has truly set in, asking Jane in his murmur, “Do you want to be a big sister?” 

She gurgles around the pacifier, leaving drool in a line down his chest. 

“I know, honey. I'm excited too. Let's clean you up, mm? And make mommy a cup of hot cocoa…” He narrows his eyes at you. “Would you sit down?” 

“I'm only ten weeks, I'm fine.”

“She's keeping secrets from me, and now she won't do what I'm asking,” he says to Jane. “Can you believe it? Anyone would think mommy doesn't like me as much as she claims.” 

You kiss his cheek. “M'having your baby, Aaron, again.” 

“That is a compelling argument.” He wipes Jane's cheek. “What do you think? Should we forgive her?” Jane laughs. He smiles at you, lovesick. You're not sure who for. “I guess we're letting you get away with this one, sweetheart. But no more secrets.”

“None,” you promise. 

[forlix]

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 !・h.h.

— you’re just trying to do your job; your client has other ideas.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.3k 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・idol!hyunjin x gn!makeup artist!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・very suggestive so mdni, reader implied to be shorter than hyunjin 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・fluff, flirting, humor, big fwb vibes

𝐚/𝐧・this took me less than half an hour to write i am actually the biggest sucker for this trope. also, we hit another milestone recently!! i appreciate all of you immensely; look forward to more ♡

[!]・hi hey hello as of one month later a full-length fic based on this au has been posted!! here it is; you can read the two in any order. ok bye much love

“Five ‘til!” A crew member calls into a walkie-talkie, and you’re so surprised by this information that you stumble right over him, your heel ungracefully ramming into the poor man’s toes. 

You apologize hurriedly, bowing yourself out of the awkward situation—and then you check your watch. 7:55 P.M. A quiet "shit" leaves your lips as it dawns on you that you'd completely lost track of time.

Briefly, you contemplate your predicament, drumming the palette of makeup you’re holding in your right hand against the palm of your left: do I have to? Is it really necessary? But you know your answer even as you’re asking yourself the questions. You’re damn meticulous—sometimes to a fault, but always to your own satisfaction.

You had a vision, and you’re going to see it through.

With impeccable timing, your coworker appears out of nowhere, and you fasten a hand around her arm. “Hey, where are the members again?”

“Stage left.” Then she registers your question in full, and snaps her eyes to your face; stylists were supposed to have finished up with their respective members nearly an hour ago. “Hang on, are you out of your mind—”

“I won’t be a minute!” You call, scurrying away.

“You won’t be employed!” She returns, but you’ve already disappeared into the curtains’ dense shadows.

You jog a short distance, turn a few corners, and finally spot the eight members clad in outfits of varying amounts of silver and black, every inch of them so sparkly that they’re reflective, even with how little light reaches this part of the stage.

You’re looking for one man in particular, though, and you single him out right away: long, black locks falling into his eyes as he adjusts his microphone, broad shoulders and tall frame flattered perfectly by an obsidian suit, looking like he fell off a Paris Fashion Week runway and into a wormhole that teleported him to Osaka.

All your doing, by the way.

“Hwang Hyunjin!” You shout, and he (along with several of the other members) whips around at the sound. And Hyunjin furrows a perfect brow when his stylist materializes before him, four minutes to curtain up, wielding a palette of makeup like it’s a baseball bat.

“Are you out of your mind?” He calls.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” You lift a pointer finger into the air and curl it twice. “Come here. Hurry."

Hyunjin gives the others an apologetic glance before hurrying over, and you are met with a blast of Byredo Blanche when he arrives in front of you, the expression on his face equal parts amused and confused.

“Down,” you say, flicking open the eyeshadow palette with one hand.

And then Hyunjin understands. A loud, uninhibited laugh leaves his lips, a sound you’ve become so accustomed to by now that you’re completely oblivious to the fact that only you bring it out of him.

“You really are something,” he says, spreading his feet apart until he’s brought himself to your eye level.

With that, you get to work, one hand gathering some eyeshadow on the pads of your fingers, the other moving to hold his shoulder. Brushes are luxuries you can’t afford right now.

“Close your eyes,” you direct, your voice softer now that your face is only inches away from his, and Hyunjin heeds your words obediently. You begin to dab the crimson powder against the curve of his lids, careful to avoid messing up the rest of his eye makeup. His lashes flutter involuntarily at your gentle touch.

“A shadow to match the lip,” you murmur absently. “I pictured it and knew it had to happen."

Hyunjin makes a sound of approval, and then there is that smirk on his face, the one you’ve learned only means trouble. “You’ve been thinking about my face the whole night, then?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about whether vegetables can feel pain,” you deadpan. “Yes, I've been thinking about your face. It’s my job.”

“Is that all?”

“Sure is.” You blow gently on his finished eye and move on to the other. “Now save your voice for the stage.”

He obliges, but that dreadful, self-assured expression remains on his face, and you're immeasurably grateful that he can’t see the blush that you’re well aware paints your cheeks.

“Done,” you say a minute later, straightening with a confident flourish. And you think you could squeal when Hyunjin opens his eyes, and you see that the exact effect you’d hoped for has been realized: a splash of maroon that is both subtle and seductive, sleek and suave; that not only accentuates the shape of his eyes but pulls attention to his lips, which are dyed a similar hue. Damn, you’re good at your job.

“I don’t have a mirror,” you say, looking around. “I can use my phone if you want to—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I trust you.”

You grin at this. “Good. Because you look sexy as hell."

Upon hearing your words, he straightens to his full height. You don’t think much of this at first, too busy re-examining the masterpiece you’ve created on his eyelids, but in the blink of an eye you’re suddenly aware that Hyunjin is standing conspicuously and intentionally close to you. You instinctively move away, but you’re too late; he’s already guiding your back to the wall behind you, his body enclosing yours against the smooth surface.

You send a panicked look over Hyunjin’s shoulder, only to realize that the two of you are completely out of anyone’s line of vision. That doesn’t stop the sharp hiss that leaves your lips: “Hyunjin, are you cr—”

But then there is a familiar gust of breath against your skin, a thumb over your cheekbone.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself when you get like this; all bossy and concentrated, an ambitious glint in your eyes, an air of confidence in your gait. He always thinks it’s ironic that your job is to make him look good when all he’s ever done is admire your beauty, so effortless and profuse that it feels timeless, like freshly bloomed forget-me-nots.

He knows he shouldn’t—but that makes him want to more.

When your lips meet, they move together with an ease and familiarity that reveal how many times you’ve done this before. He brings a hand to the small of your back, and you tangle your stained fingers in his luscious hair, the delicious pressure of his mouth upon yours rendering your reluctance (and the eyeshadow palette, which clatters noisily to the floor) momentarily forgotten.

As the kiss deepens, the bridges of your noses slide together; your every sense becomes overwhelmed by the slippery plush of his full lips and the warm caress of his large hands; you drink in the rosy musk of his cologne like your cells need it to live as opposed to oxygen. The tip of Hyunjin’s tongue teases the seam of your lips, as if requesting access, and you grant it to him with a light moan that is both blissful and thoroughly exasperated. When he hears the gorgeous sound, he has half a mind to scoop you up and leave the venue then and there.

Then, a voice bellows from not too far away: “One minute, everyone! Places, places!”

You’re so startled that you not only break away from him but jump a meter into the air, giving Hyunjin’s bicep a hearty slap on your way down. But he is entirely unbothered, dipping his head to press a trail of light kisses along your jaw instead.

“You’ll be watching the performance, yes?” He murmurs against the sensitive skin.

“Of course, what else—”

“—don’t take your eyes off me.”

And the words throw your heart against your ribs like uncooked French fries in a vat of oil.

He is just about to walk away when you realize how decidedly disheveled you’ve left him, and you yank him back to you with a fresh wave of panic. You wipe at his smudged lipstick with the cuffs of your sleeves; nitpick his hair until every strand is back in its proper place. Only when you’ve gotten rid of all the incriminating evidence do you permit him to leave.

“Thank you very much,” he says, bending into a gracious bow, the perfect image of professionalism. The facade is given away only by the upturned corner of his still-flushed lips.

“Break a leg,” you return drily.

The last thing you hear is that stupid, bright laugh before Hyunjin rejoins his members, and they step into the strobe lights together.

Even when the concert begins and the stadium is drowned in fanatical screams, the heartbeat in your ears remains the loudest sound of all—and you bury your burning face in your hands.

Hwang Hyunjin will be the death of you.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

[faithisyours]

Returning Home

Azriel x Fem!reader (or GN reader)

Summary: Azriel comes back from a long and slightly traumatic mission bloodied and filthy, so you give him a bath.

Warnings: fluff, blood, nudity but its not sexual, Az and reader are mated, reader caring for Azriel, not proofread,

Word Count: 2.6k (I’m sorry)

A/N: Whatisupyouguys I’m back with another disgustingly sweet fluffy Azriel fic for you. I’m a slut for caring for this poor man, so that is what you will receive. School has been kicking my ass but I was able to pop this sucker out and am working on more Az fics, some of them spicy, even. Also, if you have any ideas for fics and you’d like to share, I’m all ears. I am pretty busy with school but summer is approaching and I plan on writing a ton. Even though this is fluff, minors please gtfo. Enjoy!

You were awoken from your slumber when you heard the back door slam. It was one AM. Why was your door slamming at one AM? That is what you asked yourself, and you could not come up with a good reason. So, you silently slipped from the warm caress of your blankets into the chilled air of your bedroom, pulling on your robe and grabbing the bat Azriel liked to keep next to your bedside table as you tiptoed out of your room.

You made your way down the hallway towards the source of the noise, the bat held high above your shoulder. You didn't think the intruder was dangerous, but it's better to be safe than sorry. As you silently made your way towards the original source of noise, you heard off to your left a shuffling of feet. You pivoted, slinking your way now towards the kitchen.

You drew the bat back, gearing up to swing, and hurtled yourself through the kitchen. But you came to a screeching halt when you saw your mate, Azriel, leaning over the kitchen counter, still as a statue, not even looking up to acknowledge your presence. He was covered in blood and grime, his leathers were muddied and damp, his shadows frantically swirling around him.

He had been on a mission, this you had known. He had told you this one might take a while. He had told you that two weeks ago. You had not expected him here, back home, at this hour, covered in gods knew what. It took you by surprise, his presence, but also the state he was in. He looked half dead, drained and pale and haggard. You dropped the bat.

The noise caught his attention. He raised his head, although it looked like it took effort, and locked eyes with you. Those hazel depths you loved so much now looked dull and dark. You moved towards him, your bare feet clicking on the polished wood beneath.

“Az?” you asked quietly, not wanting to startle him further. He pushed up from the counter, standing, but not to his full height. He was slouching in on himself, his wings almost dragging on the ground. He looked so tired.

You caressed his cheek in your hand, wanting to feel him. His shadows embraced you, but remained frantically swirling. You had missed him so much, it had almost torn you in two. And now he was here, in front of you, back to where he should be. But somehow it felt as though you had only gotten his body back, his mind still somewhere else. You tugged on the bond, hoping to get a reaction, recognition, something out of him. A small pull on the shadowy thread connecting you two was all you received.

“You’re home,” you breathed, “I’m so glad you’re home.” Both of your hands were now caressing his face, which was prickly from weeks of not shaving. He was staring back at you, but his eyes were vacant, barely any recognition that you were standing in front of him. It made your chest ache. You distracted yourself by looking over him, checking for injuries or any signs of distress. You found none, but you would have to get his leathers off to be completely sure.

“Azriel,” you grabbed his face and locked eyes with him, “You need a bath, okay? I’m going to give you one. Nod your head if you understand.” It was almost imperceptible, his nod, but you felt it, and that was enough. You took his hand in yours and led him towards the bathing chamber, which was just off to the left of your shared bedroom.

You stripped off your robe and hung it on the door, then turned to the massive tub and turned the water on. While you waited for it to fill, you turned your attention back to your mate. “I’m going to take your leathers off, okay?” He nodded, and it was visible this time. You took that as a good sign.

You began with his top, unbuckling and unbuttoning until his chest was bare. You looked over him once again, checking for injuries. You noticed some slight bruising on his ribs and a healing slash on his right bicep, but nothing extreme. You weren’t happy about him being injured, but he would live, which meant so would you. His wings didn’t look injured much, either, but they were covered in mud and splattered with blood. Gods, what had happened to him?

You checked on the state of the tub, adjusting the temperature and adding some rose oil into the water. The water level was almost to where you wanted it to be. Once again you turned your attention towards Azriel, this time to his bottom half. You pulled at the laces of his pants, loosening them enough to slide them down his legs. He lifted his legs, one at a time, so you could pull the material off. You also took this as a good sign.

You didn’t know what had happened on his mission to make him borderline catatonic, but you would do everything in your power to help get him back to his usual self. His shadows had calmed down a bit, now swirling slowly around the both of you, the frenzied movements gone. You looked towards the tub, the water at the perfect level, so you turned the faucet off. You tugged your nightgown over your head, then slid your panties off, joining Azriel in his nakedness.

You pulled him towards the tub, urging him to climb in. He did as instructed, sliding down into the water and pulling his knees up to his chest. You climbed in after him, sinking down into the steamy water so that you were kneeling in front of him. You grabbed the spong and lathered soap onto it, then got to work.

You grabbed one of his arms, pulling it out towards you, and started scrubbing the grime off his tattooed skin. “I made blueberry muffins while you were away,” you informed him, trying to distract him from whatever he was thinking about and pull him back to you. “I know they’re your favorite, but don’t get too excited. I ate them all. But I’ll make more tomorrow, okay?” his eyes were on your hands, where you were scrubbing his arm, but he nodded in recognition.

You moved on to his other arm, repeating the ministrations you had just done. Wanting to distract him further, you said: “Last week I went to Rita’s with Mor, Cassian, Nesta, and Feyre, and Cass got so drunk that by the end of the night he was telling Nesta he was mated and couldn’t go home with her. She hasn’t let him live it down since.” You smirked at the memory. Azriel looked slightly more relaxed, the corner of his lips almost lifted. Almost.

His arms were clean, so you moved on to his legs. They were less dirty compared to his arms, having been soaking for a while longer, but still needed scrubbing. You picked his left leg up by the ankle, raising and extending it so that it was just below the water, and began scrubbing. You wracked your brain for more stories to tell him, but you could not come up with any. So you stayed quiet.

Azriel so rarely let you take care of him. He always focused on you and your needs. And although the circumstances were not the best, you enjoyed being able to care for your mate in this way. You just prayed to the Mother your care would be enough to bring him out of the headspace he was in.

You finished cleaning his legs, which left his torso, back, and wings to scrub. Wanting to save his wings for last, you opted for his torso first. Azriel had pulled his knees back up to his chest, but you needed them down in order to properly wash him. So you grabbed his legs again, laying them flat, and when he resisted, you spoke down the bond, “I need your legs flat so I can clean your chest, okay?” He stopped resisting, letting you do what you needed to do. You lathered more soap onto the sponge, then scooched closer to him. You could feel his eyes on your face, and with it could feel him coming back to himself. You almost sighed in relief.

Bringing the sponge to his neck, you started scrubbing in small circles over his skin. You brought your free hand to his shoulder to lean him back, putting him at a better angle for you to see where you needed to scrub a little harder. Azriel brought his hands up to your hips, not grabbing them, just placing them on you. The action startled you slightly, just because you weren't expecting it. But once the shock went away, you leaned into his touch, the action as grounding for him as it was for you, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

You continued your ministries on his chest, slowly but surely making progress. When you were halfway down his torso you felt an immense wave of gratitude and love pouring down the bond at you. You couldn’t help but smile, pouring your own love and reassurance down the bond towards him. Finally all that was left was his back and wings. The bathwater was still warm, but you could feel it cooling down. And you wanted to get Azriel clean before the water got cold.

You put the sponge down and laid your hands on top of where he rested his on your hips. “Your wings need washing, they’re covered in quite a bit of blood and dirt. Do you want to clean them, or do you want me to?” you asked gently. He looked up at you, hazel eyes clashing with yours.

“Could you…” his voice was thick, and hoarse, so he cleared it. “Could you do it?” he asked quietly.

“Of course, my love.” you replied, rubbing your hands over his in reassurance. He turned around, giving his back to you, and once again brought his knees up to his chest. You tried not to think about it too hard, the fact that Azriel, the gods damned Shadowsinger of the Night Court, an Illarian fucking warrior, was drawing his knees to his chest, slouching in on himself, making himself smaller due to the memories wreaking havoc in his mind. You wanted to know what happened, shoulder some of the burden for him, sooth his mind from these memories. But it was unlikely he would tell you anything tonight.

You picked the sponge back up, added more soap to it, and began scrubbing his back. You started on his upper back, gliding the sponge over his tattooed skin. Running the sponge down between his wings drew out a long sigh from Azriel. Wanting to save his wings for last, you then focused on his lower back, gliding your free hand along with the sponge, wanting to make sure you were getting all the grime off him as well as comfort him with your touch.

Finally, all that was left were his wings. You started at the base of them, working your way up and over the dark, scarred membranes. Azriel extended each one while you worked, following your movements and positioning them so that you didn’t have to. You glided the sponge firmly along the patagium of each wing, working quickly to clean the grime off. You had learned over the years that this was the best and most efficient way. There was no way to avoid the sensitivity of the wings and what they elicited, but working swiftly, as well as using something other than your hand, seemed to ease some of the tension that would inevitably build up when it came to touching wings.

You looked over his back and wings one more time, checking for spots you might have missed, but found none. So, you put the sponge down and turned your attention to the person, rather than the body, in front of you. You placed your hands on his shoulders and scooched closer to him, so that your front was pressed up against his back. And then you slid your arms around his front, embracing him from behind.

You stayed like that until the water went cold, the only sounds filling the room were your synchronized breathing. Azriel broke the silence first. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for taking care of me. I don’t deserve you.” You tightened your embrace in response.

“I’m going to go get the bed warmed while you dry off, alright?” you said over his shoulder. He nodded, and adamant nod, a nod you knew was going to be the last nod you received before he picked back up answering with words.

You unwrapped yourself from your mate and climbed out of the tub, grabbing a towel on your way back into your room. You quickly wrapped the towel around you then got to work warming the bed. You also lit the fireplace, both for added warmth but also in hopes it would help Az sleep better. And just as you were getting done adding enough wood to the fire to last the night, Az walked out of the bathing room, a towel wrapped around his waist.

Besides looking clean, he looked much more himself now. His shadows had traveled out to the corners of the room, seeking darkness away from the fireplace. You hoped they didn’t mind much. You got up from your place before the fire and walked towards him. He embraced you this time, pulling his strong arms around your body, holding you to him.

“I love you so much it hurts sometimes,” he said, barely above a whisper, “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, but I’d like to cuddle with my mate now, if that's okay.” It was your turn to nod. You pulled away slightly, looking up into his eyes. You could live with him telling you what had happened tomorrow. And for now, you kissed him, gentle and slow, pouring as much comfort and love as you could down the bond. And he kissed you back like he was a dying man and your kiss was his lifeline. You supposed, in a way, it was.

You broke the kiss, shed each other of your towels, and tumbled into bed, holding one another like death was the alternative.

“Thank you,” Azriel whispered to you.

“You’re welcome, my love,” you replied. And you fell asleep, tangled together in an embrace.

[ofskysanddragonsandstars]

As many TBB fans, we really missed out on Echo becoming a true member of Clone Force 99. Like yeah, the unresolved trauma, not to mention Fives, but we all known Echo is a little shit, and has been a little shit since his cadets days.

Let's explore this a little more.

Show me Echo finally getting to spar with someone, anyone, and just pulls a nasty move to win. You know, the kind of move that is downright dirty? We all know what i'm talking about. But show me TBB standing there in shock that this twig of a reg just took down someone twice his weight. He does not yet have all his muscle mass back yet! This was supposed to be a warm up for Echo. A way to build up his strength. Instead they get reminded that Echo is an ARC trooper and he has been through a lot.

Show me Echo trying to stop a cafeteria fight by reciting the reg manuals, saying "per regulation, fighting is not allowed in the cafeteria, and if you would have taken the time to read the reg manuals, you would have known that. Can you even read?" and Hunter furiously trying to deescalate the situation and failing. Echo gets sucker punched but the other clone does not get off as easily. Apparently he had to spend the night in the med bay. Echo only feels a little bit guilty.

Show me Echo matching Crosshair's snarkiness with his own. Remember "Bravo for Bravo Squad"? But instead of being angry with each other, it starts a beautiful friendship between the ARC and Snark troopers. The rest of TBB don't get how there friendship works and just have to roll with it.

But overall, let's not forget that ARC training happens on Kamino. Show me Echo being called up by the ARC trainer for demonstration purposes. Afterall, it's not everyday a war hero gets to help train new ARCs (except for Alpha-17, perhaps). Show me a bunch of new ARC recruits looking in astonishment because "holy Prime, that's ARC Echo of the 501st! He withstood the worst torture imaginable! He basically made half the 501st tactics with The Captain Rex of the 501st!" only for Echo to just crush there poor little preconceptions. Because this little shit keeps it real with these recruits, explaining the reality of going on a mission with a zero success rate, of going through torture, of having to build up physical strength to the point that no cyber implants hurt anymore. Echo does not hold back and has no filter, his words are practically as blunt as the dullest blade and it can hurt just as much. But even through that, no recruit can beat him in a spar. Yet. It's become a new challenge within ARC training.

Of course, I am a sucker for Mom Echo during season 1 and 2, but let me see Echo being a little shit before that! Let me see Hunter calling Cody one night after a successful mission asking "what is up with this reg? Are all ARC troopers like this?" And since Cody has known the little shits that make up the Domino Twins he just solemnly nods his head while sniggering on the inside. He calls Rex afterwards. Rex just laughs.

[bohemianblasphemy]

tumblr is severely lacking in the hughie department ;(( do you have any thoughts on the guy? appreciate it<3

oh my gosh i absolutely agree - i love hughie sm he needs more content on here <3

things hughie campbell would do bc i said so ✨

N/SFW

SFW

- oh my sweet baby hughie, you gorgeous man you would just be the best boyfriend.

- his kisses are sweet and gentle. lil pecks on the cheek every time he walks by you, comforting kisses to your forehead, to your hand - ALL THE KISSES.

- the poor guy has been through a lot. he considers you a safe person that he can go to for comfort. he will tell you about his trauma and by the end of it you’re both emotional and holding each other, reassuring him that you are going to be there for him always.

- he’d bring you trinkets he has found as a sign of affection and you keep them on your nightstand.

- he blushes whenever you’re around him, just the sight of you makes him smile and lightens up his day.

- is a sucker for hugs and cuddles. he loves being held and laying side by side with you, admiring your sleepy face in the morning.

- going to concerts together and being held in this arms during the cute romantic songs.

- he has a vinyl collection and he shows and play them for you. he also has a collection of songs that he listens to when he misses you on missions.

- Hugh Sr. would love you. he’d chew your ear off with stories of hughie when he was younger (much to the dismay of hughie) and he’d bring out the baby photos, which hughie is also mortified of- but he is happy that his dad adores you.

- he is one to take you to an aquarium for a date. he loves watching you stare at all the sharks and rays in the giant tanks. he’d jokingly point at the weird looking fish and go “that one is you.”

NSFW

- he’s a switch, but he prefers for you to take control. he likes to be told what to do and man will he be at your command.

- i think he is rather vanilla in the bedroom, but he is open to trying new things as long as you both are into it.

- he’s always asking if you’re okay, making sure that you’re not in pain or uncomfortable. your comfort is his priority and he will not move until you give him the green light.

- he likes missionary and cowgirl. in missionary he thrives on keeping eye contact, he will not his eyes off and you and likes to watch you cum. in cowgirl, he loves to look up at you in awe, watching you bounce on his and the noises you make.

- he holds hands during missionary. 🥺

- he has a massive praise kink, he needs to know that he’s doing a good job and making you feel good.

- he enjoys when you pull his hair and scratch his back, he enjoys a bit of pain.

- he loves going down on you, he wants to make you cum on his tongue at least twice to savour your taste. he loves when you go down on him too, he softly bucks his hips into your mouth and softly moans and tell you how good you feel.

- WHIMPERS AND BEGS. YOU CANNOT TELL ME HE DOESNT.

[soullumii]

this is trouble | joel miller x f!reader

part 2

summary: it's been three weeks since joel last fucked you. tonight he finally has the time.

warnings/tags: 18+ smut mdni, filth. was meant to be plotless but sort of has plot now oops. fem!afab!reader, fwb, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, secret fwb, dirty talk, bratty!reader, grumpy!reader, dom!joel, soft!joel as fucking always (i’m a romantic, what can i say?) little bit of feelings oops, some angst at the end oops, pet names, no use of y/n

word count: 4.6k-ish

a/n: couldn’t find a gif of joel stroking that damn guitar so i made one. lowkey hate this but i needed to upload something so here i hope u enjoy

so when you give that look to me,

i better look back carefully cuz this is trouble, yeah this is trouble

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

It’s been a good few weeks since you last fucked Joel.

Since this whole friends with benefits thing started between you. 

And tonight you’re kind of set on getting his dick back inside you again. Since, y’know, it’s been so long.

You’ve been craving it for a while, but tonight it’s kind of all encompassing. Kind of been the only thing on your mind since Tommy and Maria invited you out tonight. You and Joel, the latter who for the past three weeks has been busy with god knows what. 

You’re kind of pissed at him. Kind of really pissed. And your horny, pent up brain doesn’t help much with keeping your cool. 

At least you’re a few drinks in now, which has cooled your temper down some (though has spiked your libido quite a bit). Maria and Tommy are totally not picking up on your bad mood, though, thank god.

You swirl the last few dregs of wine in your glass, hardly listening to what Maria is practically shouting to you from the other side of the booth, since it’s so fucking loud in here. Your mind is caught on Joel standing at the other end of the Tipsy Bison.

You’ve been eyeing the way his hands curl around his glass of whiskey. The way his flannel stretches over his broad chest. The way his mouth moves as he talks to one of the stable hands named Harry. 

You remember the feeling of that mouth between your thighs.

Fuck, how much longer is he gonna make you wait? Another damn week?

He looks over at your table, eyes catching yours from across the room. You glare at him, trying to convey the frustration and lust and want you feel.  

His lip twitches in a smirk, seemingly having received your message. He pats Harry on the back, and then he’s sauntering back over to you and your little group of friends.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He slides into his seat next to you in the booth. His scent of pine and sandalwood envelops you, a silent torture in and of itself. “Harold doesn’t know when to stop talkin’.”

Tommy laughs boisterously. When he’s had one too many drinks, he’s impossibly loud. “Man, I remember when he kept me at the greenhouse for an hour talkin’ about some bullshit.”

“He's a good guy. Just likes to talk." Maria glances at the radio perched in the corner, a new song playing through the speakers sprinkled throughout the bar. “Oh I love this song! Let’s go dance!”

Joel looks over at you, and you’re still kind of out of it, eyes fixated on the way the sleeves of his flannel are rolled up above his forearms, showing off the veins that snake across his skin, the muscles that shift with each drum of his fingers on the table top.

You’re not in any condition to dance at the moment, and Joel is certainly aware of it.

“I think we’ll stay here,” he says. “Y’all go enjoy yourselves.”

“Suit yourself.” Maria drags Tommy out to the dance floor, leaving you and Joel at this little booth tucked in the corner all by yourselves. 

Alone. 

In the dark. 

And you’re drunk. Joel, probably on his way there.

This is not going to end well. Or maybe it will. For you, at least. Just…not for any poor suckers who might stumble across whatever is about to take place. 

Joel lazes in his seat, casually stretching an arm over the back of the booth, pressing in close to you.

“Howdy,” he says.

“Hi,” you say.

“…You doin’ alright?” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice rather than any real concern, and you know he knows exactly what’s wrong with you.

“I’m fine,” you respond coolly.

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“I’m havin’ some trouble believin’ that, since you’re poutin’ like crazy right now, sweetheart.”

“I am not pouting-“

He laughs, full on fucking laughs at you. “Uh yeah, ya are. You’re actin’ like a lil brat. Givin’ me those goddamn eyes from across the room.” 

“Eyes? What eyes?”

His voice dips into something dangerously low, only for you to hear. “The ones practically beggin’ me to eat your pussy. Those ones.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel!” you hiss, turning your head to hide your embarrassment. You drain the rest of your drink and immediately wish you had more. Or some water, at least, to cool down the warmth settling high in your cheeks. 

“That’s what you want, ain’t it?” 

“I don’t fucking know. Are you actually going to do it? Or are you just gonna leave me high and dry again?”

He sighs heavily, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose and why is he the frustrated one here?

You’ve gone three fucking weeks without his dick in you! After he and you made a deal! You should be mad. Not him!

But maybe…maybe that’s just it. Maybe he isn’t fucking you because he just doesn’t want to anymore. And that, scarily enough, makes your chest ache and your eyes get all teary and wow you are so drunk right now. 

“Listen—“ he starts.

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Joel,” you snap, folding your napkin into little squares to distract yourself from how upset you are. 

He pulls back, and you think he might just get up and leave you to stew angrily again. You could afford to throw yourself another pity party. There’s a bunch more napkins on this table that need folding.

He doesn’t leave, though. Instead, his hand settles warm on your thigh. Your fingers stall around the napkin. 

“I know I’ve been busy, but I intend to keep my promise this time,” he says softly, his hand squeezing your bare flesh, your sundress already having ridden up your thigh. “Don’t think you’ve been the only one cravin’ this.” 

His hand caresses down your inner thigh until his palm is cupping you through your panties, his knuckles brushing over your clothed entrance, and you’re grateful that the booth is angled the way it is, that you’re tucked on the inside, because it makes it a lot harder for anyone to see what he’s doing.

And it makes it a lot easier for you to give into it.

Your legs fall open, providing him more access to where you’re slick and ready for him, your knee pressing into his jean-clad thigh.

“Mm, there we go,” he smirks, stroking you through the fabric, and a tiny whimper escapes you. He leans in, his warm breath ghosting over your ear when he murmurs, “You’re such a drama queen when you’re horny.” 

Motherfucker…

Okay, yes. You can be a bit dramatic. But it’s not only your body that’s horny for him…your heart is kind of horny too. Joel is your best friend and to not see or talk to your best friend for three weeks is practically torture, especially when they’ve been giving you the good dicking down that you deserve. You have a right to be dramatic. 

You send him a scathing glare but it melts the moment his fingers pull your panties to the side and slip beneath the fabric.

You’re wet as hell. You know it. He knows it. But you’re still mad at him, and kind of drunk, so…

“Don’t you say fucking shit.”

“I wasn’t goin’ to.”

It’s a damn lie. He loves commenting on how wet you get for him. While it’s a bit humiliating for you, it only boosts his ego. Like hell he needs an ego boost, though.

His finger lightly swipes up your folds, and he bites down on his lip to try and hide the arrogant grin on his face at the way you thrust your hips forward needily with a breathy pant, but he’s failing. It’s practically impossible for The Joel Miller not to make things about himself.

“How often did you touch yourself thinkin’ about me while I was gone?”

Case in point. 

“Hmm…I don’t think I ever did.”

He circles the pad of his finger around your entrance, and stares you down with dark eyes, looking straight through your core, his voice dipping into something sultry and ragged and downright criminal. “You’re such a damn liar.” 

You feel like you might melt into the faux leather booth. Your thighs are already sticking to it, why not just become part of it at this point?

He slowly sinks his finger inside you, his thumb stroking your outer lips as he does so, and you’re boneless against the cushioned back of the booth.

“I’ll be honest for the both of us. Practically came to the thought of you every night,” he mumbles against your ear and lightly bites your earlobe. “Was thinkin’ ‘bout how much I missed you… ‘bout your body… ‘bout this perfect pussy.” He emphasizes each word with a pulse of his thick finger inside you. 

You shudder, your body lighting up at the thought of him lying in his bed, his hand closed around his cock as he came with a moan of your name on his lips. 

“Why didn’t you just come see me?” You huff, choking on a breath when he crooks his finger inside you, stroking your walls.

“Too much was goin’ on. Maria had me on patrol every morning, then I had guard duty to watch the folks that just left town. I wanted to see you, but I didn’t have enough time. You know I like takin’ my time with you, sweetheart.”

His excuse is valid enough, and he really does like taking his time with you. Content to just plant himself between your legs for hours to coax you through orgasm after orgasm. Or fuck you slow and deep, pulling back just when you’re on the crest to watch you squirm before he builds you up again, over and over until you’re practically screaming at him to let you cum. 

Still…he couldn’t have stopped by once to explain his situation? 

He slides in another finger, and you vaguely register that the song Maria and Tommy sauntered out to the dance floor to is coming to an end and another is starting in its place. They’ll be back soon.

“We can’t do this here,” you hiss, attempting to pull his hand out from under your panties, but it’s half hearted. You don’t want him to stop.

But he pulls back anyway, “If that’s what you want.”

It’s sweet, it’s considerate.. But he’s a damn jerk, because he knows how long you’ve been waiting for this. He knows you want him to keep going. Especially judging by the way he’s looking at you, eyes dark and hooded, the corner of wicked his lips twisting up…

He just wants you to fucking say it.

“Joel…” you grumble.

“What? You change your mind?”

Your fingers curl around his hand, tugging it down again, pressing it up against your throbbing core. That’s gotta be answer enough.

He’s not having it. “C’mon baby. Use your words…”

You scowl at him, muttering, “Don’t stop.���

“Speak up, sweetheart. Can’t hear ya. It’s loud in here.” 

Ughhhh! “Please touch me, Joel. Please don’t stop.”

He smirks. “As you wish.” 

Princess Bride reference. Cute. Makes your heart flop a little in your chest.

Joel eases his fingers back inside you agonizingly slow. He strokes the pads of his fingers inside you. A tingle unfurls in your chest, starts in your toes and spreads up your calves, and a low moan tumbles from your lips.

Thankfully, from anyone passing by, it would look like you two are just deep in a private conversation. Joel, pressed against you, leaning in close, and you, shielded from view by his broad shoulders, listening intently to whatever he’s saying.

They just don’t know that he’s breaking you down, brick by brick. That he’s making you leak all over this fucking booth. That it’s pure filth he’s muttering in your ear and not a juicy secret.

“God, you look so pretty takin’ my fingers, like you were made for 'em. Such a good girl."

“Joel, oh my god…”

Your breaths are coming out hotter, heavier, especially when Joel’s fingers slip out only to glide up through your folds to run delicious patterns over your clit.

“Fuck…” You whimper, the heat in your lap pooling thick and abundant. Your hips chase after his fingers, grinding against his hand.

You’re dangerously close.

“That feel good, baby…?” He eggs you on, his voice a rough rumble of thunder against your ear. 

It’s embarrassing how quickly, how enthusiastically you’re nodding, and Joel slips his fingers back inside you, his thumb coming down to rub circles on your clit as he fucks his digits up and into you.

The music is loud, but beneath it, you can hear the wet sounds of your pussy as Joel takes you apart, stroke by stroke, a steady metronome. 

You grasp onto his forearm desperately, your nails digging into the muscles there with a gasp of his name. “Joel-“

Shit. You’re seriously going to cum in this shitty little moth-eaten booth in the only bar in this entire town. You won’t be able to live it down. But you can’t bring yourself to care–you’re close, on the precipice, and you meet Joel’s dark, dangerous eyes, urging you to cum on his hand with a C’mon baby, you can do it, give it to me and you might, it’s right there it’s—

“…-ere did you learn to do that?”

The unexpected sound of Tommy’s voice has you frantically ripping Joel’s hand out from beneath your dress and scrabbling for a napkin to wipe up the mess on your thighs, on the fucking booth, your orgasm rearing back angrily and setting into a dull buzz in your limbs.

The wicked man beside you scoots himself further under the booth, likely to hide the hard-on he’s sporting. He wipes his hand on his thigh. You think you can hear him grumbling angrily under his breath at the interruption, but you’re not sure, ears instead trained on the sound of your friends getting closer. 

You reach for the drink menu, pretending to read it.

“I took dance classes in my free time before the outbreak,” Maria says as the couple closes back in on the booth you and Joel were totally not defiling. She shimmies at the both of you. “You guys really missed out on some of my great moves while you were moping.”

“We weren’t moping,” Joel defends.

“Sure…” Maria drawls.

If she only knew.

“I’m just not really feeling well,” you say. 

Maria’s playful grin falls into a look of concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired. Need to go lay down, I think. It’s been a long day.”

“Let me walk you home,” Joel says, grabbing his coat he had slung over the booth and strategically positioning it over his pants when he stands.

“Thanks.”

“Feel better!” Tommy says, and you give him a grateful nod as Joel’s hand settles on the small of your back and he steers you out of the stuffy bar and into the cool summer night.

Katydids sing in the dark as you and Joel stroll down the street to your house tucked at the end of the cul-de-sac. Fireflies light the asphalt. An owl hoots overhead. 

“You really feelin' bad?” He asks quietly, once you’ve reached your front porch. 

"No. I just wanted to get out of there."

He hums. "Are you still mad at me?"

“I dunno.” Not really. You’re just pissed you were interrupted. Still, he needs to feel some remorse for his radio silence, so you don’t elaborate.

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely as you unlock your door. “Really I am. There’s no excuse. I should’a made the time to at least tell you what was goin’ on. I’m sorry.” 

You open your door and pause in the warm light from the foyer. “You can make it up to me by fucking me.” 

“As good as that sounds, I wanna make sure you’re okay. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You sigh. Ugh. Usually Joel’s fine with pushing things to the side. Bottling things up. He does it a lot. You sort of wish he would just drop it right now. You don't want to deal with the weird feeling in your chest that's been here all night. But he’s looking at you, waiting.

"I just thought...Maybe you were done with this. With me."

He frowns. “Hell no. I like what we have. I don’t want it to stop anytime soon." He steps forward, wraps his arms around your waist to pull you in.

"Me too..." You murmur, hands drifting up his back, pressing him in close for a hug. "I'm glad you're safe."

He chuckles. “Course I'm safe. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno," you say into his shoulder. "I just worry about you.”

"Yeah? You worry 'bout me a lot?"

You pinch his stomach playfully. "You're my best friend. Of course I do."

He pulls away a bit, huffs a tiny laugh. But it's not like his usual laughs. It's forced. Quiet. "Right."

You're a little too drunk to ask about it, and still horny enough to want to get things back on track, so you look into his dark eyes, smiling coyly, lip tucked between your teeth as you roll your hips into him. "Now that I forgive you…think you can fuck me now? Cuz it’s been way too fucking long.”

He groans softly, yes ma'am, and presses his lips against yours.

Okay, yes, he’s your friend but you also kind of kiss sometimes.

You tug him inside the house and shut the door, your mouth still latched to his. The moment the door snicks into the frame, he’s got you pressed against it, his hand rucking up your dress to bunch it around your hips while his tongue dips into your mouth.

You swiftly unbutton his flannel, sliding it down his arms. Your hands find his chest, fingernails scraping over his pecs, through his dark chest hair that thins out the further south it goes, but thickens again into a happy trail that disappears below his waistband.

Fuck, he’s so…

His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, a repeat of earlier, and you break the kiss to drop your head against the door with a thump when his fingers find your clit again.

“Jesus, you’re so wet.”

…And there he goes.

“Three fucking weeks, Joel,” you bite, though the end of his name melts into a moan when his fingers sink inside you again. 

“Didn’t know you were keepin’ count.” 

“Fuck—“ He quirks a finger. “S-shut up.”

He huffs out an amused chuckle into your cheek, trailing kisses from your jaw down your throat. His teeth sink in, and his mouth suctions over your skin, delivering a beautiful little mark on your flesh that he kisses gently after. It drives you fucking crazy.

“I’ll shut up if you let me taste you,” he mumbles against your skin, his voice vibrating pleasantly through you.

Your pussy pulses around his fingers, your clit honest to god throbbing against his palm, and now he knows you really want him to eat you out, especially when you follow up with an enthusiastic nod.

Joel slips his hand out from beneath your panties to lift you up around his hips and carry you to your bedroom. He plops you on the edge of your mattress and immediately sinks to his knees on the floor, eye level with your cunt.

“God, been thinkin’ about you for weeks. Missed this pussy so goddamn much,” he says, leaning in to kiss your inner thigh.

His lips trail down your leg as he pulls your panties off and stuffs them into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Let’s see how good I did,” he says, pulling your legs apart to get a good look at what a mess he’s made of you. He hums appreciatively at the sight of your glistening folds, licking his lips. That enough has you clenching around nothing, fingers tightening in the bed covers. 

“You seein’ what I do to you? No one else can make you this wet, ain’t that right?”

“You’re such an arrogant ass,” you growl.

He just smirks as he lowers himself again between your legs. He puffs a breath of cool air along your slit before listing over to kiss your other inner thigh, grinning when you groan in frustration.

“Joel, please.”

“So impatient.”

“I’ve waited thr—“

“Three weeks, yeah I know.”

He presses forward to lick a hot stripe up your folds with the flat of his tongue, and your hand flies to his hair, anchoring him closer to your pussy.

“S-shit,” you whimper. 

He lightly drags a finger along your slit, the slight pressure fucking agonizing. 

“Joel.” You sort of want to scream at him. He’s been teasing you all fucking night. 

“Alright,” he laughs and allows you to guide his head back down until the bridge of his scarred nose is pressed into your folds and his tongue is prodding at your entrance. 

He takes his sweet time unraveling you, alternating between licking into you and sucking your sensitive clit into his mouth. You can’t say much, reduced to wordless cries with each movement of his mouth. 

It’s messy, sloppy, but you like it. You like seeing the wetness on his face when he pulls back for air. You like the way his hair is pulled in all different directions, all because of your greedy hands. You like the way he has to push one of his hands down to palm himself in his jeans, just to relieve some of that pressure.

He clearly loves eating you out. And you very much love that he loves it.

But you’re getting kind of desperate. Kind of really want to cum. So…

Your hips begin to grind against his face as he sucks on your clit, and he seems to receive the message because he slides two thick fingers into you and starts to eat you out in earnest, delighting with a low moan when your legs clench around his head, the scruffy hairs of his beard tickling your inner thighs. 

“Holy shit, Joel.”

“Mm—“ He moans.

Your foot keeps slipping off the bed, so Joel’s large, warm hand curls around your calves to situate your legs over his shoulders. This new position grants you more leverage to chase after your orgasm with steady rolls of your hips into his hungry mouth.

He sucks your clit as he thrusts his fingers into you at a brutal pace, hitting your g-spot that has you jerking against him with each stroke. His hand plants on your abdomen to hold you down, stilling your desperate movements.

You’re getting close, the pressure building and magnifying as Joel moans against your pussy, the vibrations driving you insane.

“Fuck, Joel—hah-“

“Mm.”

“Jesus, Joel—fuck—oh my—hnhh—”

“Mhm.” He encourages.

It shatters in you, white hot and falling over you, a waterfall of warmth. Your body straightens stiff as a board, back arching off the bed, quivering as you cum against Joel’s mouth, your slick running down his chin and catching in his beard.

You try to push him away, your orgasm overwhelming on its own, but Joel hates it when you do that, wants to make sure you really feel it, so he presses himself back in to lick and guide you through it. Drawing it out.

It has your head falling back, eyes rolling into your skull, mouth dropping open on a satisfied moan. 

He only gives you a short amount of time to recover while he pulls his jeans and briefs off. You tug your sundress over your head. And then he’s rising up to meet you again, scooting you back until your head almost brushes the headboard. He sinks his thick cock into you as he presses his lips against yours, muffling your surprised and needy moan.

And then he reaches up, his large hand gripping the headboard as your legs wrap around his waist, and then he’s fucking you in earnest, each snap of his hips sheathing his cock fully inside you in a desperate rhythm.

And all you can do is lay there and take it and fall apart.

“S-shit, baby,” he grunts. “That’s it.”

“Oh God…” You whine. 

Your hands scrabble for purchase on his back, your blunt nails scratching up his sun-freckled skin, feeling the muscles bunch and shift as he holds the thumping headboard steady, his knuckles turning white as he grips it. His other hand finds its spot next to your head, holding himself up as he obliterates your pussy. 

He prepared you well for him, but you’re still stretched so full, the breaths knocked from your lungs with each thrust of his cock into you. His pelvic bone brushes your clit with the roll of his hips, the uneven pressure dragging you closer and closer to that metaphoric cliff.

And his moans certainly help, too. He’s not quiet, between strings of praises are ragged moans and tiny whimpers. It only turns you on more.

“Fuck, Joel, can’t leave me without this again.”

“Trust me baby,” he groans. “Another damn week and I wouldn’t’ve survived.”

His hand releases the headboard, slides down to tangle in your hair. He tugs your head back, and molds your lips to his. Teeth nipping your bottom lip before his tongue dives into your mouth. You moan appreciatively.

You can hardly breathe, but god it’s perfect. This moment is so fucking perfect. You want to take a picture of it. Frame it on your damn wall. 

You’re sure it looks like he’s fucking eating you right now, but you like it. You want him to consume you. Want him to be yours… Want to be his.

Stop. He’s your best friend.

He pulls back to lick a stripe from the corner of your lips along your jaw before sucking marks and kisses down your throat, his hips still thrusting into you steadily. His hand squeezes your breast, rolls your nipple between his index and thumb.

“Oh…oh—“ God… 

“You close baby girl?”

“Fuck, ye-yes… Yes need you…”

“N-need me to help you cum?”

He’s losing it. You’re losing it. Fuck please!

“Please, Joel—“

He pulls back enough to watch you, lips pink and puffy and kissed the fuck out. His eyes drift to where he’s thrusting inside you, dick slick with your arousal, sheathing itself inside you with wet, fucking nasty sounds.

“God, you're perfect. So fuckin' perfect...” 

His hand drifts down and you tremble, brows screwing together as his thumb fiddles with your clit.

White hot arousal pools in your core, unrelenting. Unstoppable. You feel like a damn metamorphic rock. Becoming something new under all this heat and pressure. 

It crests, crashing, filling your insides with hot magma as your mouth drops open on a silent scream, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy clamps down on Joel’s cock repeatedly.

He follows right behind you, painting your insides with thick, hot cum, leaking out of your entrance over his cock and down your ass cheeks.

You hiss when he pulls out, feeling empty. He gathers the cum that leaked out with his thumb and pushes it back into your quivering hole. 

“So goddamn pretty…” he murmurs. “Look so pretty with my cum inside you…”

Friends. You’re friends. 

So why the hell does this feel like so much more? Why is it that you’re so turned on by him practically claiming you?

You’re still trying to catch your breath when he lays down beside you, brushing your hair out of your sweaty face. “Feel better now? Not so mad anymore?”

“Mhm,” you hum happily.

He leans in, presses his lips against yours softer, slower…meaningfully. You kiss him back, tugging him close. His arm snakes around your waist, tugging you into him. You're pretty sure normal friends with benefits don't do this. But you and Joel have never been normal.

In those long three weeks you had started to worry maybe he'd never come back. It fucking scared you. Now, you're unsure you ever want to let go.

When he pulls back his eyebrows are furrowed, lips drawn in a frown. He looks concerned. "What's wrong?"

"What?"

"You're cryin'..." He wipes your teary eyes with his thumb.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You scramble to wipe your eyes, sniff. Smile at him. Reassure. Act normal. "Oh, no-I'm fine. Just... think I'm still drunk."

"Somethin' going on? You looked like you were gonna cry back at the Bison, too. Did I do somethin'?"

You shake your head, squeeze his arm. "No, of course not. I'm just being weird. Tired, I think.”

"You sure?"

"Mhm.”

"You can tell me anythin’, y'know?"

What? Like I think I'm in love with you? Fat chance.

"I know. Everything's fine."

You’re such a damn liar.

He can see right through you, but he lets it go. "Okay. If you're sure." He leans in to press a kiss to your jaw. Friend. Friend friend friend. "I'd love to stay but I gotta go. Ellie's probably wonderin' where I'm at."

Joel sits up, swings his legs over the edge and stands. Grabs his jeans, pulls them up. His belt buckle jangles as he slides it through the loops.

“I really did miss you, by the way,” he says, looking down at you. “You. Not just the sex.”

His words warm your cool, exposed body. Fuel the burning the realization, I love you. “I missed you, too.”

He turns to leave, and you see the fabric poking out of his back pocket.

"You still have my panties."

He smirks. "Guess you'll hav'ta come over to get them back."

You smile back, blushing. “Looking forward to it.”

He leans down to kiss your head, "Night, angel."

"Night," you say faintly.

Only when your front door slams shut do you allow yourself to give into the fantasies. To imagine what it’d be like to call him yours. To not keep things a secret. To tell people you're together. To be his.

Damnit, you’re in trouble.

[rebornofstars]

SEPFEMBER 2024 PROMPTS LIST

HERE WE ARE! AT LONG LAST! THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN (HOPEFULLY) WAITING FOR! GIRL MONTH!

I honestly can't believe this is actually happening. This event was a shower thought a few months ago.

Here's a recap of the event: to participate, make at least one fanwork of any variety during September that features a woman or women from the Zelda franchise as the main character/s. All Linksmeets are welcome in this challenge, as well as general LoZ fans!

Before I drop the prompts list for those who are looking for a little direction, I'd like to mention that I have made an AO3 COLLECTION FOR THIS EVENT. It's open and unmoderated so you can add your works to it freely. And if you post on tumblr, please tag #sepfember !! I'll be scrolling through the tag every day looking for things to reblog and gush about 👀

If you have any questions at all about this event, or you want to chat about it, my askbox is open! I will also respond to comments and reblogs of this post.

Now, onto the prompts. Disclaimer: you DON'T have to use all/any of these prompts, or only create things for certain characters on their featured day. This list is just a GUIDE for those who want it. If you have other plans, go with your heart!

At the end of the day, this is a celebration, and all that matters is that you have fun. I hope some of you will join me next month in giving our girls some time in the spotlight, but if you can't, that's okay! There's no pressure! This is just a passion project of mine, really, and I am overjoyed that people are interested 💛💛💛

(apologies in advance for the terrible quality of these pics and the equally terrible commentary. i thought it would be funny. also, i've never had to come up with a prompts list before and it shows.)

DAY 1: SKYWARD SWORD ZELDA + PURPOSE

(we start at the beginning of course 💛)

DAY 2: MARIN + WASH

(it was SO hard to find a screenshot of her that didn't have link in it. they're both cute but this ain't about him.)

DAY 3: MEDLI + GIFT

(i didn't know she played the harp until i saw this screenshot! i obviously have a lot to learn.)

DAY 4: TWILIGHT PRINCESS ZELDA + FREEZE

(how creepy does she look here?! so awesome)

DAY 5: HILDA + GHOST

(SUCH a good character for real. she has depth!!!! she has a thematic purpose!!!)

DAY 6: URBOSA + LOSE

(two words: LIGHTNING POWERS ⚡⚡⚡)

DAY 7: SPIRIT TRACKS ZELDA + MISTAKE

(babygirl you are 2 entire pixels.)

DAY 8: FI + ORDER

(oh she is everything to me)

DAY 9: MIDNA + SWORD

(she looks so soulful right now)

DAY 10: HYRULE WARRIORS ZELDA + SUMMON

(what a FIRE camera angle??? her armour is so impractically attached but SHE HAS A SWORD‼️)

DAY 11: GODDESSES OF HYRULE + EYES

(hylia, din, nayru, farore, the list goes on...)

DAY 12: ZORA PRINCESSES + TRUST

(mipha, ruto... poor suckers... it can't be fun, falling for link...)

DAY 13: OCARINA OF TIME ZELDA | SHEIK + FATE

(note: I personally hc this character as a trans man, but since this isn't explicitly confirmed in-game and might not be shared with everyone, I've given them a celebration day anyway. you are free to do what you wish.)

DAY 14: MALON + GUARD

(she is adorable. look at her)

DAY 15: IMPA + BOUND

(HOTTEST MOST SEXY MOST BADASS WOMAN IN THE FRANCHISE ‼️‼️‼️ I LOVE YOU IMPA YOU ARE PERFECT. SHUT UP I DEFINITELY DON'T PLAY FAVOURITES—)

DAY 16: FOUR SWORDS ADVENTURES ZELDA + PORTAL

(i loved her in the fsa manga. she's barely in it but STILL. go read it.)

DAY 17: FAIRIES + TIRED

(the great fairies, navi, ciela, tatl, proxi...)

DAY 18: TETRA + LEGACY

(isn't she KICKASS?!)

DAY 19: EPONA + BONE

(our lovely loyal girl 🥰)

DAY 20: A LINK BETWEEN WORLDS ZELDA + HOME

(SHE IS SUCH A GOOD PARALLEL TO HILDA PLEASSSSSE)

DAY 21: SARIA + WISH

(a classic character! isn't this picture so peaceful)

DAY 22: BOTW/AOC/TOTK ZELDA + PEACE

(SHE IS EVERYTHING TO ME. SCREAMING CLAWING CRYING. MY DARLING, YOUR FANARTISTS WERE THE ONES TO DRAW ME INTO THE ZELDA FANDOM. I HOPE I CAN RETURN THE FAVOUR ONE DAY)

DAY 23: CIA + LANA + STUDY

(technically, she's one person. between the two of them they certainly only wear enough clothes for one person... )

DAY 24: ARYLL + HUG

(sister to the hero! but what's her story?)

DAY 25: ECHOES OF WISDOM ZELDA + ARREST

(YEAHHHHHHHHH GIRL MONTH GIRL DAY GIRL GAME!!!)

DAY 26: CD-i ZELDA + HOLIDAY

(hehheehehehe. i bet you weren't expecting her. neither was i tbh)

DAY 27: PURAH + FIRE

(SHE'S CLEVER! I LOVE CLEVER WOMEN!)

DAY 28: ILIA + ERUNE + MEND

(listen. i know erune is a very niche character - she literally only exists in the four swords manga - but consider. i love her)

DAY 29: ALTTP/OOS/OOA/LA ZELDA + MISSING

(she has no canon personality. you know what that means. get the building equipment out fellas)

DAY 30: LINKLE + FAREWELL

(and here we are - LAST DAY!)

THE END! YAY! I CAN'T WAIT FOR SEPTEMBER - CAN YOU?

[idkfitememate]

Hello!! I've been here since your first creation, Boar! Creator. And I'm thinking about something.

What about Squirrel! Creator 🐿️

Like, squirrels in Genshin really have no fear, all they think about are pinecones. Many times I approached them, but they didn't run away like other animals, they just stood there, near their pinecones.

So I imagine a character who has a hat, like Mona or Venti walking in the forest and a pinecone gets stuck in their hat. Then a squirrel followed them all day, leaving them confused, not knowing why the squirrel was following them. And what the worse was that the squirrel had no fear, they even followed them into the city!

Mona Encounter

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : Gn! Squirrel Reader x Mona

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 649

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : fluff & crack

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Mmmmm big bushy tails the floofa :3

Future note: Mona has a house… not right now she don’t-

Mona was a woman of business.

Booming business?.. Admittedly no, but business nonetheless.

Spending her nights charting the stars and giving out fortunes to those brave enough to handle her sharp tongue, she was more than busy in her life, even if she was just barely getting by.

… Where does she keep all her astrology books, tools and otherwise when she has nowhere to stay? Up your ass that’s where.

One busy night of watching the stars in a forest had worn the poor girl down, and the grass was so soft, and the gently breeze that rustled the leaves was so nice and oh… she’s asleep.

So deep in sleep, she didn’t notice the pinecone that fell into her hat.

Nor did she notice the you who was perched on a branch above, salivating at the mere thought of that now slightly forbidden cone because it fell on a human, and you told yourself not to go near them, if not for self preservation than just to not interact with them.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t ever want to interact with them, it was an inane fear that something might happen so on so forth, especially since you found out that you were in SAGAU. Fuck that chance. Trees, apples and pinecones is enough for you.

But this… this chance… fuck it it was to much to bear. You jumped right on into the hat, curling around the beloved pinecone. Nothing else mattered now except the piney scent and the cold comforting darkness of this idiot’s hat.

Fuck yeah.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🎂🍩🍰୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

When morning came, Mona opened her eyes with a groan and popped her back considering the awful position she slept in. She blinked blearily as she took in the morning air. Feeling around, she grabbed her hat that had fallen off her head, not even noticing the extra weight, and plopped that sucker right on her head, somehow not even feeling your tiny little shivering feet.

Oh shit you fell asleep in her hat and now she was standing up. You sat as physically still as you could as you felt the somehow oblivious woman rose and begin walking.

The swaying motions wasn’t very nice on your stomach, ears twitching and eyes constantly moving around the space to try and find any kind of exit.

For a moment everything stopped, and your tail hitched and breath stilled. Suddenly, a hand reached up into the hat and in a panic you lightly jumped onto the fabric of the back of the hat, staring as the hand scratched the spot you once were and reach around a bit, finding the pinecone you once held and threw it out the hat, muttering some random stuff that was muffled to your ears.

After a few moments of stillness the astronomer was on the move again. And you were in her hat. Trapped. Alone.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍡🍮🍪୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

City noises were weird when you’re hearing them from inside a hat.

That was your deduction as Mona walked through what you could only assume to be Mondstadt. The hustle and bustle and overall joyfulness permeated even the fabric of the hat you were currently trapped in and made life just the slightest bit brighter, shocker.

Mona was just walking around as far as you could tell, no real destination in mind. But, you were hoping for her to stop soon, your paws hurt a little bit from their harsh grip on her hat and wanted a rest. Issue being, of course, you couldn’t rest on her because then she’d find out you were on her head for Archons knows how long.

The space you inhabited was just barely lit from the sun. The back of the hat behind you moving around due to a slight wind.

As the woman you were riding on continued further into the city, the only thing you could think was:

“Oh Fuck.”

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I was writing this years old when I found out Genshin has squirrels-

Also yes I purposely left off like that for requests/future stuff to pick up on lmao I’m sorry-

[writteninlunarlight-years]

How about the "there is only one bed" trope with our lovely Hazbin Boys; Alastor, Husk, Angel Dust, and Lucifer? <3

Scenarios

I made these two parts because I love all the Hazbin boys, and I am a sucker for this trope. I didn't add pentious because I am not confident writing for him. Val is well, Val. Pt1 Pt2

Adam

It was a fucking shit show trying to find an excellent place to stay on this side of heaven. The big man upstairs decides to pay a visit, and Adam just has to see him in person, as if he hadn't seen him twelve million times before. Originally Lute was going to go with him however a situation occurred with the exorcists, you personally think that is a lie but so be it. Being Lute's little sister and third in command over the executioners, you got the job of babysitting Adam.

It wasn't that you disliked Adam for any reason towards you; Lute made it very clear when you joined the battalion that you were off limits; he could flirt, sleep with, and kill anyone he wanted to. Just not her baby sister. So Adam never really got to hang around you much, probably cause he was so afraid of your older sister. However, unbeknownst to you, Adam had a thing for you; though he knew you were not some innocent flower by any means, he knew that touching the forbidden had its perks; I mean, hell, Eve did it.

Sighing, you found one hotel still with a vacant sign; you thought traveling with the first man meant you had ease of access everywhere fucking wrong. Still, you walked in and managed to book the room. The poor elderly angel, though, was so difficult to speak to; you were glad that you went in, not Adam; otherwise, he would have been a dick. Grabbing your bag and motioning him to follow you two heads up to the room. "Yeah, she said it was pretty big, I mean, it should be for two beds." Adam pouted, "Aw babe, you don't want to share a bed with me? Now is your chance to get in my pants while Lute is gone." You scoffed and opened the door to your hotel for the night. "Yeah no not only do I not wan't in your pants I also don't....wan't..........death......Fuck me."

Adam laughed and walked in behind you, "What? You just told me not to fuck you, babe can't be acting all coy with me." He finally looked up and saw why you stalled. He is so dead when they get home; he should have listened to Lute and booked a room in advance. You sighed and walked all the way in. There was a couch. At least you could take it. You were smaller.

Carefully, you started to make the couch into a makeshift bed. "Hey toots, no, none of that. You get the bed bitch. I am not going to be the first dick that made a woman sleep on a fucking couch."

You looked at him, surprised at the offer. You nodded your head and went to clean up for bed. As you slid into the sheets, you saw Adam in his PJs, trying to get comfy. You sighed softly and rolled over, trying to ignore him, yet something pulled at your heartstrings. Lute didn't have to know. You rolled back over and saw the uncomfortable man, "Um, hey, Adam, come get in bed with me." You could have worded that better, but you were tired. You managed to miss the blush on Adam's face as he heard you.

"Yeah, can't get enough of the dickmaster, huh," He dodged a pillow attack from you as he made his way over. Gently, he placed the pillow between you two and climbed in. Lute didn't have to know.

Come morning, no pillow was between you two, your head resting gently in the crook of his neck, his arm wrapped around your waist while his other above his head. You wrapped one arm around him while the other pulled to your chest. You both had slept through the numerous phone calls from Lute and the meeting with God. Adam didn't mind; you deserved the break, and it felt so nice to finally hold you close to him.

Alastor

Charlie sent you and Alastor on a mission to help gain more sinners. Why it had to be on the other side of Pentagram City near Vox's tower was beyond you. You loved Charlie like a sister, though, so you wouldn't fight, and you may have some underlying feelings for a Radio Host that may have swayed your decision to go along with him.

After a hard day of recruiting and passing out flyers, Alastor was some help. Seeing as all of Vox's cronies tried to fight you both on each street corner, it was finally time to call it a night. You were eagerly waiting for Charlie's call, looking at your phone; she was supposed to book your room for you guys out here. After the extermination, Alastor was still recovering, so his shadow teleports weren't the best idea, lest you both be stranded in the shadow realm.

Your phone finally rang to a cheerful Charlie on the other end. She directed you two to the hotel and asked you questions about the recruitment process. As you two talked, the hotel came into view; you sat off in the lobby, talking with Charlie about the hotel as Alastor got your room key. Soon, he stood before you and motioned you to follow. "Do tell Charlie that if she was going to talk to you all night on the phone, she should have been the one to come, not me." You pouted at that. Had Alastor had a bad time with you? That was far from the truth, though. Alastor had a great time showing off his impressive powers to you even though he was still injured, yet he was jealous that Charlie was taking all your time. "S-Sorry, Al. I think Charlie was just concerned. She wanted to make sure we got to the room safely." All you got in return was a slight hum and static. You sighed, and Charlie tried to cheer you up on the phone.

Alastor entered the room first and halted, eyes wide, "Fuck." You had only ever heard him cuss a handful of times, and without static, too, it must have been horrible. Yet, as you hear Charlie's slightly high-pitched laughter, you know she is up to something. Quickly, your phone was snatched from your hand, static buzzing. "CHARLIE WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING THERE IS ONLY ONE BED."

As Alastor yelled at her, you winced. Damn, was it that bad to be stuck with you? You pushed your way into the room and looked around. It was cozy, that was for sure, only one bed. As you finished, Alastor hovered over you, and you started to make a pallet on the floor to sleep on. "And what do you by chance think you are doing my little doe?"

You blushed at the pet name and shrugged. You made your way to the bathroom to change and take a quick shower, not wanting to ruin Alastor's night any more than you had. Once you were done and walking out, however, Alastor was in red PJs, and your pallet was gone. "Hey, where did my bed go, Al? I worked hard on that!"

Static buzzed softer as he sighed, "You are not sleeping on the floor, my dear. Now come get in bed. I made a pillow wall; it is safe."

He sounded sad about it, but you didn't want to trick yourself into thinking there was anything more between you two. You nodded softly and curled on your side, gently drifting to sleep. You could have sworn that as the dreams started coming, the pillow wall behind you disappeared.

Come morning, you were safely held against Alastor, your back against his firm chest, and one arm caged you protectively against him. His other arm lay under the pillow, probing his head up as he slept soundly, inhaling your scent. As for you, the blissfully unaware dreamer, your hands were cradled against you, and you slowly pushed yourself closer into the radiating warmth behind you. Alastor smiled a genuine smile softly; he could definitely get used to this for you.

Angel Dust

Val had sent Angel to a bad part of town for a shoot. You, being the caring, adoring friend you are, decided to go with him just to help make sure no fans or crazies attack him. You had gone to plenty of Angels shoots and even was propositioned by Val many times. Yet you always turned him down and showed your distaste for the moth. He always said that you would come around. How about not. Instead, you were in love with your best friend... cliche, but he was terrific.

Angel put on his robe and walked up to you. You had been spaced out watching the shoot, thinking about the handsome spider before you. As he snapped his fingers in front of your face, you finally reconnected with the world and looked up at him. "What? Sorry, Angel. What is going on?"

He laughs softly and helps you stand, your legs feeling like jelly from sitting on the sound box for hours. Falling into him, he laughed and helped you right again, a soft dusting of pink across his cheeks. "Ya fine toots, shoots ova' let's head out to the hotel."

You nodded, grabbed your bags, and followed him to the limo that would take you to the hotel. Val hadn't known you would come on this trip, but Val always had Vox book double rooms for the whole crew on far-off shoots. The only person who got a single room was Val himself. Sighing you looked out the window as the ritzy hotel came in to view. "20$ when Val sees me, he will ask me to go to his room again."

Angel laughed and shook his head, "Oh no, Val isn't here; this was an exclusive shoot for a customer. So it's just the cast and crew and you."

You blushed. How did you not notice Val wasn't there? You were so stupid. You followed the crew into the building, staying close to Angel as the key cards were passed out. Your room number was in the 9's; it was one of the lovely posh rooms. Okay, Vox, you did something good for a change. You rode the elevator up and talked with the others as they reached their floors. A comfortable silence filled the small space when it was just you and Angel.

At the ding, you two walked to the room, entering though you both found the problem....it was a sweetheart's room. This was Val's standard room. "Damn toots, there's only one bed. I will go ask for another room, don't worry,"

You grabbed his arm, not even thinking, "No, it's okay. It would come out of your pay, too. We have been best friends forever, Angel. We can share the bed." You gulped saliva building in your mouth. He gave you a soft smile and a nod.

"Alright, no funny business," he leaned down close to your ear. "Unless you want there to be." You scoffed and smacked his arm, heading to the bathroom first to clean up. Angel smirked; he was excited to finally have this chance. He got the bed situated to try and make it more comfortable for you.

As you exited, you thanked him for the consideration and let him shower and clean up. You got comfy on the bed and closed your eyes. You slowly drifted off to sleep, exhausted from all the running around. When Angel returned, he smiled softly and climbed into bed next to you. Gently, to not wake you, he placed his head on your chest, listening to your heart.

When morning came, Angel clung to you with both sets of arms, holding on to you, his head nuzzling your chest and neck. You had one arm protectively around him and the other in his hair. The rest of the crew left hours ago, but you two stayed tangled in the sheets, having a sweet, cuddly morning.

[darlingshane]

Todo Tuyo (All Yours)

Pairing: Criminal!Shane Walsh x Spanish!Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Some bonds are unable to explain, and yours with Shane has always been a mystery. No matter how many times he's hurt you, you always ended up taking back his sorry ass. This time, after three years gone, when he comes back, you're married and pregnant. And not even that can challenge that bond.

Content/Warnings: 18+, Explicit, Heavy Angst, Smut, Pregnancy Kink, Breeding Kink, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Vaginal Sex, Complicated Relationships, DV, Abuse, Mention of drugs and violence, bittersweet ending.

Word Count: 10.9k

— Read below or at AO3.

A/N: A few important things you should know before reading since I couldn't sum it all up:

— The DV and Abuse warnings don't apply to Shane. — Reader's husband is the abuser. — This is kind of a Dark!Shane version, but he's soft for reader, I promise! — I wrote this as a Spanish!Speaking Reader. — Shane is fluent in Spanish. He learned for her. — I tried to keep Spanish down to a few sentences only, but I translated them all in (bold, italic parenthesis like this). — I won't be translating however all the pet names, just when I need to. But for reference – Shane calls reader 'Corazón' (it means heart, it's the equivalent of Sweetheart) and Reader calls Shane 'Cielo' (it means sky, and it's just like Sweetheart or Honey.)

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You only cracked the door as far as the chain on the lock let you. Through it, you could only see half of your ex-boyfriend's face shadowed under a worn-out baseball cap from Jim’s Body Shop. A handful of curls stuck out on the sides. His chin had a nice shadow from a three-day stubble, and the bags below his eyes gave away that he had been up for longer than he should have. He was still the hottest motherfucker you’ve ever laid your eyes on. No matter how much time had passed since the last time you saw him, Shane Walsh aged just like wine and all you wanted to do is pour yourself a cup of that.

That’s how strong was his hold on you.

You didn't have to be a genius to see that he wanted something from you. That was his MO, he only showed up when he was in trouble and had no one to turn to but poor old sucker you, who never had the guts to kick him to the curb.

“I need a place to stay for a couple of nights,” he said under a breath.

“Things have changed. You can’t stay here this time.”

“Look, I know it's been a while but–”

“A while?” you scoffed. “It's been three years, Shane.”

“I know that. But I don't really have anywhere else to go right now. I drove all the way from Wyoming just to see you. One night. That’s all I'm asking, Corazón. I won't get in your hair. I promise.”

You hated saying no to him, even after all this time. Even after all the times he's let you down, you couldn’t stand seeing him hurt with nowhere to go, but this time there was nothing you could do to help him. Except…

“I could get you a room at The Sennott for half off. If you need money…”

“No, keep your money. I'll work something out. Could I…”

“What?”

“Before I go, you think I could have a cup of coffee with you?”

You shook your head as his face leaned closer to the door frame.

“C'mon, baby, just one for old times,” his plush lips barely mumbled.

You caught a glimpse of those big, sad puppy eyes of his he pulled off so well. Whether it was genuine, it didn’t matter. The fact is that it worked like a charm and against your better judgment, you sighted, unlatched the chain and welcomed him into your home.

After all that time gone, you still had a soft stop from him, and you doubt that’ll ever change. Alas, he’d always be the man you’ve loved the most. That sucks for you and for him. Cause he has a tendency to disappear on you when you most need him, and after the last time, you decided that you wouldn't be waiting for him anymore.

“Wow, you’re pregnant,” taking off his cap, his eyes grew wide when he stepped inside the house.

“No me digas.” (You don’t say.)

It was hard to miss. You were seven months along already and couldn’t even believe it happened so fast.

Your palm drew the curve of your rounded belly over the t-shirt you were wearing. The hem barely touched the top of your thighs, and that’s where he looked next.

“You always had beautiful legs, Corazón,” he smirked, placing the backpack he was carrying on a chair.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” you turned around and thought about all those times your thighs were wrapped around his head while he ate your pussy.

“It never did,” Shane scoffed, fixing his messed up curls.

You picked up the carafe from the machine, filled a mug with coffee without even bothering with heating it up.

“Five minutes. He’ll be here soon,” you said firmly, handing over the mug.

“I’ve always liked it cold anyway,” he lifted the cup up to his lips as you leaned on the counter. “You’re not having any?”

“It’s not good for the baby.”

“Oh, right.”

“What have you been up to, anyway?”

“Do you really wanna know?”

“Not really,” you crossed your arms and paused. “I guess I thought I deserved to know why you didn’t come back when you said you would. I saw Rick a few months ago and said he hadn’t heard of you in a while… led me to believe you were dead.”

“Shit happens.”

“Shit happens? Me lo merezco por preguntar,” you couldn’t hide the frustration in your tone. (I deserve that for asking.)

“I thought you’d be over me.”

“I am.”

“Ain't seem like it.”

“Mira, cabrón,” you showed him the ring around your finger, and pointed once more at your pregnant stomach. “I’m completely over you.” (Look, bastard.)

“That doesn’t prove shit. Looks like you wanted to one-up me, and move on as fast as possible so next time I’d show up, you’d have an excuse to throw me away.”

“Yeah, maybe. Doesn’t mean that I’m not over you.”

“You were always a terrible liar, you know that? Do you even love the poor sucker?”

“Why do you care?”

“Cause we both know, that no matter how much you hate me, you’d never love anyone as you love me.”

“That’s bullshit, Shane.”

“Sabes que es verdad, Corazón. You also know that no man would ever care for you like I do.” (You know that’s true, sweetheart.)

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be leaving every five minutes. You think you can just come here like nothing happened?”

“It's worked before.”

“It’s too late now.”

“Is it?”

He took one more sip from his coffee before placing the mug on the breakfast bar and going around it to have you closer.

As your stare fell to the floor, he noticed the bruise on your temple.

“Hey, what happened here?” he lifted his hand to your face and gently touched it.

“Nothing,” you swatted his hand away, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I hit my head with the cabinet last night.”

“Did he hit you?” His brow knitted.

“I told you. It was the cabinet.”

“Hey, mírame,” he placed a finger under your chin, and tilted up to capture your watery eyes. “Dime la verdad. ¿Te ha puesto la mano encima?” (Hey, Look at me. // Tell me the truth. Did he lay his hand on you?)

“Tienes que irte.” (You gotta go.)

“¿De qué tienes miedo, Corazón?” (What are you afraid of, Sweetheart?)

“No tengo miedo de nada… You just can’t be here when he comes back.” (I’m not afraid of anything…)

“Alright, I’ll go if that’s what you want, but I need to do something first,” he lifted his hand up to your face and framed your chin.

“Shane… don’t…”

“Sh, sh, it’s okay,” he said under a breath, placing his thumb gently on your lips.

“Please,” You weakly pleaded, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to stop what was about to happen.

His tongue swiped across his lips, and the next second they were gently pressed against yours.

Your eyes welled up and quickly shed a few tears upon that first initial contact. It didn’t take much to get you under his spell once more, for the umpteenth time. No matter how many times you’ve tried to convince yourself how fucking toxic he is, you fell for it every damn time like an idiot. It didn’t matter that you were married either, as bad as it sounds, what you and Shane had was something that couldn’t be stopped by any means. Only death could put an end to it. It didn’t help either that you weren’t on the best of terms with your husband either, so guilt went out the door the moment you let Shane in.

Unable to pull away, you let him deepen the kiss and invade your mouth with his tongue. He went slow and tender. That’s how it always started, he’d play on your good side, and once your defenses were down he’d go in full swing. He’d breathe in your air, soak in the taste of your mouth, take all the space until you were left breathless.

You linked your arms around his neck, and kissed him back, following the sweet undoing of his familiar lips as they fused tightly with yours.

When he tried to press himself closer to your body, your pregnant belly got on the way.

One of his palms tenderly landed on top of your stomach and drew the big curve that was keeping him away from you. Your heart fluttered as the small gesture.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are like this?” he broke the kiss, and looked down at his hand, while your head responded with a faint shake. “Eres preciosa, mi vida. I’d’ve put a baby in you before if that’s what you wanted.” (You’re gorgeous, my life.)

“I know, that’s why I never asked,” you placed your palm on top of his roughed-up knuckles. “Have you beaten up someone?”

“Something like that.”

“You’ll never change. Will you?”

“I could if you ask me.”

“You are who you are, Cielo. I can’t ask you that, and you can’t change for me.”

“Cielo. I missed that,” his face beamed, framing your tummy with both hands and dipped to kiss your forehead.

“One more for the road?” You held his face, and it was you this time the one capturing his mouth.

You kissed him as if this was the last time you’d ever see him. You needed something to hold onto. It was so fucking naive of you that he’d ever change or settle. He had another mistress, one that had no lips or body or soul that led him to the darkest of paths far away from yours. It was impossible to compete with that. Until he was ready to let that life go, there’ll be no future between the two of you.

Maybe one day, you kept hoping as you basked in the swirl of his tongue. He was so fucking needy and hungry for you, it became desperate. He panted in your mouth, had trouble catching his breath cause all he wanted to do is swallow you all.

His hands moved to your ass, gripped hard at your flesh. You wish you had the power to stop all that at once. You could, but you wanted him just as much. Your hormones were not helping either. They only fueled the flame that was still clearly alive between you.

You moaned in his mouth, as the sloppy doing of his tongue drove you out of your mind. One of his hands reached further down your bottom, slipping between your thighs to feel the dampness pooling on your underwear. He always knew how to get you wet with just a kiss, but this was something else entirely. You were sopping wet. He could feel your juices seeping through the fabric.

“Say that you don’t want me again, I dare you,” he drawled with a shit-eating grin.

“Shut up. I need you to fuck me,” you sucked in his lower lip hard between your teeth, tugged it, and let it go when it was bright pink.

He scoffed at your request, not of mockery but pride of being still able to incite you like that.

“We don’t have much time. You have to do it fast,” you warned and turned around, pushing your panties down to your ankles as he undid his belt and fly.

“Your wish is my command, Corazón.”

Shane quickly pulled out his cock. It was half hard.

Biting on your lip, you glanced over your shoulder to see him jerking himself off up to a firmer completion.

You stuck your butt out and propped your forearms on the hard surface of the counter, as Shane guided his cock oh so carefully between your tender lips.

“I’ve never fucked a pregnant woman before. I don't wanna hurt you,” he confessed in your ear as his hardness stroked just a little further into your walls.

“Don’t overthink it. Baby’s safe. Just fuck me like always.”

“Hmm,” he followed your order and after a couple of experimental thrusts, the pace of his hips skyrocketed to a punishing level that felt like heaven and hell rising at the same time between your legs. He kept your hips locked in his hands, fingers digging in your flesh as you tucked one of your hands between your legs to feel your juices leaking all over your legs and floor. It was like nothing else you’ve ever felt. Most of it was partially hormonal, the other part was a mix of being touch-starved from your husband, and missing Shane, and his cock like crazy.

You rubbed your clit and all of a sudden one of his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt at the front to feel your breasts.

“Fuck, you’re so big and juicy, mi vida,” he grunted, squeezing your overly-sensitive, pebbled nipple that felt like a rock between his fingers. His face leaned closer to whisper in your ear. “I’d put another baby in there if I could. You’d like that?”

“God, I would love that,” you moaned, throwing your head back against his shoulder. “Come inside me, mi amor.”

“Yeah? Tell me you love me, and I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I love you, Cielo,” you gasped as he removed your hand from your pussy to replace it with his own. “I fucking love you and your big cock. Please. Hmm, fuck… fuck, fu…”

“There, mi vida.”

You felt your soul being pulled out of your body when the winning push forced a torrent of pleasure that traveled over your body as your opening contracted around his dick. You went up so high, so fast, you almost didn’t feel when he shot his load.

When he slipped out of you, you quickly went down to pull on your panties back in place. You almost felt embarrassed at the mess that you made on the floor and all over the cabinets below the counter if it didn’t feel that good.

“You really have to go now,” placing a palm on his chest, you glanced out the window, knowing that your husband wouldn’t take much longer now.

“I wanna see you again.”

Your eyes welled up. “We can’t do this again, Shane. If he finds out…”

“Please,” he pleaded over and over in between a trail of desperation and kisses peppered all over your face and neck. “I can’t live without you, mi amor, mi cielo, mi corazón. Te necesito.” (My love, my sky, my heart. I need you.)

“Shit. Alright,” you paused to collect your thoughts. “Come tonight. After ten. He’ll be gone the whole weekend. If there’s a truck on the driveway you turn away.”

“Got it.”

“Leave your car at the end of the street, you walk all the way here, and come at the back. ¿Entendido?” you pointed at the back door in your kitchen. (Got it?)

“Alto y claro.” (Loud and clear.)

“C’mere, Cielo,” you wrapped your arms tightly around him, and inhaled the smell of his neck for a long moment before sending him in his way.

You went into the bathroom to clean yourself up and saw his seed had dripped from your pussy to your panties. It was still warm and wet. You dabbed your fingers on it and shamelessly brought it to your lips to remember how his cum tasted. Then you pushed those same fingers into your opening to pick up the remains of you and him and licked every bit of it off your digits.

You hated that he had turned you into this mess of a woman that couldn’t ever resist him. Some bonds are unable to explain, and as much as you hated him, you loved him even more than you thought.

As you wiped your legs and changed your underwear, you felt the roaring of your husband’s truck pulling up the driveway before stomping into the house. You hurried to clean up the mess in the kitchen. You could tell it smelled like sex, but Clayton had been drinking as usual, and his senses were shot by the stench of alcohol.

You really knew how to pick them. First Shane, then Clayton. To be fair, Clay was a completely different person when you met him. It wasn’t until a few months ago that he lost his job, and you got pregnant that he started showing his true colors. While Shane, you always knew what you were in for cause he was always the same person from beginning to end, he never hid what he was.

Every other weekend Clay went to a cabin up in the mountains with a group of friends to hunt and whatever the hell they did cause hardly you ever saw anything brought back from those alleged hunting trips. He just brought more dirty clothes soaked in booze and muddied boots. Lately, you didn't even care. You actually preferred when he was gone cause it got him out of the house and those weekends away were the only times you could breathe.

For all that he had put you through, you didn’t feel guilty in the slightest from doing what you did with Shane. God knows Clay would probably be fucking around. You were sure of it cause one, he hand’t touch you since you told him you were pregnant; and two you weren't blind or deaf either, and had caught him talking overly friendly, like he used to talk to you at the beginning, over the phone a couple of times when he thought you were asleep.

“Did you have coffee?” Clay picked up the mug with coffee grounds that Shane left on the counter. “You shouldn’t drink it.”

“I didn’t have any. I had a friend over earlier and I forgot to clean it up.”

“You know how I feel about having people in my house when I’m not here.”

“It’s my house actually,” you pointed out. “What? Are you gonna forbid me from having friends over now?”

You knew you shouldn't poke the bear when it was drunk, but sometimes your mouth ran faster than your brain.

“We're married, remember? What's yours is mine and all that shit. Don't forget that, bitch.”

God, you had to refrain so hard from punching his face.

As you headed out of the kitchen to avoid getting yourself further into trouble, he grabbed your arm, stopping you from leaving.

“I am your husband. And this is my house. You'd be nothing without me. Show some respect.”

“Men who hurt their wives, their pregnant wives, don't deserve any respect,” you snarled. “Now let me go before you do something you might regret later.”

He looked at you with sharp steel eyes, clutching your arm so hard it felt like he might snap it in half. He wanted to hit you so badly, you could tell, like the night before when he swung the remote across your face when you accidentally knocked over his beer.

You held his stare just as defiantly, and pulled your arm free from his grasp. It left a mark that turned into a bruise quickly after.

Staying out of his way, you went into the nursery and sat down with a book on the armchair to read while he gathered his hunting supplies. You heard him heating up some leftovers and showering before leaving.

All you could think when you listened to his truck drive off was seeing Shane again. You had a couple of hours left to get ready. It was a safe window for you to know that your husband was up in the mountains and wouldn't be coming back till Sunday. You followed his friend's updates on Instagram to keep track of him. Trent was an avid poster, and it was the perfect way to keep tabs on him to avoid the imminent disaster of him finding you with your ex.

You took a shower and changed the sheets of your bed, so they wouldn't smell like Clayton. You were dead set on banging Shane in your bed. Technically, he had fucked you many times before, pretty much in every room of this house but never in your new marital bed. It really excited you thinking about it. You wished you had more time to go to the mall to purchase some sexy lingerie that fitted your pregnant body.

God, Shane really knew how to turn you into an idiot.

In the end, it didn't matter what you wore cause it wouldn't stay on for long. You opted for wearing a pair of lacy panties that you could still fit, but the matching bra didn't stand a chance against your new boobs. You put on a flannel shirt instead, and buttoned a couple of buttons that allowed for your generous cleavage to be the center of attention.

You took off your ring as well and hid it in one of the drawers of your nightstand.

When you finished fixing your hair you went around the house and drew all the curtains for privacy. Then you finally got to relax for a while. You checked Trent's Instagram to make sure they had arrived at the cabin. Exactly like you predicted, he documented the whole thing.

Waiting for Shane, you watched TV and ate some food. When you looked at the clock it was twenty minutes past ten. He couldn't be far, right? You built yourself up to the idea of meeting him again, that’d be disappointing if he didn’t come.

For ten more minutes, you started to believe you shouldn’t have put that much effort until you heard a soft knocking on the back door.

“Empezaba a creer que habías cambiado de idea,” you said, letting him in, and securing the lock on the door. (I was starting to think you changed your mind.)

“When have I ever disappointed you, mi vida?” As you took his hand, you gave him a look, and he scoffed, “don’t answer that.”

“I’m just glad you came back.”

“Fuck! Look at you, Corazón,” his eyes traveled down your body when you turned to him. “You wanna give me a heart attack?”

Taking that as a win, you grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulled firmly towards you to have his lips crash against yours. Then you took him to the bedroom and as you were about to capture his mouth again, Shane stopped you.

“Hold on,” he put some distance between the two of you. “I need to get a good look at you.”

He took off his shirt and tossed aside, as he circled around your body, committing to memory the new curves of your body. When he stood in front of you, you took a closer look at his exposed chest and gulped at the sight of your name tattooed in delicate lettering over his left pec.

“You got that for me?” you traced it with a finger.

“Si, Corazón.”

Your stomach fluttered as his fingers undid the two buttons of your shirt and pushed it off your shoulders to uncover your breasts and baby bump.

“You’re gorgeous like this, mi vida,” the flannel shirt fell to the floor as the back of his knuckles brushed the side of your heavy breast before holding one of them in his hand. It was way larger than his palm he realized, he used to be able to hold it all, now your flesh puffed up between his fingers when he squeezed. “You’re so sensitive.” He noticed your nipples getting hard with just a light touch.

“You can’t even imagine,” you laughed.

“How about here?” Shane guided his other hand between your legs to feel that you were already wet.

You hummed at the soft strokes of his fingers as they slid under the elastic to caress your tender skin. His lips parted at the corner of your mouth as he gathered the arousal from your folds. Your lips down there were puffed too from all the blood gathering all at your core.

“Lay down, I wanna eat you up, Darlin’.”

He bit his bottom lip and watched you following his order. You slipped your panties off under the dark stare of his beautiful eyes that had turned from sweet to a dangerous edge that could set anyone on fire.

You tucked a few pillows beneath your back to keep the weight of your belly off your spine, and reclined as comfortably as you could, spreading your legs wide for him like an offering.

With a grin, he propped a knee on the bed and looked at your cunt as if it was the most precious thing he’s ever seen. He settled between your legs, curled his arms around your thighs and dived right in. With the tip of his nimble tongue, he slowly drew the shape of your lips before circling around your clit. Unlike your husband, Shane was a master of giving head, and was well versed on your pussy. Even after all this time, he still remembered what made you tick.

A shiver ran down your spine as the plane of his tongue licked long strokes from your entrance to your swollen bud.

You threw your head back when his lips wrapped around it. The vicious pressure of his lips around that bundle of nerves felt out of this world.

“God, I’ve missed you, Cielo,” you moaned, threading your fingers in his hair.

“You taste so fucking good,” he grunted ferociously against your folds as a response and all of a sudden he began to suck on you like a starving beast.

Your juices, just as before, leaked all over. It was ridiculous how much you could produce in such a short time. You could feel the fabric below your ass absorbing them.

All your bearings were quickly lost as he took you closer to the edge. All you could do is cry out in pleasure, and squirm as his grip tightened around you to keep your hips in place. You tugged hard on his hair to anchor yourself but all that did is prompting him to go even harder.

“Close… I'm so… fuck, Shane, please… please,” you couldn't stop begging with shallow breaths. Your core was on fire, and you desperately needed to come. “Yes, like that… Ahhh.”

Your legs suddenly clenched around his head a wave of wild bliss coursed through your body, from your center out in different directions. Your toes curled, your muscles shivered, your breathing faltered as your mind was temporarily blown into pure joy. You closed your eyes and let that all take you over your body for a few seconds.

Slowly coming back to your senses, your pussy tingled for a little longer than usual.

Shane was on his knees between your legs, massive erection in his hand when you opened your eyes to find him staring directly at you.

“Goddamn, Corazón. I wish I could take a picture of you like that. I've never seen you come like that for me,” he groaned, pumping his length. “Look how fat you made me.”

Softly laughing, you managed to lift your hand to help him. You replaced his fist with yours and felt the jerking of his firm dick in your palm. His girth was so wide, your thumb couldn't touch any of your other fingers in a curl.

You wondered how many pussies his cock fucked during the past few years. And without thinking or stopping your hand, you asked…

“Di, ¿cuántas zorras te has tirado con mi polla?” (Say, how many bitches have you fucked with my cock?)

“¿Tu polla?” he snorted. (Your cock?)

“Yes, just mine,” you winked as you kept your hand moving. “Dime la verdad o paro.” (Tell me the truth, or I’ll stop.)

“Hmm, no me tortures así, Corazón.” (Hmm, don’t torture me like that, Sweetheart.)

“Come on. Tell me,” you requested again.

“None,” he panted, unable to keep up with the rhythm of your hand. He had to brace a palm on the mattress to keep himself from falling. “You said it. Soy todo tuyo, mi vida. Te lo prometo.” (I’m all yours, my life. I promise.)

You smiled widely, pressing your teeth on your lower lip, as you enthusiastically got him to ejaculate all over your swollen belly. It was warm and sticky, and you couldn't help but spread it like butter all over your tight skin, and bring some of it again to your mouth as Shane’s body melted next to yours.

You turned to the side, pushing the pillows under your back aside, keeping one for your head.

Your fingers found his stubbled jaw as you tilted his face in your direction.

“You really haven't been with anyone since the last time I saw you?”

“No. Not like this, Darlin’. Don’t get me wrong, I fooled around with a couple of girls but nothing else. You know me better than that.”

“I'm not sure if that's still true.”

“Do you wanna know where I've been the last two years?”

You were afraid to find out, but your head nodded anyway.

“Prison,” he said without breaking eye contact.

“What for?”

“Possession. Bet you thought it was about time they caught up with me, huh?”

“No, I’ve never thought that, Shane. As much as I wanted to punish you sometimes, I never wished for that to happen. When did you get out?”

“Yesterday morning,” he smiled softly. “All I could think was you, so I got in the car and I drove all the way here without stopping.”

“You could've called me.”

“I couldn't.”

“Why not?”

“Cause you would've dropped everything to help me, and I couldn't put that on you.”

“I wish you had. I would've done anything…”

“I know.”

“I'd have waited for you.”

“I know that too, Corazón. Don't beat yourself up for it.”

Your phone dinged, and you blindly extended your hand to pick up from your nightstand. It was another update from Trent. They were playing beer pong like fucking frat guys, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“What’s that?” Shane asked.

“Oh, nothing, just checking on him. I’m keeping tabs on his friend’s Instagram to see that he’s still at the cabin.”

“No, not that. This,” Shane lifted your wrist as the soft light from the night lamp highlighted the mark on your forearm. “You didn't have this earlier. I told you my truth. Would you tell me yours?”

Placing your phone down, you pursed your lips, pondering why you’re still protecting that asshole.

“I… you were right earlier. I don’t really love him anymore. I don’t think I ever did. I just needed some stability and I thought he was it. This happened after you left. And this,” then you pointed to your temple, “he smacked me with the remote last night.”

“Why are you with someone like that? I thought–”

“You thought, what, that I had some self-respect? I used to. I think I did. It’s more complicated than you think. He wasn’t like that when I met him.”

“They hardly ever are.”

“He lost his job a few months ago and started drinking, it wasn’t until recently that he-”

“Stop. Don’t make excuses for him. Losing a job doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole and hit your wife or any woman at all. And drinking… I know a thing or two about getting wasted, and I never put my hand on you no matter how drunk I was.”

“You're right… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Then, kick him out. Call the police. Get a restraining order. This is still your house, right?”

“Yeah, it is. But like I said – it’s more complicated than that. He has two cop friends. Best friends. They protect each other like fucking wolves. Last year, one of them killed a girl in a DUI, and he got nothing but a slap on the wrist. If I were to show up to ask for a restraining order, who do you think they’ll protect?”

“That’s fucking crazy. You can't live like that, baby.”

You sighted, combing the curls behind his ear. “Sometimes, when he goes away like this I think – this time he’d be too drunk to drive, and he’d end up going over a cliff, die upon impact and would never set foot in this house again. I keep closing my eyes at night and dreaming about it.”

Shane softly patted your hair back, and snuggled closer to you, wrapping you in his arms.

“I’m not gonna let him hurt you again. I promise, Corazón.”

“You don’t have to save me.”

“Lo sé, mi vida.”

Smiling against his chest, basking in the familiar scent of Shane, and feeling the big flutter of a kicking storm in your stomach. You held his hand and placed it on the side of your belly.

“She’s kicking. Can you feel that?”

“Yeah, I feel it. She? It’s a girl?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s strong. Does she have a name?”

“She does,” you placed your mouth over his ear, and whispered the name of your baby girl.

��That’s a beautiful name. She’s gonna kick ass, just like her mama.”

“I hope so,” your lips quirked up as you placed a small kiss on the corner of his mouth and confessed. “I wish she was yours.”

“I wish she was mine too.”

Your lips locked together once more as you rid yourself of all bad thoughts clouding your head. You only ever wanted Shane. It’s easier to forget how much you love him when he’s not around, and just as easier to remember that you’d die for him if you had to. As the intensity of the kiss rose, you shifted and straddled his waist. He watched you become a goddess as you rubbed yourself over his dick, getting it to fully harden.

“Are you in heat or something?” he laughed, holding your hips.

“It’s the hormones. What? Aren’t you up for the challenge, big guy?”

“Oh, I’m up, alright.”

You lifted your ass, held his cock and carefully sank onto it.

Rocking back and forth you propped your hands on his broad chest, so you could boost yourself up to bounce all over his massive erection. His hands held your ass to help you go faster.

When you caught him eyeing your big breast you bent over, holding one in your hand and put it over his mouth, so he can suck on it. His lips wrapped tight around your sensitive nipple and latched on it. You were growling at the wonderful sensation paired with his throbbing cock inside you.

“God, Corazón, you’re amazing, you feel so… “ He moaned as he switched to the other nipple.

This time his teeth scraped the surface, and you almost came at the surprise. You were so close you couldn’t help but bounce a little faster. You had to brace both hands again to keep up with the rhythm. The weight of your belly started to hinder your pace the closer you got to the edge.

“Help me,” you grabbed Shane's hand and put it on your clit, pleading with a cry, “I need it. Please.”

“I got you, baby. I got you.”

He rubbed viciously on your clit until you came with such force all your juices squirted all over him. Then the pleasure of your orgasm forced his own. His cocked jerked, and suddenly you were filled again with his delicious seed.

You didn’t hear Shane leaving after you fell asleep in his arms.

When you woke up to pee a couple of hours later, the clock marked 4AM, and he wasn't in your bed anymore. He had left the house altogether. You didn't have plans for the next day, but you weren't expecting him to leave that early in the morning either without saying goodbye.

There was a pang of disappointment in your chest as you went back to bed, but you closed your eyes, naively hoping he'd come back later.

It was your lucky day cause when you opened your eyes again, he was back and had brought breakfast with him. All our favorite plates were laid on the breakfast bar as he made a fresh batch of coffee.

“Where did you go, Cielo?” you asked in between bites.

“Went out for breakfast.”

“I can see that. I mean earlier. Woke up at 4 and you were gone.”

He took a long sip of his cup before responding, “I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a drive to clear my head.”

“It must be strange sleeping in a new bed.”

“Yeah, a little.”

“I have to work later. I can call in sick if you want–” you offered.

“No, baby, do what you gotta do. No te preocupes por mí.” (Don’t worry about me.)

“You can’t stay here, but I could still get you a room at the hotel if you’re tired.”

“Nah, do your thing, I’ll figure it out.”

“Would you… come later?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll be here, Corazón,” he kissed your hair and picked up your phone from the counter, “unlock it. I’ll put in my new number, and you call me when you’re off. Yeah?”

“Prométeme que volverás,” you said before handing back the phone. (Promise that you’ll come back.)

“Lo prometo.” (I promise.)

After cleaning your plate you relaxed in bed for a little while, trying to get him to catch up with his sleep. There was no luck in that department cause he couldn't keep his eyes and hands off you. So once again, you found yourself in a trance of hormone-induced lust, and had Shane thrusting into you at full force from behind. Your ass was in the air, held in his broad palms, while you sobbed and moaned in pleasure against the pillow beneath your head. You desperately pushed back with your hips, taking him all in. Feeling every stroke, every inch and throb until your legs were left trembling and the fire in your core had spread through your whole body.

When you went off to work in the afternoon, it all seemed to become a hazy dream. It was all so intense that part of you thought it couldn't be real. But that was most of your relationship with Shane. Sometimes you couldn't help but feel you weren't enough for him. Him constantly leaving and breaking his promises was proof that you shouldn’t trust everything he says, but this time felt different. Maybe it was cause he was fresh out of prison, but you could tell that perhaps he was ready to stay out of trouble.

The first half of your shift went by quickly. You kept checking your phone like a maniac to make sure your husband stayed where he was supposed to, and luckily he did. If he wasn’t afraid of hurting you, you weren’t afraid of hurting him back, but you were indeed scared of him finding out about you and your old flame regardless.

You were at the front desk when Shane came in an hour before your shift ended to ask for a room. He needed a place to stay after all, and as the manager you managed pretty well to comp him a room for a couple of days. He carried his scarce luggage that consisted of just a duffle bag to his room, took a shower and waited for your shift to end.

Shane was half asleep when you finished work and knocked on his door. It was easy to see that he was utterly spent, so you didn’t make him drive back to the house. Instead, you stayed with him for the night. You trimmed his curls and shaved his face. Then, you took a long bath together like old times.

“Are you going to stay this time?” you asked once you got into bed.

You faced the other under covers and didn't talk louder than a whisper.

“I don't have anywhere else to go, baby.”

“Does that mean that you're done hustling?”

“I gotta. I don't have any other choice than to be done. Next time it could be 20 or 30 or life. I think I've tempted fate way too many times and got away with more than I should've. I had a lot of time to think and realized none of it mattered. Didn't care about the money. It was just… I don’t know, the power I guess. And I missed on a lot of time with you, and now I have nothing to show for. I don't really know what I'm gonna do, but I'm done with all that. All I know is that I just wanna be with you.”

“I…” your words caught up in your throat, as you tried to convey and process what he said at the same time. “I wanna believe that's true, but you've said you were done before and always felt right back into it.”

“This time is different. I can promise you that I'm not going anywhere this time. Cross my heart.”

Your lips softly pulled up at the corners as you placed your hand over your name's tattoo on his chest.

Regardless of his promise, you’d always have some reservations when it comes to him. Until he really proves it, there’s nothing stripping all those doubts he’s ingrained in you over the years.

When you woke up in the middle of the night he was gone like the night before. This time there was a note saying that he had gone out for a drive and signed it with – I love you, Corazón.

By the time you got up this time he hadn't come back. It didn't worry you though. You just went on with your day, drove back home to take a shower and run some errands before your next shift.

You weren't exactly sure what was going to happen next. You couldn't just jump into Shane's arms after all this time and pretend nothing ever happened. If this was really happening you had to make sure that was true to his word and figure out how he’d fit into your life when you were about to have a baby.

But most importantly, there was something you had to do first. Something that you should’ve done a long time ago and that was leaving your husband. You had been subjected to verbal and mental abuse for months that gradually turned into physical abuse. No matter how much it scared you, it was time to put your foot down and protect not only yourself but your daughter. She couldn’t be raised around him. And Shane or no Shane, it was something you couldn’t keep brushing aside hoping it’ll get better. It was easier to think about it than to actually do it. You weren’t sure how to start. Like you told Shane, going to Lafayette’s Police Department wasn’t an option. But maybe giving Rick a call and asking him for some guidance could be the first step of many.

You pinned that thought for the next day and went back to work a little earlier than usual. It was Sunday afternoon, and you dreaded that Clayton would be coming back later. So you decided to pay Shane a visit before work.

“You know, being here with you this weekend… it’s been the best thing that’s ever happened in a long time, Sweetheart.”

“Well, anything can beat spending two years in prison.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, mi vida. I mean it. I just hope you can forgive me someday for everything I’ve done. There’s a lot of shit you don’t know about that I wanna tell you but…”

He lowered his stare.

“Shane… I… If what you say it’s true, if you prove that I can count on you and that you’re not going back to all that, I’d never hold anything against you. That’s my promise. Whatever you did, you’ve done your time, right?”

“Right,” he picked up your hand and kissed your knuckles before smoothing his palm on your baby bump.

“I can come back later, just for a little while before going home.”

“If you feel like it, I’ll be here, Corazón. Always. No matter what happens.”

He said kind of ominously before you left the room. His tone was certainly different from the night before, he could barely look you in the eye as you said goodbye.

It really puzzled you as you went back to your desk. Maybe he was just tired or perhaps, he was actually feeling the weight of all his actions at once and was actually remorseful. You definitely hadn’t seen that look in his face before that afternoon.

On a quiet evening, when you thought this weekend couldn’t bring more surprises, there was something else that turned your world upside down when two of Clayton’s friends showed up at the front desk. It was the two cops, Simon and Paulie, or Prick One and Prick Two as you called them, asking you for a private place to talk.

You took them into the office where they asked you to sit down, so they could break the news of your husband’s death. It was hard to hear, no matter how many times you’ve fantasized about it, it seemed impossible and your first reaction when they told you he drove over a cliff was to burst into laughter.

“You guys are joshing, right?” you scoffed, and their faces remained unchanged, dead serious. “That can’t be right. He was with you the whole time. I saw it in Trent’s fucking pictures.”

“I’m really sorry, sweetheart. It’s true. We ran out of ice, and he said he was going to the gas station for more and never returned last night. We didn’t find him until this morning… we weren’t sure it was him until they got down to get him. That’s why we waited to tell you.”

“Ice? He went out for ice?” You gritted in disbelief.

“He was pretty wasted. We all were, but you know how he was, once he got something in his head…”

“That’s the last thing he said before leaving.”

“But we believe there was something else that I rather you hear from us than on the news. They found a bag with amphetamines and cocaine in his truck.”

“After he lost his job he was desperate and, we kinda knew that he was selling to-”

They kept spitting out information that didn’t seem feasible to you until you snapped.

“Stop, stop, stop,” you said stiffly, holding your palms up for a moment before getting up from your chair. “Everything you’re saying doesn’t make any sense. He’s many things, but he’s not a fucking drug dealer.”

Though it’d explain some things, you couldn’t believe Clayton had turned into that.

“You kinda knew? That’s bullshit. You either were fully aware of what he was up to or you two are the dumbest cops I’ve ever met. You just don’t – kinda knew –” you threw big air quotes at their own words.

“Hey!” Simon raised his voice for just a second before his partner motioned at him to have some tact.

“We know you’re hurting, sweetheart. It’s a lot to process, but we’re here for whatever you need. Clay would’ve wanted us to help you.”

A lot to process was an understatement.

You looked out the window and saw Shane’s jeep parked in the lot, and it dawned on you. It wasn’t an accident or a coincidence… It was Shane. He killed him. It was as clear as day. You told him about your fantasy of Clayton falling from a cliff the other night, and he made that happen. He murdered him in your name and these two clowns were obviously too stupid to figure that out.

It made you sick to your stomach to think about it and you had to fight not to throw up right on the spot.

“Do I need to identify the body? Is he…?” you couldn’t even imagine what he would look like. All you could think about is the last time you saw him when he grabbed your arm, that same arm you unconsciously were gripping to as hard as he did.

“We can take care of that. You don’t have to see him like that.”

You simply nodded as vile rose to your throat, “there’s a lot… If you could… I need to be alone for a minute.”

“We understand. Call us if you need anything.”

They left the office and the first thing you did when the door was closed was hurl everything you had eaten earlier in the wastebasket.

Beads of sweat covered your forehead and chest when you came out of the office. Your boss dismissed you from work and instead of going home, you went straight to Shane’s room for answers. What he said earlier about forgiveness of all the things he’s done suddenly made a lot of sense. He wasn’t talking about three years ago, he was talking about what he had done last night.

When he opened the door, your cheeks were already covered in tears, as rage just fired through your body. You couldn’t voice anything other than a “how could you….” as you shoved him back several times with all the strength you could muster until his back was pressed against the wall.

You didn’t have to say much cause he was aware that you knew that he indeed had killed Clayton. He fucking knew that sooner or later you were going to find out.

“Lo siento, mi vida. De verdad que lo siento…” (I’m sorry, my life. I truly am sorry…)

He wasn’t in fact sorry at all, he was sorry that he hurt you, but he wasn’t carrying an ounce of guilt from killing your husband in cold blood.

“He had to go. I’m sorry. I couldn’t just let him hurt you again, you gotta know that.”

“No. You’re not putting this on me. You did that cause you’re a selfish piece of shit. I shouldn’t’ve…”

“C’mon, you practically begged me the other day. Why would you tell me that you kept dreaming of him dying if you didn’t want me to do something about it?”

“It’s called being vulnerable. You caught me at a bad time and took advantage of it. I’m sick of men like you and him making the rules as they go.”

“I didn’t make any rules. I did what I had to cause you didn’t have the guts to kick him out of your life.”

“I had a plan… I was going to… and you…” you kept losing the ability to put your thoughts together.

“Babe, I don’t care if you hate me for as long as I live but, I’m gonna sleep tonight like a baby knowing that that asshole won’t ever touch you again.”

“Is that easy for you, huh?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel just one bit relieved that you won’t have to see him ever again. Di la verdad.” (Tell the truth.)

You shook your head, and swallowed the hard pill of his words. He was partly right. As shocking as it was, you knew that after all this, you’d be glad he was gone.

“It doesn’t matter, Shane. What you did was evil.”

“I did it cause I love you.”

“No, you did it cause you wanted to.”

“I didn’t wanna, I swear. For the first time… I didn’t wanna do something like this, trust me.”

“Trust you? I don’t think you deserve that.”

“You should go home and rest…. Once this is over you’ll see more clearly that this had to happen.”

“See more clearly? You’re the one with tunnel vision, Shane. If you can admit that what you did was fucking wrong, then there’s nothing else to say here. We’re done.”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t wrong. I know it was. But the only thing that matters to me is that you and your baby are safe. And if they lock me up for it, so be it. I don't fucking care. I wasn't gonna sit down and watch him hurt you again.”

“I… I really don't know what you expect me to do with all this. You killed, not just someone… you killed my husband. How can you sit down and pretend that everything will be fine? How are you gonna live with that?”

“Wasn't really the first time. I told you there was a lot you didn't know about.”

“That doesn't make me feel any better. I said I wouldn't hold anything against you, but this is too much, Shane.”

“I know.”

“No matter what he did, he didn't deserve…” you started but immediately realized you didn't even believe your own thoughts. He did deserve to die. Just not like this, perhaps. “Is there any way this could be traced to you, to us?”

“No, I covered all my tracks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do you want me to give you the rundown?”

“If someone finds out…”

“Nobody's gonna find out. I promise.”

“Tú y tus malditas promesas. Sigues siendo el mismo cabrón.” (You and your damn promises. You’re still the same bastard.)

“Hey, mírame y dime, en tu corazón de corazones ¿De veras crees eso?” (Look at me and tell me, in your heart of hearts, do you really believe that?)

You glanced at him, but you couldn't focus enough to tell or understand what you believed anymore. Your head sunk into your shoulders in defeat before taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Was he really selling drugs or did you plant them?”

“I didn't plant anything. I have no idea what he was up to. I just followed him with my car and made sure he went…”

“How did you know where he was?”

“You showed me where they were in that photo the other night. Their dumbasses even tagged the location.”

“Did anyone see you?”

“So you want the rundown after all.”

“Just wanna make sure… I don’t know anymore… I don’t know why I care at all,” you tiredly held your forehead on your palms.

“Look, the less you know the better. They won’t come after you. I’ll make sure of that… but to answer your question, no, nobody saw me. I used a different car, I scooped up the place the night before and just waited… I thought I’d have to do it when they were all asleep but, when he got into his truck I saw my chance.”

“Ya es suficiente.” (That’s enough.)

You promptly stood up as you were torn in different directions inside. Turning your back on him, your hand reached for the door handle. “You should leave town while you can. I won’t tell anyone… but I can’t see you anymore.”

“So this is it? This is how it ends?”

“I don’t know… I just can’t really look at you right now. You put my life upside down in two days, Shane.”

“I’m so sorry for that. I really am. But I hope one day you have it in your heart to forgive me… I… I won’t be going anywhere. If you need me, I’m just one call away, Corazón.”

You didn’t look back, didn’t even glance over your shoulder one last time to see him as you stepped out of the room.

Emotionally and physically exhausted you drove home as your brain switched on autopilot. The next few days were hazy and draining. As soon as the body was released for burial you got the funeral out of the way quickly. It didn't surprise you that it was ruled as an accident, with the levels of alcohol in his blood and the drugs in the truck didn’t leave room for questioning foul play. And the worst part of it all, and that Shane was right, you didn’t feel bad at all for his death.

Though Shane left the hotel you worked at, he stayed in town. You saw his car parked by the diner the day you returned to work.

He stayed away. More than once you thought he’d come up out of the blue and show up on your porch, and you’d be too weak to deal with him again. But He didn’t even dare to call or text again after that day.

It wasn’t until three or so weeks later, when you started feeling more like your old self, you began going through Clayton’s stuff. There wasn’t really anything you wanted to keep, so you threw most of it in the donation pile and called it a day. There was one thing though, that you couldn’t sort, and it was the storage cabinet he had padlocked in the garage. You went through every drawer and pocket to find a key to it, but there was no luck. Maybe it was lost in the mountains with him, you thought. Then, as much as you wanted to avoid that, you had no choice but to search the bag you were given with the personal belongings he had during the ‘accident’. There you found the key attached to his keychain.

At that point, nothing surprised you anymore when you opened the cabinet to find a backpack filled with prescription pills and other drugs you didn’t recognize. Along with it there was also some cash, a gun with a box of ammo, his work tools, a pair of utility boots, and a few magazines.

Perhaps that’s the excuse you needed to see Shane again, who fucking knows, but for whatever reason you picked up the phone and called him. Without going into detail about your findings, you asked him to come over to look at your car instead and he did. A couple of hours later, as the sun went down, he knocked on your door.

“I’m glad you called,” he said.

“Follow me,” you requested dryly, as you guided him into the garage. With the door shut down to the driveway, you opened the cabinet and showed him. “Can you get rid of this?”

“Is this yours?” He scanned the bag of stash. “Have you been hiding a side hustle?”

“No, asshole. It was his. I’ve just found it and I don’t know what to do with it. Do I call the police?”

“Don’t. Please don’t do that,” he pleaded. “I’ve been watching those two, you know his friends, and they were in it too.”

“How do you know?”

“Cause I know. Why do you think they were so quick to rule it as an accident? They turned him into his errand boy. He didn't just go out for ice, he was making a drop that night. Those fucking pictures they kept posting? Those are their alibis.”

Short of breath, you took a step back and leaned against the hood of your car. “I don’t wanna know any of it. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’m tired of all this, Shane… I want it to be over.”

“Sorry… I… yeah, I’ll get rid of it.”

“What about the gun?”

He picked it up and made a thorough inspection making sure that it wasn’t loaded.

“I’ll take care of it too.”

“Wait, if it’s registered, shouldn’t I just turn it over or something?”

“Ghost gun. Has no serial number, see?” He turned it around and pointed at the side to show there was indeed no number where it was supposed to. “In normal circumstances, you could say you just found it, but in this case… I wouldn’t do it.”

“Got it. Just do what you have to do. Get rid of the cash too, I need all of it gone.”

“Now, hold on, there's like 8 G's here. You should keep that.”

“It's drug money, I don't want it.”

“Yeah, but you could use it for something good. Buy something for you or the baby.”

“I don't need it, I was doing pretty good without his money. I won't be able to use it without thinking about where it came from. I never took yours, I'm not gonna take his now.”

“Think it's for a good cause. Like it or not, he was her father, you could open a savings account for her. Don't let it go to waste, sweetheart. You might need it someday.”

“I… Sure. I guess you're right.”

“I could get you a good price on that bag too. I'm thinking about 5-”

“No, I don't want you to risk it. Just get rid of it. Burn it, bury it, toss it somewhere far away from here.”

“Are you sure? The Dixons owe me one, I could get them to–”

“I'm not gonna bend on this one Shane. I mean it. Stay away from the Dixons. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Alright, I’ll just get rid of it. But y’know I’m taking a huge risk getting this off your hands.”

“Oh.”

“So, are you sure you want me to? If they find me with this, I could get locked up again.”

“Ya empezamos… ¿Quieres algo a cambio?” You huffed, crossing your arms firmly over your belly. (Here we go… You want something in return?)

“No, I mean… I just wanna see you for a coffee sometime.”

“Told you, I don’t drink coffee.”

“It doesn't have to be coffee.”

“I’m too tired to do this again Shane. Do it or don’t. I don’t care. After you’ve put me through… no tienes derecho a pedir nada.” (You have no right to ask for anything.)

“Lo siento. Tenía que intentarlo. Can you blame me?” (I’m sorry. Had to try.)

“Yes, I can.”

“Okay, I set myself up for that one,” he huffed, and looked at the bag in his hand, and reiterated. “I’ll take care of this, don’t worry about it. No strings attached.”

“Thank you.” It took you a moment to say it, but you did. “So, you’re not leaving town. You’re not scared of being found out?”

“No, I’m not scared of being found out.”

“And what’s your plan now?”

“I meant what I saw the other day. I'm staying. I got a job at Jim’s. He’s letting me use the trailer behind the shop to save some money. And that’s my plan for now. Why? Thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“No? It seems like you awfully care a lot about what happens to me for someone who says doesn’t give a fuck.”

“I was just curious, Shane. You can just go, we don’t have to keep talking.”

“But I like talking to you.”

“I know you do. That’s the only thing you have over me. Every time you open your mouth… you’re just one step closer to…”

“What? Changing your mind?”

“It’s not a good thing.”

“As I see it, it’s the best thing.”

“Of course you do.”

“Okay, let me ask you just one more thing, and then I’ll go.”

“Okay, one.”

“If someone you loved was treated like you were–”

“Shane… don’t.”

“Lemme finish, please. If someone you loved was treated like you were, wouldn’t you do something about it? What if it was one of your friends? What if it was me… or what if an asshole in 20 years treated your daughter like that? Would you just stand by and do nothing?”

“That’s not a fair question. You’re playing on my emotions right now. Of course, I’d do something about it.“

“Then, why is it different? Would you kill for me if I was in danger?”

“That’s more than one question.”

“Would you?”

“I don’t know. I guess it depends on the situation. Once upon a time, if you had asked me that, I’d say yes, I’d have killed anyone for you.”

“¿Y ahora?” (And now?)

“No lo sé… I have something more pressing on my hands right now. I’m not alone anymore,” you glanced at your baby bump. “The difference between you and me is that I have to consider that what I do affects her.”

“Guess I should’ve thought that.”

“You should’ve.”

“We could still make it work. Maybe not now. But maybe someday when you can look at me again without seeing what I did. What do you think?”

“I think you’ve gone over the limit of questions you said you were going to ask, and my head is starting to hurt. But you know that I’ll never rule anything out between you and me. We’re both a lost cause. And if you really stay out of trouble and keep your word, who knows? Maybe one day I’ll change my mind.”

“That’s all I needed to hear, Corazón.”

Shane closed the backpack and slung it on his shoulder.

“Be careful with that.”

“Don't worry about me.”

His hand carefully slid on the side of your neck as Shane pressed his lips to your forehead. It lingered, once again making you feel as weak as the day you met him. It made you question whether to push him away or just give in to old habits. You've accepted that no matter what he did, you'd never be able to get rid of him.

You tentatively held his jaw between your palms, and stared at his lips for a beat before returning the kiss. It was soft and quick cause you didn't want to delve too fast and make it feel like a reward.

“I'll see you around,” you offered. That's the best you could do for now.

[sparrowsoupp]

some of the most iconic queer poster children of the warrior cats fandom. happy pride to the girls gays and theys (particularly those who enjoy brawling feline content)

dabble in my headcannons for these pairings under the read-more button if i’ve piqued your interest…

RAVEN x BARLEY (gay x gay)

i know there’s been a bit of controversy going around about these two and how they could be seen as toxic, with barley being insecure over ravenpaw’s connection to thunderclan. i get that perspective for sure, but i think it’s representative of REASONABLE flaws in a real relationship. obviously it’s not ideal that they never completely resolve it (since it’s ‘solved’ in the graphic novel but reopened in ravenpaw’s novella) and i wished that they addressed that more concretely (i say about a fucking middle grade book about talking cats LOL) but even more so i think you could see it as a realistic relationship as with issues in those, they often subdue and reoccur at intervals. it’s just about talking it out with your partner 🦭👍 plus if the majority of their relationship outside of this is good (which i definitely see it as, since obviously the books have to take place at points of conflict for there to be interesting things to write about) then it seems to be a somewhat small flaw.

that being said i haven’t actually read the books this comes up in so take my opinion with grains of salt, just online discourse about it. totally get if your life experience makes you see their interactions another way as this is just my two cents based on my experience with people.

overall i’m not a superfan of the sickly-sweet reputation these two get but i do like them for what i see them as, which is a Normal Relationship with Some Flaws. i like that they find solace in each other in a peaceful place after fleeing their less peaceful pasts. it’s a great dynamic (and i’m a sucker for farms) and i think they compliment each other’s personalities really well, with barley bringing ravenpaw out of the shell he’s been forced into and ravenpaw inspiring more cautiousness in a very brash barley who would otherwise probably jump into fights at the drop of a hat.

on a somewhat unrelated note, as a kid did anyone else wish that ravenpaw dropped his paw suffix? or blue/firestar granted him an honourary suffix for everything the poor kid went through? this isn’t like a super big meanigful thing but it just annoyed me when i was younger that the paw suffix kind of belittles him to apprentice level when after the fuckery the poor kid went through i think he deserves more recognition from the clans than that.

BLUESTAR x YELLOWFANG (bi x bi)

OKAYYY old women! while fanart of the two of them being in a loving happy relationship is very cute i like to take my old woman yuri one-sided and traumatic.

i think that yellowfang would have an unrequited crush on bluestar. what’s there not to like?! at the point when they meet bluestar is a compassionate but commanding cat in the prime of her leadership. after a bit of her being in the camp i think bluestar would also start spending a curious amount of time in the medicine den… unconciously she definitely saw the appeal in yellowfang from the getgo- it definitely strengthens the reasoning of her surprising decision to defend yellowfang as a member of thunderclan depsite risking a full on war with other clans from it, and her other clanmates lives in the process. obviously bluestar’s a leader that wouldn’t base a decision like that just based on a crush, and it was definitely because of what she wants her clan to stand for, but it’s Not a downside that the cute lady she used to see at gatherings gets to stay a while

bluestar’s definitely not letting it occupy her mind though, of course, totally not (the lady has Trauma from her relationship with oakheart and i see her as having an attatchment issue where she doesn’t feel like she deserves to have a healthy relationship, especially after losing mosskit. she’s just not fully ready yet). yellowfang pines as she watches bluestar throw herself fully into her work to distract herself from the growing feelings, and at some point probably grows annoyed with the cat-and-mouse and starts dedicating herself fully to her own work as a medicine cat too. there are moments of sweetness and clarity and words on the tips of tongues, but just as unexpectedly as they come bluestar will turn her head back to her duties.

unfortunately once tigerstar’s betrayal happens all cute flirting comes to a screeching halt as bluestar is consumed by the paranoia. on the good days she’ll hold stilted conversation with her clanmates, but not so much on the bad days. yellowfang hurts as she watches her crush sprial into madness and dysfunction, the likes of which is only heightened when the fire happens and yellowfang passes- completely insetting bluestar’s hatred for starclan for taking her love (who she still does have deeply-buried feelings for) away from her.

overall, can you tell i love inflicting mental anguish on bluestar? it’s my favourite hobby. i’m not even joking.

LEAFPOOL x MOTHWING (bi x lesbian)

okay this one might make you realise i love doomed yuri. Anyways,

put simply, i think leafpool and mothwing find each other attractive and secretly hook up on a frequent basis for some…. Funny Business. Hanky-Panky, if you will. ‘no-strings-attached’ yeah right i don’t think sapphics have ever pulled off a no strings attatched relationship without casualities.

mothwing definitely wants to confess but leafpool by that point has been forcing herself to move on and ends up telling mothwing about ‘liking’ crowfeather right before mothwing works up the courage (reading leafpool x crowfeather for the first time in the canon books geniunely felt like someone’s ao3 crackship. i guess that’s what traumabinding will do to two mfs). or maybe mothwing notices that leafpool is pregnant (which HOW THE HELL DID NOONE NOTICE IN CANON) and backs the hell off from that. maybe a very angsty argument over that… delicious.

how very ‘good luck babe’ by chappell roan of them! i think things end pretty awkwardly for mothpool and neither leafpool nor crowfeather are really in love with each other they’re just something shiny and distracting from each of their respective circuses of personal lives. i literally hear the clown music playing as they run away together. maybe it’s tinnitus.

they probably pine for each other forever and ever after that, neither falling in love again because they never get over each other. damn. how awkward is it to see your kind-of-ex at the moonpool every month…

anyway thanks for reading though beau’s cat rambles! if youve stuck it out to here… a tip of the hat to you

[bonefries]

Outlast Trials | Fanfiction | Mostly SFW + Depictions of gore / little bit of suggestive groping.

The Fox and the Hare | Franco Barbi x (Reagent OC) Sister Elizabeta

This picture is now the cover for this one shot I wrote about Eli and Franco! This is the story about the first time Eli reveals to Franco that she wants to cannibalize his heart. I've never really written a fic before so I gave it a try. (Please go easy on me. Writing is not my first skill.)

(Outlast Trials story, you have been warned.) Writing under the cut!

"5 AM in the Goddamn morning." Franco's voice rumbled from his bed at the less than pleasurable sound of the morning intercom. The crackling static of the Murkoff speaker as it popped on to inform him that he has 15 minutes to prepare before his first appearance of the day.

His blanket would shuffle as he struggled to slump himself forward, clearing the morning gunk from his throat and rubbing the dust from his eyes. Lifting his ring finger to his face, he delicately massaged the thin layer of his eyelid. In this gesture he would push away the pesky tears that pooled along his waterline.

"Marone." He would roll off his tongue in agitation. There are few individuals that opt to run his stage so early before sunrise.

This was, even for him, too goddamn early. However, it was all a part of the contract. On call at whatever moment of the day Murkoff desired. In exchange, Franco is given his milk and honey. The heroin operations intact, his clientele happy and paying, and his protection guaranteed from whomever senior Salvatore may still be trying to throw his way to disturb his little slice of heaven. Though, one did think about the audacity it took for him to be so inconvenienced by waking up early for work. He was, after all, complaining from his large and private bedroom that was custom fitted with all of his nice things. From his silky bed sheets to his hardwood armoire that held his finely tailored wardrobe. The things he can't help but want because of his upbringing in a luxury lifestyle. Back then, young Barbi could have whatever he wanted so long as it didn't require Daddy's love and affection. "Who the fuck wants to be in there at ass crack'a dawn." Franco would take a deep breath, the air hissing through him as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. The already irritated Barbi had no intentions of getting dressed this first time around as he searched his bed for his evening robe. As he sat on the edge of his sheets, he would run his fingers over the side of his head to feel how his wound was fairing. It was a regular issue that he has long since discarded serious care for. The chemicals Murkoff pumped into him at regular check ups somehow managed to keep the infection in line just enough every time. But, it was still a chronic pain. And of course, the dressings he had gone to sleep with were off once again. He could never manage to get them to stick as he would toss and turn throughout his appointed resting periods. At his bedside of course, sat his precious Lupara. He'd grab the gun with a haste most only saw in soldiers hurried to war.

"I'll be fucked if some spunky little cunt is really lookin for a fight this early in the mornin." He spat with a jagged scowl.

If it truly was some reagent with the balls to be so punctual, he wasn't going to give them the pleasure of seeing him in his proper work attire. Hell, the only thing he truly bothered with were his socks and shoes. The small man had every intention of looking ridiculous for the poor sucker he was hoping to find. --------

"Good morning Mr. Barbi." Said the man behind the glass. Waiting for Franco at this gated entrance as always. "Up yours, scum pig." Franco would snarl, with no hesitation and no eye contact to spare. Never had he cared for the authority around him that Murkoff provided. This may be their set up, but this was his turf, as far as he was concerned. Once he was past the gate and through the doorway, he would be in the facility. With Lupara over his shoulder, he would stop to stare out into the distance of the Docks. Searching for anything out of the ordinary.

The morning silence was deafening. “So fuckin early even the rats ain’awake yet.”

Franco stated as he stepped along metal staircases and wooden hallways. The disgusting smell of sulfur, like that of rotting eggs. The fake simulated cries of seagulls and the moist sloshing of water and carnage against the cargo ship. He would make his way to the rising platform that laid beneath the hatch, expecting to find someone perhaps within the bridge. As his footsteps trebled against the metal panels of the floor, his predatory intuition made clear that his prey was not too far off. Something in the air changed, a presence, a frequency. A silent alarm, if any. And it made his trigger finger itch.

But his gut warned him to hold steady. And gently, Franco pushed open a door to the bridge control room. The red lighting in the room would make it rather easy for someone to sit still and eventually slide by quietly. Like a conniving little rat. But this wasn't the case, as the intruder made no real efforts to conceal themselves.

A figure hunched over a box of junk and trinkets. The sound of objects being picked up, inspected perhaps, and dropped back in. Though there was something odd about the way that they did, as there didn't appear to be much urgency in their gestures. At least not the kind that you would expect from most reagents.

"Who the fuck is that!?" Franco asserted. Aiming his Lupara with a ferocity that came quicker than the pull of the trigger.

It wasn't more than a second before the hunched figure rose to their full height, head turning slightly to capture a side eye view of Franco's threat posture. Their gaze presented with a very silent and eerie calmness despite the gun pointed to them.

"Thats an awful rude way to greet 'a girl so early in the morning, Mista' Bambino." A voice with a short fuse for patience spoke out to him. You could hear the small gasp that wormed it's way out of the mobster's lungs after being addressed. Franco would drop his hostile pose with Lupara still in his hand. Motioning his arms forward, he gestured the way one would when asking for a hug.

"Lizzy!" Shouted the Barbi.

The giantess gave Franco the quick up and down. Her eyes hung in a way that made them look so soft, but sad. The same way a Forget-Me-Not makes you feel by it's name.

"Doooon't you Lizzy me buster! Yous was just aimin'that goddamn Lupara at the backa' my head!" Her shoulders would jerk around, a small medicine bottle in one hand while the other put up a scolding finger.

Franco would note that she didn't look like her typical self. While she dawned her ever holy reagent bindings and gear, something was unkempt about her.

Her hair was frizzy and bedridden, her make up was fading and tacky along the features and creases of her face. Loosely fitted from her body was a hand made evening jumper. The material looked surprisingly close to the silk of his sheets back in his bedroom. Lastly her stockings were put on in a hurry. They were already full of tears and holes as they pulled against the shape of her legs. For her that had been good enough, and she had walked into the trial shuttle without any shoes.

The two would walk forward from their respective spots in the room, meeting each other half way.

"No, no, Lizzy! You know I'd never take a shot at ya! I-I ain't seen ya in a week I wasn't thinkin it was you!"

Franco's demeanor would shift ever so quickly to that of a begging pup as he put his hands together. Pleading with Lizzy that he was not out of line. That he did good hesitating before letting his trigger finger do the talking for him. "S-Sugar." He would stutter, his expression failing to show any real confidence in his display.

Lizzy would roll her eyes and shake her head. The finger that did the scolding now gently brushing through the front patch of Franco's hair.

"Yeah well, I didn't have much of a choice Barbi doll." She said.

Her nails gently pushed the strands of greasy hair into their signature swirl on his forehead. The gentleness of her motion reflected in the way it felt. A slight tickle on top of the skin, oh, it was something so minor that could make a man like Franco purr.

She could melt him like butter. His knees could turn to jelly on the spot as she stroked his hair. Like being praised for good behavior while he batted his eyelashes at her. Despite how disheveled she would consider herself in the moment, she was his Madonna. An icon he'd get on his knees to worship while he pleaded for her forgiveness and her blessings.

"One of tha'rookies in my cell block is havin a tough time with a nasty stab wound. I said I'd go get them somethin first thing in the mornin." She explained. The tone of her voice suggesting that she was, in fact, the one looking for forgiveness.

"I didn't mean to wake ya up Frankie- Honest. But yous was the first in rotation today." Lizzy tried to assure him, her fingers clenching lightly to his chin. Making him look into her eyes while she tried to reason her actions to him.

Her hands were so soft, except for her pointer finger. He could feel the callused tip of it, making it stand out against the rest. The spot where she pricked too much from sewing without a thimble or machine guard, surely.

Smitten, his mouth would curl into a dotting smile. How he wished she would give him more than just this simple restraint. Though, the thought would quickly pass as his expression changed. Resembling that of a mean and feral tom cat. Scrunched together, like there was a bad taste past his tongue and teeth.

"Wait wait. You got up at this time for some....random newbie! Lizzy. C'mon what'dya get outta helpin these people!" Franco would argue. He was more upset on her behalf than she was.

In fact, she didn't seem to protest the task at all.

"These people ain't got nothin for you. You fuckin know that. Whats'tha sense in goin through.......through this kind of bullshit! Eh?" The little man would kick his leg limply as he let his fuse run without much thought to his outburst. Lizzy offered no real response other than a puff of air. Her red painted nail would lightly poke Bambino on his nose while she uttered something.

"Look Frankie. You might get a nice cozy spot all to ya'self but I share a parlor'wit a buncha other people. Some'a them need someone to look out for them alright?" The woman didn't say much else other than to point out that it was a simple act of kindness for a wounded stranger. "They're just taking advantage of'ya Liz." He grumbled and grabbed her free hand by the wrist. Holstering Lupara for the moment, a thing he rarely did when he was out and about.

"They ain't workin hard like you do, baby. They're just lookin to get what they can outta ya, and then suck you for every last drop you got." Franco's tone would once again reach a level of irritation. He hissed in a low volume and moved to hold her hand in his palms.

"You can't just go willy fuckin nilly doin shit for these people. They're gonna stab you in the back the second they get the goddamn chance."

The way Franco said it truly reflected how often he looked over his shoulder. One could imagine that he never meant a hand shake a day in his life, or that his fingers surely ached from how often they were crossed behind his back. It takes a rat to know a rat, and he has been both rodent and thief in his day.

"Frankie, you're ova'reactin. It's just a little medicine, sourpuss." Lizzy would puff her cheeks out, unbothered by the assumptions Franco was making. She calmly slid her hand away from his grasp to gesture as she spoke.

"Besides....Gave me a reason to come see ya'didn't it?" She giggled at the statement, her fingers running down the open lining of his evening robe. Adjusting the fabric slightly, Lizzy would cup the side of Franco's face. Feeling the heat from his cheeks that she couldn't see on him now.

Franco just stared at her. His thick eyelashes flickering as he blinked in confusion and bashfulness. He didn't want to admit he had gotten a little overworked about the situation, but he had to muster up an excuse of some sort, right?

"Y-yeah. So what if it did? I ain't gonna thank'em! And now I'm all fuckin worked up and out here in my fuckin pajamas!" The man whined. A wincing pitch to his voice that made one feel like they were fighting with a child.

"Fuckin...mothafucka.." Bambino growled to himself. Massaging his eyelids softly once again to push the waterworks away.

"Aw, my poor Bambino. Always cryin, never'sad." Lizzy would bend down to kiss his temple. A faint smear of red tint from her lipstick that she'd had on since the day before. It's darkness was only visible if you really looked for it under the red light of the bridge. Franco's sad moans would cease after this short reward, but only briefly.

For Franco, especially at this time, it still wasn't enough.

"Mother...May I?" He winced and groaned. The sound he made was pathetic to say the least. Like a pained beast, begging to be put out of it's misery. He ran his hands up the woman's sides, gripping them securely much like the way he would grip his precious Lupara.

Lizzy's eyebrows would raise in surprise by his assertiveness in this moment. She scoffed and shook her head. "You'know I ain't got time't fool around wit' you Frankie." She protested. Looking into those sad puppy dog eyes of his. Lizzy had a strong will, but sometimes the break line was thin. She sighed. "C'mere Barbi Doll. Give mama some sugar." She beckoned him with her finger. "Marone...." The mobster buried his face into her belly without a moment's notice. Whispering sweet nothings into the pit of her stomach. His sweating skin sticking to the cool silk that hung loose from her figure. Nosing at it like a desperate animal in heat. Breathing in her scent like it was the last thing he’d do. "Look at what ya'do t'me..." The words crawled out of his mouth like a bum from the gutter. Desperate and yearning.He could never have what he wanted most from her. No matter how many times she appeared on his stage. A dream that was far off, but he had played in his head one hundred times over. The idea of getting warm and close to Lizzy in such a manner made his heart skip and his head spin. He couldn't even catch his breath to properly word the excitement it brought him. So instead, he tried to show it through physical affections as he tugged Lizzy closer to himself. His hands cusped just under her wide and soft curvature. Lizzy's expression would go from soft to perky and surprised at the sudden affections. “What do I do to you, Barbi Doll?” She whispered the question into the air as the tension built itself up. The musk was thick from the stage’s fake salt and morning fog that poured from machines in the walls. "You make baby crazy, Liz…” He groveled as his legs failed to hold him up any longer. Holding on to her ankles for dear life as he looked up at her face. His palms rubbing past the holes in her stockings, occasionally slipping a finger under the fabric to circle her skin tenderly. He would heave slightly as he leaned forward to kiss at the shimmering fabric. The woman stared intently at his display of affection. At the vulnerable state he was willing to subject himself to so he could hear her affirmations. And all she could do was watch him as he kissed at her feet. His lips were dry and sticky as he peppered trails up each leg. One at a time. An alarm was going off somewhere inside her head. The way Franco appeared at the floor before her made her skin hot and her stomach warm. A smirk would creep at the corners of her face, only emphasized by the red lipstick colors that stained her mouth. “Bambino…” Lizzy said. Franco’s short breaths paused as he made eye contact with her upon his title being named. “You know what you make me want to do?” She questioned.

Franco's eyes would light up at the opportunity to ask her. What did he make her want to do. How did she feel? "Mother...Please...." His voice was eager and hurried, like it was being squeezed from him.

"W-what do I make you wanna do, Mother... Tell me. Please." Franco's head was almost on the ground as he bowed it to the question.

"Mother please." The man child begged.

"Heh.." The tall woman snickered and cleared her throat. The air hissing as it sucked in past her teeth that she bared. And if it hadn't been for the lighting one could swear that she had the grin of a predator. Sharp and wanting. Drooling. Itching to snap down on bone and flesh.

Franco's eyes darted back up as he stared from below. The silence getting heavier and heavier with every second that passed. Waiting for her answer.

Before he could gather the air to speak and cut through the quiet, he was hoisted into the air. Lizzy having put down the medicine bottle to give herself more control and range to handle Barbi.

"My Little Baby Barbi Doll." She sang. She pulled his small body close to her so they were nose to nose. Holding him as if he weighed nothing more than a toy to her. Her facial features formed what could only be described as an intoxicated expression.

"If I had it my way..." She giggle-whispered. Her high pitched tone jittering as though something was very funny to her.

"If I had it my way, Barbi Doll. I'd reach my hand right through that little barrel chest'a yours." Lizzy circled her finger nail lightly over the skin above Franco's heart.

"I'd push past your ribs...until I could feel'ya heart between my fingers. And yank it right outta ya. Tubes and all." As Lizzy detailed the viscera of the scene in her head, you could hear the peak of the pleasure she took in describing it. In some twisted way, it made her heart flutter and gave her butterflies in her gut.

Franco's jaw was nearly on the floor as she hushed her desires right into his ears. They locked eyes, and as his mouth was agape, Lizzy's grin was that of a hungry....wolf. No.

He was the wolf here. Lupara, echoed in Franco's head. He still had Lupara, but he dare not grab for it. He knows how much Lizzy hated when he handled the gun around her.

No not a wolf. A vixen. And right now, Franco was the hare. The foolish hare that laid it's head in the maw of the fox. At any moment she could snap her jaws right on his little neck and do him in.

"I would take a bite outta your heart like a fuckin fruit. Frankie." The woman's lips twitched into a sadistic and hungry little grin and she leaned in close to whisper into Franco's ear. "And I bet you taste sweet. Sugar-sweet. Like milk, and honey."

The sentiment was enough to make Franco's mind go over the edge between fear and arousal. He was speechless, short circuited. Not a clue this side of hell what to say to her.

She sighed a longing sigh, as if she had just been minorly inconvenienced. "A girl can dream..." Lizzy would cut off her thoughts quite abruptly.

Putting Bambino back on the ground, his eyes widened with fear and uncertainty. Was she serious? Franco didn't actually know the answer, but his face was hot and flushed so much so that the sweat dripped from his skin. He took a deep breath and asked.

"Y-you wanna eat me?" He said with little behind the question. His teeth clenched from the anxiety. His mouth hollowed with confusion to Lizzy's true motives.

Their gazes would meet and there was a short pause. Lizzy wiped the corner of her mouth with the tip of her thumb and snickered softly.

"You heard me, Barbi Doll. I just wanna. Eat. You. Up."

She hunched over a bit, lowering herself to his level to place a deepened kiss on his lips. It caused Franco to moan lightly with relief as her touch was a comfort he had been missing for days. His temper was short because he felt ignored. Neglected even. But this was just the pick me up he needed, despite how he came about it.

But, the answer was still unclear. Although it wasn't something Franco saw any worth in dwelling over. Not after the heart skipping moment he just felt with Lizzy. Not right now.

A sickening bond that was ever growing between the two of them.

"One'a these days, Dollie. But not today,alright?" She grabbed his chin again and jerked his face lightly and playfully. His eyelashes fluttered at the motion.

"You gonna walk a little lady to the exit shuttle then?" Lizzy requested.

Franco whom already felt a lingering intimidation radiating from Ms.Lizzy, would hold no argument as he hooked his arm around her waist. He had no qualms with escorting her along with the medicine bottle she acquired.

After all he just wanted to get back to bed. He had thoughts to think over, and desires to dream of before the real trials of the day began.

-End