#she said we can’t keep waiting to bury him

[maidofmetal]

i have to sell my l7 concert tickets because the next day is my uncles memorial services and i’m so upset n it’s stupid but 🤬

[ohcaptains]

knuckle velvet

synopsis. he walks you home, then lets himself in.

pairing. logan howlett x f!reader. tags. [18+] dubious consent, vaginal penetration, female receiving oral sex, spitting. honey don't feed it, it'll come back type beat.

Some deep part of Canada, where everything was white. Snowstorms that swarmed through the sky, and the only warmth you could find came from the bottom of a bottle.

The wood floor of the sticky bar you worked in was soaked from frost covered boots – haphazardly scraped across the welcome mat, owners preoccupied with getting their first drink than keeping the place tidy.

You existed there, behind the bar that patrons lent against, like a metal cage with leering onlookers. They paid in drinks, but you took the money home as tips, your warmth stoked in a fireplace.

How you’d ended up there in that forgotten part of the world, you didn’t know.

Perhaps you’d followed a narrow path, one strung out with thorns and rubbish, but the money was okay.

When it got slow, and there wasn’t much else to do, your boss let you read a bit, too, while you sipped on your endless supply of Coca-Cola.

At the end of your shift, your teeth were fuzzy from all the sugar. 

An easy existence, but some nights, the patrons got too friendly.

They were fresh off their trucks, looking for some place warm to bury for the night, but you weren’t offering.

So, you’d peer at them, watch them make a fool of themselves as they spewed putrid words in your general direction – alcohol and lack of sleep causing the floor to sway from beneath their feet.

It was always the new boys who would try it.

Risk it all for a chance between your thighs, unaware of the hound sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a whiskey and a vendetta.

The first time he fought for you, the air had changed. Gone cloudy with the chance of a brawl – that sixth sense that all bartenders have switching on.

“Lady said no, ain’t she?” he bellowed from across the bar.

The voice thick with smoke and alcohol, you recognised him as the guy who’d been drinking whiskey all night, but he was as sober as a nun. No stumble to his step, or slur to his cadence, either.

He was built like an oak tree. You noticed when you served him. Slid him his drink and gazed at the sheer bulk of him. At the weathered, handsome age to his face, to the spray of grey in his brown hair.

His thick arms were snugly buried under a button up shirt, and you didn’t see, but rather imagined, the way his muscular legs were stuffed into jeans, and the way his size 12’s rested against the hardwood.

His eyes though, were hiding something. Milky brown concealing his curiosity – easily done with the hard panes of his face.

You imagined letting him take you home, and you thought about being friendly, before a whisper in the back of your cranium told you to back off.

Perhaps safer.

You didn’t know where this man had come from, let alone where he’d been. So, you continued to serve him drinks, and tried to ignore the quiet hum of his presence, until the hum turned to a crash.

The patron was scorned. He paused, and turned to the end of the bar, where the brown eyed stranger was waiting. “What’s it to you?” he slurred.

But the man with the whiskey wasn’t looking to him. He sipped his drink, and said, “she said no. You don’t remember your manners?”

The bar adorned an eerie quiet. Nerves sat low in your belly, heart picking up speed.   “This guy serious?” he asked you.

You went to say something, but he was already throwing words at the stranger.

“She yours or something?” “It matter?” “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” The stranger scoffed, and brought his drink to his lips, “whatever bub.”

“We got a problem?” the man uttered, stalking towards him, but his friend took him by the arm and whispered something in his ear, forcing him to deflate.

You wondered what he’d uttered. Whether there were rumours about the guy – a reputation you didn’t know about.

Brown eyes didn’t bat an eye when the man and his buddy slid out the door, cold filling the room before the door slammed shut.

The bar exhaled.

People went back to their business, and you thought about it, you really did. Thought about leaving him alone. Going back to your measly existence. Your home – the pit for all of your things.

But it didn’t win over in the end.

You topped up his drink. He took it, and glanced at you, brown eyes ringed with mystery.

“That happen often?” he uttered, voice a gruff grunt.

You put the bottle down, and looked away, thinking back to last week when you nearly fought a guy for staring for too long. You glanced back to him. “Sometimes.” “Your boss is an asshole for letting you work here alone.” “That so?” you laughed, shocked at his candour. He nodded and downed his drink, eyeing you from over the rim.

Finished, he put the glass down on the bar, and shrugged his jacket on. He got up to leave, and you felt a chasm begin to open up in your chest.

You went to say something. Anything, to make him stay. But he paused and looked over his shoulder.

His jaw was clenched when he tentatively offered, “be safe.”

When you locked up, he was waiting for you. 

It didn’t scare you. Really, it should, but when you left the bar and saw him standing there, toking on a cigar in the cold, all it did was make you pause. He stood there, gazing at you, eyes clouded by smoke. 

“You waiting for me?” you uttered, making it real, even if the light drift of snow was giving the world a dream like quality. 

He shrugged. “Just waiting.” 

You nodded, and put the bar keys in your bag, ignoring the chasm get wider. If he was going to rob the place, he’d have to get through layers of receipts and tissues to get in. But you knew the bar wasn’t what he was after. Something about his posture, the luring look in his brown eyes — curious, like he was trying to figure something out. 

You began to walk past him, but when he didn’t follow, you paused. You peered over your shoulder, and he was still looking at you. 

Taking you in. “Well,” you started, hitching your bag up your arm, “you gonna walk me home, or what?” 

He followed you in comfortable silence.

Just you, the night, and the crunch of dirt under his boots. His cigar smoke drifted by, and it wafted through your subconscious, followed by pine, and crisp scent of the snow.

He sounded like the noise of the woods — ever present in these parts. A comfort, if one had adapted to its unpredictability. When you got to your familiar walkway, you opened the gate, but he didn’t follow you through.

Instead, he stood by the entrance, watching you unlock your door like he’d just dropped you off from a date. it was when you were halfway through that he spoke up. “You work every night?”

“Yeah,” you started quickly, looking to him. “Apart from Wednesday and Sunday.” He considered you, then gave you a sharp nod, and turned to leave.

That’s how you ended up with a wolf at your door.

Every night, he was the last one left, then he silently walked you home.

Some nights, you’d find him leaning against the entrance, and he’d quietly peel away from the door and follow you. At first, he simply walked closely behind, a looming shadow, until he began walking beside you.

Then one night, you let him in.

Made him a cup of coffee to fight off all the liquor he consumed, and he sat at your kitchen table, and drank every drop.

Watched you in the low, fluorescent lighting, and you did the same. Curiously studied him. He looked different in your home. In your kitchen. Looked a little softer around the edges, even if he couldn’t relax completely.

It went like that for a while. It was on one of these nights that he gave you his name, followed by a shitty cup of coffee. Sometimes two. Maybe a biscuit, or a piece of cake. Leftovers turned into home cooked meals. Sat at the kitchen table and watched him eat. Roast beef. Mashed potatoes. Lasagna. Sipped at your cup of tea as he slopped up his pasta, using the back of his hand to wipe the sauce off his mouth.

You left him finishing off his plate to get ready for bed, and it was when you were sorting your hair out, that he came into your bedroom and began taking his boots off.

You stood at your mirror and watched him place them near your door.

Then he reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt.

One by one, you watched his thick fingers reach the bottom. He took it off, revealing a white tank off and broad chest, and hung the shirt up on your door frame.

Jeans next.

Popped the button and shucked them to his feet -- threw them with his boots and dragged himself towards your bed.  

You went to say something. Anything.

But he looked so exhausted as he crashed onto your frilly bed, that all you could manage was, “You lock the door?”

Logan nodded. His eyes were already closed, and he was hugging the pillow when he uttered, “you coming to bed, or what?”

You let him stay the night.

Maybe it was raining, maybe he was too tired – it didn’t matter. All that mattered, was that he was warm, and sometimes, when you woke and felt the terrifying ache of being alive, he’d be there to quiet the pain.

Hush you with the soft swell of his lips and wandering hands.

You’d come with a hushed whisper, hot and sticky over his calloused fingers -- drowsy from how high he took you. Then he’d kiss you, fix your clothes, and go back to sleep.

Always the middle of the night. When it was dark and quiet out, and it felt as if you were the last people alive.

His skilled hands bringing you to the brink, a soft kiss, then back to bed.

You would wait for it. Watch him nurse his whiskey at the end of the bar, the night dragging with every drink you poured. Then, he watched you lock up.

Waited at the door for you, so you could walk home together, wordlessly taking the familiar trail.

He’d eat, you’d watch, then leave for your room.

Once, you woke to his head between your thighs. The night was quiet, room dark – slither of moonlight from your window cutting a line through your bodies.

You were slick with sweat, and as you flexed your taunt muscles, they fizzled and singed. Hot heat pushed low in your belly, rooted between your thighs.

Logan hummed, and you reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, whimpering his name to grab his attention.

He had palm fulls of you. Fists of your thighs, soft of your belly, leaving marks with his desire – desperation. The first thing he did was apologise. Muttered a hoarse, m’sorry, into your soaking cunt, but continued tasting you.

You used his hair as leverage, and hitched your hips up an inch, causing his nose to bump into your sensitive clit, and you hissed, as if in pain, but the sound trailed off into something similar to his name, and Logan grunted, moving your hips further up so he could twist a thick finger inside.

You took all he gave.

Moaned into the pillow beside you as you rocked your hips against his face, soaking his nose and mouth. Said shit you didn’t mean, but meant all the same, and Logan got off on it.

This mysterious man who had taken over your life, grunted your name like it belonged to him. Made you come on his thick beard and puffy lips, then made you taste yourself as he kissed you.

You hugged his sweat slick frame to you, fingers scratching his scalp, mindlessly grinding against his clothed cock. You were content to just kiss him, until he dragged his fingers between your thighs again.

You startled, gasping into his hot mouth, but Logan hummed, near smiling against your lips.

“’think there’s another in there for me,” he drawled.

When he fucked you, there was so much of him that you went blind with it. Eyes half lidded, delirious as he pushed inside, making himself fit. Stuffing you full, then pulling out, just to feel it all over again.

Again and again. You moaned his name into his soaked, scarred chest. Felt yourself leave your body, so hot, so wet, that it was all sensation. Just the slap of his hips against yours, the feel of his hands on your tits, in your mouth, telling you to open wide.

He spat, and when he missed, he smeared the mess off of your chin and rubbed it into your cunt.

Made you come, then filled you with his own. Leant back, and watched it drip out of you. You were so consumed by him, that you didn’t have enough energy to feel self-conscious.

No, when he had his wild eyes on you, you reached between your thighs and stuffed it back inside.

The next evening, and he was back at the bar, waiting for you to bring him his whiskey. When you placed it in front of him, those wild eyes were on you again.

Waiting. Always waiting.

Waiting to play out your usual routine.

masterlist | ask | reblogs appreciated endlessly

[moonstruckme]

omg ok idea! James or Sirius with a gf whose chatty but just not super crass and May be she comes home drunk from girl's night and is just openly trying to seduce him and he's just so taken aback like who is this person?!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: intoxication, dubious consent but nothing more than kissing

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 717 words

Sirius has never received such determined kisses in his life. 

He turns his lips from yours, smearing them over your brow in consolation when you make a piteous, dejected sound he’s going to pretend for your benefit isn’t hilarious. You keep planting kisses on his jaw, his neck. Sirius catches your wrists in his hands when you start pulling up the hem of his shirt. 

“Hey, hey,” he laughs. “What happened to ‘hello’? Is this how we greet each other now, sweetness?” 

The kisses had begun the second he’d shut the door on your friends. They’d chatted for a minute before that, and you’d had this strange smile on your face as you waited for them to go. At the time, Sirius had chalked it up to your obvious inebriation, but now he knows it for depravity. 

“Preferably,” you mumble, mouth busy with the bits of chest you can get at by pulling down the collar of his shirt. Sirius isn’t sure whether you can’t stand on your own or whether you’ve just decided pressing yourself fully against him is the way to go. Any other time, he really wouldn’t be opposed. 

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks, delighted and exercising every ounce of self restraint in his battered soul to keep from kissing you back. He starts pulling you towards the couch, your uncoordinated feet following behind. 

You pause in your ravishment to grin up at him. You look positively impish. “Like, d’you want a list?” 

Sirius laughs, astonished. “What happened to my shy girl? Were you freaky fridayed by someone in the club?” 

“Freaky fridayed in the club.” You snort, flopping down onto the couch when he does and immediately getting into his lap. “That could mean lots of things.” 

Sirius feels a tug on his mouth. “Such as?” 

You bury your head in his neck, voice vibrating against his skin. “It’d make a good band name.” 

“It might,” he agrees, taking your face between both hands and removing you from him like a leech. A very pretty, beloved leech. “Do you feel like it might be time for bed, lovebug?” 

Your eyes spark. “Yeah,” you say heartily. 

“To sleep,” he clarifies. 

“Oh.” Your face falls. “Well, no. I thought we could have sex first.” 

Sirius guffaws, the sound short and loud, and his amusement really only worsens when you frown sullenly.

“Baby,” he tries gentling his tone, “I would love that, but you know why we can’t.” 

“Why?” you ask obstinately. 

Sirius pushes his thumbs into your cheeks, making wishful dimples on either side of your frown. “Because of what’s gotten into you.” 

“But I want to,” you whine. 

He pouts right back at you. “Me too, darling. It’s a tragedy.” 

“Not even a kiss?” you ask, tilting your head in his hands and looking up at him with huge, sweet eyes. Have you been able to do that this whole time? Fuck, he’s lucky you’re not often feeling bold enough to use it. 

“I could do a kiss,” he concedes. 

“A nice one,” you demand.

Sirius feels his lips pull up. “Agreed. A nice one.” 

You close your eyes, expectant, and he bends towards you, pressing his lips to yours sweetly. You taste like all manner of booze, but still his girl. You make a soft sound in your throat, lips parting for his, coaxing him in. In an extraordinary show of willpower, Sirius pulls away. 

“Hey.” You look betrayed, and he can’t help himself, planting a quick peck on your nose that makes it scrunch adorably. “You said it’d be a nice one!”

“That felt pretty nice to me,” he says, laughing when you try to move in for more and he has to dodge you. He turns his head to the side and catches at your hands when they go for his shirt. “That’s it for tonight. If you want more kisses tomorrow, I promise to let you have as many as you like.” 

You sigh, giving up and hooking your chin on his shoulder. “Your lips were, like, buzzing,” you mumble, wistful. “It was nice.” 

“Pretty sure that’s just you, sweetness,” Sirius tells you kindly, breaking his promise once more to press his lips to your hair. “Ready for bed now?”

“To sleep?” you ask despondently. 

“Yeah, baby. To sleep.”

[luveline]

hey! i wanted to request r with a best friend!marauder, and she feels guilty for being a clingy/touchy bsf? eg. always holds hands and loops arms together and loves hugs. but said marauder comforts her? thank you jadey

The steps off of the bus feel especially steep on just four hours sleep. You’re not dizzy, but when James offers his hand from the ground, you accept it. Much less scary to know he could catch you if you slipped. 

“I’m surprised we weren’t holding hands already,” he says, giving yours a squeeze as you land, and pulling you to the side where the already departed rugby team and their family members wait for their luggage to be retrieved from the bus’ belly.

“Oh, I know,” you say. There’s an odd awkwardness to it that you’re trying to bury. 

James is used to you. Your hand in his is casual, perhaps a little too much for company, but it’s just hand-holding. You like feeling that he’s near, the slight chill of British summer more readily suffered with his palm against yours. He runs hot. 

He lets your joined hands swing gently with the wait, doesn’t bother letting it go until the luggage is all out. James grabs his duffel bag and your suitcase, and everyone makes their way to the hotel. It’s late —the team were expecting to be here much sooner but there had been a punctured tire, and then an accident on the M4. James will have to play the game tomorrow with less hours of sleep than intended, but he’ll play well. 

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet,” James says a little later, when you’ve shoved your suitcase under the double bed. He turns off the big light. 

“That is an uncharacteristically large word.” 

“Loser,” he says, pushing down the blankets to sit next to you. He rubs his mouth and nose, then he turns to you, all business. “You are quiet, though. What’s the matter? Still feel poorly?” 

“I feel fine.” 

“You look awful.” He winces at his own harshness. “You look upset, sorry. And you still have sleep in your eyes, let me–”

You sigh and tilt your head up for him to scratch the sleep from your eye. For a moment, it’s quiet, just your face in his hand, his fingernail against the delicate inside of your eye. “Do you ever think we’re too close?” 

“Not really. Sometimes when you kick me in your sleep, maybe.” He takes back his hands. 

“You don’t care that I’m, like, constantly on you? I don’t know, like earlier, when you helped me off of the bus. Most friends wouldn’t keep holding on to each other after, but we do.” 

“Most friends wouldn’t take a nine hour bus just to see me play an away game, so…” James gives you a little poke in the ribs. “But we aren’t friends, we’re best friends. So what if we want to hold hands? That’s our business.” 

You frown. “You really don’t care? Even when I’m harassing you for hugs and stuff?” Nausea sits in your chest, waiting for him to say, Yeah, actually, the hugging is a bit much. 

“Babe, I love you,” James says, his glasses slipping down his nose as he gives a shake of the head. His eyebrows are pinched in confusion, but his mouth is softening. “How long have you been thinking about this?” 

“I just don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You’re never a burden.” He opens his arms. 

You crawl into his embrace, reassured by his chin where it digs into your forehead, and his warm voice. 

“You don’t bother me. We bother each other, right? We fight like kids. I love it, I wouldn’t trade our friendship for anything.” He pauses. Hums. “‘Cept a Big Mac. I’m starving, I can’t believe we got stuck on the motorway like that.” 

“You’d trade me for a Big Mac?” 

“In a moment of weakness.” 

His smile curves against your head. His arms settle on your back. It’s the same as every other hug you’ve shared, warm and easy. “I wouldn’t,” he murmurs, “I don’t know why you’re worried about being too much, but don’t bother. You’re touchy, I’m touchy, we’re affectionate people.” 

“I spent too long on that stupid bus,” you say, dropping your flushed face into his shoulder. 

“You definitely did. Why would I care about you hugging me too much?” His hand moves gently up and down. “You give the best hugs around.” 

[darnell-la]

Could you write something Logan x reader where she uses a safe word? Like usually she is fine and enjoys the rougher play but for whatever reason she is overwhelmed or gets scared. Maybe she is embarrassed or feels bad for it because she doesn’t want him to blame himself or something

note: our most active author's birthday was yesterday, so we’ve been pretty busy. we apologize for the gap in our posting but trust me, we have a lot of posts coming. stay tuned!

btw, I gave you guys a lil tease at the end…

———

Today has been a long day of teaching for y/n. She hoped to come home and rest, but Logan also had a bad day. Usually, when he does, he needs to kiss, feel, or be in y/n to relax.

“I’ve missed you all day. Damn kids always pushin’ my buttons,” Logan spoke low in the crook of y/n’s neck as his hips slowly moved.

“You just take all of my stress away, baby. Love you so much,” Logan growled, now snapping his hips. He loved the feeling of her growing wet underneath him. He loved her so much.

Y/n let out a small and soft moan, enjoying the pleasure, but she still felt off. She hadn’t told Logan she wanted a break today, because the man looked more stressed than usual.

“You sound so beautiful, baby. Can’t get enough,” the man rolled his hips in the right spot, getting him close to his climax.

As he was thrusting, he realized y/n hadn’t come yet. “C’mon, baby. Cum on me. Wanna feel you,” the ma buried his face into her neck to bite down a bit, just how she liked it, but right now, she felt off.

“Fuck, baby, c’mon! C’mon!” The man growled, snapping his hips at a fast and hard pace. “L-Logan,” y/n stuttered, feeling the pleasure but more pain since her body was working against her.

“Yes, baby, that’s it. That’s it!” Logan placed one hand next to Y/n’s head and used the other to grip her waist, pulling her body into his thrust.

“S-Stop,” y/n begged low, not knowing if she should stop the man, or let him relax. “Ssh, baby — So fuckin’ close,” the man said as his cock twitched in her.

Y/n tried keeping herself together, knowing this would only last several more thrusts, but her eyes began to tear.

“R-Red,” y/n said low, instantly, making Logan slow his hips down. “Red!” Y/n cried out. Logan quickly pulled out of y/n and pushed himself off of the bed.

Logan went to speak, but he cut himself off after seeing y/n curl up on their shared bed. He was afraid he did something wrong. He didn’t know if he should comfort her or stay back.

“Bub?” Logan asked, voice soft so he wouldn’t alarm her. “Baby? A-Are you okay?” He asked as he slowly crawled on the bed to look over her curled body.

“Y-Yes, I just need time,” Y/n said, shutting her eyes tighter in embarrassment. How could she stop her own husband as he got closer to finishing, just because she had a bad day at work.

“O-Okay, sweetheart, just- I’m here if you need anything, okay?” He asked as y/n slowly turned around. “No, no, don’t leave. I-I didn’t mean it,” Y/n said as she rubbed her tears away.

“Just a bad day at work. It’s nothing serious, so we can continue-“ Logan cut her off before she could continue. “Nah uh, we’ll continue tomorrow. Let’s just relax for right now, okay?” He said as she went to pull y/n down to lay with him, but she refused.

“No, no, I’m fine! I swear, we can keep going. I-It’s not that serious-“ Before she could continue again, he got her off. “It is serious if you’re shouting safe words, y/n,” Logan said.

Y/n stayed silent at his tone, not knowing how to respond.

“Baby, if you’re not down to make love, you gotta tell me. I see you every day, almost all day. I can take a little break to just lay and look into your pretty eyes,” Logan sat up and rubbed y/n’s wet cheek.

“I know, it’s just-“ y/n was cut off again. “No! No, I don’t want to hear it. C’mere and lay down, before I get upset. Mhmkay?” The man said as he laid back again, waiting for her to do the same, and so she did.

“I’m not relaxed unless you are, princess. Need my baby fully in the mood when I touch her. No exceptions. No matter how much I need to taste you,”

“But, I want you to finish,” y/n said, looking up at the man who she knew needed to release. “Baby, don’t worry about me. I can live until tomorrow or whenever you feel better,” the man said, but it was hard to ignore his hard-on against her body as they lay together.

“C-Can I watch you? I just don’t feel like doing anything, you know? But I can watch you,” she said, feeling a bit awkward, but she couldn’t lie and say she didn’t want to satisfy her man a little tonight.

“Baby, I think you should rest-“ This time, before he could dish, y/n cut him off. “Please, baby? You were so close,” Y/n said as she dragged her hand up his long and thick shaft.

“Fuck,” the man breathed out, feeling his coco twitch instantly. He was painfully hard and leaking out of his tip worse than she’d ever seen before. If he didn’t cum now, he would’ve been in his sleep.

“Fine, but don’t touch me anymore, baby. Feels too good, and I want you to rest,” Logan said as he removed her hand and replaced it with his own.

Logan began fishing his cock slowly, stroking her leftover wetness on his cock to make his hand glide smoother.

“Mhm hm,” Logan tried holding his moan in, feeling a bit off that he was the only one moaning, but when he looked to the side to see y/n’s eyes lust over him storming himself, he let them out.

“Fuck, baby — Not even touchin’ me and I feel like I’m goin’ crazy for you,” Logan said in between his grunts. Y/n placed a hand on his lower stomach, teasing him even after he said to now to uh her anymore.

“What did I say, princess? D-Don’t touch me. Just relax,” he said, but she ignored him and slightly scratched at his skin. “Augh fuck,” the man let out, hips fucking upwards as he felt himself near.

Logan’s feet curled, as his legs pointed in-word, letting y/n know he was right there. “That’s it, baby,” Y/n said, and that was it for Logan.

Logan groaned loudly, fist staying in place as his grip tightened around himself. Cum shot out of him and painted all over his thighs, abs, chest, and y/n’s hands and arms.

Y/n talked the man through his high, trying something new as she stroked his face. Logan accepted it all, softly placing his hand on her hand as he shook and caught his breath.

Logan never knew someone could make him feel this crazy with minimal touch. He’s fallen harder than he was before.

[tusks-and-claws]

Cold Love/Hot Blood

Miguel O’Hara x female reader

Summary: “Between teeth on a broken jaw/following a bloodtrail, frothing at the maw”

Miguel is struck with something that he’s never experienced before

Tags/warnings: smut (18+), oneshot, dubcon by way of pheromones, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, size kink, feral Miguel, biting, marking, blood drinking, paralytic venom

Wordcount: 3k

Ao3 link here

-

You opened your eyes, blinking at the soft light from the bleary haze. Wincing, you raised your hand to your head. It didn't necessarily hurt, but it definitely felt wrong. What had happened? You were on a mission. That's right. And it had been going so well, until… until the anomaly villain threw something at you and Miguel. What was it? It had such an awful smell to it. And, where was Miguel?

You traversed the rubble of the abandoned building you were in. You couldn't see him. You shouted out for him.

"Here, I'm here," you heard him from the distance. Following his voice, you found him under some pieces of sheetrock from a collapsed wall. He was pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask.

"Geez, Miguel, are you alright?"

"Been better." His voice sounded strained. "Got a transmission from Jess that she's got hands on the anomaly. We'll meet her back at HQ. You go on ahead of me."

"What? No, we have to-" you started grabbing at the rubble to pull it off of him. He caught your arm before you could keep lifting.

"Please," he said, trying to meet your eyes from behind his mask. "Just go."

"What the hell is going on, Miguel? You're not… you're not acting right. We have to get you out of here."

He brought his hands up, holding his head in frustration. "Please, just do it. Don't make me beg."

"LYLA, please check him," you said, the avatar popping up and saluting you.

"No, don't-!" He tried to catch her in the air but she evaded him.

"His heart rate is really elevated but he seems okay otherwise. I think he's being dramatic. I don't detect any major injuries," she reported. You thanked her and she disappeared.

You crouched down to where he was. "What's going on, Miguel?" Your tone was serious.

He tried to hold your gaze for a moment until he swore and looked away. "That bomb that the anomaly threw… it affected me in a way that it clearly didn't affect anyone else, alright? Are you happy now?"

You furrowed your brow. "I don't understand."

He sighed, his breath shaking ever so slightly. "Itwasapheromonebomb." He said it so quickly and quietly.

"...What?"

"It was a pheromone bomb. Just leave me here so I can wait it out. This is so shocking humiliating- I," he sighed again. "Don't make me explain any further."

You blushed, not sure what to say. But you couldn't leave him like that, half-buried and vulnerable. "Can I at least help you up…? I promise I won't make fun of you. I just can't leave you defenseless like this."

He seethed for a moment, considering your offer. "...Fine. Grab this stupid sheetrock."

You did so, lifting it off of him with some effort. He did his best to stand up quickly. Despite his best, though, you could see the source of his embarrassment. He had a rock hard erection, and a particularly desperate one, by the looks of it. It laid upward, reaching towards his abdomen and pushing up against the tight fabric of his suit, straining. The size of him was nothing short of impressive.

You turned your gaze pointedly towards the ground as he moved away from the pile of rubble. Don't react don't react don't react. Could you pretend like you didn't notice? Even though not noticing was impossible, even from a single glance? You swallowed a lump in your throat, your head swimming with unprofessional thoughts.

Miguel turned from you, crouching down, hissing out a slow breath. "Fuck, it's getting worse," he whispered to himself, his body starting to tremble.

You took a step closer, reaching a hand out to his shoulder.

"Your proximity isn't… isn't helping." He admitted without turning around.

You stopped, silently moving your hand away from him. Touching him would surely make things harder.

"Miguel, I don't think waiting it out is an option for you. You just said it was getting worse."

He swore under his breath to himself. "I didn't mean for you to hear that. This is- shock it- this is completely foreign to me. Never been hit by anything like this before, it's s-so intense."

You winced at that, you'd never heard his voice so pained. But, what was the other option? You shivered just to think about it, your body reacting in ways that surprised you. How could you possibly propose helping him without making him think less of you? Would he even want help from you? Across from you, he was in turmoil, on his hands and knees trying desperately to control his breathing.

“Miguel… how can I help you?” It was a foolish question, a loaded question.

“You know the answer,” he replied from over his shoulder, his tone cold. He cried out again. “I- I can’t- can’t do that to you.”

“What if I’m offering?” You asked, a little too quickly, pushing down your fear and embarrassment for even thinking such things.

He turned further to meet your eyes, though you still couldn’t see his from behind the mask. You didn’t even need to see his eyes, his body language was communicating perfectly on their behalf. His muscles were pent up and quivering. Every breath rocked his massive shoulders. “Why?”

You didn’t think he’d ask that question. You searched your brain for an answer. “Because it isn’t your fault. And I respect you enough that this won’t change my mind.”

His thoughts seemed to be diverting to his baser instincts, his voice becoming a growl. “Need you… to be sure. Don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

“I’m sure,” you said.

In no time at all, he pounced, bringing you to the ground. He was on top of you, his taloned fingers caging in your wrists against the cracked concrete of the floor, your arms above your head. You landed with your legs apart and with him between them, his hips desperately close to yours. Your eyes widened at his feral energy, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. He brought his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling. His exhale was shaky. “You smell so good… always smelled so good.”

Your body grew hot upon hearing that. Always? Had he thought about you in that way before? You smiled to yourself as he nuzzled the nose of his masked face into your neck, his hot breath coming through and ghosting over your skin. You could feel his huge frame shaking around you. He brought his hips down to your pelvis, seemingly being as cautious as possible as he began to grind his hardened length against you. His breath quickened at the contact, and he met you again with fervor, stimulating himself on you. His cock was unbelievably hard and hot, the temperature of him coming through both of your suits to meet your skin and overwhelm you. The feeling of him against you was sending shivers down your spine, the pleasant pressure made even sweeter by the promise of more to come. He positioned himself on top of you in such a way that each rhythmic, grinding rock found your clit and teased it with clothed contact.

You moaned lightly, the sound of it causing him to growl into your neck. You lifted your hips up, meeting him with the same tempo so he could grind into you more thoroughly, your bodies now writhing in tandem. His heavy breathing became panting. "Need to… need to touch you." He picked up his head and released your wrists, one hand steadying himself on the concrete, the other reaching down eagerly.

You got the memo, quickly slipping the pants of your suit down and throwing them aside so he wouldn't rip them off for you. You had at least enough hindsight to know you couldn't go back to HQ looking so disheveled. He dismissed the gloves of his suit and retracted his talons as his fingers found you immediately, honing in on the wet heat of your sex. Two plunged inside as he loomed above you, his muscles shaking again as he wet his fingers with your arousal. You shook right alongside him, your reaction bodily, as your back arched and your legs closed instinctively to hold his hand in place and not let him go. His fingers hooked inside of you, already relentless.

"Soaked," he whispered, almost to himself. The word resonated with a deep, animalistic hunger. Without removing his fingers from your warmth, he sat back on his knees and used his free hand to pry your legs open. "Need to see," he said. He watched the length of his fingers disappear over and over. The large hand that kept your legs wide was squeezing the soft flesh of your inner thigh, and he seemed fixated on the way it was yielding to his rough touches. Nearly everyone was small compared to Miguel, but you… you were different. He had his hands on you, inside of you, the comparison was tangible. You were small, soft, and his. His mind swam with how he would take you, how he would sheath himself inside of you until he bottomed out, how he would desperately fill you with his hot cum and hold your hips up to keep any precious drops from leaking out. It took everything in him to not reach down and start rubbing his impatient cock through his suit, but his fevered brain convinced him to keep his free hand on your leg so he could watch you fall apart from his fingers alone.

He was delirious as your walls started to spasm around his fingers, white hot pleasure pooling in your core, threatening to overflow as he kept up his efforts. The constriction of your muscles bolstered him, and he began to go faster and harder, starting to overstimulate you. You threw your head back, hands wildly trying to grasp at something on the concrete floor but coming up short. He removed his hand from your throbbing sex to start teasing your clit with abandon, and you moaned as your body lifted up off the floor.

"H-holy shit, Miguel," you gasped out. "It's- it's so much."

His hand moved so fast against your swollen clit that you could hardly think. The feeling was electric, and your orgasm was dangerously close. Your legs started to shake and tried to close around him again, but he kept them forced open as he intently watched, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. You came and it utterly racked you, your body shuddering as you cried out, hot liquid spewing from you and drenching Miguel's hand and forearm. You squirted on him, because of him. You thought you should be embarrassed, but he gave you no opportunity.

As your head just started to clear, he recalled his mask into the neck of his suit. You quietly gasped at unexpectedly seeing his face. So strong, angular, and handsome. His red eyes looked wild, his mouth was open, his fangs fully extended. He studied his hand, turning it over so the mess you made could catch the light. As it started to dry down on him, he brought the two fingers that had been inside of you up to his mouth, and he licked them both clean. You gaped at him, almost fully unable to process what was happening.

When he was finished, he turned his gaze from his fingers and back onto you, as you sat up on your elbows to watch him. You saw that his cock was still as hard as ever, still pushing to break free. As if reading your mind, he recalled that part of his suit too as he grabbed your legs and yanked you toward him. He rested his cock over your abdomen, once again reveling in just how much bigger than you he was. The hot weight of his manhood on your skin set you ablaze once more and you eagerly awaited him. He thrusted but without penetrating you, sliding himself over you and wetting his cock on your cum. His exhales quaked with anticipation until he could wait no longer. Even on his knees, he towered over you, and so he needed to tilt your hips up further so your entrance could meet the head of his leaking cock. He shifted his grip to your waist, holding firm as you steadied yourself on your elbows and looked to him with bated breath.

He slowly pushed his hips into you, his cock sinking deep into your pussy. The steady penetration had you reeling. You needed to feel him, all of him. Every inch, all at once. It felt like it took ages for him to finally reach the hilt, but when he did, he waited inside of you for a brief, merciful moment. You basked in the feeling of being so full, so complete. He began to pull himself out of you, leaving you cold and empty for a split second until he slammed his entire length back into you, repeating and repeating at an unwavering pace.

Each powerful thrust reached so deep inside of you that it was nearly painful. Immediately, the head of his cock found your cervix and was hitting it with each hard pump that Miguel delivered. Your eyelids grew heavy as your eyes began to roll back towards your skull. His onslaught was so thorough, every smack of his hips against your pelvis reverberating through every inch of your body. The overstimulation of when he fingerfucked you had carried over, and you were already close to losing control all over again. He felt it too, as he growled in response to your pulsating walls.

"This cunt…." He snarled through his fangs. "This cunt is mine."

"Yours," you moaned, meeting his words a little too quickly.

"Going to mark you… so everyone knows."

"Mark me, Miguel." You agreed, not quite realizing what he meant. He started to lay you down onto the ground without removing himself from you, continuing to fuck you in missionary as he brought his face down to the crook of your neck. Your pulse quickened with excitement. He opened his mouth, his breath making your skin somehow even warmer. You wished that you could've seen the flash of his fangs before what came next.

He bit down on you, hard, and you could feel the course of his venom like molten lava through your veins. When the searing heat reached its crest, a soothing wash of warmth followed in its wake, leaving your muscles loosened and relaxed. Blood started to drip down your shoulder, the wet trickle quickly cooling as it made contact with the atmosphere. Miguel stayed latched to you as his tongue met your skin, lapping at the red stream, determined to consume it all.

You submitted to him fully, allowing him to position you how he saw fit so he could fulfill his feral need. His strong hands snaked around your torso to your back, lifting you up with him as he rocked back onto his knees. He helped you to swing your legs around his slim waist and to drape your arms over his huge shoulders. You let your face settle against his neck, the clean musky smell of him overwhelming your senses. His hands found your hips and he effortlessly lifted you up and down on his cock, fucking himself with your pussy like you weighed nothing at all. You moaned into him as you clenched around his cock, your limp body succumbing to the overpowering feeling of him. You started to shudder as your orgasm claimed you with a white-knuckled grip. You whined into Miguel's neck as it hit you with shock after shock, your vision going spotty while your cunt tightened around him.  

He couldn't hold it any longer, and his cock jerked inside of you as he came. You were still getting hit with aftershocks of your own climax, your muscles bearing down to milk every drop of cum that he filled you with. He held you closer and he thrusted himself as far into you as he possibly could, instinctively trying to make sure as little seed would have the chance to leak out of you as possible.

Your muscle control started to slowly come back to you as you and Miguel were chest-to-chest, both of you sweating and heaving. You weakly raised your arms so your hands could tangle with the hair at the nape of his neck. You lingered there for a bit, his strong arms holding you in the place as you played with soft locks of chocolate hair. You finally leaned back to see clarity slowly returning to Miguel's expression, and he looked utterly mortified. He held your gaze as he turned red, removing one hand from your body so he could cover his face.

"Oh my God," he whispered. "What the shock came over me?"

You were struck with sudden fear. "Do you… not remember?" The fact that he was still buried inside you should've been a dead giveaway.

"No, I do," he said, nervously. "I remember getting hit with that stupid bomb, and you helping me, then me wanting to split you in half."

You couldn't help but giggle at that.

"I tried to make sure I wasn't too rough with you. I was still in there, the whole time," he said, taking his hand away from his face to smooth your hair. He stopped when he reached your neck, seeing the bite marks he left. "Guess I didn't do all that well, did I?"

"It's fine. I can take it."

"Clearly," he said, raising his eyebrows, mildly impressed. "Thank you. I… don't know what I would have gone through if you hadn't been so… generous. But… for God’s sake, let’s not go around telling people what happened. We have reputations.”

You agreed, the secret safe between the two of you, the puncture wounds on your neck a silent souvenir.

[inkspiredwriting]

payback

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

A/N: This was a request. As always, feel free to say if you liked it, even if you didn't, please tell me.

Warnings: none

Five Hargreeves was not a man easily rattled. He'd seen the end of the world, faced off against assassins, and outwitted time itself. But there was one person in the universe who could consistently throw him off balance, and that was his wife, Y/n.

It was a lazy Saturday morning, the kind where the world felt slow and peaceful. Five and Y/n were lounging in the living room, the sunlight streaming through the curtains, casting a warm glow over everything. Five had his nose buried in a book, his usual brooding expression softened in the comfort of home.

Y/n, on the other hand, was in a mischievous mood. She had been plotting a little prank for weeks, ever since Five had teased her relentlessly about a minor kitchen mishap that had left their kitchen covered in flour. He’d insisted on calling her "Flour Queen" ever since, and she figured it was time to get a little payback.

"Five," Y/n said, her voice deliberately serious as she folded her hands in her lap.

"Mmm?" Five replied, not looking up from his book.

"We need to talk."

Something in her tone made Five pause. He looked up, brow furrowing in concern. "What’s wrong?"

Y/n took a deep breath, putting on her best somber expression. "I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and… I think we should get a divorce."

Five blinked, his brain momentarily short-circuiting as he processed her words. "A… a what?"

"A divorce," Y/n repeated, keeping her voice steady despite the laughter bubbling up inside her. "It’s just… I don’t know if I can do this anymore."

Five’s book slipped from his hands, landing on the floor with a thud. He stared at her, his usual composure cracking. "Y/n, what are you talking about? Why would you want a divorce?"

Y/n bit her lip, struggling to maintain her serious expression. "Well, for one, you never help with the dishes."

Five blinked again. "The dishes?"

"Yeah, and you’re always leaving your socks everywhere. And don’t even get me started on your time travel obsession. I just… I need more in a marriage, Five."

Five’s eyes widened as he frantically searched for words. "I… I can do the dishes! And… and I’ll put my socks away! We can talk about time travel less—wait, is this about the flour incident? Because I was just joking, Y/n. You know I love you more than anything!"

Y/n pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. She could see the genuine panic in Five’s eyes, and it was almost too much to bear. But she wasn’t done yet.

"It’s not just that, Five," she continued, her voice wavering just enough to make it believable. "I just feel like… like you don’t appreciate me anymore."

Five stood up, moving to her side with a desperation she hadn’t seen since the apocalypse. He took her hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. "Y/n, that’s not true. I appreciate you more than anyone. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel… human. I can’t lose you. Please, let’s talk about this. We can work it out, I promise."

Y/n could barely hold it together now. The sight of Five, normally so calm and collected, practically pleading with her was both heartbreaking and hilarious. She took a deep breath, deciding it was time to end the prank before Five actually had a meltdown.

"Five," she said, her voice softening, "I’m just messing with you."

Five froze, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What?"

"I’m kidding, Five," Y/n said, unable to keep the smile off her face any longer. "I don’t want a divorce. I was just getting you back for all the ‘Flour Queen’ jokes."

For a moment, Five just stared at her, processing what she had said. Then, as realization dawned, his expression shifted from shock to something between relief and exasperation.

"You… you little—" Five started, but he was cut off by Y/n’s laughter.

She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest as she giggled uncontrollably. "You should’ve seen your face! You were so serious!"

Five let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his heart still racing from the scare she had given him. But as Y/n’s laughter filled the room, he couldn’t help but smile. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"You’re evil, you know that?" he muttered, but there was no real anger in his voice.

"Maybe a little," Y/n admitted, looking up at him with a playful grin. "But you deserved it."

Five shook his head, still in disbelief that he had fallen for her prank. "I really thought you were serious."

"I know," Y/n said, her smile softening as she reached up to touch his cheek. "But seriously, Five… I love you. And I’m not going anywhere."

Five’s heart swelled with affection as he looked into her eyes, filled with warmth and mischief. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. "I love you too, Y/n. But if you ever scare me like that again, I might have to time travel just to get even."

Y/n laughed, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. "Deal."

Five sighed, finally relaxing as the tension melted away. He knew that life with Y/n would never be boring, and honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

They spent the rest of the day together, the earlier scare quickly forgotten as they settled back into their usual rhythm. Five couldn’t help but chuckle every now and then, still amazed at how Y/n had managed to pull one over on him.

As they curled up on the couch that evening, Y/n resting her head on Five’s shoulder, he glanced down at her, a smirk playing on his lips. "You know, I was this close to agreeing to anything just to make you stay."

"Good to know I have that power," Y/n teased, poking him in the side.

Five chuckled, pulling her closer. "Just don’t abuse it too much, alright?"

"No promises," Y/n said with a wink.

And as the evening sun set, casting a warm glow over them, Five realized that he had found something far more valuable than anything time travel could offer—a love that was playful, strong, and endlessly surprising.

[persevereforahappyending]

A Legacies Secret |14|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You just wanted a happy life with your girlfriend but then Ghostface attacks, revealing long thought to be buried family secrets.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Stabbing, Attempted Murder, Murder, Death, Blood, Gun shots

Word Count: 3.2k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

You sat emotionless on the hospital bed as the doctor finished stitching up your shoulder. They had done the wound on your side first, the doctor said you got lucky, the knife had just barely missed your ribs. Luckily it only hurt when you breathed or moved. You let out a hiss as the doctor did his last stitch. He smiled at you and told you when to come back to get the stitches out, not that you really heard him, you couldn’t stop replaying what happened in your head, you couldn’t stop seeing Dewey’s face.

You looked down when you felt a squeeze on your hand, then lifted your gaze to see Tara watching you with a worried expression. You wanted to offer her a smile, something to comfort her, to show you were okay, but you couldn’t even manage that. She stood up as best as she could with her crutches and carefully wrapped her arm around you. You just let your head drop to her shoulder, you didn’t even have it in you to break down. The only good thing to come from the attack was that Ghostface didn’t touch Tara, he didn’t get her again, you kept him away long enough, that was the one thing you actually did right. You couldn’t protect Dewey, you couldn’t run to his aid, but you saved Tara, you were just trying to hold onto that, you weren’t a complete failure at least.

Tara leaned back, caressing your face as she stared into your eyes. “What’s going through your head?” she asked softly.

The death of the father you just learned about. That’s all that was going through your mind. The death of the man who gave you chance after chance, the guy who finally smacked sense into you and made you get your shit together.

“Can we just get the fuck out of here?” You asked.

Tara nodded and sat back down in her wheelchair, laying her crutches across her lap. You got behind the wheelchair and began to push her out the door despite her protests that you could rip open your stitches already. When the two of you got to the waiting room you saw Sam talking to Gale and some other woman. When Gale’s eyes landed on you, she pushed past Sam to make her way towards you and Tara.

“Are you okay?” Gale asked as soon as she was close enough. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“Just stop,” you said harshly. You didn’t miss the way Gale flinched, you just didn’t care, just like you didn’t care that her eyes were red, she probably just stopped crying not too long ago. “Don’t pretend to care.”

“I do care,” she said softly.

“Well, I don’t, so if you don’t mind, we’re getting the fuck out of here.”

“What?” The woman who had been standing with Gale and Sam asked. “You can’t just leave. Look, you’ve been through a lot recently,” she flicked a glance at Gale. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling, but I do know what it’s like to be targeted by this asshole.” That’s when it clicked for you, this wasn’t some random woman, it was Sidney Prescott. “We could really use your help taking him down.”

“Fuck that,” you shook your head. “Sorry, but no. This,” you gestured around the room. “Isn’t about me. So, I’m taking Tara and we’re getting the hell out of here.”

“Okay,” Sidney nodded. “Be careful.”

“Thank you.” You looked at Sam who seemed conflicted. “You’re welcome to join us,” you directed at her. “Your Tara’s sister after all.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Sam said instantly. She texted Richie to pull the car up.

You were sure Sam had the same thought as you, now that Tara got attacked twice there was no way she’d stay in town. Sam might not have been your favorite person, but you weren’t about to keep Tara from her sister, especially if Sam was actually willing to stick around this time.

“Alright let’s get the fuck out of this town,” Richie said as he pulled up. You rolled your eyes as he quickly started apologizing to Gale and Sidney.

You glared at Richie when he tried to take over helping Tara, but he quickly let go of the wheelchair and backed up. “I’ll get the bags?” He said it more like a question as he took Tara’s crutches and backpack to sit in the back seat.

Tara gave you a disapproving look, but you caught the small smile on her face. She might not have been happy with you straining yourself already, but she appreciated it. As gently as you could you wrapped one arm around her and helped her slide into the back seat. You spared Gale and Sidney one last glance as they finished talking to Sam.

You were pressed against the door on the right side in the backseat to give Tara as much room as she needed to stretch out her injured leg. As much as you would have loved to be on the other side of her, with her leaning on you, that was her injured side.

“What’s wrong?” You asked when you noticed Tara searching her backpack in a panic.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, glancing back from the passenger seat.

“I can’t find my inhaler,” Tara said. Her breathing was already getting shallow at simply the idea of not having her inhaler.

“Can we stop somewhere?” You couldn’t blame Sam, the last thing you wanted to do was turn around. You wanted to get out of town as quick as possible and stop somewhere outside of town if you could.

“I need a prescription,” Tara shook her head.

“There’s a spare at my place,” you offered. You always kept a spare inhaler at your place, you never wanted anything to happen when Tara was staying the night or if she was at your apartment alone while she waited for you to get off work or come back with dinner.

“That’s on the opposite side of town. Wait,” her eyes snapped up. “Amber, I have another spare at Ambers.” You wanted to roll your eyes but even you had to admit Amber's place was more convenient, it was actually on the way out of town.

“No, no way,” Richie said, shaking his head. As much as you didn’t want to stop you knew how much Tara needed her inhaler.

“It’s on the way.”

Richie started to shake his head until his eyes landed on Sam. “Please?” She pleaded. “She needs it.”

“Fuck it, where does Amber live?”

A few minutes after Tara gave Richie the address, he was pulling up outside Amber’s house. You helped Tara out of the car and handed her her crutches, making sure to stand close by as you made your way to the front door, which was wide open. Amber was having a party, typical, of course she’d have a party when a psycho was on the loose.

Tara entered the house instantly after Richie and Sam, you couldn’t help but hesitate at the door. You knew where Amber lived because you had picked up and dropped Tara off multiple times, but you had never been in her house. With Ghostface looming in the darkness you couldn’t help but be on edge as you slowly stepped into the house.

You lingered in the background watching as Tara talked to Amber. You furrowed your brow when Amber started yelling that the party was over, Amber wasn’t usually the type to end a party early, especially one she was throwing. You then watched as Tara followed Amber, as everyone else in the house slowly filed their way out the front door.

You waited in the entryway with Sam, having no desire to wander around Amber’s house. Richie wandered off towards the kitchen, saying he was going to find something to drink. You just leaned back against the door and waited for Tara to come back while watching Sam pace back and forth.

You pulled out your phone when you felt it start to vibrate, you furrowed your brow for a second when you saw it was Gale calling you. You ignored the initial confusion and tapped to decline the call with an eyeroll. Almost as soon as you hung up on Gale Sam pulled out her phone.

“Who is it?” you asked.

“Unknown,” she said, holding up her phone for you to see.

“If it’s Gale hang up.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at your request but swiped to answer the call. “How do you know where I am?” Sam asked whoever was on the phone making you furrow your brow.

“Who is it?” you whispered.

Sam’s eyes widened at whatever the person on the phone was saying. Then she took off, yelling up the stairs for Tara. “What’s going on?” you grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.

“We’re in Stu Macher’s house,” Sam said. Your eyes went wide as soon as she said the name. Your eyes started darting around the house, you knew Tara lost her inhaler but there was no way all of you ended up at Stu Macher’s old house was a coincidence.

You stuck closely to Sam as she went around the house searching for Richie until the both of you ended up in the living room. “Holy shit,” you said when you saw Mindy bleeding out on the ground.

Sam instantly ran to Mindy’s side, pressing her hands against the wound. “Do something!” she yelled.

You nodded, your fingers stumbling as you grabbed your phone to call for help. You had just brought the phone to your ear when Tara and Amber came into the room. “What did you do?” Amber yelled, running over to Sam and Mindy, making Sam back away from Mindy.

“We found her like that,” Sam defended.

“Oh my god!” Richie said as he came into the room. You narrowed your eyes; you and Sam had gone through the entire bottom floor of the house and didn’t see him anywhere.

“Where were you?” you asked.

“The basement.”

“Alone?” Sam asked.

“Tara and I were together, but all of you are suspects!” Amber said, cutting off whatever Richie was going to say to defend himself.

“I was with Sam,” you said. “You’re the only one unaccounted for,” you looked at Richie.

“You and Sam together isn’t really a solid alibi,” Amber snapped. “Maybe you’re both the killer.”

Everyone continued arguing back and forth until Liv came into the room, hands raised and covered in blood as tears streamed down her face, smudging her mascara. “Liv,” you said slowly. “Why are you covered in blood?”

“I-I-” Liv sobbed. “I-I found Chad.” You could swear everyone held in their breath as you waited for what Liv was going to say next. “He-he was stabbed.”

“You’re the killer,” Richie said.

“I’m not the killer.”

“You’re the killer,” Amber repeated what Richie said.

“Amber, I’m not the fucking killer!” Liv snapped, tears still falling from her eyes.

“I know,” Amber said emotionlessly.

The next thing you knew Amber pulled out a gun and fired a bullet right between Liv’s eyes. She instantly pointed the gun at Sam, but Tara dropped one of her crutches and grabbed Amber’s hand, making the bullet go into the wall. While Amber was occupied Richie grabbed Sam’s hand and dragged her out of the room.

You ran towards Amber and Tara but as soon as you pulled Amber off Tara, she stabbed you in the gut, giving you a twisted smile. You heard Tara scream your name as you collapsed to the floor. You pushed yourself up and began to scoot back away from Amber, Tara was clinging onto her arm, making her unable to aim the gun still in her hand.

Amber whipped her hand back, knocking Tara into the wall. Amber raised her gun at you but as quickly as you could you crawled to the side of the couch, ducking as a few bullets entered the couch just above your heard. You pressed your hand to your new stab wound as you listened for more shots.

You weren’t sure how long you waited, it felt like seconds, but you were sure it had been longer than that when you realized you didn’t hear gunshots anymore, you didn’t hear anything. You risked peeking your head out to see Amber was gone, as well as Tara. You gripped the back of the couch, trying to use it to help pull yourself to your feet. As soon as you were standing someone appeared in the doorway, aiming a gun right at your head. You raised one blood hand, keeping the other on the wound as you stared down the barrel of a gun held by Sidney Prescott.

“It’s Amber,” you said, your eyes unable to leave the gun still pointed at you.

“I know,” Sidney said. “Stay here.” She gave you one last suspicious look before slowly making her way up the stairs.

You don’t know how long you stood there, leaning against the couch, you closed your eyes, meaning to just focus on your breathing but when you opened them again Amber was standing in front of you. You didn’t have time to process what was happening before Amber held her knife to your throat and shoved you in the direction of the kitchen.

When you stumbled into the kitchen you saw Gale, nursing a wound of her own, and Sidney already there. A couple seconds later Richie came in, shoving Sam to the ground. You grabbed Sam’s arm, quickly helping her to her feet and pulling her back towards the counter.

Richie and Amber looked at each other smiling, before pulling each other into a kiss. Richie kept his gun pointed at Sam while Amber dropped her knife to her side, the second Sidney tried to get around them though Amber broke the kiss and stabbed Sidney in the side.

You should have seen all this coming, you never liked Amber and Richie was suspicious from the moment you met him. You never imagined they would be in it together though, and definitely never could have imagined them dating. You always assumed Amber had a thing for Tara and was jealous of you.

“Why are you doing this?” Sidney asked.

“Because the latest sequel to Stab sucked!” Richie snapped.

You lifted your eyes to look at him, you were hoping you were bleeding out and a consequence was hard of hearing, there was no way these two assholes killed a bunch of people all because they were pissed about a movie.

“Richie and I met online,” Amber said, smiling up at him. “We quickly realized we shared similar ideas.”

“Didn’t take us long to come up with our own movie,” Richie said. “Wasn’t hard to find you in Modesto,” he shrugged, looking at Sam. “But you,” he pointed his knife at you. “You were a surprise.”

“But you can find out anything if you dig deep enough,” Amber said. “It’s a small town, secrets aren’t exactly secret,” she chuckled. “One whisper of someone saying Gale Weathers was in town,” she looked at Gale. “And didn’t take much after that. Going back,” she nodded to herself. “Your old interviews, your old episodes, it was clear something was off.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Sam asked. “Kill everyone? Make me your little hero?”

Richie burst out laughing at Sam’s suggestion. “Oh, you’re serious?” he said, clearing his throat. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re the villain, he gave her a devilish smile.

“Think about it!” Amber screamed; her eyes wide with excitement like you had never seen before. “What better movie is there? The secret daughter of the original mastermind,” she pointed her knife at Sam.

“And the secret daughter of two of the original survivors,” Richie continued, his smile matching Amber’s.

“Lied to her entire life,” Richie said, taunting Sam. “Until she discovered the truth,” he gestured with his hand at Sam, a glimmer in his eye. “And decided to exact her revenge.”

“Thrown away like trash, abandoned, never to be thought of again,” Amber continued, looking you directly in the eye. “Then learns the truth,” she smiled, pointing her knife at you. “And decides to get revenge.”

“It’s a revenge story!” Amber squealed. She actually did a little jump, as if she were giddy about the idea of you and Sam teaming up to kill a bunch of people. “Agh! It’s so good!”

“You’re insane,” Gale said.

“No!” Amber whipped around, raising her knife as if she were going to stab Gale again. “We’re fans! We just want to save the movie that inspired us.”

“You’re crazy,” Gale shook her head.

“And you’re a bad mother.” The next thing you knew a knife was shoved in your side. You lifted your head, opening your mouth only to cough up blood. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Amber whispered, twisting the knife that was still in you. “After we rid ourselves of you and Sam,” she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Tara will be all mine.”

Despite your current situation you laughed, you couldn’t help it, Amber said the funniest thing in the world after all. “You really are crazy,” you rasped out, coughing up a bit more blood in the process. “Tara will never love you.” You made sure to stare Amber directly in the eye as the words left your mouth, the consequences be damned.

Amber let out what you could only describe as a snarl before pulling the knife out only to shove it back in again, and again, and again. You started gurgling on the blood in your mouth, you weren’t sure when you lost count of how many times Amber stabbed you. When she finally stepped away you just collapsed to the floor.

You were only partially aware of the others trying to come to your aid, only to be met with a knife or a gun to their head. You tried to pull yourself to your feet but as soon as you got up on wobbly legs a sharp pain ripped through your knee, sending your straight back to the floor. Your hand went to your knee, instantly being met with the wet stickiness of blood. You rolled over, holding your knee, your eyes pinched shut, you didn’t even have it in you to scream.

When you opened your eyes, you were instantly met with a gun in your face. Amber let out a scoff and walked away. You weren’t sure what happened after that, you decided maybe just bleeding out on the floor was the best-case scenario. You saw blurry figures going back and forth, you were in and out of consciousness, every time you blinked it took you longer to open your eyes again, you could barely hear the muffled sounds of what you assumed was the others fighting.

Everything was silent, you could barely keep your eyes open, you just wanted to close them and rest. You felt a weight hit your chest, forcing you to open your eyes again. You could just barely make out the blurry image of Tara, it almost looked like she was crying, you weren’t sure why, she was safe, she was alive, there was nothing to be sad about. You saw her lips moving but couldn’t hear the words she was saying. Tara’s face was the last thing you saw before everything finally went black.

Taglist: @r-3-becca

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Imagine…

BAU!reader being married to Hotch but keeping her maiden name in the field to avoid assumptions and judgment. The team knows, obviously, but then a former colleague of Aaron’s from the Seattle office happens to be in town for a conference and wants to catch up over a drink. You can’t help but tease him, of course:

“Knock, knock,” you murmur, leaning against the doorway to your husband’s office. With a glance at your watch, you ask, “Y’gonna be late for your date?”

Aaron looks up at you with a frown before returning his attention to his case file and mumbling, “Not a date.”

“Mm, my apologies,” you respond with a twitch of your lips as you approach his desk. You lean your elbows on the dark wood and rest your chin in your open hands. Batting your eyelashes, you amend, “It’s a meeting betwixt old coworkers.”

Aaron rises from his chair, pressing his fists against the desk opposite you and positively towering over your smaller stature. He meets your fiery gaze with equal defiance, then leans forward to press a kiss to your lips and murmurs, “Are you our resident Reid while he’s with his mom? Who says ‘betwixt’?”

“Oh, shut up, nerd,” you taunt back between kisses of your own. “You collected coins; I played Scrabble. Now get going! Can’t leave a lady waiting for the Aaron Hotchner.”

—————

But WAIT! There’s more! Said agent gets a call while they’re out for a drink and asks Aaron and the BAU for help on a new case. Naturally, you all have to fly to Seattle together…

“Mama, you know this cabin is pressurized, right?” Derek teases with a nudge of your shoulder.

You mumble back around a sip of coffee, “Yeah, so?”

“So if you glare any harder, you’re gonna burn a hole through the jet and we’re all gonna die up here.”

Emily snorts out a laugh and you steal a Cheeto from JJ’s snack (for which you’re met with a stern, “Hey!”) to throw at her. Emily collects the offensive projectile from her lap and pops it into her mouth with a ferocious chomp in your direction, receiving an, “Oh, bite me, Prentiss,” in response.

“Just find a way to slip in that you’re married,” JJ counsels, moving the bag out of your reach to avoid further retaliation.

“Or accidentally fall into his lap. Turbulence can be nasty, you know,” Emily offers as a follow up.

“Like that?” you deadpan, jutting your chin toward the scene at the back of the jet. Aaron and Agent Brandt are over by the coffee, and she’s just steadied herself using your husband’s broad shoulder.

“Or,” Derek counteroffers, tugging at the chain around your neck that holds your wedding and engagement rings while you’re out in the field, “put this rock on and go claim your man!”

“This is dumb. I’m being dumb,” you grumble, flipping open the case file and burying your head in it. “Can we get back to talking about this sociopath and not my high school-esque jealousy?”

“What’s happening? Did I miss anything?” Garcia’s blonde curls bounce up on the monitor before your group, ready for the next installment of this evidently riveting saga.

“Nothing is happening, Pen,” you respond with a sharp look her way, “and y’all need to get out more. Watch a romcom or something if you need some angst.”

“You all completely suck,” Penelope sighs dramatically. “My cup runneth empty in my lair!”

“Then go get yourself another cappuccino, baby girl,” Derek answers smoothly with that dazzling smile of his, perched on the armrest of your seat.

You feel his presence before you hear his voice, every atom in your body suddenly on high alert and keenly aware of everything that is Aaron. “Hey.”

You look up at him with an easy smile, determined to not let your unwarranted bitterness reflect on your work. “What’s up, Hotch?”

He squats down in the aisle beside you so he’s not looming over you and brushes his knuckles across your cheek in an uncharacteristically tender touch, given your current audience. “Do you have that travel bottle of Advil? Brandt may have been overzealous with the margaritas last night.”

“Yeah, it’s… in the side pocket of my bag,” you answer, brow furrowed because he tossed it in there this morning to ward off your inevitable headaches during the coming late nights.

“You’re the best, honey,” he murmurs, standing halfway to press a kiss to your forehead before returning to his full height and going off in search of the pain killer.

“‘Overzealous with the margaritas’, huh?” Emily teases, then starts singing the viral song about just how many margaritas are needed to perform certain acts that shan’t be discussed in polite company.

From across the plane, Dave glances at Aaron who’s rummaging through the overhead luggage bin, then turns his attention to you with a knowing gaze. You avert your eyes, feeling a blush creeping across your cheeks, and settle back in your seat before flipping through the case file in front of you. “So crime scene photos would suggest we’re dealing with a disorganized killer…”

—————

But WAIT! There’s even more!

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner

[fangirl-writes]

Smosh, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging

Shayne Topp x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): swearing, thongs, gets kinda spicy towards the end but nothing too smutty (making out, hickeys, butt-grabbing lmao)

Notes: This was a rabbit hole I didn’t expect to go down, but here we are.

Summary: you and Shayne have been keeping your relationship on the down low for a while, but as much as you keep sharing clothes, you're just begging to be caught.

“Sooooo," Courtney said, leaning up against your desk. "Who’s shirt are you wearing?”

You choked on your coffee, quickly turning away from your laptop so you could cough it out. “What?”

She grinned. “The shirt. It’s definitely not yours, so who’s is it?”

You wiped your mouth, blushing furiously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The shirt’s mine.”

“Oh yeah?” She said, a challenging look in her eyes that made you want to run to the nearest exit. “Why’d you buy a men’s shirt that’s too big in the shoulders and too long in the arms?”

“Uh…style?”

“Bullshit!” She exclaimed, laughing. “Come on, just tell me! Do I know him?”

“What’s going on over here?” Tommy asked, walking over to your desk with Amanda and Angela not far behind.

“Y/N’s wearing a guy’s shirt and she won’t tell me who’s it is,” Courtney explained.

You put your face in your hands. “Tell the whole team why don’t you…”

“Ooh, Y/N’s got a boyfriend,” Amanda teased with a waggle of her eyebrows.

You didn’t deny the accusation (which was true), so they egged on further.

“Where’d you guys meet?”

“When did you start having sex?”

“Do you borrow his clothes often?”

“Is he big?”

“Oh my god, you guys!” You shouted, burying your burning face into your knees. “Can we drop it?”

“Only because we have a shoot to do,” Courtney said. “When we get back I expect all the details.”

You frowned at her as the three of them retreated from your desk.

“They bothering you?”

You looked over and felt yourself relax. Shayne was standing there with a grin, hands tucked awkwardly into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Well, they seem to think I’m wearing a guy’s shirt,” you said with a small smile. “Can’t possibly know what they’re talking about.”

Shane chuckled, glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention, and kissed you on the forehead.

It had been a bit of a running joke between you for a while, but you usually managed to sneakily wear something of the other’s around the office without anyone noticing.

While Shayne’s generally had to be smaller (he’d look pretty obvious wearing one of your shirts), you had more of a selection.

You wore his denim jacket, he wore your fuzzy socks. You wore one of his snapbacks, he wore one of your bracelets. You wore his crewneck, he wore one of your necklaces. You wore his beanie, he wore your belt. You wore his flannel, he wore your sweatpants.

It had been going on for a while, but Shayne’s button-up was the one getting the attention.

“Wait ‘til they find out I’m wearing your underwear,” Shayne whispered.

You blushed. “You are not.”

Shayne grinned, walking away from you towards set.

“Shayne, you are not!” You called after him.

He just laughed.

You dropped yourself back into your chair with a huff.

You and Shayne had been seeing each other on the down low for a while, not feeling comfortable to come forward about it just yet.

It was one thing if the relationship was going strong for a while and it was someone who didn’t work on the crew, but this was still new territory and keeping it to yourselves would make it less awkward if things happened to not work out.

Plus you were pretty sure Shayne liked the rush of sneaking around; stealing kisses when a space was empty (rare), going with you to pick up coffee or props (occasionally), staggering the way you entered the building when you rode to work together (nearly always).

And you could admit that it was pretty fun sharing secret glances or dirty looks that read “I’ll get you back for that later.” But trying to lie to your friends about stuff when they asked was hard.

Still, you could deal with it for now if it meant you could keep your little secret for a bit longer.

“No way!”

You snapped out of your daze, turning from the script you’d been editing as the shouts from set grew louder.

It was a TNTL shoot so nothing unusual about the loudness but something this time drew you towards it.

Saving what you were working on, you got up and went to see what the fuss was about.

You nearly died on the spot when you recognized the hot pink thong that you usually kept tucked safely away in your drawer at your apartment sticking to Shayne’s ass.

Granted, it was mostly covered by his pants but there was still plenty showing, as it was pulled up by the sides probably as far as he could get it.

Keith was in the hot seat but everyone had come out from behind the divider to see this.

“Oh my god,” was thrown around a lot.

Shayne looked pretty proud of himself for this one, a smug look on his face.

“Where did you even get these,” Courtney asked, incredulous.

“Bought them just for this.”

Lie.

He made quick eye contact with you, and you could tell he was trying not to burst into laughter again and give you away.

They fell into the usual outro spiel so you walked back to your desk to start working again before the girls could come finish interrogating you.

Suddenly, however, you found it hard to focus on editing.

It was a Beopardy video so it should be easy for you (you’d edited a hundred of them) but you couldn’t help but notice Shayne’s outfit.

It was a normal one: white shirt, khakis, jacket. But what caught your eye was your necklace that was dangling around his neck.

It was a (first initial) necklace that you’d had for years and, as far as you knew, no one had commented on it the day he wore it.

You felt an odd mix of emotions about this subtle “claim” of him, an obvious but quiet declaration of your relationship that nobody had questioned.

At least, not yet. The video wasn’t posted yet and fans had a way of deducing things about the Smosh team’s private life that they weren’t super comfortable with (whether true or not).

“Y/N!”

You screeched as Damien slammed his hand down on your desk.

“Don’t do that!” You chided, taking off your headphones.

He and Shayne had both gathered at your desk and were smiling, which was suspicious enough.

“What’s this I hear about you wearing a guy’s shirt?” Damien asked.

Damn it, Courtney.

“It’s my shirt,” you defended, going with your original excuse.

Shayne’s grin widened slightly over Damien’s shoulder.

“Well, let’s just see then,” he said, walking over and grabbing the collar of the shirt. “Calvin Klein, nice. Your guy’s got good taste in shirts.”

You frowned and pushed him away.

“Shayne, don’t you have a shirt exactly like that?” Damien asked.

You sucked in a breath.

“Yeah, I do,” Shayne replied. “We must shop at the same stores, Y/N. Maybe I’ll run into him. Maybe I know him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you guys have nothing better to do than bug me?”

“As a matter of fact, we don’t.”

You groaned. “Go bug someone else, please. I’m trying to get this video done.”

“You sure?” Damien asked. “Because when I came over here it sure looked like you were enthralled with Shayne’s muscles.”

“Oh, grow up,” you said, watching as Damien scurried away before you could swat at him.

Shayne, on the other hand, not afraid of a swatting, shoved something into your palm below the desk before following Damien.

Confused, you looked down at your hand to find your pink thong in all its glory and a note from Shayne that said, ‘sorry for stealing them. Maybe you can punish me later ;)’

You blushed again and shoved them into your bag before trying to get back to work, which had become nearly impossible now.

You finally got the video done by the time everyone was wrapping up for the day, and good thing, too, because you were ready to get the hell out of there.

“Hey, you need a ride home?” Shayne asked, casually.

You usually “ubered” to work, so it wasn’t unusual for someone to offer you a ride.

It also wasn’t unusual that it was mostly Shayne.

“That’d be great,” you replied brightly.

“Ooh! See if you can pull any more information about this guy out of her,” Courtney said, hanging over Shayne’s shoulder. “We’ve already got that he’s blond, works out, and is a white man.”

“Well, damn, Courtney, that could be half the guys in California,” Shayne joked.

“I know, that’s why your mission” -she poked him in the cheek- “is to get something else out of her.”

“I’ll do my best,” Shayne said, waving Courtney off before turning back to you. “Ready?”

If anyone was paying attention, they just might’ve seen the way you looked at each other and figured you out.

But since no one was, you walked out of Smosh Headquarters after another day of fooling your friends.

“Who do you think will find out first?” You asked when Shayne started driving towards your apartment (which was a little closer than his).

He hummed thoughtfully. “Probably Courtney. She’s got this whole sleuthing thing going on about your guy.”

You hummed. “Damian’s like your best friend, though, surely he’s noticed something different.”

“He hasn’t asked but he does think I’ve been seeing somebody and I’m not ready to introduce her to my friends yet,” Shayne replied.

You nodded. “We’ll have to come clean soon, you know.”

He reached over and grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it.

It was a simple gesture that he did often but it made your stomach flutter each time.

“I know.”

You rode in silence for a while, Shayne holding your hand. You guys hadn’t really discussed how you would tell everyone about your relationship but you knew the conversation was looming now that questions had been raised by your friends/coworkers.

Neither of you were ready for it just yet.

Shayne pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex and found a spot easily, which seemed to be a superpower of his.

“Shay,” you said hesitantly, squeezing his hand and stopping him before he could leave the driver’s seat. “How are we going to tell them?”

Shayne bit his lip before speaking. “How about we just… let them find out? Stop all the sneaking around and see who sees first? Then we can explain.”

“Okay,” you replied. “I think that’s a good idea.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your temple before you both got out of the car.

A memory surfaced and you brightened as you guys got into the elevator.

“You know,” you said. “There’s still a punishment in order for what you did to my poor pink thong.”

Shayne blushed but you also saw the way his eyes darkened in anticipation. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reached over and grabbed his ass before whispering in his ear. “You’ve been a naughty boy.”

Shayne suppressed a moan and watched anxiously for the elevator to hit your floor.

You sneakily leaned over and began kissing his neck, sucking small marks into his skin. An obvious claim this time.

One of his hands landed on your waist and a sound bubbled from his throat that spurred you on.

Sure, this was an elevator with a camera, but people had done much worse things in it.

Still, you weren’t keen on punishing your boyfriend in the elevator and eagerly pulled him along when the doors opened on your floor.

Shayne’s hands wandered as you fumbled with the keys to get your apartment door open.

You would hope nobody walked by, but that was a concern far from your mind at that moment as you pushed open the door and pulled Shayne inside, only to press him up against it as it closed.

Shayne relished in your control as you held his hands above his head and slid your tongue in his mouth.

He hummed into your kiss and chased your lips when you pulled away.

"Ah, ah, ah," you said with a silly waggle of your finger. "This is a punishment, remember?"

He groaned. "I'm gonna hate this, aren't I?"

You chuckled, pulling him towards your bedroom. "Next time, ask to wear my thong, and you might get a reward."

"How soon can I take you up on that offer?"

***

“Holy shit, dude!” Damien said. “How many hickeys did this girl give you?”

Shayne was cursing under his breath.

You knew this was going to happen, and he’d fallen for it like an idiot. A horned-up, desperate-for-his-girlfriend idiot.

You knew he was supposed to shoot today, but now they were going to push those videos back because it wasn’t going to work when his neck and collarbone were covered in bruises.

“Long story,” Shayne said.

Not a lie; it definitely would be.

“Oh, come on, you can’t say this is yours!”

The boys looked over to where Courtney was hovering around your desk again this morning.

You were wearing Shayne’s shirt from yesterday, and he nearly made you both late for work when he saw you in it.

You shrugged.

“Oh, come on!” Courtney almost whined. “It doesn’t even fit you! If you didn’t want me asking about it, then why’d you wear it!”

You shrugged again.

It was driving Courtney insane.

"Hey, Y/N, did you get that footage I sent over?" Anthony asked, appearing seemingly out of nowhere at your desk.

You nodded. "Yeah, I saw it in my email this morning. I can probably get that cranked out and sent back to you by the end of the day if you need it."

"That'd be great, but no rush. Just do your thing."

He paused, face contorting as he looked you up and down.

Courtney noticed that he noticed and hurried to get Anthony in on the gossip: “I know! She’s-“

“Why are you wearing Shayne’s shirt?”

Her sentence died on her tongue and Damien’s mouth dropped open.

“Shayne’s shirt?” she squeaked.

“Yeah, he wore it in the sketch yesterday. Ian sent me a picture of the thong thing- Y/N, why are you wearing his shirt?”

Your face was on fire, and Shayne, it seemed, had stopped functioning.

You could see the pieces clicking together in Damien’s mind as he connected the hickeys to the shirt.

“No,” he said, mouth still wide open. “You guys are-“

“Shayne’s shirt??” Courtney repeated, flabbergasted.

“Um…surprise?” You said, grinning sheepishly.

“How could I have missed that?!” Courtney shouted. “It’s so obvious now! You two are always staring at each other and shit! Gah!”

You laughed awkwardly, avoiding everyone's gaze.

"And you!" Courtney said, pointing a finger at Shayne. "How could you not tell me about this! I need details right now!"

"Courtney, quiet down, you're going to let the whole office know-"

"Oh, I'm gonna tell the whole office! She's been parading around in your shirts for everyone to see!"

You put your head in your hands, regretting every decision that's brought you to now.

Well, except for dating Shayne. Because while Courtney was raving and Damien was laughing, he was looking at you to see if you were okay.

You smiled softly, giving him a small nod.

He smiled back before jumping into normal Shayne mode and ripping right back on Courtney. "You had me try and find out, too! You asked her boyfriend to find out who her boyfriend was!"

You watched them amusedly as the commotion began bringing others around to see what was unfolding.

It wasn't until he cleared his throat that you remembered Anthony was still standing there.

“So,” he said. “Was the thong yours?”

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Command Me 2/2

knight!benji blackwood x strong!fem!reader

Part One

Summary: The following days after Brandon’s death your emotions are all over the place. You make a confession and a plea to Benji who will do anything to see you happy. 

Warnings: 18+ mentions of death and murder, swearing, oral(f receiving), fingering, p in v, breeding kink, preg!reader for a bit but no birth scene, face riding, nipple play, smutty and sweet, time jumps bc i can, 2% angsty in the beginning 

Authors Note: finishing up @chainsawsangel request, they deserve a happy ending fr

Word Count: 3.1k

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Two days after Brandon’s death

I sit in my chambers with Benji at my side and my mother in front of me silently talking to me. I nod my head not taking in any of her words as Jace eyes me from the hearth. Benji rests his hand on mine and I look down and smile up to him. I turn my head back to my mother as I feel a tear slip down my cheek. 

“My sweet girl.” she coos pulling me into a hug. I don’t even know why I’m so emotional. I asked Benji to do this and I loathed Brandon. I’m just never good when it comes to dealing with The Stranger. My mother rocks me as I let my tears flow and I sniffle and sit back. 

“The silent sisters said he’s ready to be buried.” Jace speaks up and I see him looking over me and Benji. “I don’t see why you insist on waiting and letting his body sit.” 

“We all mourn in our own ways.” Benji says from my side. 

“Mm, the ever faithful protector. Where were you when this happened then?” Jace walks over to the chairs. 

“Outside of my chambers. He’s sworn to me.” I say through my teeth. 

“That’s enough.” our mother stands. “His funeral will be held tomorrow and then we can begin to heal and move forward. Jace, come.” she nods her head along with her to the door. 

I relax back into the couch curling up within myself as Benjis hand grabs mine. I sigh and pull my hand away wrapping it around my legs. My feelings are everywhere right now and everyone is expecting me to act a certain way and I’m just feeling overwhelmed. 

“What’s wrong?” his words hushed as I turn to him and take in his furrowed brow. 

“I think I need to be alone.” I nod my head to him and he offers me a sad smile before slipping out of my chambers. 

I rush to my wardrobe and start sliding on my riding gear. I pull my boots on and I’m in the tunnels in an instant. I can’t stand to be in this castle a second longer. I race down the stairs and slip out the side of the Keep closest to the pits. From there I stitch my way through the city streets avoiding the guards. Relief pours through me as I start up the incline. I hear my dragons distinct rumbling and he’s coming up from the pits by the time I step foot in the dome. 

“Let’s disappear for a while.” I hum patting his snout. I begin to mount and as I secure my last clip Benji runs through the doors. 

“Princess wait, please,” he reaches up to me and my dragon jogs past him and shoots us into the sky. 

We cast a shadow over the city and my dragon offers them a fearsome cry. We swoop low to the buildings and then glide over the Blackwater. He drags his claws into the water encasing us in a mist. The sun kisses my face and dries my tears as we continue further from the city. We loop back around and enter the Kings Wood through the back hoping to go unnoticed offering us a couple hours of reprieve. 

My dragon starts a small fire for us before we curl around it. He brings his wing to canopy over me and I look up and admire his scales. I run my fingers against them as he chuffs and coos. We lay in silence and watch the sun start to dip under the trees. I feel a deep grumble come from my dragon and I’m on my feet in seconds. I quickly mount my dragon and we’re in the skies but not before I can see the hurt express across Benjis face. We land on the coast and the only sound is the waves crashing. 

“I killed my husband.” I look up at the moon. 

I kick off my boots and make quick work of the rest of my clothing. My dragon watches me curiously as I begin to step into the Bay. I dip my head under and swim out further. I hear my dragon offer low chuffs as I float near the sands. 

“Get back on this shore.” Benjis voice is muffled by the water in my ears. 

“No.” I sigh as I turn myself to float further away from the shore.

“Then I’m coming out there.” I hear him enter the Bay. His hand wraps around my arm and I look up to him. “What’s wrong, Princess?” he brushes my wet hair off of my face as I continue to float. 

“I’m sullied, I’ve sullied you, I’m a liar, and I’ve killed my husband.” I sigh and dip my head beneath the waves. Benji pulls me up and starts to carry me back to shore as I hold onto him. 

“You didn’t kill him, I did.” he sits us down on the sands. 

“Why did you kill him?” my voice barely audible as I try not to shiver at the breeze against my skin.

“You asked me to.” his eyes slide to mine. 

“Do you remember my wedding night?” I see him ball his fists. “You told me you would kill him in that very moment. Why did you want to?” I tilt my head studying him. 

“I was mad and frustrated with him. He treated you so poorly and kicked you out of his chambers after. He knew-“ he shakes his head sighing. “He knew, as well as everyone else in that castle, that I wanted you, that I still want you. He would tease you in front of me like some toy I could never have, but you’re not a toy. You’re smart and fearless and a bit reckless. You are to be Queen and should be treated as such.” his eyes finally meet my watery ones and I sniffle pulling him towards me. I can’t contain the small gasps that leave my mouth at the cool touch of his metal armor on my bare body. 

“I want to marry you, Benji. You take such good care of me.” I whisper as I burrow into his neck. His hands stay firmly on my waist as his fingers dig in. 

“We can’t.” he shakes his head. “I’m a knight and your sworn protector.” his voice strained as I stretch to unclip his armor. 

“You were a Lord before.” I hum lifting off his chest piece. “Lord Benjicot Blackwood of Raventree Hall. They call you Bloody Ben for all the accomplishments you achieved for my mother.” I take off his last piece while his fingers are still pressed firmly into my hips. 

“Y/n,” his voice wrecked. 

“Wed me, rule with me. Please Benji, I don’t want anyone else.” my hands start to pull up his shirt. 

“People will talk.” he grunts as I start to unlace his trousers. 

“Let them.” I kiss his neck. “Must I beg you to wed me?” I slip my hand beneath his trousers. 

“You will never have to beg me for anything.” his lips crash into mine and his hands finally begin to roam upon my exposed skin. He lays me on my back and places kisses down my torso before dipping his head between my thighs. 

“Benji,” I cry out as he offers me teasing licks. He chuckles against me before lashing at me with his tongue. My head falls back into the sand while whimpers cascade from my mouth. He holds me against his face as my legs begin to shake while coaxing pleasure from my body.  I arch off the sand as the coil snaps and my legs close around him. 

“Gods look at you in the moonlight.” he kisses up my body before capturing my lips. I gasp into his mouth as I feel his fingers slide through my sensitive core. He dips a finger in and chuckles against my mouth. He slips a second finger in and starts a slow lazy pace as I squirm beneath him. 

“Do you like the way I make you feel?” he asks curling his fingers pulling a moan from me. 

“Yes,” I mewl rocking my hips on his fingers. 

“You look so beautiful like this.” he starts to push his finger into me faster and I can’t contain the sounds coming out of me. “Come for me, Princess.” he murmurs into my neck before sinking his teeth into me. 

“Benji fuck,” I cling to him as I pulse around his ever moving fingers. “I need you in me, please,” my nails dig into his back. 

“You really want to marry me?” his voice low as he kneels up to push down his trousers. 

“I do,” I nod my head ignoring my ragged breathing.

“Do you want to have my children?” he slowly strokes himself and I open my legs wider for him. 

“Yes, Benji please,” I reach out to him.

“I’m going to fill you until my seed is seeping out of you and I’ll keep fucking and filling you until you’re swollen.” my body shudders at his words as he spreads my thighs. His tip slides around my wetness before he pushes into me. He rolls his hips into me and moans begin falling from my mouth. 

“So good, Benji fuck,” I whine as I feel my pleasure begin to wash through me. He leans down and kisses me fiercely as he pounds his hips into mine. I cling around him and I feel my stomach start to tighten. His thrusts get sloppier the more high pitched my whines are. He bursts inside me as my toes curl while I contract around him. 

“Taking it all so well,” he rasps as he continues to push his hips into mine. He dips down and licks across my lips. I open my mouth letting his tongue coax small gasps and moans from me. “When these fill with milk I’ll be tempted not to even let you leave our chambers.” he chuckles rolling my nipples. 

“Benji,” I move my hips and he pushes into me deeper. He shushes me as he continues to roll his hips into me. I writhe beneath him as he litters kisses and bites across my chest. I start to feel him harden the more he pumps into me. He brings a finger down to swirl against my bud and I come undone as he begins to start pushing into me. 

“Squeezing me so good.” his fingers dig into my sides as he makes my hips meet his. I wrap my legs around his waist and cry out as his hips snap into me. I feel my high approaching again and Benjis thrusts become more erratic. As he starts to fill me again I come crying out his name. He pulls out and looks down with pleasure glazed eyes. 

“Look at you dipping with my seed.” he slides two fingers around and starts pumping it back into me. My hips jerk at his touch as my legs shake. 

“Benji,” my voice cracks as his tongue licks against my bud. “I’m gunna-“ a cry tears from my throat as I come again with my eyes rolling back. 

“You’re perfect.” he hums laying down in the sand next to me. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Six months after wedding 

I walk down the main steps of the Keep with Benji hovering around me keeping both hands on me at all times. Once we make it to the bottom I huff and bat his hands away. I should’ve know that since he was overbearing as my sworn protector he would be so much worse as I’m carrying his child. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t carry you down the stairs.” he says bringing a hand to my lower back and holding my arm with the other. 

“Benji I’m not going to break.” I sigh. “I just want to go for a walk around the grounds.” I pout looking up at him. 

“We are going for a walk.” he hums leading me out of the main doors. 

“I don’t need your hands guiding my every step.” I try not to snap. 

“I just want to help you and touch you. My beautiful wife.” he coos sliding a hand to my swollen bump. “Men need to know you’re mine.” his voice low.

“They know I’m yours, husband.” I look up to him and place my hand over his on my stomach. 

“I still see the way men look at you. Makes me want to take you in front of them.” he dips down to my ear. 

“Benji,” I breathe out. 

“Spread these beautiful thighs of yours and lick you until you cry.” his arms pull me closer. “And then-“ 

“Benji, please,” I mewl feeling my wetness pool between my legs. 

“Look at you all worked up.” he chuckles gazing down at me. “You wanted to go on a walk not come, so let’s go.” I follow after him with pink cheeks. I wrap my arm around his as he leads us through the gardens. 

“What else would you do?” I whisper and he turns to me with a smirk. 

“It might be too scandalous for the gardens.” his lips brush against my ear. 

“Tell me.” I whine breathlessly. 

“Let’s go back to our chambers.” I nod tugging him back to the main doors. 

Once we’re sealed in our chambers he starts to unlace my dress before sliding it down my body. He groans kneading the tender flesh of my breasts. I let out soft whimpers as he ghosts across my nipples. He pulls the slip off of me and brings his hands to my bump while pressing his lips against mine. I pull up on his shirt and he pulls it off and is stepping out of his trousers a moment later. I sigh feeling his skin on mine and his hands caressing my body. 

“Benji,” I whine against his lips as his fingers trail over my slit. 

“Yes, Princess?” his fingers spread into my wetness and swirl over my sensitive bud. 

“I’m gunna come,” I cling onto his arms getting lost in him.

“I just started touching you.” he chuckles speeding up his fingers. 

“Benji please,” I whine as my body goes taught coming undone. 

“Someone’s sensitive today.” he purrs backing me to the bed. “Sit on my face.” he lays out on the bed pulling me to him. 

“I’ll suffocate you.” my cheeks heat. 

“Then I’ll die happy. Let’s go.” he helps me straddle his face. He licks a long stripe up my center and my whole body trembles. My legs start to shake as I lean my head back letting the whimpers trickle out. I grind against his face as my pleasure starts to wash through me. He holds me closer as his tongue slips through my wetness before pushing into me. 

“Benji, it’s too much I’m gunna-“ I squeeze my legs around his face as he laps up my release. His tongue continues to lick sending aftershocks through me. He helps me off of him and lays me next to him on my back. 

“I just wanna keep making you come, my beautiful wife.” he kisses against my chest while trailing a hand down to my core. His tongue circles nipple and I squeeze my thighs shut before he can even reach my wetness. He chuckles against my nipple and I melt beneath him. He pulls his other hand up from my thighs and brings it to my neglected breast. He kneads into me softly as I mewl above him. 

“Yes,” I pant breathlessly holding him against me. His teeth graze against my peak while his fingers roll my other and I come undone. 

“I know you can give me more.” he purrs slipping his hand down to my core. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Four years after wedding

I hold tightly to my daughter who’s clipped against me. My dragon soars through the clouds as she giggles wildly in my arms. Her baby dragon flies next to us crying out. I was absolutely terrified to bring her with on dragon back the first time but my dragon was calm and accommodating. As we land in the pits her dragon comes bounding in stumbling on his lengthy legs. We slide down off the side and I unclip her so she can run over to her dragon hugging him tightly. 

“She may steal your title for youngest dragon rider.” Benji kisses me before pulling me into a hug. 

“Her dragon has grown quite fast.” we look at our daughter playing with her dragon. “Did she show you which one she picked out?” I turn to him with a smile and he shakes his head no.

“Let’s go show daddy which egg you picked out for the babe.” I kneel down holding my arms out for her. She runs into my arms and I scoop her up. 

We travel down the incline and turn into the hot room where they house the clutches. Our daughter wiggles out of my arms before grabbing Benjis hand and dragging him to the back wall. 

“He’s gunna have this red one.” she lays her little palm on the egg. 

“He?” Benji turns to me with a smile. 

“She’s decided she’s having a brother.” I smile rubbing my bump. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Just under five years after the wedding

“If the family tradition keeps up like this your grandchildren will come out on dragonback.” my mother chuckles next to me bouncing my son on her hip as we watch my daughter fly around the courtyard a couple moons shy of five. 

“Did you hear that his is already spitting fire.” I sigh brushing his hair back. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.” she smiles to me. “I’m happy to see you content.” 

“I am.” I smile as Benji scoops up our daughter before jogging over to us. My mother hands off my son to me before sweeping out of the courtyard. 

“My perfect family.” he showers all of us with kisses before pulling us into a hug. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

masterlist 🔌 

i’ve been neglecting the His Wife mini series but this def got the ball rolling again for me 

taglist ✍️ 

@clarityisnofun @callsignwidow @gabriella-aesthetic @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @hueanhdang @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shin0n

[acozysoulwrites]

Buried feelings | Astarion x Tav

Description: Astarion recalls being buried alive when Tav finds a man in the graveyard suffering the same fate. This leads to lots of emotions he isn’t sure what to do with.

Not anyone could say they’ve been buried alive. Even fewer could say that they’d been buried alive for a year. Astarion wondered if anyone else at all could say that. He could. Sometimes he had nightmares of being back in that coffin.

Sometimes it only took the smell of freshly dug dirt, or a stroll past a graveyard to stir the dread deep within. He hated how weak these simple things made him feel.

Earlier today, Tav led them through the graveyard in the lower city. Karlach found her parents gravestones and said a few words to them. Astarion wasn’t sure what he believed, but he could tell she felt the things she spoke.

On their way out, they noticed a freshly filled grave, a pipe stuck from the mound, and Gale was the first to notice the faint cries for help that erupted from it. As Tav dug into the shallow grave, Astarion’s throat tightened, his mouth grew dry, and he fought the urge to look away as the all too familiar feeling crept into him.

“It’s probably nothing, we should just go” He scowled, a glint of desperation flicked across his face.

“Star, if someone’s in there…” She gave him a look, the same look one would give when begging their beloved to keep a stray puppy or kitten, and despite how badly he wanted to be anywhere else right now, a sigh escaped him, and he submitted.

“Go on then, since you need to be everyone’s hero” Astarion grumbled, guilt running through him at the hurt expression that crossed Tav’s face. He meant to speak those words more softly just now.

The shovel soon came into contact with something hard. Surely enough, a coffin. Karlach helped Tav pry the lid open, before it could even open half way, a man shot up, nearly knocking the two back onto their arse. He gasped for air, clenching his chest as panic filled his frantic gaze.

Astarion stayed back while the other’s spoke with the stranger, asking him all sorts of questions and receiving few answers. His mind was elsewhere, it was distant and stuck. He couldn’t help but feel anger. Why hadn’t anyone noticed him? Not once during all those years did anyone come to his rescue, not a single God, not an angel such as his beloved Tav, no one. For a year, he waited, cried, and begged. Screaming as loud as he could until his voice was but a rasp and he swore he could taste blood.

Suddenly, tears were gathered at the corners of his eyes, glistening in the sunlight, they threatened to fall as he looked upon the man they’d saved. The man with a second chance at life so much earlier than Astarion had been given his.

Tav was finally satisfied with the explanation the man gave her as to why he had been buried, and she turned. Astarion watched as the man scurried off into the bustling city, gifted another chance at life. Surely he wouldn’t waste it on getting into squabbles with the higher ups.

“Gods, what an idiot” Tav scoffed, earning nods of agreement from Gale and Karlach.

“Can’t believe the things we run into sometimes” Karlach chuckled.

Astarion remained quiet, and it wasn’t until he felt Tav’s eyes on him that he spoke. He quickly fixed himself, his face fell, his eyes rolled and he spoke.

“Are you quite done saving every sad sop you come across?”

Karlach and Gale laughed and walked on, they were tired and heading back to camp. Astarion began to follow, but Tav stopped him, her hand gently grabbing his arm.

“Star…”

“I’m fine, love” He affirmed, his typical response to her pity. Pulling away from her grip, he takes off in camp’s direction.

-

The sun had begun to set. The smell of Gale’s stew traveled through the air, exciting those who actually ate in camp. Tav sits by the fire, listening as Lae’zel and Shadowheart discuss the gods and other religions. She couldn’t help but smile at their relationship and how it had gone from hate to well… whatever they were now.

As the others in camp chatter and buzz about the day’s adventures, Tav feels a sudden emptiness where someone is missing. Astarion. She stands, brushing herself off as she glances around camp. Her vampire companion was no where to be seen, so she knew where he must be.

“Star?” Tav pushes the flap of his tent open and finds him lying in the dark with only a candle by his side.

She creeps inside, letting the flap close, leaving the sun behind as she settles next to him.

“Talk to me”

Astarion’s eyes flick from the fire to his hand, then back again. “I’m fine”

Tav raises an eyebrow, her disbelief so strong that Astarion can feel it, and he sits up. “That’s not true.”

Astarion shoots her a look, but it falls short when he sees the genuine concern in her eyes. “It’s nothing” He had lost all fight in disguising the discomfort that lie deep in his heart.

Tav sighs and she scoots closer, when he doesn’t scuffle away in disgust, she settles close to him. He was doing it again, shutting down. He did this when things were too much in his head, he locked himself within. It was the only way he knew, the only escape.

“Is this about earlier? That silly man who got himself buried alive?”

He doesn’t move and that answers her question. Tav’s heart breaks. Gods, how she wishes she were around back then, how she wishes she could have found him. She’d have dug him up with her bare hands if that were all she had.

“My sweet, you know i’d have come for you, you know i’d have saved you in a heartbeat”

Astarion’s lips part, anger sparks like a dying fire inside him. “You… You didn’t though” he frowns, eyeing her as guilt sets in, he knows it was impossible, that she didn’t know, and a part of him fears he didn’t deserve to be saved, not then and not now.

His voice wavers as he speaks, “No one did.”

He knew he couldn’t blame Tav for the abandonment, yet a part of him seethed. It clawed at him from the inside. He wondered if she’d ever passed him in the streets of Baldur’s Gate, if she’d have noticed the lifelessness in his eyes as he gazed her hungrily. If she’d have turned and ran from him and his plans to take her into the night, back to Cazador like many others before.

Tav reaches out and places her hand onto his cheek, she rubs her thumb gently underneath his eye, just across his cheekbone.

“You know, some people don’t deserve to be saved”

Her words send an ache through him, the next words she’d speak would surely come with a heaviness. He didn’t either, did he?

“But you? You deserve it most” She hums

With this, he leans into her touch, warmth spreads across his face and into his limbs and he nearly goes weak under her skin. His hand slips around her wrist and he holds her there, taking in her scent, listening as her blood runs through her veins.

“It gets better, i promise” she whispers, pulling him into her arms, she leans back and he lays atop her, his arm around her neck as he hugs into her body.

“You seem so sure” He hums, inhaling deeply from her neck.

“As long as i’m here, i’ll make sure” Tav hums, placing a kiss atop his curly hair.

[macfrog]

if i had a gun cowboy like me chapter 12.5 (joel's pov)

long-awaited, pain-packed, and sealed with a bow by yours truly. i love y'all. thank you for being so patient and kind with me on this one. this chapter is joel's experience of the end of illicit affairs and all of hits different. you might wanna check those chapters out before you indulge in the angst-fest that is this one. hope you enjoy 🧡

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: walk a mile in joel miller's shoes. see if you'd do anything different

warnings: more heartache, more angst, lois, alcohol + drug consumption, mention of reader being roofied, very brief mention of joel punching knox, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 9.8k

terrible news! there is no more taglist! make sure you're following @macfroglets w notifs on if you wanna be buzzed when i post 🤍

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Right. Sorry. It’s just…we kinda have a…situation, here.” It’s you. He fucking knows it’s you. His heart begins to hammer. He doesn’t give a fuck whether she puts two and two together or not when he asks – “Where is she?” “We’re still at Frank’s,” Anna says, sniffing. He can hear the booming bassline of music, muffled; the sharper chatter of voices. She’s on the street. In his head, he can see her shoulders hunched; her bare arms wrapped around her body for warmth. She goes to say it again. “We’re still at –” “’n where is she?” Joel cuts, and she finally cracks.

You’re still fast asleep when he lifts his head.

You’ve had this argument plenty before. I do not snore. Yes, baby, you do. I’ve heard you. I don’t! It’s alright, it’s okay that you do. It’s a cute snore. Joel, I don’t fucking –

Right now, he’s pretty certain you’re snoring. He just wishes you were awake to hear yourself.

He thinks about pulling his phone, taking a video so that once you’re up, you can hear the little bursts of air, the tiny rasps from your nostrils as you snooze. But if he ever did record anything like that – just like the Hillcrest pictures, until you’d found them last night – he’d keep it for himself. Wouldn’t offer it up so easily.

Just something for him to have, for all the time he spends without you.

Your hair’s still all over the place. Tangled in Joel’s right arm, still smelling of chlorine and sex. Your head rests softly on the crook of his elbow like it’s a pillow; your lips and eyes are puffy, tired. You have this ridiculously strong vice grip on his left arm; during the night he felt you wrap your wrists around it and pull it into your chest, tucking it gently under your chin until your entire upper half was drowned in his.

His chest snug against your back, his arms encasing you safely, and his hips…his hips lined with yours. His now semi-hard cock buried between your legs – he’d slept inside you last night, and it was like, after forty-eight years, someone finally took him by the shoulders and said: This is how you do it. This is how you rest.

He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow, soon as his eyes fell shut. He stirred only to feel you maneuvering his arm, and then fell straight back asleep.

He felt comfortable. He felt safe. Big, old, tough guy Joel Miller. Never let anybody in since Sarah’s mom left. Alone for almost seventeen years, and fine with it. His cheeks heat at the idea of needing – of wanting to feel that. Safe. But then you came along, and he realized he’d been waiting his whole life to feel it. Didn’t even notice he’d been missing it.

That’s how these things go, right? Can’t miss what you don’t have, and all that.

But now he has it. Now he has you.

And you make him feel things he’s never felt before, or if he has, it was so fucking long ago that he’s forgotten. You drive him fucking insane. Keep him up at night, wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into. Make him do stuff that his reflection glares at him over. Are you being serious right now? Make him…different. New.

The night before last, when he’d picked you up from Frank’s after rodeo night, he promised to make you a big breakfast in the morning. Compensation for not swinging by McDonald’s on the way home. But then your dad called, and you had to take off before Joel had even properly woken up.

When he eventually rose from the bed, he went straight to the store. Stocked up on eggs, flour, sugar, bananas. He’d printed a recipe from his computer while you were gone. Marked the items off as he meandered through the store. Stood for ten minutes deliberating over which gluten-free flour would be best, before an assistant asked if he needed any help.

I’m good, he muttered, and then, as the kid wandered off, cleared his throat and said, Actually –

Greg – the kid assistant in question – had suggested the red bag. Said it’s corn flour, instead of wheat. Joel can’t pronounce the brand name. He just knows it’s tucked behind a box of cereal in the cupboard downstairs – he hid it there so you wouldn’t find it and snuff out his plan.

His plan, which he now has to put into action. Without waking you. He’d lie here forever just staring at you, if he hadn’t sworn to himself to make good on his promise and cook you some damn pancakes.

So he slowly pulls his left hand from between yours, loosening your death grip, and steals it back across your waist. He does the same for his right arm – more careful, though, so he doesn’t tug on your hair. Like some kind of wild cat creeping through the jungle, every moment calculated and careful.

He bunches the comforter up a little at your back, so that if you do stir, it might feel like he’s still there. Still a weight, curving around you. He takes a good five minutes just to travel the length of the room – the lightest he’s ever walked, dodging the spots on the carpet that he knows make the floorboards squeal.

When the door gently clicks back into place, he heads downstairs. Cracks out his frying pan – non-stick, obviously – and all his ingredients, pulls the printed recipe from its hiding place between two cookbooks and lays it out on the counter, flattening the creases and unfolding the corners. And gets to it.

His first egg cracks messily over the lip of the bowl. The yolk runs down the outside, and he curses before swiping it back up with his index finger. The second egg empties fully inside the bowl, but drags with it tiny fragments of shell. Joel spends five minutes focusing on picking every single piece out of the mixture. He crouches to make sure he’s poured the exact amount of milk, eyes level with the top of the liquid, and he double checks every step before he follows it.

This has to be perfect. Has to be. For you.

The entire time, all he can think about is you asking to sleep with his body inside yours. Wanting him closer than you’d ever wanted him before, as close as he could physically be. Your sleepy voice circles between his ears on loop – want somethin’ else. That safe feeling creeps up on him all over again.

He knows he shouldn’t. He can’t. He’s spent the last month purposefully pushing those feelings down, dampening them anytime they rose to the surface. Only allowing himself to feel them, to acknowledge them, when you’re around. Because he can’t fucking help but acknowledge them when you’re here – they stare him straight in the face.

So he’d been making peace with letting the floodgates open just a little bit at a time – one quick rush whenever you’d give him one of your meaningful glances, when your hot skin would brush against his, when your mouth would fall open at the feeling of his first deep thrust inside you.

And then he’d bolt them back up.

Except that, now…he’s not sure the dam can hold much longer. There are cracks he’s not repairing quickly enough. Unintended consequences hammering against the other side of the stone in the form of angry white waves.

He’s staring at the beige circle of batter in the pan, swept off with the waves into someplace far from his kitchen, when the sound of your voice draws him back.

“Joel? You down there?”

The floorboards at the top of his stairs creak. You’re leaning over the banister.

“Yeah, darlin’, I’m here.” He slips halfway out of the kitchen door, closing it over his body in hopes you won’t smell the pancakes. You ask what he’s doing, and he says, “Just makin’ a coffee. You want anything brought up?”

“I’m good,” you reply. “’m gonna take a shower.”

“Alright, baby. There’s probably some stuff in Sarah’s bathroom you can use.”

He listens closely as your footsteps recede, waiting to hear the hum of his shower before he relaxes again, flipping the pancake over. It sizzles away as he runs one thick finger along the inside of the bowl and tastes his handiwork. Pretty damn good, he thinks. He’s sucking his finger clean when his cell goes.

Joel swipes to answer, and before he can utter a Hello?, your dad’s voice is screaming down the line to him.

“Mornin’, pal! You in? You up?”

He figures this is the infamous speakerphone you rambled for ten minutes about last night. Like a fucking foghorn, man. I’m deaf in this ear now.

He doesn’t wait for Joel to respond. “I was just passin’ by, remembered you got that leakin’ pipe, or whatever it is. Under your sink, right? You good for me to drop in ‘n take a look?”

“Uh – uh, I’m –” Joel stammers his way through a sentence he doesn’t know the ending of, slotting the phone between his cheek and his shoulder and giving the pan a rattle against the stovetop. He slips the spatula under the mixture, and when he flips it over, the pancake is charcoal black. “Fuck.”

“What’s that?” you dad roars, deafening in Joel’s ear. Fuckin’ speakerphone.

“Nothin’, it’s…” He sighs, accepting his new-found position: backed into a fucking corner. What’s new these days?

“Yeah, I’m up. See you in a bit.”

He hangs up the phone midway through an Alright, buddy from your dad, and whacks the chargrilled pancake on top of the pile. His phone surfs across the counter in a blur of blind panic, before Joel’s taking the stairs two at a time to get to you.

The door’s ajar. He can hear you quietly singing to yourself. Same song you’re always fucking singing, always trying to coax Joel into singing along with you. You’re humming the guitar solo when he whips the door open.

“Hey, hey,” he’s panting, taking your towel in one hand and reaching for the shower door with the other, a blur of movement before his eyes like he’s not in control of his own body. “Out.”

“Huh?” you reply, blinded by the soap suds running down your forehead and into your eyes.

“Baby,” Joel whispers, desperate, “you gotta get out. He’s here. Your damn dad’s here.”

He drags you over to the first place he spots: his closet. He knows it’s no fucking good, but he can hear your dad’s car squealing to a halt in his drive, and he’s in a blink panic wondering what artefacts, what evidence of your being here lie dotted around his house. Your bikini’s hanging up out back, there’s probably a hoodie still strewn over the back of his couch.

He doesn’t have time to think, though, because in the midst of his mental scan of every room whilst explaining to you what’s going on, your dad’s heavy boots just thudded onto his doormat.

“Miller?” he calls up the stairs. And Joel closes the closet over.

----------

He stands by the front door watching your dad’s car purr off down the street, waiting until it turns left and disappears behind the Dawsons’ back fence to shut the door. When he turns back into his hallway, the house is uncomfortably silent. You’re still up in his room.

The weight of your phone pulls at the waistband of his jeans. He slips his hand into his back pocket, fishes it out, and takes one step toward the stairs. The screen lights in his palm.

There’s a cluster of notifications from some film class group chat, a couple Snapchats from Sarah. A reminder to take your birth control from some pink-icon app, and then –

I’m heading over to Joel’s to check something out for him. Wanna meet me there?

He stares at it until the text burns into his eyes. Blinks, and it’s seared into his lids. His breath leaves his chest in a heavy, burdened sigh. It trembles as it pushes from his lungs. He feels something burning under his skin. All over.

He’s angry. And he’s trying to keep it contained.

Keep it where it lies, keep it beneath the surface. Stop it from pooling right behind his lips, collecting in the light of his eyes. Keep it from revealing itself. But when his foot lifts to the first step, it’s like a deadweight in the air.

He’s angry. But he’s fucking exhausted.

The bedroom is empty when Joel pushes the door open. You’re still hidden in the closet. You don’t look up at him when he pulls on the shuttered door, letting light flood across your hands, still covering your face. There are flicks of dripping wet hair peeking out from under the towel on your head.

He wants to put his arms around you. Wants to kiss you all over. Tell you, It’s okay, it’s alright. He didn’t see nothin’.

But he can’t. Because neither of those things are true.

Your dad saw the cowgirl hat. Hell of a lot like a hat my daughter has. It sent a sharpened bolt of panic through Joel’s body the second the words came tumbling out. He might’ve seen your bag lying at the bottom of the stairs. Might’ve passed your car on his drive here. There are so many loose fucking ends.

And more than that – harder to accept: maybe this isn’t okay anymore. Maybe it hasn’t been the entire time. And maybe, despite all his good efforts and the fucking way you make him feel, despite it being weeks now of tiptoeing and lying and covering your tracks – maybe you finally crossed a line.

He can’t look at you a second longer. His heart’s in his throat. If he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll probably choke. Break down. So he walks away.

You follow him downstairs a few minutes later, fully dressed and silent. Your touch sweeps across his shoulder blades, and it takes everything in him not to turn to you then and there. Come here, kiss me. Pretend none of it’s happening, just for a moment.

He sets your plate down in front of you. He’s taken the burnt pancake. He follows a pattern: cuts into the food, glances out to the backyard, and back to the plate. It’s the only thing keeping the words from rolling out onto the table in front of him. The only thing stopping him from –

You kick his leg. So gently, he barely feels it.

“You gonna eat?” he asks in response, chewing on the smoky flavor of burnt batter. Your hands hesitate, and he feels his own flinch as if to take them, rub them, squeeze them. And then he watches as you drag your knife through your own breakfast.

He wants you to yell at him. He wants to give meaning to the guilt he feels. He knows what’s coming, and he isn’t so sure that you do.

This is…impossible. It has been, from the start. Always sneaking off, coming up with excuses. So many fucking excuses, he can’t even keep them straight in his head anymore. She’s here, droppin’ my flannel off. Now we’re upstairs, I’m showin’ her my guitar. Need her to help with decorations. Your TV’s broken, did you know that? Don’t mind us, just sat in this private corner of my backyard, out of view of fucking everyone. I’ll pick her up from her rodeo night, take her home. She’s at Anna’s all day today, right?

And your dad – kind and naïve, or maybe just so fucking gullible that every single one lands like the flour did in the egg mixture. Just gracefully floats down into his brain, absorbs itself and folds perfectly into place.

So, yell at him. Get mad. Make him feel like the fucking asshole he knows he is. Leading you on, and letting you get close to him, and then when it gets too hard – pushing you away. Doesn’t matter if that’s what he did or not; doesn’t matter whether he did or didn’t mean it. He wants you to be mad at him. To justify what he’s about to do.

He slides you your phone. Motions for you to read it.

“Fuck…” you whisper, and then he thinks you get it.

But then you say, “…he didn’t see me, though. Right?” and his heart sinks.

No. He didn’t see you. But he saw so many little pieces of you, that Joel finds it impossible to consider that he isn’t already seeing the entire picture. He’s picturing your dad at home in the living room, one hand on his hip, the other running through his hair, adding two and two and two and two and –

You’re bickering. Actually arguing. He doesn’t know how to navigate it, save for letting the frustration take the wheel and drive the point home: you came too close to being caught.

You’re smarter than this, he knows you are. He knows that you can see plain as day, everything that he can. The bag, the hat, the fucking home-cooked breakfast sat on his kitchen counter. He’s watching you argue your point, hands dancing in the air animatedly, eyebrows lifting, eyes widening. Hear me out. Listen to me. Hear me out.

“I didn’t fucking mean to let him see the b–”

“That’s not the point,” Joel says, before he has time to stop himself.

“Then what’s your point?”

He feels his voice carry off into the air with the images racing around his head. Hank’s shadow under the door. The roar of voices downstairs as you climaxed. Your body pinned under Joel’s on your couch. The way the morning light screamed into the house as your front door burst open.

He doesn’t sound like he has much of a point, even to himself. He’s in it just as much as you are. He’s lied and he’s hidden just as much as you have, and made mistakes that are…worse, as far as he’s concerned.

And the worst one of all sits directly opposite him. Head low, eyes boring into the wood of his kitchen table. He can see the tears swelling across your waterline. Can feel the heat from here as it spreads across your face. Anger thrums through his chest again, and his teeth grit.

He murmurs, pushing himself up from the table and away from you. Tells you there’s some stuff he needs to see to. You’re mad about it, like he knew you would be. Like you should be. He promises he’ll be back in a couple hours; promises you’ll talk when he gets home.

And then he leaves.

----------

Clark’s is on the other side of town. It takes him nearly forty minutes to get there, and more than half of that time is spent staring at the tail lights of a Honda in front of him. Some accident up ahead. His eyes bore into the burning red strip of brake light until it’s singed into them, a blur of blue when he finally rips his glare away and stares up at the white sky.

He thinks about calling you. Saying, Hey, I’m stuck in traffic, talk to me, but he doesn’t. He just…doesn’t.

Instead, he wonders what you’re doing. Whether or not you’re still at his place. He wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t. But if you are – and he hopes you are – what are you doing?

He thinks: She’s on the couch. Bundled in blankets. Grey’s is on TV. She’s rewatchin’ her favorite episodes.

Least, that’s what he wants you to be doing. Wants you to be making yourself feel better, because he knows he was a complete ass earlier. You didn’t deserve any of it. Nothing that he didn’t deserve himself, just as much, anyway.

He thinks about coming home, and you hitting pause, pushing yourself off the couch and sauntering around to him. Wrapping him in the blanket until your bodies are pressed together under the woven red, and kissing him. Kiss me kiss me kiss me.

And the thought of you, standing on your tiptoes to press your soft lips to his, your fingers sifting through his hair, is like a cold pack on a searing wound. Dulls his anger, even if it’s just for a second.

His wide tires crawl silently across the smooth lot of the plant hire, parking right in front of the wire fence. The truck door slams shut when he gets out. He doesn’t mean it. Maybe he does. But he does it without thinking, and with a hot head, a temper sharper than nails, he strides over to the glass-paneled door and swings it open.

She’s sat behind the desk, same as always. Dark, deep auburn hair, groomed and set to perfection so that when she looks up, it doesn’t move an inch. Curls around the sweetheart shape of her face, smooth and shining. Her blue eyes twinkle in the glaring light from outside, and she stands.

She tugs lightly on the hem of her white blouse. You’d probably elbow him and say, That’s cream, not white. She smiles at him and it doesn’t look a thing like your smile. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw your smile. Fuck, he thinks, when did I last make her smile?

And he’s still wondering, when Lois says, “Hey, stranger,” and puts a gentle, pale, red-nailed hand down on the desk. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah,” Joel grumbles, clearing his throat and glancing at the man in a pair of thick, steel-toe boots, sat in a waiting area to his left. He thinks it’s probably polite to ask how she is. It’s been seven weeks since he blew off her hint for a date.

“Good, thanks,” she replies, cheeks swelling even more. They’re lightly shaded crimson, a soft shimmer to them against her snowy skin, dappled with light freckles. “You?”

He nods once. “Good,” he echoes, not sure what else to say. He’s lying, and she doesn’t seem to figure him out the way you would.

No. Instead, Lois steps back, straightens up, and twirls the pen in her fingers. “What can I do ya for?”

“Got some equipment I’m after,” he mutters, hand slipping into his back pocket for his phone. Lois’s eyes flit up and down his body as he taps his passcode in with his thumb.

She asks him something, but it sounds like she’s speaking through a closed door. He’s elsewhere.

The phone unlocks, screen lifting to reveal the last open app: his camera roll. His thumbs hover over the screen, tracing where yours would’ve tapped last night.

The video’s muted, she won’t hear it even if he let it play, but he swipes away the second he recognizes the tangled mess of your hair, his fist locked tight in it. His own hair, salt and pepper buried deep in the crook of your neck.

Something in his chest aches. Pulls tight, hurts his heart. He takes a deep breath and scares the feeling away. He’s staring at his camera roll. Staring at twelve little square thumbnails – couple of them work stuff, couple of them lists of supplies he has to remember to pick up – and then. Then.

You. At the Hillcrest. Dimples in your cheeks. That’s what made him take his phone out. The soft dips in your skin that appear anytime you smile, laugh, sometimes even just when you talk. He’d first noticed them when you had a mouth full of pizza, chatting animatedly about Meredith and Derek, and he’s noticed them every time since.

He’d seen them, as you posed with Sarah for a selfie at lunch. And his hand had slipped into his pocket before his brain even had the chance to finish the thought.

His quiet way of marking how he felt in that moment. How his chest seemed to fill as if with air, or something thicker. Sweeter. Like it was trying to push words up, a comment to tell you how beautiful you looked. Trying to make him move, run his thumb light as air across that tiny valley in your cheek and look at you with eyes that translated the words hammering behind his eyes.

But you had company. And all he managed to do was take two fucking photos.

Lois talks again, and this time, there’s no closed door.

“Huh?” Joel’s head snaps up, takes a few seconds to focus on the red hair in front of him. “Sorry, Lois, sorry.”

“’s alright. You okay?” She’s smiling so warmly, so sincerely. And there are no dimples in her cheeks.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “just checkin’ for the address.”

She holds out a pad, a stack of hire agreement forms hovering between her body and his, but he’s not looking. He’s still scrolling through his phone, thumbs searching your dad’s text thread for the information. Lois lowers the pad to the counter, places the pen on top. Fiddles with it until it’s lined up with the top of the form perfectly.

Then Joel looks up, and she smiles again.

“Not for you, then?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Just the messenger.”

“Got it. Well, you know what you’re doing. Let me know if you need anything.”

Lois takes a step back, eyes still on Joel, who smiles politely, then swipes the form from the desk and takes a seat between Steel-Toe Boots and some tall, leafy plant that he has to bat away when he sits down. He’s copying the site address, phone resting on his thigh, when the receptionist speaks again.

“How’s Sarah doin’? She home yet?”

“Yeah,” Joel replies, “been home a couple weeks now. She’s been in Nashville this weekend.”

Lois lifts her head, blinking slowly. “Nashville. Nice. So, you’ve had a weekend to yourself.”

He scoffs. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“And what does Joel Miller get up to when he has an empty house for a few days?”

His fingers squeeze around the pen, pushing deeper into the paper. His expression hardens. “Nothing excitin’ enough to share. Sat by the pool yesterday. Was nice out.”

She agrees. “Sure was. You have company?”

Joel shakes his head once. Blinks the image of you and your red bikini from his vision. Focuses on dragging the pen one digit at a time across the line labeled Phone Number. If he cared enough, he’d give the obvious hint a couple seconds’ consideration, even just to protect Lois’s pride a little.

But he doesn’t care. And right now, he ain’t interested in protecting anyone but you.

“Nope. Just me ‘n a few beers.”

“Better off that way,” a hoarse, forty-cigs-a-day voice rasps from his right. “Less fuckin’ problems.”

Joel’s jaw rotates a degree towards the work boots; notices the folds of dry, leathery skin piled atop the raised gray eyebrows of their owner, and then turns back silently.

Lois clears her throat awkwardly. “Well, I spent the day with my book. I’m readin’ a Colleen Hoover. Adam’s at camp, so – quiet house for me, too.”

Joel finds himself nodding. Autopilot. He’s pretending he’s listening.

You’re still in his sight, wandering over from the sliding kitchen doors, a bottle in each hand. He can hardly see you when he looks up, the sun’s so bright. You hold a beer out, condensation dripping down your fingers towards Joel’s when he takes it, and then you slump down in the sun lounger next to his.

His arm reaches across, and your small fingers wrap and then unwrap around his, running across his knuckles, nails lightly scratching his worked hands. And he’s smiling, and he doesn’t even notice it until his eyes meet yours and you laugh, and he asks, What? through a chuckle, and you say, Nothin’, you just look happy.

Your dimpled blush blurs back into checkboxes and scrawled handwriting. You’re gone again. He’s in a white office, and the gentle lapping of the water on the pool’s edge fades into the headache noise of a fan humming, and he feels the warmth of your gaze on his skin turn into the cold, harsh spotlight glare of Lois’s eyes on him.

He looks up. She’s still smiling. At this point, he finds it fucking unnerving.

He rises from his chair, swings a wandering leaf from that ugly green plant out of his way and paces back over to the desk, sliding the pad back across to her. Their hands brush as she takes it from his grip, and he pulls his wrist close to his body. Lois doesn’t seem to notice.

She’s running the pen down the form, checking everything he’s filled in. Her tongue moves around the inside of her cheek, sucking on a hard candy. “Delivery on Friday?” she double checks, and Joel nods. “Alright,” she says, tearing away his copy, “we’ll call ya.”

“’ppreciate it,” he mumbles, folding the paper into his back pocket.

She turns, reaching to slip the form into a blue tray, and Joel pauses. Thinks to say something – he hopes Adam has a fun time at camp, or that Lois enjoys the rest of her quiet week. But then he sees you sat opposite him, staring fixedly at the plate before you, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. He feels your hand laced in his, hears your laugh still ringing in his ears.

He misses you. He should never have left you. You matter more to him than some equipment for a site. Matter more to him than anything. He should’ve never fucking left.

Joel nods. Reaches for the handle of the door. Glances back to Lois. “There a florist anywhere near here?”

----------

He pulls the truck in alongside the florist. Teal window frames, a little pink door. He can hear you now. How fucking cute is that store? Give me your phone, I gotta get a picture. Mine’s is in my bag in the back. Look, the traffic’s movin’, Joel, give me your phone – quick!

His fingers hook around the silver door handle. He pats his jeans once – wallet’s right there – and goes to pull, when his cell vibrates from the center console. He can see himself in the glass screen, your dad’s name written across the reflection of his forehead.

He bites down on his lip. Hard. Glances up to the road ahead. Blinks. And decides to answer.

“Joel,” your dad chirps down the line. “Sorry, buddy, you’ll be sick a’ the sight ‘n sound of me today.”

Joel manages a convincing laugh. “What’s up?”

“Just makin’ sure you’re rememberin’ to put Friday’s date down for delivery on that order. We’re gonna need the stuff over the weekend, so.”

“Yep. Just been to do it right now. Friday’s date, Harvey’s site, your card details ‘n everything.”

“’attaboy. Good job. You’re all grown up.”

“Funny.”

“Thanks, pal. I appreciate it. There wasn’t no chance I was gettin’ time to do it myself,” he lowers his voice, “I’m still stuck here with Kelman.”

Joel’s fingers trace around his steering wheel. “Oh, yeah? He keepin’ you busy?”

“You bet. Had to haggle with ‘im just to get a lunch break. Speakin’ of – I swung by the house and that daughter of mine wasn’t home. Haven’t seen or heard from her since yesterday mornin’. I’m just checkin’ she ain’t stop by to see Sarah or som’?”

His fingers lock tight around the leather. “Sarah’s still in Nashville, she gets in tonight. Couldn’t tell you where yours is. I’m not home yet, so.”

It’s a half-truth. He could wager a pretty good guess, but he can’t be certain, can he?

Your dad chuckles down the line. “She spent the night at Anna’s. My house must be like prison to her – she’s never around anymore. I’ll hear from her soon, I’m sure. Alright. Thanks, again, Joel.”

He drops the phone back into the cupholder with a sigh, leaning back against the headrest to stare at the roof of the truck. He’s still picturing you in his living room, head turning to the street at every sound of a car door, or tires rolling by. And then the image is marred by your dad, peering in the window back at you, catching you wrapped up in a situation you shouldn’t be in.

He doesn’t want your dad to find out. For obvious reasons. Because it would mean the collapse of their friendship, the collapse of the world they built between them – for you, for Sarah, for themselves. Comfortability, and normalcy, and routine and order all thrown to the wind on account of some month-long fling.

But more important than all of that: it would mean dragging you into all of that, too. Fucking up your relationship with your dad. Making things weird between you and Sarah. Ruining whatever’s left of what you and Joel had, before you both took it too far.

And if he doesn’t want all that – if he doesn’t want your dad finding out – then something has to change. Something’s gotta stop.

His fingers wrap tight around the key and turn, and the truck jumps to life. He turns away from the teal-colored florist as he pulls off.

----------

You take it about as well as he reckoned you might. About as well as you should, given the circumstances. He isn’t surprised, and he doesn’t blame you. He’s probably on your side, when you argue back with him.

“You’re not serious, right? Joel. You’re not –”

“Kid, I…”

“No. What? Because of a fucking bag?”

He lifts his gaze and pleads with you. “Because of the lying.”

You’re right, with your response: it’s never been an issue until now. He’s been more than fucking happy to sneak off, take you as his own, and then return with a satisfied grin and a mouth full of excuses to feed your company. He almost agrees.

It’s just: this time, your dad’s at your heels like a bloodhound. A little less sharp, maybe. Blind as a fucking bat, sure. But he can smell something’s up. And he’s circling it, nose to the ground, drawing nearer and nearer to the pair of you with each step.

You ask if he wants to tell the truth. That thought scares him just as much. Knocks him back a few steps. No, he doesn’t want to come clean.

The words fly back and forth like a tennis match. Too fast for him to keep control of what he’s saying and how you’re hearing it. He wants to break it off – is there anything to break off? – but he doesn’t want to lose you – how can you lose something you never had? – and then: did he ever have you in the first place?

You’re standing over him, between his knees. “End it,” you tell him. “I’ll go.”

There’s a casualness in the loose shrug of your shoulders that scares him more than the prospect of you actually leaving. How easy it looks like it could be, for you to just wander out. Sling your bag over your shoulder and revert back to the start of the summer, when he was just a ride home after a rainy day at work.

Forget how to touch him the way he’s certain only you can, forget the secret language between you, forget every stolen glance and whispered word and every thought that ever translated from your brain to his as easy as they would pass between your lips.

“You don’t mean nothin’ to me? That what you think?” He’s laughing. Disbelief, fear, shock. Whichever one it is, it pulls across his cheeks painfully. Somehow, you’ve ended up at the foot of his bed.

“Well, what else am I supposed to take from this, asshole? That you’re fuckin’ in love with me?”

It’s cold water over an already-dying fire. The words smother into ash on his tongue. No more come to the front. He just stares at you. His phone starts to chitter out into the silence between you.

You take a step forward. Your voice is low. “You don’t get to do this, you know. You don’t get to pull me in and then drop me…once you’re done with me.”

“Don’t.”

It’s not much, but it soars from the pit of his stomach, through his throat and past his lips like a final arrow. All he can muster up.

“Don’t.”

There’s a weight where the words originate from. Something deep in his gut, an ache pulling its way upward, swelling across his chest. His ears are screaming.

Of all the things you might think – he’s an asshole, he’s a liar, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing – the worst one would be that he spent this entire time leading you on. Making you feel special. Making you think you were something to him.

You are something to him. You’re – you’re fucking everything to him. It’s why he’s doing this, right? Going against every instinct, every gut feeling. To protect you. To do what’s right by you. He’s not fucking done with you. He wonders if he’ll ever go another day in his life without thinking about you.

“I can’t read your mind anymore…” you whisper, and his lungs steal a breath. His lack of response flattens your expression.

Joel might not be done, but you are.

He can feel you slipping from his grasp like sand through his knuckles. Each grain rocking itself loose, choosing to throw itself to the depths below rather than spend another second wrapped in his clutch.

He’s trying so desperately to hold onto you. Listen to me, he thinks, and he knows you can’t hear him anymore. Because now you’re really going – you’re tripping out of his room. Your heel catches on the threshold, like one last-ditch attempt from fate to pull you back into him, but you stop yourself and spin, fleeing down the hallway.

He takes a loose grasp of your wrist, fingers barely meeting on the other side of your skin before you tear it away from him like he’s scalded you. The look on your face makes him think for a moment that he might actually have done it – burned you. Pained you. Raised the skin below your gentle palm in a furious, red glow.

He’s swapping words out like they’re tools, each one immediately breaking and being flung back into the box. He’s trying any combination, any useless, futile order of words to make you stop in your tracks. You know how much I care about you, ‘s why I’m doin’ it, baby, come back, we can talk about this.

And he opens his mouth to give voice to the only words he knows would stop you – the reason why he’s doing it in the first place, the only thought he’s had anytime he’s looked at you for the last couple weeks. He opens his mouth to say it, or say something like it, when the machine silences the ringtone and the pair of you, too.

Her voice is like ice down the back of his shirt. He stares at the machine, red light blinking like a rag to a bull. He could walk over to it and smash the ever-loving fuck out of it with his fists until it’s dust on his coffee table. Until it shuts the fuck up, stops interfering with his fucking business.

And then he thinks about Lois, and her cream blouse, and her red nails, and her big, blue eyes, and her soft drawl and everything about her that is so entirely opposite to everything about you.

And how much – despite how nice and friendly, or funny and good-natured she is – how much he hates her right now, and how much he fucking loves you.

But you’re gone, now. Washed away by the tide. No more sand in Joel’s palm.

He tries to stop it. Tries to wind back a little, tries to make the sea cough up what it just stole from him. Give her back, you fuck. His eyes are stinging like salt water. Why are they stinging? There’s a roaring in his ears – the waves laughing in his face. Sickly and deafening.

He’s doing his best to keep a hold on his trembling voice. He knows he sounds pathetic. But yours is louder, stronger, steadier. And when you talk, it’s with an air of finality. Like you’re turning over the horizon. The last time he’ll ever see you again.

“I’ll see you ‘round, Joel.”

----------

He doesn’t call or text you that night. He doesn’t know what he’d say. Doesn’t even know where he’d begin. You’re mad, and Joel figures you got every right to be. This entire thing – today, this weekend, the whole month you’ve been together – is one big fucking mess.

He spends the afternoon hunched over his kitchen table, trying to distract himself with work. Twirling a pencil between his fingers, reading three, four, sometimes five times over the same building plans before deciding that the words and numbers won’t fucking sink in. He leaves them strewn across the table, wanders aimlessly upstairs and takes a cold shower.

Sarah’s flight gets in at 8PM. Joel’s sat curbside, truck engine humming, scanning every single figure that walks out of the airport building. When he spots the gray hoodie, the brown hair tied back with a pink scrunchie, the much-too-big-for-four-days-away suitcase rolling at her heels, he gets out.

She hugs her friends, they nod in passing greeting to him, and she skips over.

“Hey,” he breathes as she wraps her arms around his waist. “How was your flight? Saw you comin’ in.”

She shrugs in response. “I’m hungry. Wanna go get McDonald’s?”

Joel grumbles, slotting her case in the back of the truck. “You don’t wanna get home? Take a shower first? You smell like plane.”

“Ha! No.”

She opens the passenger side door and hoists her foot up on the seat, retying her sneaker. Joel’s already in and buckled up, hands on the wheel, watching her blue nails loop the laces.

“There’s one, like, ten minutes away.”

He’s shaking his head. “We got food in the house.”

Her gaze lifts. Her foot drops. “Oh, c’mon, it’s on the way home. We’ll be, like, five minutes. I just got off a two-hour flight, dude, right through dinner. I’m starving, I –”

“Would you just get in the damn truck, Sarah?”

It’s shorter, snappier, angrier than he meant. But he’s parked in the middle of the packed pick-up area, and the rattling of suitcase wheels and the whistling of cab drivers and the fucking roaring of planes overhead are making the headache behind his eyes worse.

Sarah freezes, one arm still leaning on the doorframe. “Jesus. What the fuck?”

“Sorry,” Joel mutters, shaking his head. “Sorry. Just – get in.”

“No need to be an asshole about it,” she murmurs, pulling herself up into the passenger seat.

Joel’s face is in his hands, elbows atop the steering wheel. “I’m not tryna be an asshole,” he says into his palms.

His daughter looks at him. Concerned. “Somethin’ happen? While I was gone?”

He shakes his head again.

Nothing happened.

He’s quiet the rest of the night. The rest of the week. Sarah notices, he knows she does, because she pries. In her own way. She’s smarter than he is. Less obvious.

She’s already up and in the kitchen when he rises on Tuesday morning. Spins around at the toaster, tells him the machine’s ready for his coffee. Asks if he wants her to make it. Asks if he wants any breakfast.

Thanks, kiddo. No, I’ll get it. No, you’re good, thanks.

They sit opposite one another in silence, save for the crunching of Sarah’s toast. He can feel her eyes on him, same way he felt Lois’s. Trying to burrow deep inside, take a look at his brain. Catch a glimpse of the words he’s thinking over and over and over.

There ain’t no words, though. It’s just images. Video replay of your back as you strode down his driveway, the way the wind caught your hair and brushed your cheek, the way your hand came up to wipe your tears. And the way he stood there, like a fucking idiot, and did nothing.

His chest hurts any time he thinks about you. Pulls in, knits itself together in knots. He’s good at pushing feelings down, good at turning them away from the sunlight like faded pebbles. But this is different. It’s a different kind of hurt.

It’s unresolved, it’s an open wound. It’s you. And it’s every time he hears REO Speedwagon, every time he pulls a flannel over his shoulders and catches the scent of your perfume on it, every time he’s flicking through the TV and catches a flash of a hospital setting, it’s a pair of hands deep inside the wound, pulling it a little wider.

It aches. It stings and it aches and it winds.

And then he turns the pebbles around. Back to the shade. Over and over and fucking over.

On Wednesday night, he caves. Asks Sarah if she’s spoken to you.

She’s chewing on a slice of pizza; licks the grease from her fingertips before she answers. “Not really. She’s been quieter than usual. Why?”

“She’s been quieter than usual?” he repeats, playing off the way his head shot up by looking straight back down at the pizza box.

Sarah narrows her eyes. “Yeah. I figure she’s working a lot.”

“Right. Right.”

“She gets tired of being in the house all the time, I think. Getting treated like a kid still. So I guess the more time she can spend outta there, the better.”

Joel nods slowly. He already knows that much.

Sarah studies him. Watches his hands as he dabs a pizza crust into the dip. When he tosses it in his mouth, he looks back up at her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says. “You want the last slice?”

“You take it,” he mutters, sitting back and wiping his hands on a napkin. “I’m stuffed.”

She hums, reaching forward. “Whatever it is,” she says, pulling the dough apart, “that’s got you this down –”

“Ain’t nothin’ got me down, kiddo.”

“– whatever it is,” she continues, “I bet it works itself out.”

Sarah stands up, taking her water with her, and wanders out of the kitchen.

----------

Joel struggles through another sleepless night, Thursday through Friday. His eyes don’t close over once. He hauls himself out of bed early in the morning, forces a black coffee down his throat, and heads off to work.

He’s up at some new client in Waco. Andrew Curtis – or, well, Andrew Curtis’s father, but Joel’s been dealing primarily with the son, and the guy’s a fucking imbecile. Doesn’t know his head from his ass, probably. And he has a voice like nails on a damn chalkboard, and his shirt’s untucked around the back, but Joel ain’t got a tone kind enough, or half the wordsmanship, or an ounce of energy to tell him.

Anyway – he spends all day at this dusty site, trying to work and instead, thinking about whatever the fuck you’re doing. Wherever you are, whoever you’re with. It’s almost seven by the time he’s leaving, packing up his truck and watching Andrew Curtis across the yard. He’s spotted his own shadow; he’s twisting around to reach the ducktail poking out from above his belt loops.

Joel thinks to call you about it on the way home. Tell you all about the guy: his dry conversation, his flannel, the fact he kept calling Joel Joe all day. He figures it would make you laugh, least the way he’d tell it, and he reckons that’s exactly what you need right now. That’s exactly what he needs, right now.

When Clark’s call him, he dials your dad. Has his ear blown half to hell by the speakerphone. Learns midway through the conversation that you’re right there in the car, too, and bites back a stream of incoherent, senseless words. Settles for a quiet reminder: he’s right here if you need him.

He doesn’t expect you to take him up on it. Knows you got better things to do than deal with some asshole who’d rather break your heart than have a few difficult conversations. You’re probably having fun, probably finally feeling good again. You’re probably fine.

But still. He doesn’t sleep that night, either.

It’s just gone two when Anna calls. He’s lying in bed, some shopping network on loop on the TV. His tired eyes bore into the screen, defocusing over the pixels, not watching nor listening and barely fucking breathing until he picks up the phone. Her voice is panicked, shrill, and shaking so much he wonders if his own phone is trembling with it.

“Mr. Miller?” she asks, and Joel sits up. “Got your number from Yelp. ‘m sorry it’s so late, it’s…oh, fuck – it’s, like, 2AM.”

“Anna,” Joel says hoarsely. Get to the fuckin’ point.

“Right. Sorry. It’s just…we kinda have a…situation, here.”

It’s you. He fucking knows it’s you. His heart begins to hammer. He doesn’t give a fuck whether she puts two and two together or not when he asks –

“Where is she?”

“We’re still at Frank’s,” Anna says, sniffing. He can hear the booming bassline of music, muffled; the sharper chatter of voices. She’s on the street. In his head, he can see her shoulders hunched; her bare arms wrapped around her body for warmth. She goes to say it again. “We’re still at –”

“’n where is she?” Joel cuts, and she finally cracks.

In one long, drawn breath, she spills. “She was fucked from the second we walked in here; she drank too much too quick, Mr. Miller – Joel,” she says when he corrects her, “and then she just – I dunno, she just – fucking disappeared with these guys, me ‘n Kara never saw ‘em in our lives – and they went upstairs we think, and she came back smelling like weed, and then this guy – he just, like, scooped her off, Mr. M– I mean Joel, like, totally dragged her away, and then –”

“Who–? Anna – Anna, wait,” Joel says, shushing her between her rambling, trying to rein in what she’s saying. When she finally shuts up, he speaks slowly and calmly. “Who dragged her away?”

“We don’t fuckin’ know!” she almost shrieks down the line. It cuts out for a second and Joel’s heart stops dead.“– so we don’t know,” she says when her voice filters back through into his ear, “but Sam said he saw the dude drop something in her bottle when he turned away. A pill or something.”

Joel’s body tenses. Freezes solid, with the blood in his veins. His eyes fix on one spot on his dresser: the loose handle that sits a little squint. He stares at it until his peripheral starts to blur.

“He – say that again?”

“He roofied her, we think. But we can’t fucking find them. Sam and Kara are in there just now looking. The guy pulled her away, that’s what I’m tryna say!”

“Right,” whispers Joel, nodding. He drags a heavy hand over his eyes, tries to push the image of you in danger out of his head for one second so he can figure out what to do.

Anna doesn’t hear him. She keeps talking. “…and then Sam said she told him not to call her dad, but I had to call someone, y’know? You’re the only person I think she wouldn’t – I think she wouldn’t mind me callin’. Please.”

He’s already halfway down the stairs, arms pushing through the sleeves of his shirt. He keeps the phone against his cheek when he bends to reach for his boots, ties them loose and grabs his keys.

“You call me as soon as you find her, you hear? I’m on my way,” he tells Anna, and hangs up.

He’s panicking. Fear, transferred between her cell and his, creeping over his shoulders, wrapping long, cold fingers around his throat. He’s panicking. He’s panicking. He never panics. Where the fuck are you? Who the fuck are you with?

There’s barely any traffic on the road, but the drive takes for-fucking-ever. The lights at the side of the road blur into long, thin streaks of orange. His hands are tight around the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. Your name lies loose on his lips.

He pulls up right outside the bar. There are small clusters of people, congregated tight together under the streetlights; cigarettes hanging from lips, bottles loose in hands. He shoves by them on his way to the door. Some guy shuffles out of his way, looking up to cuss Joel out and quickly dipping his head again when he locks eyes with the grizzly expression.

He shoves the door open with his shoulder, and spots you instantly.

----------

His knuckles are throbbing. Skin stretching anytime he moves his hand, searing hot and sharply stinging across the bone. Your touch is the only thing soothing them right now.

He got two good punches in. Just two. Burst the guy’s nose. He would’ve kept going, had he not been in a bar full of people – people who knew who he was – and had you not been stood behind him, body liquid-like from how much you were swaying.

But he has you home now. Up in your room, settled in bed. You’re safe. You’re with him.

You’re fucking wasted. Like, can barely lift a glass of water to your lips unaided wasted. He spent the entire drive watching over you, stealing glances when your head turned or your eyes lulled closed, checking you were still awake, still talking, still fucking breathing.

Whatever that asshole gave you, you don’t seem to have had enough for it to do too much damage. The alcohol is the real culprit. Though you were cognitive enough to yell at him over Lois in the kitchen, which relieved him for a second before it fucking crushed him. He’s lying awake right now – listening to the sound of your snoring – replaying the argument in his head. Over and over.

You’re an asshole and a liar. Just stringing me along this whole time.

He’s some awful cocktail of angry and terrified and fucking heartbroken. You’re lying inches from him, your hand resting softly on top of his, and yet – you’re miles away. The space between you both – fragmented, treacherous.

In a perfect world, he’d have wrapped his arms around your shoulders. He’d have pulled you against his weight, against his strong, steady form. And he’d have walked you, as slow as you needed, out of the bar and to his truck. Maybe laughing. Maybe singing.

He’d have told you everything was fine, told you he loved you, told you he was gonna get you home, make you feel better. He’d hold you until the sun came up, and then hold you until it went back down.

He’d love you. And you’d let him.

Maybe that world doesn’t exist, Joel thinks. And maybe that’s for the better.

It fucking hurts, though. Stings like a hot blade through his chest. All this time, messing around, pretending there was nothing more to it. Letting his feelings through like water in a fucking dam. It was bound to break eventually.

And maybe he really thought, even just for a fleeting moment, there could be something here. Something worth holding onto. More than two idiots messing around, more than sex and secrecy.

He didn’t even realize. Didn’t notice the shift. When did he start feeling…more? When did it cross that line?

He’s staring at the end of your bed. Thinking about you under him, gripping onto his shirt, his hand between your legs. The very first time. And every other fucking time since then. Which one was the threshold? Who pushed who?

His ringtone bursts through the silence, making him jump. His arm swings to fish it from the nightstand, swiping to answer before he’s even read who’s calling, just to shut the thing up.

“Hello?” he murmurs.

“Hey, Joe? Uh, I mean, Joel? It’s Andrew Curtis here.”

He rolls his eyes. For fuck’s sake. “Mornin’, Andrew.”

“Hi. Sorry, I know it’s super early. I’m just checkin’ we’re still good to go. I got my guys ready, we’re rarin’ to get goin’ whenever you are.”

Joel clears his throat, pushing slowly off the plush mattress, resting your hand on the sheets. “Yeah, uh…” He slips out of your room, hopping over to the bathroom and closing the door over. “…I had a, uh…a family emergency durin’ the night. I’m gonna be a little late, but I’ll be there.”

“Oh, gee, I hope everything’s alright?”

He phrases it like he wants Joel to clue him in. He considers for a second actually saying, Yeah, my best friend’s daughter – who I’ve been sleeping with for the last month – got plastered at a bar – Frank’s, local place, you heard of it? – because I broke things off with her – but I didn’t want to, I was just tryna be fuckin’ noble – and I went and picked her up, punched a guy who was tryna hurt her, because guess what, Andrew – I’m in fuckin’ love with her.

He sums it up with: “Yeah. Everything’s fine now. Thanks.”

“Alright, well, great news! Call me when you’re twenty minutes out, I’ll have the guys here for you arrivin’. Safe journey, Joe!”

Joel breathes an Uhuh and hangs up, holding the bridge of his nose. He has a headache, like he’s the one who’s been drinking. It’s only going to get worse, too, heading off to go spend his Saturday with Andrew fucking Curtis and his loose flannel.

The sun’s rising slowly, lighting the hall in a warm glow. Joel pads quietly into your room and pulls the cover back over his side of the mattress. You stir; your head jerks only to move some hair from your face, and then you sigh, sleep pulling you back into its arms.

He watches you for a second. Wishes he could run a light hand down your cheek, kiss your head. Whisper a goodbye, the same way you did to him almost a week ago.

He shakes the thought, collecting his boots from the floor. His hand hovers over his shirt for a moment. And then he lifts it by the collar, lays it neatly on the pillow by your head, and leaves. You can keep it, trash it, burn it. But it’s yours. Everything about him is yours.

In the kitchen, he stands by the sink, nursing a cup of coffee. It’s a quarter to six. This early on a Saturday, he figures he’ll be in Waco by seven, seven-thirty latest. His eyes fix on the spot you two stood last night, yelling back and forth about Lois. She seems so far away, now. He can barely remember the shape of her face, the sound of her voice.

His grip tightens around the mug. He places it in the sink, and grabs his keys. As he passes the stairs, he pauses. Leans on one foot, head tilted to listen out for any sound of life. Any fucking sound – the creak of a floorboard, the squeak of a door handle. Anything to keep him here. Anything.

Nothing comes. No sound, no movement, no you.

He closes the front door gently on his way out.

----------

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[cameronspecial]

omg I see the fleshlight one ... maybe perv stepbro rafe comparing the toy with her stepsis? 🙂

Helping Hand (Pt. 2)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: SMUT

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.1K

A/N: Sorry, but I don't write step-sibling stuff so I just wrote a part two of Helping Hand. The part about comparing is at the end.

Masterlist

Rafe hates to admit Y/N is right while she grins at him as he packs the fleshlight into his suitcase. She saunters over to him, resting her chin on his shoulder to place a kiss on his cheek. The bottom of her lips brushes his ear, “For a man who protested so much about this, you sure made it a priority to pack it.” Her eyes cast to the open suitcase, which is filled with his favourite framed picture of them and the toy just placed into it. He laughs through his nose and reaches up to place his hand on her fingers on his other shoulder. “You are never going to let this down. Are you?” he confirms. She giggles, turning him around so that they face each other and she rests her chin on his chest to stare up at him. “Nope. I feel like I won the best girlfriend award.” 

“Hmm, you did. But not because of this. You won that award way when you said yes to going on a date with me,” he says, placing his kiss on her forehead. She smiles at him, “Ugh, I got so lucky with you. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself while you are away.” His hand runs through her and the other traces mindless patterns on his skin. “We are going to call every morning and every night. You can text me all your little random thoughts and facts throughout the day. I’ll try to get to them during my breaks,” he leans down to whisper the next part into her ear. “And when the space between your legs grows wet, you are going to grab one of those toys you love so much, I’m going to grab mine, and we are going to watch each other use it through video call.” Heat spreads across her cheeks. He spins her around and taps her bottom to push her toward the door. “Now, off you go, Sweetie. I won’t be able to pack if all I’m thinking about is how I would rather stay home with my head buried between your legs.”

———

She has been teasing him all day, sending pictures of her in his favourite lingerie, with a glittery silicone dildo in her mouth, with the toy between her breast and then finally one with the fake appendage resting against her wet, clothed pussy. Once his last meeting ends, Rafe practically runs to his hotel room to take care of the hardening of his penis. He locks the door and rushes to strip bare. He dials his girlfriend on FaceTime, propping himself against the headboard while he waits for her to answer. 

“Hello,” she answers in a sweet tone. Her phone camera catches the batting of her eyelashes and only that. She keeps it angeled toward her face, denying him the sight of what he wants to see. He groans, “Come on, Sweetie. You’ve been teasing me all day.” She laughs and raises the camera upward so he can look down at the top of her breasts and her belly button. It helps, except it doesn’t show all of what he wants to see. “Sweetie, you know I wanna see more than that,” he complains. She pouts at him, “I’m sorry, Baby. I can’t hold my phone far enough so you can see all of me.” Shit. He knew he should’ve gotten her a laptop with a camera, yet she objected out of fear of it being hacked. He’ll have to fix this problem as soon as he gets home. “It’s okay. Let’s just listen to each other. Lie down on the bed, Sweetie. Legs wide open and your phone by your head,” he orders. She follows his instructions, falling onto her back and reaching for the dildo in her bedside drawer. “I’m doing it,” she relays to him. He acknowledges her statement, “Yeah, Sweetie, and what toy are you using today?” 

“The glittery dildo that I got myself for my eighteenth birthday.” 

“Hmm, I like that one. It gets super shiny when it’s covered in your juices.” 

A whine passes her lips while she pictures that night a few months ago. “Aww, Sweetie. Did you start without me? That’s very rude,” he teases. She can hear the opening of a bottle on his end of the line and she imagines him squirting the liquid onto his length before using the toy on himself. She copies him and smears the lubricant onto her toy because she can never seem to get herself as wet as she gets with Rafe. “I didn’t start yet. I’m a good girl. Please, tell me what to do,” she pleads. He chuckles, “Okay, okay. I believe you. Now, Sweetie, I want you to drag the tip of that cock down from your mouth to your pussy. But you aren’t allowed to push it in until I tell you to. I want us to work together.” She obeys his commands, dragging the wet silicone down her body to her entrance. She begins to circulate the mushroom-shaped head around her clit. “What now?” she breaths out.

She can hear his grin through the phone. “I have the little gift you gave me in my hand and I’m positioning it over my tip. You should see how hard I am for you, Sweetie. God, I wish you were here,” he narrates, inserting the top of his dick inside the fleshlight. He struggles to not shove it down completely on him. The bumps within tickle his skin. “On the count of three,” he announces. “One. Two. Three.” 

At the same time, she shoves the length completely within her and he lets silicone engulf him. Groans cry out throughout both their rooms. “This feels so good,” she whimpers, her toes curling as she brings her knees to a bend as an anchor. Rafe growls, “You better not be saying that feels better than me, Sweetie. I may like how this feels, but nothing can measure up to my tight pussy.” He can hear the rustling of the sheets while she shakes her head. “No, Baby, I promise. You are so much better,” she confirms. She works the toy inside of her with the image of her boyfriend in her mind. Rafe presses the button, causing the adult toy to vibrate around him. “This could never beat you. It isn’t as tight as you. It isn’t wet like you are. It doesn’t grip me like you do,” he relays to her. The pair go back and forward in singing each other’s praise until they are shoved off the edge in a panting mess. 

Her eyelids struggle to stay open and the final thing she hears before she is pulled into slumber is his voice. “A helping hand isn’t so bad, but it will never beat the real thing.”

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[leonw4nter]

I really like ur fics with Leon as a dad 🤍 can I request one where it’s angst at the start but happy at the end? I think with Leon’s job he’s probably alway moving to new places and his wife is kinda at the point where she just can’t take it and worried for their kid?

My Baby Here On Earth Showed Me What My Heart Was Worth

Husband!RE:Damnation!Leon x F!Reader

“The kids are sleeping now,” you quietly tell your husband as you get into bed with him.

He hums a response, setting aside a copy of William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury as he gets up. To go look at the kids one more time for the night, he says as he walks around the foot of the bed and towards the door. You wait until Leon noiselessly closes the door, his footsteps growing fainter as he grows more distanced from you, to sigh deeply, sitting up to lean against the cold headboard as you bury your face in your hands for a moment. You love Leon and you know that he loves you and your kids too but he’s grown increasingly distant with each passing day after coming home from deployment to the Eastern Slav Republic. You’ve done your best to show that you’re there for him, initiating conversations and even giving him simple compliments but the most he’s done is look in your direction and nod. A hum and a forced smile, if you’re lucky and he’s feeling less bad about himself. He still took care of the kids, driving them to school and playing with them in the afternoons but it’s clear that his mind is far from home. Even the kids could sense just how weary their father is, doing their best to cheer him up by giving him colorful drawings and letters. “Don’t be sad, daddy! Me, Ollie, and mama are here for yuo!” one of them reads, the word ‘you’ misspelled but Leon loved it nonetheless. For a quick moment he genuinely smiled whenever he read the letters and saw the drawings again before the frown took its place in his face again as he put the artwork in a folder and placed it back in the drawer cabinet.

You lifted your head from your hands when Leon walked back in, silent as always as he headed back to his side of the bed. You stared at him, urging him to say something–anything, just to dissolve the wall that he put up around himself but to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t speak. He checks the time on his phone and decides that it’s far too late to continue reading his book and sinks down beneath the covers, muttering a nearly inaudible ‘goodnight’ to you before he closes his eyes and drifts to sleep. Hurt, you scoff at how distant he feels. Physically, he’s home and with you but you know that emotionally and mentally, he’s still on the other side of the world and dealing with Tyrants, Lickers, and corrupt leaders. Turning the lamp off, you sink into the sheets as well and turn to face the wall. You have so much to say, so much to express to him but you’re afraid that this will only push him further from you even more. Worst case scenario, he packs his bags and sleeps in a hotel for a week before coming home plastered. He’s never done that before but you don’t want this rift to widen to the point he even considers doing that, maybe even leave behind the family he has with you for the enigmatic woman in red. Inhaling deeply, you shut your eyes before you speak to him. You don’t even think deeply about what you’re doing before your fears get to you and force you to shut up again.

“I can’t keep doing this, Leon.” You shakily begin. “We can’t keep doing this. I’m here for you, so are the kids, but you’re pushing us all away.”

“I need space.” He responds. Short and curt, straight to the point but you wish he said more.

“What does ‘space’ mean to you, Leon?” you gently ask as you sit up and face him who is still curled up on his side, his face hidden away like a secret. “I just want to know what I can do to support you while also giving you some time alone.”

“Leave me alone. There. That’s the kind of space I want,” he grumbles as he sits up, facing you. You stay silent for a moment, your sympathetic gaze on him but his eyes are elsewhere as he runs a hand through his dark hair, not wanting to see the look on your face.

“Okay. But let’s still talk, okay? Let’s voice out how we feel and communicate, I want to be able to provide you with what you need–”

“Why are you doing this?” Leon interrupts, not out of irritation but rather out of wonder. Your eyes widen for a quick moment before you inch a little near him, hesitant to reach out and place your hand on his hand.

“Because I care for you, Leon, and I don’t want to see you suffer alone. I want to be here for you and share the weight of the world on your shoulders too. You don’t have to keep it all to yourself, I can see it eating away at you.”

He doesn’t stop you when you take his hand, feeling the scars and calluses on them. He quite misses your touch, actually, but he felt like he was throwing himself a pity party whenever he thought about asking you for a hug or a kiss.

“I don’t want to bring home anything from work,” he explains. “I don’t plan on mixing it– work and home life… and I didn’t expect for it to get to this. That I’m pushing you and the kids away. I don’t… I don’t want my family to even think about how the monsters I’ve killed looked like or how I killed them. Something as precious as you three don’t deserve that. Our little ones, most of all.”

Pulling him in for the first hug in nearly two weeks, after two weeks of Leon trying to avoid your physical display of affection, he gives in. He leans his forehead on your shoulder but doesn’t wrap his arms around you and instead, lies limply on his side.

“Oh Leon,” you delicately whisper. Sushing and humming the same tune you used to hum when your toddlers were still tiny babies, you tenderly sway Leon from side to side in order to ease all the anguish he bottled up and refused to share. It doesn’t take long for his tears to wet your shoulder, his large frame shaken with stifled sobs. He went by “Condor One”, “Agent Kennedy”, and many other aliases required by his job but at the end of the day, he is your Leon Scott Kennedy. “Daddy”, as his dear children would call him.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Leon slept in your arms, his head buried in your side with an arm slung around your stomach, for the first time in the longest time. He still shook and spoke in his sleep, flinching at times, but his sleep appeared to be much more restful. It was your turn to be unable to fall asleep now, a hand gently patting Leon’s shoulder blade with a watchful eye observing him. You were tired from the entire day and the crying you did with him hours ago but you couldn’t find it in you to doze off; you thought about your kids’ future and raising them, along with considering the fact that Leon was rarely home for a long time and was always moving to new places for indefinite periods. Each mission brought the fear that this would be the last time you’d see Leon alive, to be talking to you in person and that what would come home to you are two agents holding a folded flag, an urn, and what remained of his gear instead. It would be cruel for Leon, who proudly proclaims that his life has only begun when he met you. Leon, who knew what it meant to truly live when he found out that you were pregnant with his children. You knew that it also hurt Leon to leave at ungodly hours of the night when he was going to be deployed for a mission and to think that his kids would wonder where their daddy is and why he’s always gone. You’re used to Leon’s constant absence but it doesn’t hurt any less each time he has to go. His job is bad for your heart, constantly putting it in a state of worry and fear. It always stung whenever your kids asked if they could go with Leon when he had to leave on an “adventure” because they wanted to spend more time with him. You hated breaking the news to Leon that he’d have to miss out on another one of their school events, having to phone Chris or Patrick to attend in his place; he sounded so pained whenever he asked about the details of the event, his dreams of walking up the stage and being active in his childrens’ schooling playing in his head every time he closed his eyes for a quick nap before being back on his feet and killing monsters. Ultimately, you decided to give the kids a day trip with Leon since their only trip with Leon was when they were still babies. Sighing once more before giving sleep another try, you start to mentally compile all the things needed for tomorrow’s road trip.

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“She’s already got a stain on his shirt and the ice cream hasn’t even melted yet,” Leon says with an amused grin as he tries to wipe the chocolate off of Euphemia’s pink shirt with a wet wipe. You’re preoccupied with watching over the other twin Ollie, who’s trying to call a stray cat and give the kitty a lick of his vanilla ice cream. You look back at Leon, who’s giving his daughter kisses as he got the stain to look a lot less dark than it was earlier.

“Pheme still tends to get ice cream everywhere,” you softly tell him as you offer another set of wipes, to which he declines since the stain isn’t obvious and the wipes could be used for later. Leon smiles when he notices you use the nickname he gave to Euphemia; he’s managed to get you to use this one instead of his other loving nickname for Oliver, “Rolliver Polliver”, derived from when Ollie almost ate a roly poly bug.

All of you finish eating ice cream without getting any more stains or a cat being fed something it shouldn’t be fed and get back to the car, hitting the road once more. Queen, Hall & Oates, Elton John, and The Flamingos have been traded for nursery rhymes and songs to induce sleep in toddlers in order to get them to nap a little bit. Instead of Leon sitting in the passenger seat with you, he decided to sit at the back in between the kids in order to spend some time being near them on the road trip. The twins seemed to have gotten their habit of sleeping with their head leaned back and mouth slightly ajar while softly snoring from Leon, who is also asleep with his hands on their child car seat. Caught in a red light, you quietly observe this tender moment in the front and snap a few pictures of them with your digital camera from 1989 that still surprisingly works well. You giggle at the sight behind you, heart melting at seeing your husband and children look so adorable. His jacket is on your lap when you told him that you were feeling a little chilly, insisting that he’s fine in the back without one. Just earlier, he was making funny faces and holding a serious, one-sided conversation with his little ones, making them laugh and giggle at his every word and now they’re all asleep together. If it means having more moments like this, you’re ready to fight the D.S.O. for keeping your husband occupied on the other side of the world. You guess that it’s also moments like these that Leon continues to fight bioterrorism so that other families can safely enjoy moments like this one without worrying about monsters coming to harm their loved ones. Since the red light is still going and you seem to have been caught in a moderate traffic, you take out your video cam and film the soft scene behind you. “Papa and the kiddos are sleeping together, their snoring isn’t in sync so there’s no moment of silence for me but I don’t mind. I love you all so much and momma is very happy right now.”

After nearly four hours of driving, you four finally get to the cliff overlooking the great wide sea. Parking your car to a safe place, you take out the picnic basket and start preparing your spot. You two chose a spot underneath the shade of a thick tuliptree, a cover from the hot sun. The kids have been asking so much about finally being able to play soccer and ‘helicopter’, a game where Pheme and Ollie hang from Leon’s arms as he spins around (the twins have promised to never, ever play ‘helicopter’ again because they got dizzy but they seem to have ‘forgotten’ it this time) and you explained that they can play an hour after having the picnic and when the sun isn’t so hot anymore. Leon agrees and although the twins don’t seem too happy, they don’t appear to mind it that much since they’re eager to help Leon in unloading the car (he gave them the lighter tasks). As soon as the food is set and most of the bugs have been successfully warded off, the twins gather to sit beside you but before everyone can take a bite of the sandwiches, Leon gets up and takes the digital camera and snaps a couple of pictures, even attempting a selfie at one point. Soon, everyone digs into their sandwiches and stuffs their faces full of the snacks you and Leon prepared together in the morning.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

After what felt like the nth picture Leon has taken of you and the twins, he finally puts the camera down and puts it back in its case but picks up the video cam instead. The twins groan, urging their dad for more playtime even if they’re drenched in sweat with dirty knees.

“5 minutes,” Leon says as he starts recording. “Papa’s back hurts. Why don’t you ask mama?”

“Mama already played! She can’t carry us and she says she’s also tired! She’s reading now!” Pheme exclaims.

He points the camera towards you, reading a pocketbook in the picnic basket while dabbing your forehead and neck with a towel. He laughs and calls you, causing you to look up from the book you were engrossed with and blow him a kiss. He laughs one more time, ‘catching’ the kiss and placing it inside his shorts pocket which gets a giggle out of you.

“My beautiful wife is uhh sitting there, she’s reading.” He narrates as he zooms in. “Very beautiful, the sunlight is hitting her just right. Gosh, she makes me nervous and she doesn’t even know. Love her very much.”

He zooms out and zooms into his children, who decide to take interest in the rocks and starts flinging them towards the cliff with the intention to try to fling it to the ocean, which is quite far from where they are.

“Hey kiddos,” he says as he walks up to them and pats them with his free hand. “What’re you doin’?”

“We’re trying to throw rocks into the ocean!” Ollie and Pheme cheerfully explain, showing their rocks to the lens before flinging it with all their tiny might.

“Ooh, that’s quite far honey,” Leon comments. “Want me to try?”

The twins cheer and he takes that as an opportunity to throw one, the recording being temporarily shaky.

“Woah! You threw it far, papa!” The twins say and clap, determined to throw it as far as he did. He helps the twins throw it, focused on teaching them how to aim and the force they need to exert to fling it a little farther.

After several minutes of flinging rocks and random conversations with your husband and your kids, you call them over to look at the pictures Leon has taken. Everyone gathers around you as you look at each one, oohing and aahing at Leon’s photography skills. Leon focuses the cam on the pictures popping up in the digital camera, chipping in with his thoughts.

“Mommy looks amazing there,” he breathily says. “Divine. What’d you think, Pheme?”

“So pretty!” She beams before giving you a big kiss on the cheek. Ollie giggles and snuggles closer to you, occasionally pointing to the pictures.

Like you guessed, most of the pictures are of you, the kids, or both. Observant like their dad, they picked up on this as well.

“Pa, you’re not in a lot of the photos! It’s always us or mama!”

Leon chuckled, ruffling his kids’ heads. He extends a pointer finger to a shadow in the image before you switch to another one, pointing to the tall shadow once again.

“That’s me,” Leon explains. “I’m the shadow.”

His twins seem confused, falling into silence along with you, who is also intrigued by Leon’s words.

“When you look at these pictures when you���re bigger, I want you all to know that I’m always here. These are proofs that I’m with you because I’m the shadow and I’ll always look out for all three of you,” he explains

The twins say ‘aww’ at the same time and tackle his legs, hugging him tight. While you set the camera down and look at Leon with a small pout and slightly glossy eyes. Leon chuckles softly and places a free hand on your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek before you join your twins in giving him a big bear hug as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“I love you, Leon.” You softly tell him, warm breath fanning against his neck.

“Me too, sweetheart. I love you more.” He tenderly responds as he hugs you and the kids back.

He’s thankful that this tender moment is caught on camera so he can rewatch it several more times before he goes to bed.

NOTE - I hope you liked this fic anon!!! At first, I wasn't super confident about writing this or how it'll turn out but I think it turned out nicely ngl :) YALL. I finally got my driver's license. I can drive. Do I know how to? I know the theoretical aspects of it but driving itself? Running a motor vehicle? I have yet to learn (it's on June 20-21 and my dad will teach me until I get better)... I also scarfed down a big spicy bowl of ramen coz I didn't have breakfast this morning <3 Also, It's not rlly embarrassing for me to be writing fics while my parents r sitting at the back (I'm at my living room) but making the border??? Looking for pics of Leon??? It's embarassing for me 😭😭 My dad said that my Chris capcorom looks like a Bánh bò and ngl I kinda see it 😭😭 There's a Japanese mall where I live and I'll be going there tomorrow so hopefully yk there's a copy of any RE book or manga (PLEASEPLEASEPLE) Anyways, that's it and thank you for readings my fics!!!!!! I <33333 UUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The wavy divider was made by @kaitsawamura , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[clockwayswrites]

Bury the Years Part 2

WC:1091 Masterpost CW: blood, canon typical violence, brief mentions of human trafficking/pedos

Jason watched Dick pace, hand clamped over his mouth like he was going to be sick. He could tell that Petrichor was watching Dick’s back and forth because of the very slight shifts of the other’s head against his chest. He was sure to keep petting his hair, hoping not to have to deal with a fit right then.

They were terrifying to watch.

Finally Dick stopped, sucked a breath through his nose, and then let his hand drop.

“You clawed your way out of your grave.” Dick sounded ruined.

Jason knew he didn’t sound much better. “Yeah.”

“When?”

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see Dick’s expression for this. “Four years ago.”

“Four years?!”

Hearing it wasn’t much easier.

“Where have you been? Why didn’t you—”

“Talia grabbed me, alright?” Jason snapped. That burning bile of the Pit coated the back of his throat. Petrichor nuzzled at his chest and Jason tried to breathe. He pulled the other a little tighter against him. “I was… I wasn’t okay. I was lost? My mind was lost. Talia grabbed me. I was with the League of Assassins or she would send me training or— she got in my fucking head Dick. They threw me in the Pits and whatever parts of my brain it couldn’t bring back they filled in and, and…”

He pried his eyes open. It was one of the hardest things he’d done since he’d been back, other than actually calling Dick, but he pried his eyes open and let Dick see the horrible, glowing green. “I’m not okay, Dick. I’m all sorts of fucked up and I’ve done fucked up things and, fuck, Dick, the things I was planning to do…”

“Hey, hey no, you didn’t, you called me,” Dick said, rushing over. Petrichor flinched, hard, and Dick stopped instantly, crouching instead, palms out and open. “You called me. I can help. Whatever she did to you, whatever she made you do—”

“I’ve killed, Dick. I killed in training. I killed teachers she sent me to because they were pedophiles or traffickers or some other sort of evil. I’ve killed and it wasn’t all her. B will never—”

“I killed the Joker,” Dick said, interrupting with a sort of detached cold that Jason had never heard from his brother before.

The Joker? But they… Talia said…

“They brought him back, but I killed him. But I’m still me, every part of me. You’re still his son, of course B will take you back.”

“Don’t,” Jason choked out.

“And if he won’t you have me! You’ll always have me.”

Jason squeezed his eyes shut again. “You don’t know what I was planning to do!”

“But you didn’t do it!”

“Because of him!” Petrichor flinched hard at the shout and the fight drained out of Jason like a bleeding wound. “Hey, I’m sorry dust bunny. I’m sorry I yelled, that wasn’t right of me. It’s okay, we’re okay. Dick’s not going to hurt us and I’m not going to hurt him. We’re safe. Remember I promised we were safe?”

Jason waited for the little nod.

“That hasn’t changed, earthworm. We’re still safe. That hasn’t changed. I just got angry and scared, but we’re still safe.”

Petrichor’s too thin finger squeezed Jason’s hand twice.

“Okay,” Dick said softly when Jason didn’t speak again. “Okay… we can… work through that.”

Jason laughed, the sound cracking in his dry throat. “I can’t see B right now, Dick. My head’s all messed up about him and with the Pits… I can’t see him or r—or the other one.”

“Alfred?’” Dick asked incredulously.

“No, Dickstick, the new black haired, blue eyed orphan charity case B replaced me with.”

“Who— oh, no, Jay, Tim—”

Jason honest to everything growled. The sound ripped itself out of his throat before he was even aware he was making it.

“Ooookay. Um, he isn’t your replacement, Jay. He doesn’t even live at the manor. He’s stayed over a few nights, if he got hurt on patrol, but he’s the neighbor. It’s part of how he figured this all out. He basically made B take him on as Robin.

What?

“What?”

No, that wasn’t… Talia had said…

“Yeah. The kid… he’s something. But he’s not B’s new son. And he sure can’t replace you, little wing.

Jason looked away from Dick, gnawing on the edge of his lip. That…

“But! You don’t have to see either of them right now. You and your, er, friend can come back to my place! It’s not much but we can make it work! You two can have the bed and I’ll stay on the couch. I’ll have to go shopping but,” Dick said, talking a mile a minute. He stood up suddenly, making Petrichor flinch again, but this time it was Dick that Jason stayed focused on.

“You’re hurt.”

“What? No, I mean, okay, a little, but it’s nothing! The plan still works.”

“Dick,” Jason snapped, though he was careful not to raise his voice.

Dick rolled his eyes, but pulled up his hoodie and shirt. The bandage was soaked through with blood.

“Jesus, Dick, did you even stitch it up?”

“I was trying to get here as fast as I could!”

“It’s ten in the morning! You didn’t get stabbed at ten in the morning. Did you pop your stitches while sleeping?”

Dick stared mulishly at the ground.

“Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker, you didn’t stitch it up last night,” Jason said. He tightened his hold on Petrichor preemptively. “And you think you can look after us? You can’t even look after yourself!”

“That’s different!”

“How? Why?”

“Because you matter!” Dick shouted.

“And you don’t?” Jason yelled back.

Dick’s shaking fists were clenched so tightly Jason knew there would soon be more blood to deal with. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to, the little jerky shrug he gave said it all.

“Right, that’s…” Jason buried his face in Petrichor’s hair again and tried to gather the few scraps of nerves he had left. “We’ll go to the manor. All three of us, we’ll go to the manor. You’re staying too so that Alfred can patch you up and so that you can keep B and him away from us. But you have to stay, Dick, I can’t be there without you. You have to stay too.”

Jason was sure, for a moment, that Dick was going to say no, but then he sighed heavily and his shoulders dropped in a weary slump. “Okay little wing, okay.”

---

AN: You all voted for it! So have some more hurt! Dick's still in a really rough spot when this fic starts, struggling with everything. It's not a good time for anyone.

We also have Jason's main name for Danny for this one! Since he doesn't know Danny's name. And of course lots of other nicknames!

Stay delightful, darlings!