#sleeping in the car has murdered my brain

[slimybeth69]

Que Será, Será: Part 9

Rating: Explicit- Smut, violence, drinking/drug use. MDNI!!

Summary: It's almost twenty years after some weird outbreak almost happened but the CDC took care of that...Now you're living in Austin, Texas as an adult.What happens when you meet Joel Miller who hasn't been hardened and ruined by twenty years of murder and loss?Warnings/Tags: DaddyDom!Joel/ you. no use of y/n. No physical description of the reader besides one tattoo. Reader has a background story. Drinking/drug use. Slow burn. Smut. Angst. Cheating. Graphic depictions of violence. Eventual loss of virginity. Use of nicknames/pet names (lil girl, baby girl.) DD/lg dynamics. BDSM play.

Unbeta'ed. WIP. Cross-posting from my Ao3.Chapter

Warnings: drinkings, bar fights, reader gets injured, Joel is a DICK. SMUT!! SO MUCH!!! IT'S HAPPENING EVERYONE. IT'S HAPPENING.

It’s been two weeks since your little drinking, spanking, shopping and swapping shenanigans. Joel (your boyfriend) has spent the night at least…nine or ten times and each time he brings you something. Four times it was flowers, another time he brought dinner. The next night he brought you sex toys. Real sex toys and didn’t even ask to watch you use them. Just left them on your bedside table before he left for work and then kissed you goodbye while you slept. 

He doesn’t ask you to come over after you said you feel bad about leaving your brand new cat. Who is…perfect and sweet. She is a snuggly baby and just wants love and scratches. She looooves Joel. Meows at him all the time and he acts annoyed by it but you know he loves it. He’s so nice and sweet to her. Picks her up and puts her in his lap when he thinks you aren’t looking. He just wants to pet her and be nice to her. 

It’s going to be awkward if and when Sam and Cody ever come home. Another grown man…older than both of them sleeping in their basement? Awesome. Sam–if she ever gets better– is going to lose her mind that this man is twenty years older than you. She’s also going to have a sarcastic mouth and say something about him being old enough to be your dad and… Joel doesn’t like that very much. Not at all, actually. So. 

You guys get it…more than you would think. People are just openly telling you and your dad to have a great day. Enjoy your meal. Have fun. Why are people okay with outwardly assuming the older gentleman you’re with is your dad? Huh? Weird. Joel does not let go of your hand or your ass everywhere you go because he hates it so much. It’s been a struggle.

But not enough to make him not wanna see you anymore.

Joel is taking you to the bar tonight to meet Tommy, his brother. Your boyfriend (never gets old) told you that you’ve probably seen Tommy before. He comes into the store too. You're racking your brain of every man who has ever come through your line before. Ones that look like Joel? None. Maybe. You dunno. You see so many guys all day long. 

Tommy recognizes you though. Sure does. 

“You rejected me a couple months ago.” Tommy snickers softly as he shakes your hand. “But you’ll date my asshole older  brother? I see. I see you.” Tommy gives you the universal – index and middle fingers pointed at his eye then to yours– motion that says ‘I see you’. It’s fine. You do not care. Joel is your type and Tommy is no Joel. 

Tommy is alright though. You’re shocked you turned him down as you all sat at a booth near the back of the bar with drinks. His hair is longer, shoulder length and darker than Joel��s. Mustache and a goatee. He never asked for your number… He’s lying. Maybe. 

“You like Austin?” Tommy sips on his beer after he asks. 

“It’s alright. I liked living in Jersey. I didn’t really wanna move. It was just hard finding a job up there…but it was just as hard down here.” You snort and take a sip of your drink as Joel relaxes. He said in the car he was sore and he needed a massage later. You would give him one in hopes he would fuck you. He still hasn’t. It’s fine. You’re not upset about it. 

“Hardware store treat you good? Joel told me ‘bout your truck and your computer. Sucks. Sorry.” Tommy seems like a nice guy. 

“They’re nice to me. Give me the same schedule that I like. Don’t make me work late. I don’t love it, but I don’t hate it.” You shrug your shoulders. “Do you like working with Joel?” You feel a gentle and slow moving hand on your bare thigh, Joel’s hand under the skirt of your sundress.. A comforting touch. 

“S’alright. All I’ve ever done. I started right after I graduated high school— did that early.” Tommy smiles at himself proudly. 

“That’s fuckin’ cool. Did you do any night classes or anything like that to go to college smarty pants?” You tease him nicely. He chuckles and shakes his head. 

“Nooo. Stayed here and just worked for this miserable fuck. Probably will for the rest of his life.” Tommy jokes and Joel rolls his eyes. 

“I’m fuckin’ retiring soon. Fuck that shit. You take over. You do this shit.” He grumbles and sips his beer. 

“I’ll take over, shiiit. Been waiting to hear those words.” Tommy shakes his head in a sense of disbelief and excitement and is smiling. It’s a cute brother interaction and it’s good to see that they’re close. Tommy doesn’t actually hate him you don’t think. So that’s good. Joel is moving his hand all up and down your leg and moving it in towards your inner thigh, squeezing you tightly with his rough fingers. 

“I’m thinkin’ next year or two. Nothin’ too long.” Joel sounds reassuring to Tommy. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Tommy rolls his eyes and finishes his beer. “Y’all want another?” You and Joel both say yes and as soon as Tommy is out of earshot, Joel leans in and whispers in your ear. 

“Open your legs.” Then he kisses you on the cheek and leans back against the booth. You open your legs slowly and Joel doesn’t tease or anything, he's inside your panties and he slides one thick, stiff finger through your folds, pulls his hand from under your dress and offers his finger that was just trailing up your other set of lips. You open your mouth and he smears your juices on your tongue, withdraws his finger and then sucks it clean with his mouth. “Close ‘em.” Joel nudges your knee with his under the table and you snap them shut as Tommy walks up. 

They start to talk and you have no time to talk to him about what he just did. In public! Indecency!! Getting arrested?? He had scared you in the parking lot when he said you could get arrested!! No thank you. Your back is sweating from that. Kinda hot… 

“Hey,” Joel nudges you with his elbow and drags you back to the bar and out of fucking thinking about becoming a registered offender for Joel. You’re being spoken to and not responding. Tommy is asking you something. 

“Did you go to school?” 

“Um, for a little bit and then I found a job I loved and didn’t wanna go. Wasn’t going…” You chuckle that last part nervously. “Partied a little and just would sleep through class. Wasting money.” You shrug your shoulders. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you but you don’t look up at him. 

“Damn. I went to a couple of college parties. Fuckin’ pretty wild shit happenin’ there.” Tommy is doing nothing to help your case. 

“Dumb shit.” You snort and avoid the quizzical eyes that that are being given to you by your boyfriend. You left out the parties when he asked. Dunno why you said anything tonight. Idiot. 

“Hell yeah. Saw some wild shit…” Tommy’s eyes are flicking between you and Joel and he’s smirking. “Your man over there know what kinda wild shit you was gettin’ into?” He snickers into his beer glass. 

“I wasn’t getting into any wild shit. Just drinking too much.” You roll your eyes and finally look up at Joel who is just… lookin’ at you. “I wasn’t gettin’ into wild shit!” You exclaim and he smirks. 

“Sure.” Then he goes back to talking to Tommy. 

“Hey, I’ll be right back” You stand to go to the bathroom after letting Joel know and try and find it in this maze of a bar. You find it a minute later. You look nice tonight. Did your make up all pretty and actually did something pretty with your hair. You're happily looking at yourself in the mirror and two girls walk in– pretty girls. They look at you. You look at them. It’s quiet for two seconds. 

“I love your dress!” One of them exclaims excitedly. They fawn over your simple navy blue dress. It’s knee length. Nothing fancy but they hype you up in the bathroom and make you feel so nice. What a good drunk girl bathroom experience. You’re on cloud nine walking back to the booth when chaos erupts beside you at the bar. You have no time to scramble away before the tall bar chairs are being knocked over and hitting you in the legs. It hurts! People start shouting–

“Fuck you– stupid fucking pussy bitch. You won’t do shit. You fucking wont”

“Fuckin’ lets go outside. Fight me outside pussy. One-on-one. Me n’ you, fucker.” 

They do not wait and are throwing punches so quickly and moving so fast. You are overtaken by them and do not even realize what is happening as you take elbows and maybe a fuckin’ fist to the eye!? What was that!? Jeeeesus that hurt– whatever the fuck it was– but it doesn’t stop! They are fighting and now more people from the bar are jumping in to fight or break it up. 

Soft, small hands are on yours and pulling you out of the way but someone falls and breaks your grip and now you’re stumbling backwards towards more fighting men and now, fighting women. They aren’t asking who is involved. Just throwing punches and you take one to the left tit and someone kicks you in the back of the thigh!! What the fuck!! Now, you’re mad and you are also fucking punching and kicking people. What the fuck!? Who just doesn’t let the girls get outta the way first??? 

One of the two original guys is on the ground, and he definitely hit you or elbowed you (on accident, but still). You give him two good stomps to the shoulder for whatever he did to you and then… you get a real punch to the face. The fist is big, feels like a boulder against your skull. There is so much force behind it. You're stunned. One that sends you into tunnel vision and it’s blurry and you’re in pain. Real pain. None of that other shit hurt like this. Hoooly shit. Your eye is on fire. It might have fucking fallen out. Jeeeeus. You're stumbling away, almost falling down to the ground. More people are on top of you. You are fighting them off of you. 

You're trying to stand up in this mob of people and your hand gets stepped on and it hurts. Your dress is all hiked up to your stomach. The bar floor is sticky and there are hands on you. Not even trying to be groping or touching you the way they are, they're just as desperate to get out of this sea of hot, sweating bodies. Finally, you're on your knees and someone pushes you forward into someone another girl. You've never seen her before, and now the eye that hurt before it's stinging and you can barely see out of it. You see out of your good eye that she is getting ready to fight you for slamming into her, she has her first cocked back but you beat her to it, you slam your closed fist right between her eyes and now, the hand that has been stepped on and now punched into someones skull-- sends fire to your brain. More new pain as you push yourself to your feet while still being all jostled around.

More small, soft, girly hands are on yours immediately pulling you out of the way. It’s one of the girls from the bathroom. She is all messed up too, her hair and make up. Missing one of her fake eyelashes. Over her shoulder you have just enough time to see Joel with his hand around the throat of some guy, you hope the one who hit you and is pinning him to the wooden bar. Joel’s other fist is cocked back and he sends it forward. You can’t watch but you can hear it. Hear his fist connecting with that guy’s face. 

Fuck. Your face hurts real bad. Guy’s hands are on you but you already know they are not Joel’s so you start to push them off you angrily but Tommy’s voice is in your ear.

“Joel wants me to get you out of here.” Tommy is shouting over the commotion and noise and the screaming. It’s so loud. You’re still wincing as the guy Joel is holding to the bar starts to fight back. Tommy is leading you out of the bar through the fire exit and an alarm goes off but outside it’s finally… not chaos. 

“Shit! You okay!?” Tommy takes your face in his hands and inspects your eye. There is a comfort behind his touch that brings tears to your eyes before he brings ones of pain to them!

“I’m fine. It just— shit! Don’t fuckin' touch it!” You snap at him when he runs his hand over whatever is causing you pain. He pulls his hand away and there is blood on his thumb. “Is that my blood?!” You exclaim and bring one hand to your eye and the pain is coming from high on your upper lid near the outer edge of your brow. Stinging, burning and dull throbbing. Blood on your fingers!! You don’t have your purse or phone or anything. It’s all inside. Your hurt eye is still stinging. So bad. You have blood in your eye and it hurts! So badly! Where is your boyfriend!? Why is his brother taking care of you!? 

People come pouring out of the bar from every door. You and Tommy are looking for Joel for so long before he comes out of the bar… looking really angry. He’s got your bag, jacket and phone in his hand but he’s pointing at you accusingly shouting at you before he is even close enough for you to hear him but he keeps yelling until you can.

“Grow the fuck up!” He barks at you loudly. “Fightin’ at the bar? Really?!” He shouts at you and you’re so confused. As Joel gets closer, Tommy steps between the two of you like Joel… might do something if he didn’t. 

“I wasn’t fighting!!” You shout back at him. 

“I fuckin’ saw you!! Throwing fuckin’ fists! Ya fuckin’ serious!?” Joel is still pointing at you but over Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy keeps trying to talk to Joel who looks so fucking angry at you, but Joel keeps moving his head to see you. Joel has blood on his knuckles but his face is fucking fine so why is he yelling at you!? He was fighting too!

"You were fighting!! I saw you!!" You shout at him with more tears rolling down your face. Joel erupts-- pushing Tommy away, stumbling backwards until he regains his balance and get's between you and Joel again

"Beating up the fucker that pushed you!! For you to turn around and punch that fuckin' lady!" Joel screams at you. "She do that to you!? GOOD! S'whatchya get for fighting!" 

“A guy punched me–” You sob as tears roll down your cheeks, trying to explain yourself but he doesn’t let you finish. 

“Shut the fuck up! Grow—” Joel stops mid sentence and takes you in, really looks at you for the first time since he came outside. See's how badly you're beat  “A guy hit you!? Who!? Which fuckin’ one!?.” Joel is twisting his head around looking for whoever did it to you.

“Duh!!!! You fucking asshole!” You shout at him. “I don’t know who did it!! I got fucking punched in the face!!” You’re screaming a little and storm off towards his truck. You hear a scuffle behind you and look over your shoulder and now Tommy and Joel are fighting. Tommy is trying to get Joel to give you a minute, or Joel himself a minute to cool down. Joel is not letting it happen, shoving his brother in the chest, talking shit– being an asshole. You don’t even care if they fight. Fuck this. You keep going towards the truck until you hear the sound no one wants to hear. 

An expensive phone dropping on a hard surface. Pavement in this case. You close your eyes and keep walking because you already know it was yours and it’s probably broken and you can’t think about it. Won’t.You’re still sobbing as you get to Joel’s truck.

This night didn’t happen. 

Your face says a different story in the side mirror of Joel's truck. There is evidence that it did happen. You’re black and blue on your right eye and have an inch long laceration right below your eyebrow. Bleeding. Dripping down the side of your face– which is numb– and down your chin and onto your pretty dress. Your hand is all black and blue. You inspect the back of your thigh and it is also, black and blue. With a red shoe print right In the middle. You sob softly against the car and just want Joel to take you home and never talk to you again. 

The truck unlocks while you’re standing against the door. You open it before Joel has the chance to do it for you and climb in. You don’t even look at him when he gets in. He just sits next to you silently for so long. Feels like an hour of him just listening to you cry. 

“I'm sorry. Jus' slipped outta my hand. I’ll getchya a new one tomorrow. Better one.” He murmurs softly. “N’ I’m sorry fer’ yelling at you. Tellin' ya t'shup up.” He reaches over the console now to touch your shoulder but you pull away, still crying. “I am sorry. I was just mad n’ all fuckin’.. I dunno. Just...” 

“Just fuckin’ yellin' at me.” You sob. “I’m bleeding!” You turn to him and show him the blood on your face that he can clearly see. He nods and leans over the console to inspect it. You let him, let him touch your chin gently in his fingers to turn your head so you'll look at him. His other hand pulls the skin above your eyebrow up so he can inspect how deep the wound is. It hurts when he does that so you whimper and clench your eyes shut. He sucks his teeth softly and sadly. 

“I’m gonna take you to the hospital. Y'need stitches.” he leans in and steals a gentle kiss before you can stop him, you honestly, don't even want to. "I am sorry. So sorry." He murmurs against your lips with desperation in his tone. He has your blood on his cheek when he pulls away– and you mindlessly wipe it off with your thumb, and then feel fucking stupid for caring about that when he didn't care to begin with. "I really am.” He starts the truck and drives towards the emergency room. You say nothing.

You need six stitches. Joel is driving you home two hours later in silence. You don’t even have a phone to look at. Smashed to fuck. Because your boyfriend is an asshole. Neither one of you say anything until he pulls into your driveway. 

“So…I’m not leavin’...” Joel starts to explain, you try and argue with him but he narrows his eyes on yours and it silences you. “I had a lil plan fer’ tonight… n’ it looks like yer’ too mad at me for that to happen–” Joel is still talking but you don’t even really hear him. You speak over him. He keeps talking and you tune back into what he is saying. "--leavin'. I don't gotta sleep in yer' bed. I'll stay on the couch but we're talkin' 'bout this tomorrow. We have to. I gotta buy you a new phone..." He trails off shaking his head in shame for himself for acting the way he did. 

“You were gonna… fuck me tonight?” You scoff and squint your eye at him. The other one is a lil swollen. Joel nods and shrugs his shoulders.

“I thought it’d be fun, have a couple drinks… loosen up a lil. Fuck you all night. 'Cause I know ya really want it. Yer' excited for it. Not nervous n' shy.” Joel looks down at his hands as he speaks. 

“That an excuse to get you inside?” You ask softly. Joel shakes his head. 

“I been knew we were gon’ do this tonight. Couple days ago-- when we decided to have you meet Tommy.” Joel chuckles. “Fuckin’ shoulda just done it a long time ago.” He scoffs softly like he is annoyed with himself. “Was gon’ have you wear that lil white thang I got you. Was gonna fuckin'... defile you in that thang.” He turns his head to look at you and frowns. “I don’t wanna leave, Bird. I wanna talk 'bout it. Don't gotta do nothin'. Talk in the mornin'?” He pleads with you softly and quietly. 

“I don't need to talk about it. I have one thing to say." You look at him with the most honest, and innocent eyes you have because you are. You're a nice girl who doesn't fight at the bar. You want to be a good girl for him but, not if this is the kind of person he's going to be to you. "If you ever yell at me like that again…you’ll never get a chance to apologize for it. I mean it.” You snap at him and open the door to his truck and jump down. Your door isn’t even shut before Joel is beside you. He lets you lead him to the front door and watches you unlock it, his hands on your waist. 

“I’m sorry. I'll be better. I will.” Joel whispers in to your ear as he trawls his hands along your sides and over your stomach. Once the door is open, the front of one of his thighs press against the backs yours and he pushes your leg into the house slowly, and then does it with the other as he walks you into the entryway. “Sorry.” He whispers once more against the nape of your neck as his hands roam across the front of you. 

“I know.” You lean back against his chest and now he pulls you into him, kissing your skin softly. “I’m still mad though!” You pull away from him but he holds you against him and speaks quickly to stop your pushing and fighting hands on his arms around you.

“You should be.” It's spoken firmly against the crook of your neck and makes you stop fighting him. “I get.. I dunno– seein' you get pushed by that guy... I got fuckin' scared. N' then I turn around n' see you fighting? I got mad. Like an asshole-- I say shit I don’t mean.” He sounds ashamed. 

“S’why your wife left?” You ask sharply and are not even scared because if he gets mad again, he can fuckin’ leave. 

“Partially.” Joel sighs. “She was just as bad, Bird.” Joel holds his arms out from behind you and twists them in each direction so you can see all those scars. “Not from workin’.” Joel kisses your neck again and his warm breath feels staggered like he is nervous to be talkin’.

“She did this to you?” You whisper quietly in shock. 

“Fer’ three fuckin’ years.” He groans and then pulls his arms away. “I hate talkin’ ‘bout it, don’t fuckin’ wanna, really. What else you wanna know?” Joel sighs softly from behind you. 

“You ever hit her back?” You’re not sure you wanna know, but you kind of need to know. 

“Once.” Joel whispers and his body is gone from behind yours. You turn and he’s leaning against the front door with the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. “Fuckin’... the night ‘fore she took off. We were fightin’, n’ she just wouldn’t let up.” He doesn’t remove his hands, sounds angry to be talking about it and is starting to speak a little more aggressively. “Non stop. All night. Scratchin’, wailin’ on me somethin’ fuckin’ terrible. Callin’ me a bad dad– been a dad for two weeks mind you, workin’ my ass off day in n’ out for those that lil girl n' that bitch who fuckin' hit me.” Joel finally rips his hands away from his eyes and is shaking his head, with an angry smile on his face. “I fuckin’ just… I dunno, lil tap on her mouth-- t’ shut her up. After three fuckin’ years of puttin’ up with it.” Joel tosses his hands in the air and puts his hand on the doorknob.

“Don’t go–” You try and stop him even though you are still mad at him. Those patterned scars on his arms? Her fucking fingernails and that's heartbreaking. Makes you so fucking sad that he put up with that for so long because he just wanted to be a dad.

“I need a fuckin' minute—” He says sharply. “I'm not takin’ my bullshit out on you– again.” Then he opens the door, steps out onto the porch and shuts the door behind him. 

What the hell is going on? 

You go to the basement because, poor Joel. Your battered and beaten– That fuckin’ bitch of an ex-wife of his better hope you never have to meet her. You’ll put your hands on her in ways Joel couldn’t. Sure fuckin’ will. You’re so mad thinking about it while you change out of your bloody dress and into that lil white lace thing Joel got you. 

You’re losing your virginity tonight. You don’t care what he says or if he wants to (you’re not gonna do that), you also don’t care that you have a black eye and a laceration with stitches. No. You’re going to fuck your boyfriend and make him less sad for having a terrible ex-wife that he— You gasp audibly even though no one is around to hear– thankfully. Joel is going to have to see her at his daughter's wedding. Stupid, man beatin’ bitch. Joel should have just left but… you’ve never been in an abusive relationship. So…you have no room to talk. You are going to fuck him. You're partially a little mad at him, mostly feel kinda bad that his wife used to hit him. Want him to remember how good n' tight your pussy is if he ever sees her again and gets sucked back into whatever bullshit she was dishing out that kept him around for so long. 

You're gonna do your damnedest to seduce your boyfriend and get him to fuck you. You need it more than he does honestly. You got punched in the face--- fuuck. Your PHONE!? You cannot even think about it because you'll lose all sense of feeling bad for him and go out there and spit on him not nicely. Okay. Sex with Joel. 

You’ll just be there for him if and when he comes inside to see you ready in bed. Splayed out so he can fucking use you if he needs to. You don't care. You cleaned up all the blood and honestly…ya don’t look half bad. You look sexy as hell in that lil white thang and your black eye. He won’t be able to resist. If he ever comes inside…he’s been out there for so long. 

It’s hard to not go inspecting when he’s out there for a half hour. Just sitting on one of the chairs on the porch. You could go outside. Sam and Cody’s house faces a giant field and has no neighbors across from them and it’s late. You’re fuckin’ in your lil white thing. Shit. Fuck. Doesn’t matter. He is your boyfriend and he is sad. You open the door and take a deep breath, getting ready to be almost naked outside. 

“Hi.” You stand with your feet together after you step out and turn to him. He doesn’t look up at you, just stares at his hands. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” He grumbles to himself. “I just feel like an ass.” He still doesn’t look up. 

“I know. You should for what happened at the bar. But, we can talk another time about it. Come inside with me.” You feel like an ass to for being out here like this. Cody and Sam…have neighbors on either side of their house…so someone could fuckin’ see you. 

“I need another minute, babe. I'm so--” Joel turns his head to look at you and stops mid-sentence. “Woah.” He sighs softly. “Yer' like a pretty lil angel.” Joel smirks and his eyes trace every voluptuous curve of your body before his eyes find yours. “You want Daddy t’fuck you tonight– all night? S'why you put that on? For me?” He asks softly, turning his body in the chair, resting one elbow on the armrest. 

“Yes, Daddy.” You nod at him and he pushes himself out of the chair. 

“Where you want it?” He growls softly. “Out here?” Joel raises one eyebrow and you freeze in fear and start to panic but Joel smirks and takes three steps so he can be in front of you, turning you so your back is to the front door. “Get yer’ ass in that bed, right now.” His kisses are long and desperate as your hand searches for the doorknob that is somewhere on the door behind you. He finds it for you and leads you inside, downstairs and to the bed. 

There is a trail of his clothes from the front door to where he has you now. On your bed. Naked between your legs. Both of you are quivering and searching endlessly for more air as you’re reduced to a puddle as he slides his length over your cunt through that little triangle of white fabric that separates the two of you. 

“Might hurt a lil.” Joel whispers down to you as he rolls his hips into yours softly. He’s been doing this as he kisses you, teasing you with nibbling bottom lip kisses and naughty words for several minutes and now he’s is like hot steel between your legs. “I’m sorry if it does hurt at all. Imma go slow the first time as long as y’need me to.” He whispers as just the tips of your noses touch softly. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah..” You’re so fucking nervous and excited and feel like you’ll never catch your breath again. 

“I like bein’ this close to ya, but…I gotta watch.” Joel kisses you softly and leans back so he can look between your two bodies that meet right in the center. “Fuuuck.” Joel whispers to only himself as he grinds himself into you. “You wanna keep that sexy lil thong on? Don’t care?” Joel flicks his eyes up to yours as one of his strong hands slips into the delicate string on the side. 

“You gonna rip it?” You ask with a smirk. He nods silently. “Do it.” Joel purses his lips together and yanks the elastic from the triangle of fabric and then does the same thing with the other side- discarding it on the floor. 

Joel seems just as nervous as you as he wraps one fist around his throbbing length. He strokes himself a couple times as he kneels in front of you. It’s already so hard and… so big. Fuck. Okay. You got this. He’s not doing anything. Just looking at your pussy and his cock he’s stroking right above it. He’s breathing just as heavy as you are. 

“Ready?” Joel flicks his eyes up to yours and you nod. “Gimmie.” Joel taps your hips with his hand and you push your hips up as he reaches forward and grabs two pillows and puts them under your hips. When you set them down, you’re angled up to him. “Perfect.” 

The tip of his cock is so much hotter than you could have ever expected him to be. So fucking hot, it’s like it’s burning you as he traces the outside of your cunt with it. You’re staring at him– watching his cock tease your pussy and you cannot help but wonder who he is teasing more. Himself or you? 

“Fuck me, Daddy.” You whine softly, batting your eyelashes. Joel’s eyes flick up to yours and they are dark and a little scary and he’s got his brows pinched together softly. 

“Shut up, lil brat. Daddy’s doin’ something.” He growls at you, the one hand on your outer thigh strokes you gently and comfortingly as he speaks. Doesn’t grip you or spank you at all. He drops his eyes back down to your dripping center and he sighs softly. “M'Fuckin’...lookin at it. Shut th'fuck up.” He sighs much softer now as he pushes the head of his cock between your folds to drag it up and down the length of your slit. 

“You shut up.” You coo up to him softly, biting your bottom lip. Joel smirks, snorts softly and looks up at you. 

“You like bein’ a lil bratty, bitch?" Joel hisses this question at you angrily, "'Cause this old man fuckin’ loves it.” He smirks, leans down to kiss your forehead before pulling away to watch as he continues to torture you. “Fuckin’ tellin’ me t’shut up. Who’re you? A lil bitch.” Joel speaks softly as the tip of him reaches the entrance. “Fuuuck. Fuck. Okay. Ready? I’m gon’ go slow.” Joel’s eyes can’t leave where you two are about to be joined, honestly, neither can yours. 

“Yeah, please. Put it in me.” You whisper softly and make Joel sigh softly. 

“Say that again.” He demands quietly.

“Put it in me, Daddy. Please.” Your voice is trembling like you might fucking cry from the anticipation of all of this. Been almost close to two months of teasing and licking and fingers. You didn’t even use those toys he got you…not yet. You will. You didn’t want to put anything inside of you before him. 

Joel says nothing as he pushes the tip inside of you. That’s not bad. It goes in with no resistance. He pushes in a little further and there is stretching. A lot of it. Stretching you full. So tight. You close your eyes and let your head fall back. You breathe through that pinching and uncomfortable rasping— pulling inside of you. Pulling you apart. Your pussy was leaking and made it so easy for him to slip into you though, you didn’t resist him, your cunt accept him happily but it still was so full. 

You’re reduced to whimpering through your nose at the new mix of pleasure as the length of him slides across your spongy, raised patch for the first time. It’s…incredible. Fingers are awesome, and toys are cool. 

Joel’s cock is so unyielding, so fucking rigid and hot as it’s stretching you, but when it snakes across that good spot– it’s like silk, smooth and comforting asthe tip of him, or anything ever, kisses your cervix for the first time. It’s a jolt that snaps your eyes open and makes you squeak. Joel’s eyes snap up to yours as his dark patch of pubic hair and the patch right above your slit intermingle as he sinks into you. 

“Lil squeakin’ baby okay?” God the way he fucking talks to you should piss you off. It should make you so fucking mad. You should make him get off of you but you do not because you love it. Joel holds his hips into yours, pressed tightly against you as you adjust to him. Your muscles and walls are clenching and unclenching around him as he delays his pleasure for your comfort. Joel likes it though, you keep doing it even after your cunt stops doing it involuntarily. The tempo change in your squeezing him makes him pull back out of you slowly. 

How can someone be so incredibly soft and hard all at the same time? His whole body. All of it. Soft n’ hard. Fuck. You’re staring up at him while he watches the entire length of him reappear from the interior of you. You see it, your slickness on him, it’s fucking glistening on the throbbing veins and almost purple skin of him. 

“Jesus.” You sigh softly as he pulls everything but the tip from inside you. 

“Fuckin’ tight as hell. Holy shit.” Joel gasps like he had been holding his breath. You sigh and then are reduced to nothing but a moaning mess on the bed as he starts to thrust into you rhythmically. It’s slow and soft. Gentle as to not make you squeak too much, only a little. Your eyes are closed, he’s not telling you to open them. He is leaning over to take on your nipples in his mouth through the sheer, white lace of the bra. He wraps his lips around as much of your breast as he can, sucking it gently as his tongue laps and swirls around your sensitive peak. 

“Oh fu–uck! You can only speak harshly as that mix of pleasure and pain start to mix differently. More stretching and dull aching as his cock moves inside of you– but it’s not as intense or nearly as bad now that you have something constantly moving against that fucking spot. Fuck. He feels so good and warm– hot. He is red, hot steel under the satin, smooth skin of his throbbing dick. “Jeeeesus. Fuck ”

“You like this hard dick Daddy’s givin’ you?” He barks down to you softly, snaps it out of his mouth like you aren’t a melting mess below him. “Yeah you fuckin’ do, sexy fuckin’ brat.” Joel chuckles as a groan escapes his mouth. 

“Y-you like this– fuck– tight pussy– fuuucking god— your lil girl’s givin’ you?” You part choke the words out and then moan some of them. You’re interuppted with bliss as you try and use your voice for him. 

“My fuckin’ god.” Joel’s hips snap into yours— on accident or on purpose you’ll never know– but it feels like all of your bones buzzed all at the same time and every inch of your skin tickles for two seconds until he’s pulling himself away from your cervix and massaging that spot that’ll make you gush on him. You wonder in your euphoria filled brain if he’ll like that– you gushing on him like that and clench your walls down on him even tighter than you thought you could. 

Joel’s whole body jerks gently when you do that and he snaps himself forward again and buzzes your bones and tickles your skin again and it’s… not a terrible feeling. Definitely knew and something you’d have to get used to because when he does it you cannot think for a second after but when you regain your senses he’s already buzzin’ you again with the drooling tip of his cock. You want him to come inside you. Badly. You’ll be fine. It’s the twenty-first century. Emergency contraception works. But then you’re going on the pill so he can do it whenever the fuck he wants. 

“Come in…side me.” Your drawn out whimpering moan makes Joan groan loudly and he is trembling under your touch. You don’t even remember grabbing onto his biceps but you did, sometime during the buzzing you assume. Your fingernails are digging into him and you feel bad, so badly after knowing what you do, but he’s pumping into you quicker now. 

“Dear God.” Joel groans and closes his eyes tight. It feels so good making him do stuff like that. Hearing him moan your little pet name he made up for you. “You want it, Birdie?” His moans are deep and rumble like thunder when they come out of him. You can feel the vibrations from them in his arms. 

“Yeah… I want it…..Claim my pussy….I’m yours Daddy.” You’re keening the words up to him between gasps for air. Where did these high pitched sounds come from? You have never made such noises in your life…not even alone!! He is pushing them out of you as he thrusts inside of you but his sweating body is still trembling, like he is struggling… You think he wants to come, so you try and get him to. “Please Daddy…I beeee-oh fuck– I belong to you.” You whimper as he buzzes you once again. 

“How ya feelin’ Bird?” Joel groans and lets his head fall forward like he is exhausted. “Hu–Hurtin’ still?” He stutters as he withdraws from you slowly. 

“N-nononoo.” You whimper as he thrusts into once more and then holds himself against that blinding, body vibrating stop deep inside you. You’re silenced by this and staring up at him as he tilts his head up to look at you. 

“I gotta…” Joel hangs his head in shakes it in shame, panting softly. “I can’t anymore.” He is still panting and looking up at you again. 

“S-So c-come.” You stutter up to him as body and mind melting tremors course through you. 

“Not talkin’ ‘bout comin’ Birdie.” He adjusts his hands on the bed and rests for a second, wiping his sweat covered brow with the back of one of his hands. “Gotta while ‘fore I do that now…” He’s grinning down at you, his chest– also dripping sweat– is rising and falling as he tries to slow his puffing. “I gotta fuck ya.” He nods. 

“You are?” You can think… a little bit. Not much. 

“No. We’re makin’ love right now.” Joel admits with another shake of his head from side to side. “I wanna fuck you.” Joel nods now, up and down, quickly. “If ya can’t handle it… might gotta take a lil break.” He sighs. “Havin’ trouble controlin’ myself… don’t wanna hurt ya.” He sighs loudy and then hoots like he just has energy and sound inside of him he needs to expel. 

“Like… fuck me real hard?” You dunno. The buzzing. The buzzing is not terrible but it is a lot and he is still doing it right now. Pressing on that little button that lets you know he has arrived at your most inner location. 

“I’ll hold back a lil.” He reassures you but then adds. “Just gotta go harder’n this.” Joel sighs like he is disappointed with himself for having those needs inside of him but it’s kind of turning you on that he can’t control himself with you. Needs to take a break!? He is taking a break right now!

“You’ll stop–”

“Baaaaby.” Joel groans. “Don’t gotta ask. Of course.” He nods quickly. “Never fuckin’ hurt you. ‘Less you ask for it.” Joel snickers. “Then I will.” The tremors are turning into little itchy scratchies inside of you and not so much tickles and vibrations and alarms going off all over your whole body. No, this isn’t too bad. 

“Okay. Fuck me, Old man.” You nod up to him and Joel snickers to himself and leans all the way back so he is on his knees, holding you where your thighs meet your sides at your hip. Your legs are splayed out on either side of him. 

“You just give me a good whack right here–” Joel points to his forearm. “A good one. Don’t grab me, don’t tap. Whack me. I’ll stop n’ we can do it the other way.” He speaks firmly so you’re listing. You’re trying but, still twitching underneath him. He pulls his hips away from yours and you can relax. A deep sigh and almost– a feeling of being empty. Like you’re gaping now that he’s only at the entrance. “Whaddya got’a do?” Joel asks now, catching your watering eyes. 

“Whack.” You choke out after swallowing in a big, noisy gulp. You make Joel snort silently, just his body jerks softly and he smiles. 

“Yer’ pussy is fuckin immaculate, baby girl.” Joel sighs loudly and sinks his hips into yours. Your pubic hairs touch softly before he pulls away and then slams into you with a loud smack of his skin on your skin. 

“Jesus!” You exclaim but do not whack him because your whole body jolts back away from but then he is pulling you by where he has a grip dug into the soft skin on your lower sides where they dip into your leg. Another second long convulsion and flesh rippling titillation. Then another and another. More. It is endless. “Oh my go– Oh. Oh. Daddyyy.” You whine up to him with your eyes shut tight– your one eye hurts so bad but you do not care, the pleasure is everything you wanted it to be. This is amazing and perfect and you’re so glad it’s Joel. So glad he is the one doing this to you for the first time. “Th-Thank y-you.” You whimper as he really fucks you, his hips never slow down. Never cease their forceful driving into you. 

“Thank me again.” Joel barks an order to you through his pleasure. There is more sweat on his brow and he wipes it away with the back of his hand again and then grips you tighter. His chest is red and glistening as he focuses all of his energy and force on you. Right where your groins adjoin for half a second before he leaves and does it all over again. 

“Thank y-you Daddy Joel, fuck! Thank youthankyouu!!” There are tears in your eyes from the bumbling rapture inside of you. They’re rolling down the side of your face and…you might…be sobbing through your shrill, endless ululations as you tell him you’re coming. “It’s happening…. OH god… fuck Daddy… I’m gonna— I’m coming.” 

“Open yer’ fuckin’ eyes, lil girl.” Joel snaps down at you. “Open yer’ mouth.” You don’t even have to open your eyes to know that his mouth is pressed tightly together when he barks down at you. You manage to open them and look up into his eyes as your orgasm washes over you. You don’t even have to open your mouth because it is already hanging agape, waiting for him and what he loves to give you. 

It’s warm on your tongue and upper lip when you receive it both times. He doesn’t spit it this time, he drips it down to you as he slams his body against yours through your orgasm. You swallow it hungrily and then lick your lips to clean off what he over shot the first time. You gush staring up at him and now his jaw drops open and his rhythmic thrusting turn into sloppy, jagged jerking as your gushing juices send him to ecstasy filled release. 

“I’m gonna come,” Joel sighs breathlessly as his hips snap forward two more times and then he holds himself into you. “Fuck! S’mine. You're mine.” Joel nearly shouts down at you while he comes. Your gush flowing out against him as he does it. It’s dripping down the curve and crack of your ass and soaking the pillows below you. “Fuuck. Fuckk. Yer’ my gushin’ Princess.” Joel stutters once as he fills your pussy for the first time. “Daddy’s Princess.”

You do not fuck Joel all night. Your body gives out after that first good fuck. It’s disappointing but…Joel fucked the life out of you. You are dead against the mattress staring up at the ceiling. You honestly can’t even feel anything, your whole pussy is numb and it aches a little. He fucked you. Fucked you so good. He didn’t kill you with his cock, no…

Joel maybe ruined your life though, because how do you ever get fucked… not like that?  

Get fucked by anyone who is not by Mr. Daddy Joel Miller? No. 

He has done something horrible to you and now you want him to do more treacherous things to you. He might be evil , actually. This is what you get for praying to Satan all this time— as a JOKE . Then he sends you this evil man with a tongue that lashes at you in the best, and worst ways possible. 

Your evil, sonofabitch boyfriend is moaning as he sucks his release out of your cunt, licking at your walls now that he has gaped you with his fucking monster cock– what the fuck? It didn’t look as big as it fucking felt inside you.. 

Joel is laying with his head between your legs. He’s been down there this whole time. Just… licking. It’s been… maybe forty-five minutes since he fucked you for the first time. His hands roam across your stomach and caress you gently. His tongue smears his come along your cunt and clit as he swirls around it. It’s the only part of your pussy that feels good anymore. Sucking and lapping at your dripping and gaping hole like he is desperately trying to get back what he gave to you.

“Ohhh.” Is all you have the energy to say. You can only hum a happy, pleasing sound to him and your hand lazily finds his hair and you twirl your fingers around in it mindlessly as he licks you. He’s not even trying to make you come, not even teasing you… just collecting. And once he has his mouth full, he climbs over your lifeless body and nods his chin for you to open your mouth. You do.  

You stare at him the entire time he leans down and spits into your mouth, not letting you do anything before his mouth is on yours. The mix of your gush and his bitter release does something to give you life. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him to you as your tongues pass that blend of the both of you back and forth. 

Once you're done with all that– you’re looking at him standing at the edge of your bed. You still haven’t moved. Haven’t been able to. 

“We’re good?” Joel asks seriously. 

“What?” You close your eyes and try to imagine an ice pack on your pussy. 

“You still wanna be with me?” Joel sounds nervous. You cannot even open your eyes to look at that stupid slut. 

“Yes.” You snap at him sleepily. “Shut up. You’re the slut.” You point one, almost ded hand at him. 

“What!?” Joel sounds so shocked. “I’m not!” Now he’s offended. You do open your eyes and look at him now. 

“You’re the slut.” You bark at him and then close your eyes again and talk mostly to yourself. “Fucks like that n’ says he’s not a slut? Fuckin’ lair.” You grumble and roll over onto your side. “Slutty old man.” You are so tired. 

“Because I’ve been with a couple ladies??” Joel exclaims and crawls onto the bed beside you. “I’m not a slut.” 

“You are. Callin’ me a slut the first time we hung out. Mr. I Been With Ladies.” You mock him and he chuckles but it sounds like he didn’t really want to. 

“I only been with you since I met ya. Didn’t give my number out.” Joel teases you back and touches your sides. 

“You’re still a slut and we’re talking in the morning about why you didn’t just leave your ex-wife.” You snap, remembering that you are still actually kind of angry with him. 

“Uuuggghhh.” Joel groans loudly. “I’ll fuckin’ tell ya right now. Then we’re never talkin’ ‘bout her ass again, got it?” He snaps at you. 

“Dish.” You snap back. 

“We got married ‘fore I started my company. I was worried she was gon’ try an’ take all of it. Bankrupt me. Take my house. Eventually– I was worried she’d leave with Sarah. So I just let her hit me.” Joel is… not yelling but he is– excited? Speaking quickly and with gusto. “I was too embarrassed to ask for help, Birdie... Who could help me? Who was I gon’ fuckin' ask? My mom is dead. My dad should'a been, at that point. Tommy is just barely done bein’ a kid… so? I stayed. N’ I fucked up.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper shyly.

“Don’t fuckin’ be sorry fer' me, you didn’t fuckin' do shit!” Joel exclaims and then his eyes soften. “I’m sorry. I get loud when I’m angry, I’ll work on that shit too. Jesus Christ.” Joel looks at the floor. “No one knows ‘bout my ex. Just her and I. I never told anyone else. Not even Tommy or Sarah.” Joel turns his head to look at you. “Like to keep it that way.”

“Why…not tell people what she did? So they know?” You wrinkle your nose. 

“‘Cause then they’ll know I did it to her. N’ all they’ll see is me… hittin’ his wife. Even though it was only once n’ barely a tap– I did it. I hit her, n’ I hate myself fer’ that.” He admits sadly. “Our dad was fucked up towards the end, but he raised us better than that.” 

“What…was wrong with—” You start but Joel shakes his head. 

“Not gettin’ into that… not now. Maybe not ever. It just wasn’t good. Real bad. He struggled.” Joel says curtly. 

“Alright… I also had an asshole dad, too—” You start but he cuts you off quickly and with a sharp tongue

“My dad wasn’t a fuckin’ asshole, got it?” Joel narrows his eyes on yours. “Not an asshole. I can’t talk ‘bout it, Bird. I don’t like to.” 

“I don’t like talking about my Dad but it fuckin’ helps.” You roll your eyes at him. “Not keepin’ all that shit in…kinda fucking helps sometimes. So, maybe you should go see a therapist. I talk to one all the time.” 

“I’m not goin’ to see no fuckin’ shrink.” Joel scoffs again. He's such a fucking man. Ugh. 

“Whatever. You don’t have to, but it does help and it is good for you. I meant what I said last night… I won’t let you aplogize next time if you ever speak to me like that again…” 

“I know… but now we gotta talk ‘bout something else…” Joel sighs and turns to you. "I was gonna bring it up...n' then you said you were a virgin...n' I thought I was gon' scare you away if I told you the things I like...'cause I don't need 'em. Not at all. I just like 'em...and they're not all...nice." He speaks cautiously-- the taming a rabid animal voice is back and you're shaking.

“What?” You groan but he places his hand on your thigh besides your bruised hand. You almost pull away but it's hard to resist the warmth of him. He's...so handsome. His brown eyes are locked on to yours, his hair is all messy from getting pulled and tugged on by you-- it's sticking in all directions and you have to stop yourself from smirking. He didn't clean up his facial hair at all this morning before work, so he's scruffier than normal. You could reach out and touch him, but it's hard because he's going to tell you scary things right now.

“The things I like can get a lil…” He pauses and searches for the word he needs to use. “Bein’ on the receiving end of what I like can fuck with yer’ head sometimes… if you don’t know yer’ cared for or get mistreated. I do care ‘bout ya. N' I'm sorry 'bout last night.” Joel stresses this point. 

“Okay…” You’re hesitant because what the fuck is your slutty, evil boyfriend talking about. Are you going to have to kick him in the chest like Jackie Harris that one time? Break up with him?

“I like ya more n’ more every day– but I am jus’ a big, strong guy that wants to Dominate ya.”

“Like you have been?” You ask and Joel nods, adding to your statement.

 “N’ then I wanna take ya out… treat ya — ‘cause I can and like to … I call ya sweet things so you know that when I say that— eh, it’s not a show..or fake. I like makin’ you feel all cute n’ special– cause you are, but also ‘cause s’just what I like…”

“Uh… then what?” You blink and swallow audibly. 

“I turn ‘round n’ humiliate you while my cocks inside you.” Joel says simply. “Make you feel naughty n’ dirty. Use yer’ lil fuckin’ pussy however I want, use you. Be real mean to ya sometimes…”

“This is an excuse so you can yell at me?” You roll your eyes and almost think about telling him to leave but he rubs the outside of his pinky against yours. 

“Never. I’m gon’ work on that. I will. Gettin’ angry n’ sayin’ mean shit. I will.” Joel speaks so calmly and evenly. “I just wanna call ya names in the bedroom. Do naughty stuff in there… sometimes let it playfully carry into our relationship too”

“Like? I need you to expla—” Joel hooks his pinky with yours and looks down at it. 

“Remember my promise to you?” He asks quietly. You nod. “Keep that in mind n’ know… that’s how I wanna treat you ninety-nine percent of the time.” 

“The other one perce--?” You ask fearfully but he cuts you off and is ready to tell you.

“Call you terrible fuckin' things, worthless n’ stupid.” Joel whispers softly. “Spit on ya. Fuck you real hard n’ fill your holes– all of ‘em.” His eyes never leave yours. “Fuck you anywhere…everywhere I want.” Joel is still so calm. 

You’re fuckin’ trembling. This sounds..equal parts horrifying and also incredible. Sexy and scary. Right up your alley— dark and horrifying alley. 

“What if I don’t want that? Getting called fuckin’ stupid every day?” You wrinkle your nose. That sounds like it could be... tiring? Mentally? But, you're not stupid and...have a therapist. So, this is something you might explore but... you dunno.

“Don’t gotta. We can just keep doin’ what we’re doin’. I'm used to it bein' normal." Joel shrugs his shoulders. "I enjoy this though. Don't need it-- like it. Like exploring. Like pushin' mine and yer' boundaries... s'kinky." Joel nods then frowns "I haven't been with many who like it-- s'why I'm used to it normal, lil rough. Nothin' craz--"

“Slut!” You snap, cutting him off and Joel snickers softly. 

“Maybe… not anymore though.” He smirks. “I just wanna fuckin’ ruin you, baby girl. Only you.” Joel Miller whispers this to you and your pussy (you thought it was broken, really broken) twinges when he says it. “I mean it. I like it rough…but if you’d let me. I’d like to… try things with ya. Keep showin' you things like I have been.” 

“What if I don’t like some of the things you show me?” Your interest outweighs your fear. 

“‘Kay, now yer’ asking good questions…” He smirks at you and pulls your hand into his lap by your pinky. “Yer’ in control in all this, babe.” He nods. “You don’t like it, I stop. I like watchin’ ya squirm n’ cry… but for the right reasons. I don’t wanna…really hurt you— I do. I wanna spank ya and whip yer’ ass ‘till its red. Smack ya a ‘round a lil…fuck you real good when I do it. Make ya feel good, give you pleasure with yer' pain, baby.” His voice is so comforting that it’s calming even listening talk about he wants to mildly abuse you in the bedroom. 

“I have to decide right now?” You blink at him. 

“You..don’t ever gotta decide nothin’. I like that shit, but I’m not gon’ die without it. I'm just warnin’ ya so I don’t take things too far…on accident or… in misunderstanding.” He leans in and kisses you on the forehead gently. 

“Okay… we can talk about things first, always?” You look up at him and he’s already nodding his head. 

“Do you wanna change outta that lil white thang and go to bed? We’ll getcha coffee and a new phone in the morning?” He whispers. 

“Yeah.”

Then Joel undresses you and gives you the comfiest pair of shorts out of your dresser. Then this stupid, evil Red Devil goes into his ‘spend the night bag’ and gets you a clean t-shirt of his to wear. 

“I have some…” You whisper up to him, but he motions for you to lift your arms and he slips it on for you. 

“I know. Don’t care– want you in this.” He leans down and kisses your lips softly and for a long time before he runs upstairs and performs his little night time routine here at your house. Checking all the doors and windows. 

Joel is…actually perfect? No. He’s angry and is a dick and is making up for that. Unless you already forgave him? You dunno. You honestly can’t even care because you’re asleep before Joel even comes back.

The next morning is interesting. It takes a lot of convincing from your boyfriend. 

“Just for me.” He nods. You shake your head. “My. Eyes. Only.” He nods. 

“Why?” You’re smirking.

“Picture it, okay?” Joel stands besides you and holds his hand out in front of him like he’s trying to get you to see what he’s seeing. “Me…in my truck at work…watchin’ it..thinkin’ ‘bout you… touching mysel—”

“You do that at work!?” You exclaim. He chuckles and smacks your ass. 

“Uh, if I had this yes– I would.” He is already getting his phone out of his jeans from last night. 

“No one’s gonna see it?” You blink at him. Joel scoffs. 

“I’m not sharin’ this with anyone. You fuckin’ nuts?” He pulls a chair up to the end of the bed and messes around with his phone. ‘S’fer me. Me alone.” 

Now, Joel is laying in bed with you. He’s behind you with your back to his chest. Your legs are spread over his and his hard cock is pressed against your back. You're grinding yourself against him, massaging his cock between your bodies as his fingers work on your clit. 

“You like this naughty shit?” he asks softly in your ear. You nod and can only focus on breathing heavily, trying not to look directly into his phone that he set up on a chair at the end of the bed. “Say it.” He growls in your ear. His two thickest and longest fingers are just circling your clit slowly and lazily. 

“I like being naughty, Daddy.” You mewl quietly. Joel’s other hand is gripping one of your tits and thumbing the stiff peak as he rocks his hips up against you gently, moving his body against yours as you drag your body up and down against his slightly. Just an inch or two in each direction. Giving Joel just enough pressure and friction and movement on his throbbing cock between your ass and on your lower back. 

“You like that I need this?” Joel growls, moving his head to the other side of yours now, kissing across your shoulder and up your neck as your sweating bodies glide across each other. “ Gotta have you like this in my pocket, lil girl.” Joel whispers. “So I can see this pretty pussy.” While Joel speaks rubs all four fingers across your cunt slowly. 

“I love it.” You moan softly. 

“You want Daddy to give your pussy a good slap?” He coos in your ear. Honestly, not really. But, you’re going to let him do whatever he wants to you. 

“Please don’t hurt me, Daddy.” You whine nervously. Is he gonna smack it like he did your ass? Joel’s breath hitches in his chest and you feel it happen behind you. His hips buck up into your back gently. “Slap it soft. ” You whisper. Joel sighs and rubs your clit quickly with his four stiff fingers– so quickly. He’s putting so much effort into it, his body stiffens below yours and he leans forward slightly to put more pressure behind his rubbing. 

You are moaning and writhing, eyes closed as he quickly brings you right to that edge. When you’re almost there he pulls his hand away and swiftly brings them down onto your red, slick and puffy cunt lips. It focuses it to the top of your mound where your nerve bundle is. It is a different sensation. The hard, fast, sudden pressure and shock of the slap on your clit makes you moan, it doesn't even hurt at all. 

“Do it again, Daddy.” You press yourself into him and turn your head so your closed eyes are pressed into his neck as he leans over you the best he can. 

“Awhh, the cute, pathetic, lil girl likes gettin’ her pussy slapped? Course you do, ya naughty lil bitch.” Joel laughs softly. "Look at the camera, talk to it." He growls into your ear and gives your mound another soft smack and it’s wet and audible. You turn your head forward and rest it against his shoulder as he lens in and presses his lips to your cheek, kissing you softly. Then he gives you another tight rasp on your pussy. And another. He’s doing it so rapidly, slapping and swatting your clit and not hard enough to hurt, it’s…so good? So fucking good for some reason. Joel and you are still working together, your glistening bodies sliding and slipping against each other. 

“Fuck. I do like it.” You murmur to the camera, your eyes are still clenched and now, you're rocking your hips up to meet his quick, noisy— more than patting but he’s not spanking your cunt like he did last night. The force all comes from his wrist, not his shoulder. It’s incredible and almost reminds you of his shower head but not as wet or warm. Joel growls softly against your cheek and presses his forehead to the side of your skull with slight force. 

"Louder. I wanna hear it." He snaps softly into the soft skin just below your cheekbone. He is grinding up into your back. "I wanna hear you fuckin' say it. Mean it." It's so fierce when he says it, that it almost startles you but... you just talked about all this so you know it's...just a thing. Not mean, not scary. 

"I fuckin' love when you spank my cunt, Daddy. So fuckin' much." You speak with force and it comes out in moans as he chuckles against your cheek and rubs your clit now in between those little, tight rasps of his fingers against you.

"There it is..." Joel kisses your cheek softly as his own moans start to slip from his mouth as he holds you around the waist with his other arm now, moving your body up and down against the front of him. You can feel his movements becoming more desperate as you stroke his cock with ever single move you make. 

"Oh fuck...yes...please don't... stop.The light breeze he makes with his fingers gives you goosebumps on your inner thigh as your legs begin to tremble. “I think– oh god– I… think–” You’re cut off and choked by pleasure as that real bliss and ‘letting go’ feeling builds. 

“Yep. Do it. Gush for Daddy, baby. I wanna see it.” Joel moans loudly as your body moves against him more desperately, searching for more than just his slapping fingers even though he is bringing you there doing that. “C’mon baby. Yer' such a naughty fuckin' girl. Such a pathetic, lil, gushin' girl.” He whispers in your ear. "Yer' fuckin' amazing." The fact that he wants a video of you doing that so he can watch whenever he wants is what sends you there– it’s what makes you gush. 

He gets a clear shot of it happening as his abuse of your clit never ends. He spanks your pussy through your gush and sometimes his fingers slip down so he can touch it as it comes out of you. You’re still moving against him, now shaking and moaning loudly against his neck. You can feel his body working against yours for his own release and you push back against him to give him more pressure. When you do that, he groans softly and pulls his hand away from your spasming pussy. Then his fingers are inside your mouth. 

“Suck.” He moans as his body jerks underneath yours. You lap at his fingers hungrily and taste yourself on him and moan softly. You part his digits with your tongue and run it down the length of each extremity in your mouth, swirling and lapping at his knuckles and then flicking your tongue against the web between his fingers. You’re doing this and Joel is coming between the two of you. His release is trapped between his stomach and your back. “Such a fuckin’ good girl.” 

Joel sits you up and crawls from behind you and grabs his phone off the chair at the end of the bed. He sits beside you and starts to play the video. 

“I don’t wanna watch that. It’s for you.” You roll your eyes as the sounds of your moaning and whimpering fill the room. It makes you blush as Joel teases his cock again, watching what you two just did. He gets halfway through it with a big dumb smile on his face before he turns it off and turns his smile to you now. 

“Why? S’hot as hell. Jeeesus. Yer’ fuckin’ naughty n’ sexy. I like it.” Joel smirks and leans down to kiss you. “We’re makin’ more.” He teases. 

“Fine. I like seeing you—” You point at his face and then to his stomach covered in his milky release. “-- smiling and covered in cum. So, fine.” You blush and he touches your cheek gently.

“I want to do the naughtiest things with you.” Joel whispers. You blink. 

“Like what?” You pur up to him as he rubs his thumb across your lips gently. 

“You’ll see.”

(sorry it took me so long, i'll try and be better.)

tag list: @immyowndefender @korikolove @untamedheart81 @fanficlover1414, @creepycorbeaux @ohmillerbaby @rosebuds-and-moonlight @harriedandharassed

[steveseddie]

light of all lights

rating: t | cw: minor character death | wc: 2,2k | tags: grief/mourning, eddie is sad about chrissy, steve is a sweetheart, hurt/comfort

written for day two of @steddielovemonth for the quote “There are darknesses in life and there are lights, you are one of the lights, the light of all lights,” and my @steddiebingo main card prompt “grief”

read on ao3

As soon as Eddie wakes up, he knows he’s hungover. He also doesn’t know why.

He doesn’t remember going out yesterday yet there’s an unmistakable pounding in his head and his mouth tastes like something died in it, so he must have partaken in the consumption of alcoholic beverages at some point last night.

If only he could remember any of it.

He rolls over and realizes he’s not in his bed back at the trailer. This is Steve’s bed. There’s probably something to be said about how long it takes him to notice it— already so used to spending at least a few nights a week in Steve’s bed, but Eddie chooses not to dwell on it right now, not while his sluggish brain is still trying to figure out what happened last night.

Eddie knows he didn’t go partying with Steve, but maybe he got too drunk at The Hideout and Steve had to come pick him up? But that doesn’t sound right either. They didn’t have a show last night or they should’ve since it was Saturday and Corroded Coffin had long since been upgraded from Tuesday nights to Saturdays once they built enough of a regular crowd. Only Eddie had canceled last night’s show knowing he’d be in a bad mood because—

Oh.

He knew he’d be in a bad mood because it was the anniversary of Chrissy’s death.

Eddie remembers everything now, going to the school for the memorial held in her honor only to turn around on his heels before he even made it to the gymnasium; running into Steve, who was on his way in and who took one look at Eddie’s tear-stained eyes and shaky hands and led him back to his car. He remembers Steve driving him to get flowers and then driving them both to the cemetery so they could put them on Chrissy’s grave. He remembers Steve sitting next to him, pressing their shoulders together until some jocks— friends of Jason Carver, probably— showed up and tried to start something with Eddie by calling him a murderer and saying he should’ve died instead of her.

Steve scared them off with his nailbat, but they decided it was better to leave the cemetery before they came back with more of their friends or someone else showed up. Then Steve drove them to his house without even asking, which Eddie was grateful for. The trailer, despite being different from the one where Chrissy died, was the last place he wanted to be. Back at Steve’s house, Eddie broke into Mr. Harrington’s liquor cabinet and Steve kept him company as he drank and cried, and drank some more.

At some point he must’ve cut Eddie off, dragged him upstairs and gotten him into bed so he could sleep it off, but Eddie doesn’t remember that part. He also doesn’t remember Steve sleeping next to him, but he knows he would’ve wanted to keep an eye on Eddie and make sure he didn’t die in his sleep.

Eddie wonders where Steve is right now— the left side of the bed isn’t warm anymore so he’s been gone for a while, but he left two painkillers and water on the bedside table for Eddie so the fact that he isn’t here doesn’t necessarily mean he hates Eddie for being such a fucking mess last night.

Still, Eddie would like to apologize because no one should have to deal with all of that so after downing the pills and the water, taking a leak and brushing his teeth with the spare toothbrush he keeps in Steve’s bathroom, he goes looking for him.

He finds him easily. All he has to do is follow the smell of coffee and bacon to the kitchen where Steve is doing The Hawkins Post’s crossword while sipping coffee, bacon simmering on the stove behind him.

Eddie feels a wave of affection so strong he goes dizzy with it. He must let out a gasp at the sight because Steve looks up, alerted of his presence.

His face softens when he sees Eddie, a sweet smile stretching over his lips. “Hey, you’re awake.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” Eddie says, leaning against the kitchen doorway.

Steve sets the paper down, the apples of his cheeks tinted pink. “How are you feeling?”

“Ugh.” Eddie flings the back of his hand to his forehead like a fainting damsel as he slides halfway down the doorway. “My head hurts from all the crying and the drinking and the crying—”

“You did a lot of that, yeah.” Steve gives him a sympathetic smile. “I left you some pills on the nightstand.”

“Yup, I saw them. They should kick in soon. Thanks, Stevie,” he says, standing up straight. Then he hangs a hand from his neck and adds, “and thanks for— you know, everything. I know I was a lot to deal with yesterday.”

“You weren’t,” Steve quickly reassures him. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, making him snort. “Fine, maybe you were but— I get it, man, this kind of anniversaries can be rough, but it’s worse if you go through them alone so I’m glad I found you when I did.”

“Yeah, I probably would’ve ended up at the hospital if those jocks found me alone or ended up in a ditch somewhere after drinking a whole bar by myself.” He feels a sudden sharp sting in his head. “It kinda feels like I already did, ouch.”

“Yeah, you went hard on the whiskey last night,” Steve says. “Come here, you need coffee and food.”

Eddie flops down on a chair at the same time Steve stands up. A minute later, there’s bacon and toast on a plate in front of him and a steaming mug of coffee next to it.

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, sipping on his coffee and sighing contentedly. Steve sits next to him, also drinking coffee but not eating anything. He probably had breakfast when he woke up, which must’ve been a while ago since he’s already dressed for the day. “You have somewhere to be, Stevie?”

“What?”

He gestures at him with his fork. “You’re way overdressed to hang out at home on a Sunday morning.”

“Afternoon, technically,” Steve says with a smirk, gesturing at the clock. He’s right, it’s well past noon. “And no, I don’t have anywhere to be but I did,” he says cryptically.

“Okayyyy,” Eddie chuckles. “Are you gonna share with the class or—”

“I had to go to the bakery earlier.”

“What for?”

Steve grabs a paper bag that Eddie hadn’t noticed and slides it over the counter towards him. “To get this.”

“What’s that?” Eddie mumbles through a mouthful of bacon.

Steve reaches into the bag, retrieving a small box. Inside, there’s a cupcake.

Eddie blinks at it. “What? You were craving a cupcake overnight?”

“No, it’s for you,” Steve says, taking it out of the box and placing it in front of Eddie. “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy what now?” Eddie asks, confused.

“Happy anniversary!” Steve says again, like that’s supposed to explain everything.

It doesn’t.

“Anniversary of what? Chrissy’s death anniversary was yesterday, Steve, and I’ve never heard of people buying cupcakes to celebrate that—”

Steve’s eyes widen in alarm. “Dude, no!” he says, horrified. “That’s awful, no, this is a ‘happy anniversary of the day we met’ cupcake!”

Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “The day we—”

“We met, yeah,” Steve says, waving his hand between Eddie and himself. “You know, when you held that broken bottle to my neck.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” Eddie chuckles amusedly. “I just didn’t know that’s a thing people do.”

“It’s a thing I do,” Steve says with a shrug. “It was Robin’s idea. Ours is the day we started working at Scoops and I do it with Henderson too, though we never really figured out the actual date we met. And now you— I met you the day after Chrissy. Officially, I mean, so happy anniversary.”

A laugh tumbles from Eddie’s lips, something disbelieving. “You’re something else, Steve Harrington,” he says, “happy anniversary, I guess.”

Steve gives him a lopsided grin that makes Eddie’s heart flutter in his chest. Then he jumps out of his seat and snaps his fingers, like he just remembered something.

“Wait!” He starts rummaging around his kitchen until he comes up with a candle and a lighter. He sticks the candle into the cupcake and lights it up. “There, now you make a wish.”

“Isn’t that for birthdays, Steve?”

Steve waves his hand dismissively. “Hey, we came up with this so we can make our own rules. Ergo, you blow the candle out and make a wish.”

Eddie smirks. “Was ergo a word in your morning crossword?”

“It was, actually.” Steve rolls his eyes with fond exasperation. “Now shut up and blow!”

“Shouldn’t we both blow the candle and make a wish? Since it’s our anniversary?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, that’s not—”

“Not how it works?” Eddie asks, his lips stretching into a smirk. “I thought you said we could make our own rules.”

With a sigh, Steve nods. “I guess I did say that,” he says. “Fine, we both blow it out and make a wish.”

Eddie shoots him a smug grin.

Steve counts down from three and they both blow at the same time. Eddie’s wish is simple— he wishes that he and Steve can celebrate these anniversaries for many years. He wonders what Steve wishes for.

After scooping up some frosting with his finger, Eddie licks it off. It’s good. “Now what?”

Steve’s eyes follow the movement, his eyes darkening slightly when Eddie sucks on his finger. “Um, now you— you eat the cupcake.”

“Shouldn’t we both eat the cupcake?”

“No, Eddie, I got it for you,” Steve deadpans, rolling his eyes when Eddie insists on being difficult.

Eddie holds his hands up. “Geez, okay, okay!” He says, taking a bite. It’s sugary and sweet, and Eddie lets out an obscene moan that makes Steve’s eyes widen. “It’s good! Damn, I wish you’d told me about this anniversary thing before, I would’ve gotten you something too.”

Steve gives a half shrug. “You can get me something next year.”

And maybe it’s the certainty behind Steve’s words, like he knows they’ll celebrate many anniversaries, or maybe it’s everything he did for Eddie yesterday while he was grieving or what he’s been doing for Eddie for the past year. Maybe it’s the way his eyes keep darting to Eddie’s lips as he licks more frosting or maybe it’s just that Eddie loves Steve so much that he can’t help but lean in and press a kiss to his lips.

Steve makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, but Eddie feels the slightest press of lips against his mouth before he’s pulling back.

“Or I can give you that,” Eddie whispers, his eyes darting over Steve’s face. He looks a little dazed, but not like he wants to smash what’s left of the cupcake against Eddie’s face. Both are good signs.

“One— one kiss?” Steve stammers out.

“One kiss, multiple, my heart, me,” Eddie mumbles, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “Whatever you want.”

“I want you, Eds,” Steve says with a dopey smile, using his thumb to wipe some frosting from the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “Probably since that day we met.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow in amusement while his chest flutters wildly. “When I held a broken bottle to your neck?”

“Guess a part of me thought that was hot,” Steve admits with a shrug. Then it’s his turn to scoop up some frosting and lick his finger clean. Watching Steve do it, Eddie understands why he was so distracted by it. “Hey, Eds?”

“Hm?” Eddie hums distractedly, his eyes not leaving Steve’s lips.

Steve moves his chair closer so his legs are bracketing Eddie’s. “If you are the cupcake in this scenario,” he says, lifting Eddie’s chin. His eyes twinkle playfully. “Does that mean I can make a wish if I blow you?”

The words make Eddie choke on his spit, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “Jesus H. Christ, Harrington!” Eddie sputters through a strangled laugh. “I say hell yeah. We make our own rules, right?”

“Right,” Steve agrees, smiling as he leans in for another kiss. He doesn’t pull away as quickly as Eddie did, letting their lips slide together, teasing the seam of Eddie’s lips with his tongue.

“Stevie?” Eddie whispers once their kiss slows down. He waits until Steve meets his eyes and flashes him a smile. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For everything. Yesterday was shitty, but you made it bearable and then you made today great,” Eddie says, cupping Steve’s face, brushing his thumb over his cheek. “I think I’ll always be sad about Chrissy, but now I also have something to celebrate. It’s kinda like, you have to go through bad things, yeah, but sometimes it leads you to some good ones, you know?” He scrunches his face slightly. “Cheesy as that sounds.”

Steve’s mouth twitches up. “Am I one of the good things?”

“Stevie,” Eddie chuckles softly, pulling Steve closer until their faces are only inches apart. “You’re the best thing.”

The words make Steve beam, then he throws his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. “Happy anniversary, Eddie.”

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

[hummingbee-lievable]

Song of the Day #15:

'Coming Down' by Five Finger Death Punch (released 2012).

It's caving in around me

What I thought was solid ground

I tried to look the other way

But I couldn't turn around

It's okay for you to hate me

For all the things I've done

I've made a few mistakes

But I'm not the only one

Step away from the ledge

I'm coming down

Track 4 of 'American Capitalist'.

Fun fact: This song is a clear and poignant message against suicide, and about suicide awareness. Five Finger Death Punch in particular is known for their allusions to mental illness in their music, from PTSD (in 'Wrong Side of Heaven') to child/human/sex trafficking (in 'Judgement Day') and child abuse and neglect ('Remember Everything').

Ivan Moody, the lead singer, when asked to audition for the band, had to perform with his back turned to them because he was so shy.

The name of the band started as a joke reference to the homonymous (having the same name) move in Quentin Tarantino's 'Kill Bill'.

Personal blurb: I heard this song performed at a coffee house in high school and fell in love with it. I watched the video so many times; it really resonated with how I was feeling at the time. Because of their investment in mental health awareness and support, and because of Moody's voice, this is my favourite metal band ever. I listen to them whenever I need to scream in the car.

(If you need a strange method of catharsis, screaming with your windows down at a stupid amount of miles per hour sometimes fits the bill. I haven't done it a lot, but when I did, it felt like I was letting go. I immediately wanted to cry afterwards, so be warned that that's a possibility. Anger is such a terrifying aspect of being. And it shouldn't be. Anger is okay to feel. But I think often of Lia Marie Johnson's 'DNA' lyrics:

When I erupt

Just like you do

They look at me

Like I look at you

For obvious reasons, that song is in my 'Progress' playlist.

I know it shouldn't be an issue, to be angry. I've had a couple of experiences lately where my anger was elicited and I felt so weak afterwards. (One was in response to two kids goading another kid into killing a living creature with a large rock, which I stopped by yelling at them instinctually, before I had a second to think about it, and the other was this horrible (white) woman's bullying of a homeless (black) vet and I exploded at her.) I feel like the Hulk. I'm always angry, and operate in constant suppression of it. I'm always afraid, which is where the anger stems from, I think.

Isn't that fun? When you can see the threads that lead to you feeling a certain way and can do nothing about it?

I keep being told that my anger was justified and the best option available to me, but I play things out like that in my mind all the time. And in my mind, I'm poised and empathetic and able to reach around my instincts in a way that actually helps others. To show them where they're doing wrong without making them feel like a monster.

There's a story about a bet between the sun and the wind: they each claim that they can convince a passing stranger to take off their coat. The wind goes first, huffing and puffing (no houses to blow down, at least) but the man only gathers his coat around him tighter and tighter. The sun takes a turn, beaming gently and exuding warmth; the person removes their coat.

I love this story. I think about it in terms of political conversion, or any conversation in which people are inclined to get wrapped up in disagreeing with each other. When you don't agree with someone, their getting upset with you is just going to make your dig your feet into the ground and stand by your beliefs all the more. But if you just explain why you see things the way you do, and listen to why they believe what they do, you can either have your mind changed or at least walk away with an acknowledgement that while you did not agree, you understood each other.

Forgo the harsh wind for the gentle sun.

I want to be the way; I'm not giving up on it. Being forced to realise that instinct trumps fantasy has been a wake-up call. I have to forgive myself and move on.

In a perfect world, I'll be angry, and that will be okay. I'll be able to acknowledge it without letting it take me over.

I'm sorry. I've had two hours of sleep each night for the last week or so. I have gained newfound empathy for the homeless in this humid heat. I never realised how much I loved the cold until morning after morning, I would wake up in my car after a few hours of restless sleep, drenched. This long text spiral is my brain flopping around like a dead fish and hoping it finds water.

Thank you for listening anyway (Tumblr bot that glances this way on occasion).

On a far more positive note: I'm dedicating this post to my sister. Actually, all of my music posts. And my poetry posts. She is a beacon of light for me on a daily basis, despite constant and excruciating pain. We visited each other recently and one of the highlights was being in the car with her and my two brothers when 'Jekyll and Hyde' came on. We both reacted really enthusiastically and there was this funny moment where we turned to look at each other in surprise, like 'You too???' while our brothers looked on in amused disgust. It's so fun to find out new things about someone you're close to. Sometimes you just need a metal moment, brotherly condescension be danged.

I digress. She has been my most constant and avid supporter of these posts (and she doesn't even have a Tumblr), always giving lovely feedback and encouraging my writing in general. I do not know who I would be without her.

These are for you, Smalls. Guacker Smalls, that is. (She is a full foot taller than me, which adds to the amusement of the nickname.) We have decided that murderous geese with knives that encourage us to be gay and do crime are called 'guackers'. Just trust us on this one.

[nerdie-faerie]

This has got to be the worst move out yet

[maccreadysbaby]

Some of My Favorite Ways to Describe a Character Who’s Sick

pressing their forehead into something cool or comfortable (this could be an array of things. the table, the floor, someones leather jacket, their water bottle, the countertop)

warm to the touch, or heat radiating from them (could be noticed if someone’s gauging their temperature with their hands, hugging them, or just generally touching them)

leaning into people’s touch, or just spontaneously leaning on them (like pressing into their hand when someone’s checking their temp, or just, like, literally walking up and laying their head on them from fatigue. bonus points if the character is usually feral and the other is scared to engage™︎)

falling asleep all over the place (at the dinner table, on their homework, in the car, in the bathroom — just being so exhausted from doing literally nothing)

being overly emotional (crying over things that don’t usually bother them, like their siblings arguing, or their homework, or literally just nothing)

stumbling/careening/staggering into things (the wall, furniture, other people. there is no coordination in feverish brains. running into chairs, hitting the door, falling over the couch, anything and everything)

slurring their words (could be from fatigue or pain. connecting words that shouldn’t be connected, murdering all of their conversations with the excessive use of ‘mm’ and ‘nn’ in place of words) (this is my favorite thing ever)

being overly touchy (basically like a sick kid — just hold them, please. do that thing where you brush their hair back out of their face, or rub circles on their back, or snuggle them. they won’t care. bonus points if this is also the feral character and they refuse to believe it afterwards)

being extremely resistant to touch (flinching away when they usually don’t so someone can’t feel the fever, not letting themselves be touched because they’re so tired they just know they’ll be putty in their hands if they do)

growing aggressive or being extremely rude (it’s a defense mechanism — they feel vulnerable and are afraid of being manipulated or deceived while they’re ill)

whimpering/whining/groaning (this was in my “characters in pain” post but it’s so good that i’m putting it here too. this shite is gold, especially if it’s just an involuntary reaction to their symptoms)

having nightmares caused by a fever and/or delirium (crying and murmuring in their sleep, or being awake but completely out of it and convinced they’re somewhere else)

making themselves as small as possible (curling up into a ball everywhere they lay, hunching over slightly when standing, wrapping their arms around themselves)

TW for vomiting below cut !!

sleeping in the bathroom floor because they keep getting sick over and over (bonus if someone finds them all weak and pitiful. bonus bonus if they find them there in the morning only to learn they’ve been there all night)

using their hands/other body parts to clamp over their mouth so nothing can come out (like pulling their knees up to their chest and using that, or like, their arm, y’know) (~maccreadysbaby who has emetophobia suddenly gets very awkward about this post~) (~yes i have a phobia of puke and still write this happening to my characters, shut up~) (~it’s about the hurt/comfort okay~)

sympathy pukers (people who aren’t the sick ones but get nauseous/vomit when they see someone else throw up) (~aka me~) (~okay I’m done now~)

dry heaving (it’s gross, but good for making your characters absolutely freaking miserable)

rolling/churning/spinning/cramping/ lurching and all those awesome words that describe what stomachs do when sick (i hate these words with a deep, fiery passion. but they’re good for writing or whatever)

[thegnomelord]

just read about demon hunter reader and demon ghost cuddling, and the first thing i thought was how ghost would react if, one of these times, reader ends up having a wet dream and dry humping his ass 😋

about time that our demon thinks of getting laid, he's disgusted and turned on at the same time

Sorry this took a while lads :Dd, I'm getting back into writing after all that shit with my school but I got a summer job as an assistant medical worker with 12h shifts every other day so It might take a bit for me to write stuff.

Hush, Hunter

CW:NSFW, MDNI, demon Simon Ghost Riley x male hunter reader, grinding, wet dreams, handjob, blowjob, size difference (demon ghost is like 11 feet tall.)

Your ‘husband’ is strange, even by demon standards.

He grumbles about the inconvenience brought on by your mortal failings and fragility, growling whenever you have to stop at a gas station to buy food or at some dingy motel to sleep. He grumbles even more about being confined in the stolen human skin suit he's forced to wear to blend in.

You can ignore the stranger with the stolen face and hellfire eyes throwing dark glares at you for the most part, except for when the demon decides to make the binding ring around your finger heat up when you spend too long talking to the pretty cashier. And it only takes a few more seconds of not paying heed to the incessant burn before Ghost Simon looms behind you, glaring at the flustered cashier like she’s a fey trying to trick you into the Fey Lord’s court.

And the big bastard never gives you any explanation on why he’s acting like that, just drags you back to your car, slamming the doors closed with enough strength to shake the entire vehicle. He’s like a cat honestly; hisses at you, but doesn’t want to let you out of his sight or claws.

But when your nightmares get so bad your only chance of sleeping is on the floor, well hidden behind the bed with your back flush with the dingy motel wall, Ghost surprises you by laying down with you. Sure he grumbles about the demeaning position - laying like some mongrel dog - but he still does it.

Ghost is on his side, his broad muscular back to you, rough inky scales swallowing all the moonlight that filters through the blinds and turning him into a pitch black wall of muscle. He’s so still you might even think he’s sleeping – you know he’s not; demons aren’t tied to mortal laws, nor are they subject to time’s iron grip, that’s what makes hunting demons so dangerous. The only indication you have that he’s awake is the occasional twitch of his tail and the slight shuffle of his wings when you accidentally get closer to him in your attempt to get a comfortable position.

You flinch when his one wing spreads out and back, but the blanket of black and blood dyed feathers soon eases the tension in your body. Probably too quickly, definitely too quickly, but Ghost doesn’t draw attention to it and neither do you and the night is cold and he is blissfully warm and he stays stock still when you shuffle a bit closer. You're glad he pays no attention to you when you get comfortable against him, barely an inch of space between you two.

His feathers tickle your face, they’re softer than you’d expect a wrath demon to have, fluffy like the down of chicks. His scent invades your nose, rough leather and steel oil and something distinctly demonic you can’t name. . . but it’s strangely comforting.

Laying only an inch or two away from a demon goes against everything you’ve ever been taught. Your nerves should be on a razor’s edge, but instead you’re calm. You don’t know why your fucked up mind finds comfort in the fact a possible threat would need to go through half a ton of murderous wrath demon to get to you. And you don’t want to think about it either, you’ve had far too many sleepless nights for your brain to care how you manage to sleep so long as you do. And the moment you close your eyes, you’re out like a light.

Ghost has gotten used to your nightmares.

Just like his father’s absent love, your nightmares are consistent. He’s almost impressed how such a frail thing like you could hunt the likes of hydras and Hell Dukes when you barely sleep a wink most nights. The longest you’ve gone is a couple of hours of restful sleep before you woke up trying to claw your eyes out. You never talk about it, nor does he, Ghost may be a demon but he knows far too well how the mind can haunt someone.

And Ghost has gotten good at telling apart the individual nightmares by how you squirm in your sleep.

It takes a little longer for the nightmare to start than usual, but he knows you’re neck deep in it when you heart starts it’s frantic drumming in your chest. He ruffles his feathers as your hands grip his sides, your breath fanning over his skin. He thinks it might be the basilisk haunting you this time by the way you press yourself flush with his back, burying your face into the space between his shoulder blades until your nose is flush with his spine, back hunching to further shield your eyes.

Ghost doesn’t, nor will he ever, mention the low happy rumble that escapes him when you snuggle up to him. His feathers fluff up, the scratchy hair of his tail flattening down - about as silk soft as he can make them. It’s little better than throwing pearls before swine, you won’t remember any of this after all, but doing this strangely doesn’t feel as much of a burden as it should.

Usually the low deep purring growling will chase away your nightmares and lull you into a dreamless sleep for a little while, but not this time. You squirm against his back like an eel, muscles tensing to grip his sides until dregs of pain dance along his spine. Your breath fans across his scales, your heart pounding in his ears like that of a rabbit’s caught in a snare. He’s just about ready to turn around and wake you before he feels it—

Your arousal pokes his back, hard like iron.

Only now does he pick up the slight sweetness of arousal in your adrenaline rich scent. “Hm- fuck.” You mumble as you roll your hips to grind your cock against him. “Slow- fuck fuck- slow down.” You breathe out, and Ghost swears this must be another part of his father’s eternal punishment. The sudden thought that your dream is of a sexual nature smites him with all the intensity of his father’s rage.

Who do you think you are, taking his little mercies for granted? Who do you think you are, grinding against him like some mongrel mutt? Who do you think you are holding him as if you are more than the eventual reward for the maggots fervent prayers? Who do you think you are—

“Ghost- Simon. . .” His name, his original name, leaves your lips; it’s the softest he’s ever heard you speak.

“Human.” He seethes and rolls around, pushing the warm feeling –warm like a campfire compared to the blistering pits down below that usually dwell in his chest– out of his mind. “Disgusting.” You’re so small compared to him, your head could easily fit in his rough hand, a momentary lapse in the binding’s protection all that it would take for his flesh rending claws to cleave through your skull. He’s thought about it often, of the look in your eyes as your life fades, of how good your blood would taste, of how nice your shoulder would look with his teeth marks on it. . .

His hand is gentle as he reaches to brush your cheek, like he’s handling glass, rumbling when you lean into the touch. “Wretched thing.” He growls, hand sliding from your cheek to your back and pulling you close. He feels you nuzzle into his wide chest, carefully bullying his thigh between yours, steel hard muscle tensing to give you a good surface to grind on. “Nothing more but a mongrel waste of flesh.” He doesn’t notice how quickly his voice has lost heat, barely above a murmur as he listens to your breathless gasp and watches your back arch.

For someone usually so guarded, you are painfully naked in flesh and soul, responding so wantonly to his touches; from low moans to soft little murmurs of ‘Simon’ and ‘more’ that has him mindlessly rubbing his thigh against your crotch in hopes of getting more of those so painfully human sounds. You moan and nuzzle into his chest, your body like soft clay in his hands now that you’re no longer shackled by the chains of pride and prejudice that your mind conjures around him

You’re like a strange bug to him; a part of him wants to pin you down, to tear you apart with vicious claws and see if there’s anything different in the way your heart beats, in the way your lungs move, in the way you exist — something substantial to show why holding you in his arms doesn’t feel as degrading as it should.

He wonders, briefly, if this is what God saw that made him love Adam so much. Why God did not have the heart to kill Adam for his disobedience.

Greed moves his hands like they’re puppets on strings, flesh rending claws carefully tracing the bumps of old and fresh scars that dot your abdomen — perhaps you aren’t so pathetic, it takes strength to survive this long. Your skin prickles from his touch, your breath fanning over the rough belly scales protecting his front as his hand slowly moves down. He hooks a claw under the band of your underwear and pulls down until your cock springs out right into Ghost’s hand.

Ghost hasn’t seen many cocks before, why would he?, but a low sound comes from his chest at how neatly your cock fits in his hand, how neatly all of you fit against him. And only now does it dawn on him that he doesn’t know how to do this— he’s a wrath demon for fuck’s sake, he understands war and bloodshed like it’s the back of his hand, but this? This is new territory.

Well, he’s never been one to back down when he’s gotten this far.

His hand slowly closes into a fist, just a little loose around you. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t be anything but gentle in the way he strokes you. Your hips move on their own, gentle little rocks to fuck your cock into his fist and he follows along with the motion. It’s a little rough at first, he feels how the dry slide of his hand makes you shiver, but he soon finds a nice pace as your precum eases the glide of flesh on flesh.

He wants to see your face when you moan, but he can’t bring himself to pull you away from his chest when you cling to him so sweetly, your lips mindlessly ghosting over his scales. So he contends himself with coiling his tail around your leg, draping a wing over you so there’s a barrier between you and the rest of the world, so no creature from heaven high or deep below may entertain the thought of taking what’s his.

No good thing lasts for long.

He feels you wake like the first thaw in spring, slow and gradual, eyes fluttering open, mind still clouded with pleasure to really understand the position you’re in. He takes advantage of that, gripping your hip to keep you close, swirling his tumb in the precum beading at your head and squeezing his hand just right to coerce a breathless moan from your chest.

Then your eyes snap open, realisation hitting you with the same intensity as the punch you throw at his skull. But the ‘marriage’ turns that show of force into a gentle caress of the skull cheek of his ‘face’. “Ghost what the fuck are you-” You begin, cut off as another clench of his hand has you gripping his forearm and biting your lip to silence yourself. 

“Oh hush hunter.” Ghost rumbles low in his throat, his wing tensing behind your back to bring you in closer, soft blood dyed feathers encasing you in a cocoon of warmth against his cool belly scales. “No need to wake the other worms.” Disdain and mockery drip from his voice like molasses, yet strangely it doesn’t feel aimed at you. . . it must just be the pleasure making you believe that.

“You- bastard!” You snarl, trying to summon the hunter savagery that had been meticulously beaten into you, but it slumbers like a fat cat. “Fuck off- get away from me.” You aim to slam your fist against his scaled abdomen, just a little lower and to the side where the floating ribs should be, but all you manage is a slow caress of his side and back up his chest where you can feel his eternal soul burning beneath the flesh.

He laughs and slides his hand down, rolling your balls in his wide hand and squeezing just enough to be at the edge of pain– shit, that should not feel so good. You hiss and throw your head back despite the inherent danger of exposing your throat. He tilts his head down, ghostly breath washing over your ear, “We both know if you wanted this to stop you would have done so.” Oh, now you can just feel the mockery in his voice, sweet like honey that it is.

Some petulant part of you thinks of arguing, anything to retain what remains of your damn pride, but then he slides his hand back up, pressing your cock against your stomach and grinding the palm of his hand against your shaft and all the thoughts of arguing are pushed to the side by the tide of pleasure. Fuck, it’s been far too long since you ‘took care’ of things, it’s not like you have much time to wank off, let alone with Ghost hanging over your shoulder like some grim reaper. And hell, if any other hunter heard you let a damn demon jack you off, yours would be the next head put on the stake but. . . but Ghost is surprisingly gentle with you, not a single hint of pain coming from his touches, not even from his claws gently running down your side.

“Fine-” You suck in a sharp breath, head fixed to stare directly at his chest. “Make it quick.”

You feel him smirk against your ear, “As you wish, hunter.” He laughs lowly, like you’re nothing but a cute puppy chewing on his shoelaces, “Though, you should thank me for debasing myself like this.” He growls, and with a sharp move of his wing he rolls you on your back. 

You gasp as your back hits the sleeping mat, and before you can even struggle Ghost looms over you, a wall of muscle and dark scaled flesh. “Fuck no.” You growl, some scraps of pride still clinging to your mind, though even those are threatened when his broad hand returns to stroking your cock, faster this time, the drag of his palm making pleasure sizzle up your spine. Your head rolls back to rest on the mat and you don’t even notice when you close your eyes. You’re not sure how Ghost is so good at this, something sharp like jealousy curling in your stomach at the thought of him doing this to someone else. But it’s hard to think when you can feel and hear him purring, his claws gently tracing your stomach and leaving lingering heat everywhere they touch.

You jump as something slick brushes over your balls, “Look, good hunter.” He growls and you listen without thought, eyes wide when you see his tongue— it extends from the darkness of his head just beneath the rotten upper teeth of his skull, long, black, thick strings of oil coloured spit dripping off his tongue. “That’s better,” He purrs; you’re not sure how he can talk, and you’re unable to ask because he leans in closer until your cock rests against his skull, his hellfire eyes burning in the darkness and giving just enough light for you to see his long black tongue curl around your base like a snake. 

Shit– he wants to kill you.

“Holy fuck Ghost-” You breathe out, lungs burning before you remember how to breathe. His tongue moves, squeezing your base and sliding lower to lap at your balls. You’re forced to bite your finger to stop the painfully pathetic sound burning on your tongue.

He stops moving and you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the whine that slips past your lips. “Simon.” He demands, oily spit clinging to your skin and making it tingle with heat.

“Simon.” You nod along dumbly, “Fuck- Simon.”

“Good.” You imagine he’s smiling when he says that, his hand returning to stroke your cock in reward. “Call me that again.” He says, a purr rumbling in his chest and you can’t help but moan at how the vibrations travel through his tongue, making it act like a vibrating toy.

Your hands fly to grip his horns, the pleasure making you throw your head back yet you try to keep your eyes on him, hiccuping his name between harsh breaths. He doesn’t mind the touch on his horns, leaning into the touch before flicking his tongue at your taint. He rewards you for each time you say his old name, tongue and hand working in tandem to slowly and steadily march you towards release. 

You try to tug on his horns to warn him, or maybe to pull him away, but he pays no heed; he doubles his efforts, wetly slurping at your balls and base while his hand toys with your crown, his free hand holding your hips down so all you can do is weather the pleasure until you’re finally pulled under the waves. “Simon-” You gasp, cum spurting all over his hand and your stomach. 

You watch through lidded eyes as he retracts his hand, keeping his gaze on you as he lazily licks up your cum from his hand. “Better than I expected.” He rumbles, more to himself than you, leaning up to drag his long slimy tongue across your stomach to gather up all your cum.

 Shit, that sight got you hard again before you could even soften.

You’re not sure if the greed you see spark in his eyes makes you scared or even harder, but you’re not left any room to think further about it before his tongue wraps around your cock again.

Unfortunately for you, demons have no concept of time as mortals know it, so his ‘quick’ ends up being the entire rest of the night. At one point you get to the point you’re sure Ghost is trying to kill you with all the pleasure, spit polishing your cock until he’s satisfied and by that point the sun is rising and your voice is hoarse.

You can’t meet the gaze of the motel receptionist in the morning, but Ghost Simon, looks smug like the cat who ate the canary.

[leighsartworks216]

Nyctophobia

Sylus x gn!Reader

I still have to sleep with some sort of light on at night and I was like well what would Sylus think about this. And now here we are

Warnings: hurt/comfort, crying, kissing, nyctophobia (fear of the dark), embarrassment, fear, pet names, swearing, implied sexual content, established relationship

Word Count: 2,153

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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You feel so fucking stupid. Not because you did something wrong or made a fool of yourself (yet), but because this dumb problem you had was so childish. Even a 10-year-old is braver than you, a literal fucking Hunter!

You pout at the nightlight on your laptop. Sylus’s black card sat on your coffee table, just waiting to be used. And yet, the thought of using a card with access to millions of dollars (perhaps billions), just to buy a nightlight, halted you in your tracks, He hadn’t even said much about anything else you’ve bought before, and what he did say usually encouraged you to buy more expensive, lavish things. Surely, he wouldn’t flinch at this at all.

But that stupid, unrelenting voice in your head made buying the light impossible.

Which sucked.

It really, really sucked.

‘Cuz every time you stay in the N109 Zone in Sylus’s manor-slash-base, your room is so dark. Being in the lawless area doesn’t help, either. All the violence and danger you’d seen walking in the streets at night painted visions of stalkers in the corner, murderers with knives under your bed, and worse, just waiting for you to close your eyes and sleep.

But you don’t want to impose on the nice atmosphere Sylus has cultivated in his home. So you sleep with the light off, clinging to your blankets and telling yourself over and over again that nobody else is in the room.

Your phone buzzing interrupts your pity party. You shut your laptop and place it on the table next to the card. It buzzes again as you pick it up.

What’s wrong, sweetie?

I’ve only seen you make that face when a plushie falls out of the claw

You look up at your window. Sure enough, Mephisto’s red eyes greet you.

Stop spying on me >:(

Fine

The mechanical crow disappears from sight. You can just barely hear his caws as he flies off back to the N109 Zone.

But my question still stands

It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it

Sweetie, if someone says not to worry about something, people are going to worry about it

Damn him for giving you a chance to tell the truth. And damn your brain for reminding you that if you tell him the truth, he’d probably laugh at you. What does he have to worry about when he sleeps anyway? He’s already a light sleeper, but he also sleeps during the day, when creeps skitter from shadow to shadow. He wouldn’t understand.

Like I said, it’s nothing

Nothing happens for a few moments. The little dots to signify he’s typing don’t even show up. You can’t help wondering what he’s doing. What he’s thinking.

Maybe he’s getting ready to start the night, getting into his car so Luke and Kieran can drive him around to his many business dealings. Or maybe he’s picking out a vinyl from his shelf, taking it from the paper casing with a delicacy only shared with you, and setting it up on his phonograph. Or maybe he’s mimicking you: sitting on the couch, staring at the phone, wondering what to say next.

The dots appear, finally.

Come to the N109 Zone, kitten

Let me cheer you up

If Mephisto was still lurking around, he’d have seen just how fast you packed your things and hopped onto your bike.

Yes, the N109 Zone is dark and scary and extremely dangerous at the best of times. Yes, you’d be forced to sleep in the dark once again. Yes, your mind would play tricks on you and you’d probably stay up all night anyway.

But Sylus is there. And you haven’t seen him for almost a week. Who could blame you for jumping at the opportunity to spend time with him now?

-

Sylus greets you at the door with an amused smirk. “You got here fast.”

You playfully glare at him, smacking his chest as you pass by. “There wasn’t any traffic,” you tease.

The manor is as dark as usual. If it’s not black, it’s dark red. If it’s not dark red, it’s the occasional white furniture or golden accent.

Sylus trails behind you as you beeline it straight to your room to drop off your stuff. He leans in the doorway as you toss your bag onto the plush bed. “You seem to be in a better mood now,” he hums.

“I always feel better when I get to see you.” You smile up at him. It’s a soft remark. Genuine. Not the usual joking, back-and-forth banter you’re usually all too happy to supply during your visits.

His expression melts into something just as tender. Just as honest. He casually pushes himself off the doorframe and crosses the few steps it takes to get to you. His hands cradle you like one of his precious antiques, tilting your face up while he cranes his neck until the world has shrunk to just this moment.

He grins. His eyes keep glancing down at your mouth. You grab onto his waist. Your fingers curl into his soft red sweater, desperate to keep him this close. His lips brush against yours, stealing the air from your lungs.

“Then let me make it worth your while.”

-

It’s still dark when you wake up. The navy blue behind the curtain carries no hint of light, reassuring your sleep-addled brain that there is still plenty of time before day.

You roll over, silk sheets caressing your bare form, fully intending to go right back to sleep. Cold air slips underneath the blanket. You shiver and pull it tighter around you. Without thinking, you reach out toward the other side of the bed. It’s too large for just one person. The bed is cold beneath your fingers, even as you reach out farther.

You blink open your eyes, blearily staring into the darkness, searching for some answer you can quite grasp yet.

What are you reaching for…?

You turn your face into your pillow, determined to ignore that strange feeling in your gut and enjoy the last hours of the night. The rich scent of bourbon and vanilla catch on the edge of your senses. It smells just like Sylus…

You open your eyes again. Where’s Sylus?

Your fingertips brush the edge of the bed as you reach out. A discordant chord of terror strikes in your heart as you quickly pull your hand back. Thoughts of something reaching out to grab you flood your mind. Your heart races, chasing off the last ounces of sleepiness from your body.

You pull the blanket even tighter around you, curling it under your feet and tucking it into your sides until you’re in a cocoon of safety. No matter how hard you strain your eyes, you can’t see anything. But in your mind, everything can see you.

You curl up into a pitiful ball.

You could get up, but you can’t. What if something grabs your ankles?

You could grab your phone, but you can’t. What if something is waiting in ambush and your phone is the bait?

You could do a thousand things to get out of this darkness. But you can’t, for a million reasons.

The door knob slowly turns. The only indication the door has opened at all is the sound of the lower edge brushing against the carpeted floor. No light comes in from the hall. It’s all pitch black. The door clicks shut.

You hold your breath.

Footsteps. Large, heavy footsteps. They don’t stomp. You’re not sure if it would be better if they did. They creep around the side of the bed.

You don’t move.

Weight shifts the mattress. Slowly. Deliberately.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. You strain to hear anything else.

Something slides over your blankets.

You squeeze your eyes shut so tight you see spots. You bite your lip to avoid making sound.

The something - a hand, you think - wraps around your waist.

You flinch.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. They’re gonna know you’re awake. They’re gonna cover your mouth or stab you or put a pillow over your face or-

“Kitten?”

Your body shudders as you finally let yourself breathe. You grab your pillow as you quickly sit up and swing it at the face of your lover.

“I thought you were gonna fucking kill me?!”

Sylus laughs, chucking the pillow back onto your side of the bed. You can’t see him in the dark, but your body can’t stop taking in every ounce of him that it can. His smell - the bourbon and vanilla tinged with a natural musk. His voice - that rich, lively sound of his laugh and the breaths he takes. His touch - his hand, trailing patterns over the blanket at your hip.

You crawl toward him, clinging to his chest like a koala. He’s still shirtless from your escapades. His hand slides to your back, pulling you in tighter to him. You can feel the rumble of his voice in his chest. You press your ear against him to hear more.

“Why would you think that?” he asks once he’s gathered himself.

You don’t answer. You squeeze him tighter.

“Sweetie?” The amusement is replaced with concern. His other arm wraps around you. The muscles tense with the slightest effort. He says your name.

Relief settles heavy in your bones. Tears prick at your eyes, while you remain utterly powerless to stop them. “It’s too dark,” you whimper. It’s all you can think to say.

His arms tighten around you as he rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him like you weigh nothing. He begins playing with your hair. “Does it scare you?” he asks softly.

You nod. You pull one of your hands out from around him to wipe the tears off your face and his chest.

God, you feel so fucking pathetic.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You don’t answer. His chest rises and falls with you on it, moving with his sigh. He pulls your hand away from your face and replaces it around him. You want to fight it. Complain about how gross it is to get all your tears on him. But he shushes you gently and you can’t find the strength to try.

“Do you want to go downstairs?”

You nod again.

The world shifts as he sits up with you. He pries you off of him so he can stand up, but he doesn’t go far. He grabs his sweater off the ground and helps you put it on. Then he goes through your dresser for some clean underwear. He helps you stand and slides them on. You don’t open your eyes. You don’t want to see the darkness. So you hold onto his shoulders. You put all your trust into him, and he refuses to betray it.

He lifts you into his arms like you’re a damn princess. Usually, he’d throw you over his shoulder, but not this time. This time he’s careful, treating you with the utmost care as he carries you down the stairs and to the living room. With a wave of his fingers, the lights turn on, black and red left in its wake.

“It’s not dark anymore,” he promises as he sits down. You keep your face safely tucked into his neck. He rests his cheek on your head. His fingers go back to your hair. His other hand rubs patterns against your bare thigh.

After a while, your terror finally dissipates completely. You can see the light shining through your closed eyelids. Feel its subtle warmth against your skin. When you find the strength to open your eyes, the warm, comfortable ambiance of Sylus’s home greets you once more.

You use the sleeve of his sweater to wipe at your face. “I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks. You cringe with embarrassment. “It’s stupid, I know.”

He hums noncommittally. “Is this what you were telling me not to worry about?” he asks instead.

You nod. “I was looking at… at nightlights,” you admit in a murmur.

“What kind?”

“Hm?” You pull back to look up at him. He lets you, meeting your gaze with a soft seriousness. “What d’you mean?”

He smirks slightly, eyebrow quirking upward. “I mean, what kind of nightlight would you like, sweetie? Fairy lights, a wall light, one of those animal-shaped ones that glows…”

You frown and look away. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“I’m asking,” he cups your cheek and guides your face to look at him, “so I can buy you one. Now, will you tell me, or do I have to buy every single nightlight on the market?”

You laugh despite yourself. “I have it pulled up on my laptop…”

He grins. “Good.” He pulls you into a chaste kiss. “Don’t hesitate to buy it next time. Or to tell me what’s wrong. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a sad kitten.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44

[cherienymphe]

Teenage Dirtbag VI (JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, mentions of blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

~

“I… I don’t know, Sarah,” you sighed, gaze resting on your wall as you held your phone up to your ear.

“What is there to think about? Rafe and my dad left this morning and won’t be back until tomorrow night…”

“I know.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” you heard her huff over the phone. “Rafe won’t know. You’ll be back in your house and waiting for him like the perfect girlfriend before he even has time to pull into the driveway.”

She said it so sweetly that you almost laughed, but all you could do was worry. Ward and Rafe needed to go to Charleston—they’d be staying the night—and for the first time in a while, you’d be without Rafe for at least a day. When he told you, all you’d been able to focus on was 24 hours without having to walk on egg shells or having to overthink every word. It hadn’t even crossed your mind that this was an opportunity for…more.

Rafe had been extra irritable as of late so doing anything that could bring on his wrath was so far from your mind…but then Sarah called you the moment they left…and all of a sudden the idea of going to The Cut of all places was being presented to you. You sat up, sliding your legs underneath you as you wracked your brain. You cursed Sarah in this moment.

…because you did kind of want to go.

When it came to Outer Banks, the farthest you’d ever gone outside of Figure 8 was the beach which technically didn’t count. It was a middle ground of sorts. No man’s land, and because your parents hardly discussed what went on on the other side of the island, you’d never had much desire or curiosity about it. Things were different, now, though.

…and it wasn’t just because of Sarah.

Blue eyes came to mind…and they didn’t belong to Rafe. If someone had told you months ago that your thoughts would be consumed by one JJ Maybank and the effect he was starting to have on you, you’d suggest they needed to be in a padded room. A year ago, you could barely recall his name. Months ago, he was that guy from The Cut that your boyfriend hated with a passion. Now…

Now, he was the guy who sometimes sought you out for painkillers after his dad put his hands on him. He was the guy who liked to tease you and tell you how much of an asshole your boyfriend was. He was the guy who wasn’t afraid of Rafe…and he was the only one outside of your family that had access to your parents’ pool house.

So far you didn’t think you’d seen him using it, and you supposed he didn’t have to take you up on the offer, but you did feel better knowing he had access to a place where he could safely sleep for a few days if need be. As much trouble as it could possibly bring, you definitely didn’t regret what you did. JJ was in trouble, and while he was in trouble like you were in trouble, it wasn’t exactly the same.

He didn’t have security and resources like you did. You’d never seen his house, but the way Sarah talked, you felt it safe to assume that he didn’t have a cozy space where he could just lock himself away to safely hide in. You both were in pretty crappy situations, but you felt you had a lot more to be grateful for than him, and the more you thought about it, the more you wanted to see him just to make sure he was okay.

So, your next words didn’t surprise you.

“I can’t take my car,” you told Sarah, thinking about the AirTag.

You heard Sarah’s hitch of breath, and you knew that she was both surprised and excited by your response.

“You’ve seen John B.’s van. He could fit like ten people in there if he really wanted to,” she laughed. “I’ll ride my bike to your house and then he’ll pick us both up from there.”

You were a little in disbelief that you agreed to this, and you were still in disbelief ten minutes later as you looked in the mirror adjusting your skirt. You felt overdressed, but the most casual thing you owned was an oversized t-shirt that actually belonged to Rafe, and you didn’t feel comfortable walking out of the house in that. You’d changed three times in the span of seven minutes, and you would wonder why you felt so flustered and nervous if you didn’t already know deep down.

When your mother let Sarah into the house, standing in front of the mirror was exactly where the blonde found you once you gave her the okay to come into your room.

“It’s really not that big of a deal. They’re my friends, not Congress,” she said to you as she sat on your bed.

“…but what if they don’t like me?”

Sarah playfully rolled her eyes before standing. You watched her walk around your room, taking in the odd detail here and there.

“They’ll like you just fine. They’re not nearly as judgmental as the usual crowd you hang out with,” she murmured, pointedly eyeing a picture of Rafe on your nightstand. “Kie and JJ are really the only ones you need to worry about. Kie just has a natural distrust of anyone who hangs around Rafe and Topper and Kelce, to be honest.”

You pressed your lips together, unable to find it in yourself to blame her for that.

“…and JJ just has a natural distrust of Kooks, period, but…” she looked at you. “Considering you apologized to him for what Rade did, I’m pretty sure he won’t be nearly as hard on you. Plus, you gave him drugs. I’m willing to bet he probably even kind of loves you, now.”

She laughed to herself, and you had to remind yourself that she didn’t know about all of the little run-ins you and JJ had since then. You decided to trust her advice, fingering your skirt just as she looked at her phone. You’d only just been able to relax when she told you John B. was outside, and telling yourself that you were really going through with this, you followed her downstairs.

You gave your mom a kiss on the cheek on the way out, only telling her you’d be with Sarah for a few hours. While your parents were a far cry from Rose or Topper’s parents, you didn’t know how she’d feel about you going to hang out on the other side of the island, and you felt like it was the worst time to find out. When you made it outside, your heart had only just settled some…and then the door to the van opened.

…and your heart dropped.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing JJ along for the ride.”

“He wanted to see where Y/N lived,” the brunette shrugged.

You barely paid attention to Sarah and John B.’s small back and forth, still thrown by the sight of the blond. You thought you would’ve had more time to prepare yourself to be in close proximity with him for hours on end. You weren’t ready for it to start so soon, and you swallowed as Sarah climbed into the passenger seat, signaling that you were the last one holding everyone up.

While Sarah and her boyfriend discussed something or another, JJ held his hand out to you.

Your lips parted at the sight, and your heart skipped a beat in your chest…but not because of JJ. He was certainly staring at you with that intensity you weren’t used to from anyone but Rafe, but unfortunately…it was Rafe that you were thinking about. Your boyfriend wasn’t even on the island, and all you could think about was what would happen if he saw you take JJ’s hand, right now. It had you frowning and then frowning some more when you thought about what he would do if he found out you went to The Cut.

For a moment, you wondered what the hell you were thinking, and you had a feeling that it was written all over your face too. You were suddenly paralyzed by fear and doubt, and you opened your mouth, a thousand apologies on your mind for wasting their time. It was just on the tip of your tongue, and you were even about to take a step back…when JJ’s hand circled around your wrist.

Your wide eyes met his, and with a subtle shake of his head, he halfway leaned out of the van to take your other hand too. In a daze, you allowed him to pull you inside, carefully stepping up when he told you to watch your feet. His hand was still on yours when he closed the door, and you sat beside him just as John B. pulled out of the driveway.

You couldn’t tell if that had all happened so fast or if Sarah and John B. were just that caught up in their conversation.

You blinked, looking around the inside of the van and taking in every sticker and imperfection and every homemade effort to make the van comfortable. You looked at each of your sides with a frown, and you heard JJ snort from beside you. When you looked up, you weren’t surprised to find his gaze resting on you.

“There aren’t any seatbelts…so if things get rough, I guess you’ll just have to hold onto me,” he told you with a small grin.

Sarah heard that.

“Don’t be disgusting, JJ. She’s dating Rafe, and you know he’d run you down in a heartbeat for talking to her like that,” she threw over her shoulder.

“It’s fine, Sarah. I know he’s just joking,” you nervously chuckled, hating the mention of Rafe.

“Yeah, Sarah, it’s fine,” JJ seconded, and you chose not to focus on how he didn’t confirm that he was joking.

You gave him a look when he shot you another grin, and you tried not to focus on how awkward you felt. You couldn’t quite place how you felt about JJ, and that’s what made this whole thing even more nerve-wracking. Sarah’s friends were Sarah’s friends…but JJ didn’t exactly easily fit into that simple categorization anymore. He wasn’t your friend…he couldn’t be your friend…and yet weirdly enough, he kind of felt like it.

“So, Rafe won’t be back until tomorrow night, huh.”

You glanced at him, and accepting that you simply couldn’t ignore him like you usually liked to do, you sighed. You were in his best friend’s van on the way to his side of the island. Avoiding conversation with him under these circumstances would really make you seem like another stuck up Kook…and you liked to think that you weren’t.

“Yeah,” you told him. “He and Ward are in Charleston, and it just makes sense to stay the night.”

JJ seemed to be thinking that over, a slight frown on his face.

“So…what…? You were just going to wait around at home until he gets back?”

You didn’t like JJ’s tone, and you rolled your eyes.

“I do have a life, you know.”

JJ fixed you with a look as if urging you to go on.

“I have…online classes and things to do around the house…”

You trailed off when JJ snorted, and it didn’t sound humorous.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “What’s the point in going through the fuss of dating when you’re already his perfect little housewife?”

You felt yourself bristle at the blonde’s words, and by the slow smirk on his lips, you knew that he could tell how they affected you.

“I’m just saying. The way you act with him, you’d think that you’d have a ring on your finger and a baby on the way.”

You bit your tongue at that, unsure of how to even respond because he wasn’t completely wrong. All this talk about Rafe only made that uneasiness return, and you swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” you murmured.

You felt JJ’s eyes on you as your gaze found your lap. Sarah and John B. were still talking up front, and after some time, you heard JJ sigh. When he touched your hand, you reluctantly looked at him, and he at least had the sense to look apologetic.

“Hey,” he quietly said, voice lowered and gentle. “I’m just teasing.”

You tilted your head at him, privy to just what he thought of Rafe, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Mostly,” he slowly said. “I do think Rafe’s a controlling asshole, but…it’s not my place.”

He held your gaze, and you eventually nodded at him, letting him know you appreciated the unspoken apology. You turned to stare ahead, trying to ignore JJ’s close proximity and the way it made you all too aware of every feeling in your body.

You were reluctant to take a drink, knowing exactly how Sarah would react, and she didn’t disappoint.

“That’s…disgusting,” she spat, looking like she was moments away from being sick.

“Well, what am I supposed to do Sarah? Lie?”

The rest of her friends found the situation funny while the blonde was far from amused. A game of Never Have I Ever turned from something lighthearted and silly to something a little more…personal. With a few drinks already in you, it hadn’t occurred to you to just lie when Cleo said the words ‘never have I ever done anal’. Now, Sarah was looking at you like you’d just told her Ward liked to be handcuffed to the bed and slapped.

“I feel like that really shouldn’t surprise you, Sarah,” Kie commented.

“No, it doesn’t surprise me, I guess, but it’s not something I enjoy having confirmed,” she sighed. “Okay, considering Y/N is literally dating my brother, how about we forbid any more sex related topics.”

She was only met with more chuckles.

“I’m serious. For my sanity…”

“How about game over? I feel like going for a swim, anyway.”

JJ’s voice and tone startled you, and you only realized why when you looked at him. His expression was unreadable, but it was only then did you remember that when your gaze passed over him a moment ago, like Sarah, he too hadn’t been laughing. In fact, he’d been pretty quiet, and the sudden reminder of his presence caught you off guard.

“Yeah, I do want another beer,” John B. agreed, pushing himself to his feet.

Sarah and Kie followed him while Pope moved closer to Cleo, the dark-skinned boy saying something to her that made her snort.

“You know I have to ask, right?” he suddenly said to you, and you laughed to yourself, having a feeling where this was going. “What do you possibly see in Rafe?”

You could tell that Pope wasn’t trying to be an ass about it or nosy—he was merely genuinely curious. And thrown. Cleo shook her head at her boyfriend, bumping his shoulder with hers.

“The heart wants what it wants…”

Your attention was pulled away from them by the sight of JJ hurriedly getting to his feet. You eyed him, still thrown by his change in attitude, but you forced yourself to look away when he reached behind his head to pull his shirt off. You reluctantly gave Pope your focus again when he spoke.

“I mean, everybody knows that you and Rafe are together. You guys are probably going to get married, and sure it’s one thing to hear about Rafe’s girlfriend and see her in passing, but now I actually have you before me and I can ask you for myself… What do you see in that guy?”

Cleo laughed, and you forced yourself to join her. You shook your head, knowing that you could never tell Pope the truth in a million years.

“Cleo’s right,” you relented with a shrug. “The heart wants what it wants.”

Your answer was followed by a splash, and you glanced over, noting that you couldn’t really make out JJ in the dark. Pope’s soft noise of disapproval reached your ears, and you felt your face fall a little as you stared out into the water. Glancing at the couple before you—and seeing that they were wrapped up in a conversation—you stood and slowly made your way to where JJ was.

On the dock, you could make him out much better, and you eyed him as he slowly waded through the water.

“Isn’t it a little cool to be in the water?” you wondered after a few moments of neither of you saying a thing.

JJ chuckled, and in the dark, his teeth looked predatory.

“Only one way to find out for yourself.”

“Ha ha.”

He moved closer, and you watched him place his hands on the wood of the dock…just in front of your feet.

“Do I seem like I’m joking?” he wondered.

You rolled your eyes.

“For one thing, it’s a little too cold for me,” you told him. “…and also I don’t have a bathing suit.”

“Like a bra and underwear are really that different,” he commented.

“They are to me,” you argued.

The blond didn’t reply right away, and eventually a humorless chuckle reached your ears.

“I bet they are,” he dryly said. “Let me guess… One, Rafe wouldn’t mind you wearing out in public and the other he’d literally lose his shit over.”

You pressed your lips together.

“Am I right?” he wondered, reaching over to touch your leg.

You jumped at the cold wet feel, and JJ laughed to himself.

“It’s too cold for you to be in there. You should get out,” you advised.

“You sound worried…”

You were, and you pressed your lips together, wondering why that seemed so crazy to him.

“Besides, I don’t exactly enjoy hearing about your sex life with Rafe Cameron,” JJ drawled. “So, if that’s what I have to look forward to if I get out…I’m good.”

You blinked at that, and something in his tone told you he wasn’t opposed to it for the same reasons Sarah was.

“It was just a game, JJ…and he’s my boyfriend,” you whispered.

It was then that the blond finally decided to listen to you, pulling himself up onto the dock. His hair was weighed down with water, droplets dripping over his face and body as his gaze met yours. You didn’t understand how he wasn’t shaking—you’d long regretted putting on a skirt—and you straightened once it registered how close he was.

It took a lot of effort to keep your eyes on his face, and his own gaze briefly lowered when you crossed your arms over your chest. You could briefly hear his friends talking around what sounded like a small fire, now, but your attention was solely on JJ. His eyes flitted over your face, and you hated the way they lingered on your lips—mostly how it made you feel.

“Yeah, and we both know how I feel about that little fact.”

His words were quiet, just loud enough for you to hear, and you shuddered when his arm grazed yours as he brushed by you. You blinked a few times, forcing yourself to take a deep breath before turning and reluctantly following him. As you rejoined the others, you couldn’t stop glancing at JJ as he made his way inside, and knowing that you had no real reason to, you had a pressing desire to join him instead.

“I called you last night.”

You blinked, staring out into the yard at Sarah and her friends.

“I know. That’s why I called you back. I knocked out pretty early yesterday,” you told Rafe.

It was a lie.

John B. didn’t bring you and Sarah back to Figure 8 until after midnight. You’d made the decision to leave your phone at home. The only other option was to simply stop sharing your location with your boyfriend, and if you did that…he’d know something was up. It was better for him to think you were at home and just away from your phone in some way.

It was risky…so risky…but it was the most fun you’d had in almost two years.

Sarah’s friends were nice—mostly. Kiara was really the only one who hadn’t warmed up to you much, and considering Sarah’s explanation for why that may be, you didn’t fault her for it. She had every right to be wary of you, and truthfully, in her shoes, you might’ve done the same. Aside from that, you felt welcome…included…and most of all like your own person.

It felt good to be around people where you didn’t have to tip toe around anyone and be overly cautious of what you said or did. For the first time in so long, you could just be, and the thought had you blinking back tears. You didn’t know when you’d get to feel that again, and the train of thought almost had you missing Rafe’s response.

“You get too wrapped up in homework. Always falling asleep on your computer,” he chuckled, and you forced one in response. “I see you’re at my house.”

You pulled your eyes away from the window…only to be startled by the sight of JJ leaning against the wall.

“Yeah,” you told him after gathering your thoughts. “You know I just relax better in your bed, sometimes.”

Rafe hummed, and you eyed JJ again, frowning at the blond. He didn’t react, merely raking his eyes over you.

“We’re going to be leaving in a few hours. Is that where you’ll be waiting for me when I get back?” his tone of voice wasn’t subtle, and you felt your face fall. “I missed you last night.”

You took a deep breath.

“Of course,” you evenly told him. “I missed you too.”

Your phone call with Rafe only lasted a few more minutes, and when you finally hung up, JJ was still hanging around.

“You’re a lot quieter than you look, you know that?”

You moved past him, making your way towards the back door. You didn’t exactly expect JJ to follow you—fully expecting him to go out the front and rejoin his friends—but for some reason you weren’t all that surprised by it either.

“Why are you with him?”

That was the question that met your ears the moment you stepped outside. Scrunching your nose, you turned to face JJ, giving him a questioning look.

“Haven’t we been down this road before?”

“Yeah, but that was before…”

There was nothing humorous about JJ’s tone, and your own smile fell once you took in the evenness of his expression. There was a slight frown between his brows as he stared at you, and you felt a frown of your own taking over as confusion filled you. JJ was entirely serious—a first—as he gazed at you, and something on your chest sank.

“I don’t…”

“That was before when I thought…” he trailed off, throwing his arms up. “When I thought you were just another spoiled Kook princess.”

You briefly glanced away, shifting on your feet.

“I mean, sure. You come from a nice family, and you’re polite, but you’re dating Rafe, so I thought…how nice can she really be?”

You didn’t know how to feel about that, and JJ kept going before you had time to linger on it.

“You see those girls who’s dating some asshole that doesn’t deserve her, and sure, he doesn’t, but then you realize they’re more alike than you thought, and she actually isn’t too much better than him, and you know what, maybe they’re more suited than you assumed,” he scoffed. “Maybe her willingness to overlook what he’s like isn’t because she wants to see the good in him but because she can actually relate in some ways.”

Your face hadn’t evened out once since he started talking, and you eyed JJ when he stepped closer. There was a look in his blue gaze that you couldn’t place, and when he studied your face, you felt very…exposed.

“That was when I thought you were that girl…”

You swallowed.

“…but you’re nice,” JJ whispered, and for some reason, you really hated the way he was looking at you. “Actually nice.”

Your lips parted, and you fought to find something to say.

“Sarah’s always said it, you know, but…”

JJ’s words died in the air as he glanced away, and you watched his face harden, jaw ticking as he seemed to be deep in thought.

“All I could think last night was…” his eyes met yours again. “Why is a girl like that with Rafe Cameron?”

You took a deep breath, it was shaky, and you reached up to rub your forehead.

“JJ-.”

“What do you see in him?” he wondered, closer now. “Why are you with him?”

You shook your head, fighting to come up with the words.

“You…you don’t know him like I do,” was your response.

It wasn’t a lie.

“I don’t know him like you do?” JJ incredulously wondered, his face so close to yours. “My face and his fist are actually best friends, if you didn’t know.”

“I love him.”

You stared into JJ’s eyes as you said this, and the longer he stared into yours, the deeper his frown became. JJ blinked at you, once then twice, and you watched him rear back slightly. A few blond strands hung into his face as he eyed you…from head to toe and back, and he scoffed.

“You’re lying,” he whispered.

He continued just as you opened your mouth.

“You’re a good liar,” he said, just…watching you. “…but you’re not the best. You’re lying.”

Wanting this conversation to end, you looked away.

“Believe what you want, but why I’m with Rafe doesn’t concern you. It’s literally not your business.”

When you tried to go back inside, JJ blocked your path, and you looked at him like he’d lost his mind. It didn’t have the desired effect though, JJ staring you down with one raised eyebrow.

“Maybe I want to make it my business,” he bit out.

“Why? Because I was kind to you? Because I offered you a place-?”

“…because your boyfriend’s a dick.”

You stumbled back when he moved closer, the blond invading your personal space.

“…and I don’t think you want to be with him,” he murmured.

JJ’s boldness threw you off, and you frantically blinked, shaking your head at him.

“You don’t know what I want,” you whispered.

You only just realized how close JJ was, his nose brushing yours when he only leaned in a tad more. The realization had your breath hitching, and as JJ’s chest grazed yours, you felt like there was a roaring sound in your ears. For a moment, you forgot all about Rafe—your boyfriend—and all you could focus on was the relaxing scent of JJ and his nose touching yours and his chest being so close to yours.

Your heart was going crazy in your chest, and it took you too long to realize that you were…anxious…and yearning…for a kiss you thought was about to happen. That was because you wanted the kiss to happen, and that realization had you taking a step back, eyes wide and disbelieving. Your fingers were shaking as you stared at JJ, but the blond didn’t look nearly as distressed as you felt. In fact, there was a glint in his eye that was so familiar to you.

The problem, however, was that it was only familiar with Rafe.

…but JJ was not Rafe.

…and while the look was the same, the way you were feeling was not.

In a panic, you rushed by JJ, determined to go back inside and far away from him. However, your hand was on the door when JJ spoke again, his words making your hair stand on end.

“I think I can guess…”

You felt your stomach turn, and swallowing down food that threatened to come up, you hurried inside, slamming the door behind you.

[struniolos]

bags.

“cant you see me? i’m waiting for the right time.”

chris sturniolo x fem! reader.

synopsis: the one time chris convinces you to sleep in his room instead of nicks, and the truth comes tumbling out.

warnings: smut. minors do not interact.

the sound of chris’ mindless humming fills the air of his room, as you watch from his plush bed the way he thoroughly reads through your mid-term college paper. his hair falls over his eyes, and his legs sit apart. you could watch him like this for hours, how he just seems so calm and present- you try and capture these moments in your mind, like you could take a photograph with your eyes.

“honestly, i don’t think you should include the part about when your childhood dog died.” he speaks up, looking back at you.

you raise an eyebrow. “yeah, it’s not like it’s a core event that impacted my life which is exactly what the paper is supposed to be about.”

he quirks the corner of his lips upwards. “it’s just so depressing, you know?”

“my life is depressing.” you counter with a laugh, watching as he rolls his eyes.

“you asked for my feedback, and that’s what i’ve got. cut the dead dog story.” he says, trying to be as serious as chris sturniolo can possibly be.

you couldn’t help but smile at him, watching as he pushed his feet against the ground to sway his desk chair back and forth. his pyjama pants were definitely a sight to see, blue plaid. a secret, shameful voice in your head fantasised about how soft they would feel up against your skin. you glance down at your watch, which pulses to remind you of your sleep schedule.

“fuck, it’s 12am. i should probably head home.” you sigh, rubbing your eyes.

chris looks up as if he were a puppy. you imagined if he had dog ears they’d be perked up. “it’s too late! what if you get murdered or something on your way?”

“in my car?” you question.

he nods, wide eyed. “uh, yeah, what if someone, like, pretends to have been hit by a car then when you stop and get out boom! they stab you.”

“you sure it won’t be you? seems like you’ve had that planned for a while.” you chuckle, shaking your head. chris always had such strange theories and scenarios running around in his mind- if it was possible, you’d love to open it up and take a peak inside. a part of you wondered if you had a place in there somewhere.

he wafts you off with his hand. “you can sleep over, you know nick and matt won’t care.”

you hum in agreement, not particularly wanting to drive home at this late hour, not because of the potential murderers, but the fact that you were ready to collapse in a heap from how tired your brain was. “alright, i’ll go ask nick to pull out his spare mattress for me.”

“it’s so strange he has a spare bed for all his friends when they sleep over, like, just share a bed?” chris rambles, as he stands up and stretched his arms over his head, his stomach peaking out from under his white top. god.

“it’s not strange, it’s very thoughtful. he’s even got a spare cabinet of toiletries for when people stay over.” you point out.

“jesus christ.” chris groans, rolls his eyes.

“whatever.” you scoff, beginning to stand up off chris’ bed, dreading the thought of having to walk up two flights of stairs to get to nick’s room.

chris frowns at you, tilting his head. “you don’t have to go. why don’t you just sleep in here?”

“uh…” you try to muster up something, some dumb excuse for why you couldn’t. because i’m madly in love with you? because i won’t be able to control myself?

“so you’ll have a sleepover with nick but not me?” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “don’t make it weird. we’re just sharing a bed.”

“yes, exactly the point of why it will be weird.” you laugh.

“come on, it’ll be fun. we could watch a movie?” he suggests, a smile adorning his plump lips.

this flusters you, the thought of being so close, watching a movie together, alone, in his room. there was always someone with you, wether it be nick, matt, nate or madi. but not tonight- and that scared you.

“alright, i’ll stay for a bit but i’m not sleeping in here.” you tell him firmly, trying to lay down boundaries before you did anything stupid.

this seems to please chris enough, as he smiles and jumps onto the bed ridiculously, the weight of him bouncing the bed and making it squeak. a dark part of your mind thought about the other ways his bed would make those noises, but you shut it down immediately. once you sat down beside him, with your legs crossed, you scrolled through the netflix catalogue on his tv. you finally settle on she’s the man.

you can see chris in the corner of your eye scrunching his face up. “oh come on, really?”

“it’s a good movie!” you argue, hitting his arm playfully.

he scoffs at you. “so you’ve said about a million other movies that were all shit.”

“actually, could we not watch a movie? i’m really fucking tired.” you yawn, snuggling yourself into the duvet. you remain on top of it though, in a way of telling yourself to not get too comfortable. “i cant be bothered arguing about what to watch, anyway.”

“okay, well what did you want to do instead?” he asks, turning onto his side to face you, now. the only light in his room was that of the tv which illuminated his pale skin, his bright blue eyes glistening. it hurt just how gorgeous he was without even trying.

you shrug. “sleep?”

he nods, now rolling onto his back. you assume this means he is in agreement, but he doesn’t say anything. he just stares up at his ceiling fan, breathing slow. you watch him deep in thought, like his mind is really tinkering over something and gnawing at his insides.

“why don’t you want to sleep in here?” he suddenly says, turning his head slightly to face you.

you sigh. “because chris, it’s weird. we’re friends- we aren’t like, dating or anything. it’s not weird with nick, but with you…”

“with me what?”

your mind fogged with a cluster of everything. all of the stolen glances, the going places you knew chris would be there, always being at his beck and call because you were a ‘good friend’.

you sigh, deciding if you didn’t say anything now, you’d beat yourself up for it. “because...because i like you, chris, and i know you don’t feel the same. i know how you feel about relationships, they scare you. so it’s just easier if i set boundaries for myself and-“

“you like me?” he cuts you off mid sentence, now propping himself up on his side on his forearm.

your stomach sinks. there’s no turning back now. “yes.”

there’s a thick pause between you, and you prepare yourself for the worst. you squeeze your eyes shut, covering your face with your hands. why the fuck had you told him? you’ve ruined everything. now he will never want to hang out with you, and it’ll be awkward with nick and matt and-

“why have you never said anything?” he whispers, quieter than you’d ever heard him.

you swallow, biting your lips hard. “because i didn’t want to ruin not only our friendship but mine with nate, madi, matt, and oh god especially nick.”

chris nods slowly, like he’s really taking to what you’re saying, like he understands the weight of it and why you’d never said anything. why you’d always stayed quiet, and admired from afar. he touched his hair, mindlessly twirling a strand.

“nick never told you?” chris said softly, his eyebrows knitting into one. he looked sad, almost.

“told me what?” you whisper back, your heart now beating in your throat.

chris was never one with words, so when he leaned over and pressed his lips softly to yours, you understood this was his way of saying i like you too.

your cheeks were burning, as he cupped them in his hands. you both slowly began to roll over, with chris now hovering above you and his knee between your legs. you kissed him pathetically desperate, your body keening against his. you lips didn’t seperate once, as if you were breathing air into each other’s lungs and if you parted you’d suffocate. his hair tickles your forehead, his nose pushing into your cheek. you were waiting for yourself to wake up, that you had fallen asleep and this was only a sick part of your mind playing tricks on you. but it was real, he was real.

“fuck, i’ve wanted to do this for so long.” he whispers against you, as his hands roam down your body.

you gasp at the feeling. “you have?”

“mhm.” he murmurs, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “can i take this off?”

you nod, batting your lashes to look at him, and god, he was beautiful as ever.

“this isn’t going to ruin things between us, is it? because i’ll stop right now if it means you’ll never speak to me again.” he pleads, doe eyes looking at you wide and earnest.

“chris.” you whisper, your hand coming to hold his warm, pink cheek. “i would never not talk to you. i want this, i have wanted this.” more than you know you wanted to add, but couldn’t find the willpower.

“i want this too.”

you both assisted each other in swiftly discarding of your clothes, leaving you both only in your underwear. you felt so exposed, the fact he knew how to you felt and that your body was on display. he stroked your thigh as it came to curl around his back, his kisses travelling to your neck and collarbone. you moaned softly at the feeling, his warm lips lighting little fires within your skin. he bit at the plush flesh above your bra before removing it, his hands coming to hold and massage each mound.

you guided one of his hands down to your heat, begging with your eyes. “please.”

chris snaked his hand under your waistband, his slender fingers softly touching your folds. it was all so painfully soft, how he rubbed circles at your core while kissing you slow and deep. he shimmied your panties down, leaving them at your thigh. he dipped a finger into you, your velvet walls pulsating around him. your body begged for more, and chris listened. he was in tune with you, without having to say a word. he pushed in another finger, which elicited a deep moan from within your throat.

“that feel good?” chris murmured, his lips at your cheek.

“god, yes.” you whined, your body curling against his.

he pumped his fingers in and out of your wetness, as you clawed into his shoulders and shuddered against his bigger frame. you could feel him through his boxers, as he ground down against you. his pace increased as he felt you clench around his fingers, the sounds coming from you almost pornographic.

you moaned and cried for him, “chris! i’m almost- ah!”

your orgasm came strong like a thunderous tsunami, your legs stretching and your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your mouth hung open silently as no noise could possibly explain how euphoric you felt.

“mhm, that’s it.” he cooed, riding you through your high and praising you in your ear.

you would never be able to see him the same, never look at him platonically ever again. you knew this would ruin you. he kissed you deep, his tongue licking into your mouth.

“i want to feel you.” he moaned, grinding his constricted mound against your heat. “i want to be inside you.”

the weight of him on top of you combined with his honeyed words began to make you feel all hot and tingly again, as you pulled him incredibly close, your lips puffed and swollen.

“i want that too.” you manage, grinding up against him, the friction euphoric.

he pauses, looking down at you, his chain dangling in your face and hair flopping over his face. “are you sure?”

“mhm.” you hum, “need you.”

chris gives you one last firm kiss, before reaching down to pull his boxers to his thighs. your face flushed a deep maroon, watching as his leaking, pink tip pulsated. he rubbed himself gently, and you reached down to help him. he guided your hand up and down his length, and you felt yourself getting wetter. you shimmied your panties the rest of the way down, kicking them off your ankles. swiftly, he reached over to his bedside table drawer to grab a condom, ripping the packet with his teeth and gliding it down his shaft. you clenched your thighs with anticipation.

the brunette lined himself up with your weeping entrance, as you stroked his hair. you both watched as he slid into you, his tip disappearing into you. your jaw went slack, a pathetic moan tumbling from your plush lips. chris slumped over you once he had bottom out, his face in the crook of your neck.

“fuck, you feel so good.” he groaned, his hair tickling the nape of your neck. “can i move?”

“please.” you beg, as he lifts his head to lock eyes with you. you could no longer see the blue, they were merely bands around his blown pupils.

the first thing you felt was relief as he began to thrust in and out of you, his forearms leaning at each side of you as he held himself up. you knew it was quite vanilla, but thoroughly enjoyed being able to see his pink cheeks and open mouth as he moaned on top of you. his thrusts were passionate and deep, something you least expected from him. it felt ridiculously good, your body overcome with a warm fuzzy feeling deep from within you.

“faster.” you whimpered, holding his head with both hands, clawing into his soft dark hair.

he did as he was told. he picked your legs up, pushing them to your chest so you were folded in half. he began to snap his hips against yours, his balls slapping against your ass. he was impossibly deep, you swore you could feel him in your stomach. he grunted and groaned as he thrust, while you whimpered and clawed at his back. the noises coming from your bodies were ridiculously erotic, the wetness of your pussy and the moans escaping your throat.

“i want to hear you.” he growled, eyes dark and swirling with lust.

“ah, chris yes!” you cried, as he slammed deep within you, his hands holding the back of your thighs to keep you in place.

he quickly slipped out of you, and you almost cried at the feeling of being empty. he flipped you over so quickly you didn’t have time to register, your stomach flat against the bed and his chest flush against your back. he sunk back into you, and you pressed your head into the pillows, muffling your cries.

“oh my- fuck.” you moaned, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

his hands found purchase on the flesh of your hips, gripping it tight and using it as leverage for his relentless thrusts. his body slammed against yours, fucking you into the mattress. he reached around between you and the sheets, rubbing your sensitive bud.

“i’m close! shit!” you swore, biting your fist as he continued to slam into you, your ass bouncing against his pelvis.

“me too, ah!” he grunted, “i wanna see your face when i fill you up.”

you moaned at the thought, hoisting one leg up and twisting your core so that you turn around to look at him. he had a sheen of sweat coating his body and his lips between his teeth, while his hair fell in his face and his arms tensed as he held you down. the bed frame squeaked rapidly, thudding against the wall. there was no way nick and matt couldn’t hear you.

“fuck!” you cried, your orgasm washing over you in a thick wave. your vision was blurred, and your body froze.

the feeling of you clenching around him must’ve sent him over the edge, as chris’ hips stuttered with a cracked moan coming from his throat. he thrust into a few more times, spurting his hot liquid into you. your eyes were lidded, a dumb smile overcoming you as you watched him puff and pant. he collapsed beside you, but you made sure to face him so you could admire his post sex haze. you both lay in silence for a while, basking in each other.

“i cant believe we just did that.” chris mumbled, his finger tracing mindlessly over your face.

“me neither.” you breathe.

he thinks for a moment, pushing his hair out of his face to reveal his pink cheeks, freckles spattered over his nose. “you think matt and nick heard?”

“definitely. secrets out now.” you say, scrunching your nose.

chris laughs, reaching his arms to envelope you into him. he switched the tv off, now leaving you in the pitch black. as you lay there, caged within his arms, you couldn’t help but let somber thoughts cloud you. you wondered how things would change, what would you two become? was this a one time thing? did he really like you back or were you just another warm body?

“do you really like me too?” you whispered into the darkness, nuzzling your nose into his chest to feel his heartbeat.

“i always have. i just never know what to say in these situations. i get stuck.” he confesses, his hands running through your hair soothingly. “girls scare me.”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “who knew, huh? chris sturniolo, ladies man…is scared of girls.”

he laughs with you now, squeezing you tight. “shut up.”

you find yourself lulled to sleep by his breathing and the feeling of him pressed against you. you’d never felt so comforted, like you belonged somewhere, more than what you did in that moment.

[gladiatorcunt]

- TELL UR GIRLFRIEND | XV.

(tell ‘em, tell ‘em, tell ‘em) what it’s been with us this whole time

tags: kinktober prompt (cheating, not on reader), plus sized child of athena f!reader, unnamed random gf that gets heavily disrespected, obsessive behavior, reader’s lowk an entitled gifted kid, implied lack of boundaries, technology is allowed and older campers can live on the outskirts of camp, mutual toxicity, friends to lovers (derogatory), unprotected sex, breeding kink, arguable dub con sex & video recording, y’all are both enablers, creampie, emotional manipulation, canon divergence, southern!reader and luke hehe, implied murder, dead dove do not eat

note: pics are for aesthetic & vibes, hush.

please do no repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

You remember how this all started, getting too drunk at a party (Luke said you needed to reward yourself) and sucking him off in his room. Your big eyes boring into his as you gagged on him, your camcorder in your face, how you begged him to fuck you, to use you because he’s been so blind and you deserve it. He had to hold your head still because you were about to throw up, and you almost cried when he came in your mouth, begging for it to be in your belly, saturating your guts.

Your alcohol flooded brain wanted a baby more than you’d ever wanted anything in your entire life, even approval and admiration.

“See.” He hissed when you watched the video again in his room, before the second time, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit as you mewled, your head falling back against the couch. “That person loves me, would do anything for me, so drunk and desperate for my cock and they took it better than anyone else ever has. Like their pussy was made for me.”

You watched as Past Luke’s hands squeeze your tits through your top, holding them up for the camera. Past You drunkenly giggles, arching up into his touch. You wanted to stop watching, want to say it’s like a car accident you can’t help but stop and stare at, but you’re getting wetter as the video goes on. The rough rounds of fucking before and after the gentler ones, the random moments in between where he kissed your forehead and stroked a hand down your back to delicately cup your burning ass cheek.

The grainy footage includes him licking in between your stomach rolls and playing with your love handles, biting the fat on your thighs and spending a solid hour jiggling your ass in his hands.

Luke pushed his fingers into your entrance, watching your expression change. You had an out of body experience when two crackly low quality “I love you”s reached your ears, you saw it through Luke’s darkened eyes instead of your own.

“Gonna take that back, huh?” He whispered into your temple, shushing you when you try to shake your head, ‘friends can say I love you’. “I said it too, and no offense, but I wouldn’t have been in a staring content with your asshole while you were getting your pussy fucked if I meant it in a friendly way.”

You had agreed not to talk about it. Well, not “agreed” so much as you tripped over yourself getting dressed in the morning before he woke up. You probably would have avoided him until he hunted you down and locked you in a room with him. Now you’re watching an archive of a moment in time that should’ve never happened, but your wrap arms around the one that’s tensing with the effort of finger banging you and flicking your clit at the same time.

Luke paused the video and threw the camera Hades knows where. He grasped your chin in his newly freed hand, your pitiful sounds were muffled before you could give him any more excuses. You came around his fingers, getting his digits all sticky, then you let him fuck you again, sober, on the bed his girlfriend sleeps in when she stays over.

You’ve wondered if he ever humps the bed when he fucks her, chasing lingering remnants of your scent and your juices. If that’s what it takes to make him cum in the cheap condoms provided by the camp’s staff to the older campers. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, you may be a child of Athena but you’re stupid enough to let your taken best friend hit it raw whenever he pleases.

Which you proceed to do for the next few months.

“Come on baby, better bounce faster before she calls and asks where I am.” Luke teases, slapping your ass when your downward thrusts falter.

You look around nervously but your pussy clenches around him, you were the one that initiated after all. Climbing into his lap after he drove you home, batting your eyelashes until he unbuckled you and corralled you into over the console and into his lap. You’ve been crushing on him forever, your best friend, it’s only when he thought he could get a serious girlfriend who became more than a one night fuck that you snapped.

Morality and logic have always had a hold over you, that Athena’s child streak doing something nasty to your psyche. But she flipped out too back in the day, made women into spiders and snake monsters because she felt insulted, the apple will never fall from the sturdy branch.

“Shut up.” You hiss, digging your extra long acrylic nails (that he’s always paid for, his girlfriend has to pay for her own) into his sweaty pecs and slamming your ass down on him. “She shouldn’t be so toxic and just understand that best friends spend time together.”

“Maybe I should put her on speaker when she does, bet that’d make your lil’ crazy bitch heart happy.”

It’s not a question, because you both know it would. But for now it’s all just play, so you lean down to swap spit with Luke, sucking on his tongue as his dick fills you up raw. He doesn’t have any condoms in the car, and why would he bring them when he’s going to see his best friend? Never mind that you’ve both talked about your mutual breeding kings at length, life’s full of coincidences.

“Mmh.” He chuckles as you pull back, licking the remaining string of saliva away. “You’re wearing a new chapstick today, I like it.”

Your heart flutters, a giant butterfly with flame for wings making its forever home deep inside. Like his cock that hits that special spot every so often, you’d hit it more if you were focused but kissing Luke always gets you so messed up, you tongue fuck his mouth better than you actually fuck him. He taught you how to kiss back in middle school, couldn’t stand to see you pout from the sidelines after one too many games of spin the bottle.

You raise your hips and let his length slide out of you until only the tip remains, doing a few kegel exercises on it and giggling when you hear a throaty groan. You lean back and trail your hands up to cup his face, stroking the apple of his cheeks with a tender lover’s touch. His curls get their fair share of attention too, you curl your fingers around the ones hanging above his eyes.

“How bad do you want it?” Whispered into his open mouth, holding the world in your hands because he’s all you have and you’ll be damned to Tartarus if you’re not all he has too. “Want to give it to you so bad, always have, but this dick’s gonna be all mine or it’ll be nobody’s.”

You hump him as much as you can with his dick inside you, making sure he can every plush curve on your body mold to his shape. If you look down and squint you can see the dark spots on his pants, you’re staining him but the friction of the fabric against your lips only drives you to do it more. Your thighs fan out as you settle all your weight down on him and Luke tightens his grip so you can’t change your mind later.

Will you be embarrassed as hell when post orgasm clarity hits? Absolutely, but the way Luke’s pupils expand and his previously casual grip tightens on your wide hips to the point of pain make it worth it right now. He doesn’t answer quickly enough so you take his dick to the hilt again and just sit there, clenching around him in consistent bursts, giving him a second heartbeat.

“Fuck!” He hisses, he wishes he could fuck up into you without caring about you like he does his girlfriend. “You know how much I need it, stop playing, wouldn’t do the worst shit in the world just to keep you happy if I didn’t. How many more times do I have to say that?”

Your cheeks heat up and a spark lights in your eyes as you swiftly bring him into a kiss, gentle at first until you reach behind yourself to push his hands down to your ass. You start to roll your hips back into him, encouraging to play with you a little. These are the only times where you can let go and stop focusing on being so perfect.

Maybe you’re a bad person but that doesn’t really matter when you’ll always have someone in your ear and your holes saying the opposite.

Luke groans into the kiss and deepens it, squeezing the flesh of your ass until it bulges out between his fingers, pushing your jean shorts down to have easier access. His little cowboy, you’re so fucking cute his dick’s throbbing in your walls, you break away to kiss down to thick base of his neck because if you keep making out you’re gonna squirt and he’ll have to replace the seats again.

Soju combined with an obsessive years-long crush is a recipe for disaster, there are lingering notes of peach in the air as you start bouncing again. You both groan in unison, you swivel your hips and dig your knees into his car seat, bracketing his hips.

Your teeth threaten to sink into his throat but you can never summon up the will to do it, the image of your crooked teeth creating a unique jagged-blunt brand in his skin does more for you than the actual act. It’s all about the implication, the teasing, telling yourselves you’re toeing the line when your sticky bodies are pressed so close together the distance between atoms spans for miles.

Luke slaps your cheeks, lobbing them in his hands like they’re stress balls and not part of your body, he can tell that your thighs are wobbling already so he takes over without the usual smug banter and impales you on his girth himself. “Pussy’s so fucking tight, so much better than hers, what the fuck- just like that, baby- I’d kill for this, for the chance to pound any part of you.”

You haven’t let him in your ass yet, you’re saving that for when you’re pushed far enough. You can picture it now, cooing “Bless your heart.” into the phone as her boyfriend fucks your asshole so hard it nearly tears. You’d keep her on the line while he kisses your puffy red rim better, turning up the volume so her heartbroken ravings compete with Luke’s slurping sounds, like you’re the best and most heart healthy bowl of soup he’s ever had.

You pant into the leather headrest, just about under his ear lobe, you let him prove his strength by manhandling your curves and working your pussy on his dick to his liking by grabbing your ass. You used to sneak into his cabin dorm and watch him use a fleshlight, the same way he’s using you now, muscle memory but you get some sweet chaste kisses littered on your shoulders and the tops of your arms.

“Give me something to remember you by.” You whisper into the corner of his jawline, because if you try to speak any louder your voice will turn into a mess of whines and mewls, you do not beg. “It’s getting cold out, I could really use a gift to keep warm, you know I run chilly.”

Luke grits his teeth but you can already feel him speeding up your thrusts, the wet smacks of your juices providing the soundtrack to another episode in your affair. What could that woman possibly give him when you’re scientifically and comparably better? From the sounds and looks of things, your pussy’s top notch and you’d be a valuable asset in his obvious schemes.

Your best friend of all people knows better than to think you’re anywhere close to stupid (other then telling him to axe the protection when you fuck), but you love him and his cock so much that you’d follow him off the ends of the earth.

Drops of his cum leak out onto the pavement as you stumble out of his car, but Luke’s a gentleman at the end of the day so he leads you inside and when you wake up there’s a new winter scarf wrapped up in a box with a black bow on your silk pillow.

The note on top says he’ll be late tonight.

[pathologicalreid]

clue | S.R.

in which penelope hosts a new year's eve party. with a murder mystery theme.

who? spencer reid x fem!journalist!reader

category: fluff, slice of life

content warnings: all of the characters are dressed as detectives. marriage, murder, mentions of blood, fireworks, slight descriptions of fake violence, reader wears a dress, this is very haphazardly proofread. very slightly suggestive in the beginning if you squint.

word count: 2.95k

a/n: happy new year's eve friends! this idea has been rotting in my brain since i read the prompt. i started with the idea that i wanted reader and kristy to win and a dream, and now here i am. it was genuinely so much fun to write. (and now i have spencer x journalist!reader brain rot) i always see people writing for these challenges but this is my first time participating!

i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins' office party challenge based on the prompt "Penelope planned a Murder Mystery party... with a bunch of criminal profilers. Great. (Bonus if a non-profiler wins)" thank you so much for this challenge!

“I have no idea why Penelope felt the need to rent an AirBnB for a New Year’s Eve party,” you whispered, getting out of the car along with Spencer. “Or why we had to dress in costume,” you said, pulling your shawl over your shoulders.

Gently reaching over, Spencer tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ears, “It’s a Penelope Garcia party, that means it’s a production. Additionally, this is the first New Year's Eve we’ve been in town in four years, which means there’s no need for an MHM.”

Grinning up at your fiancé, you responded, “There does seem to be a moratorium on violent crime this holiday season.” The best Christmas gift you received this year was finding Spencer sleeping in bed next to you when you woke up.

You watched him reach into the back of the car for his jacket. The costume description Garcia had given him was similar to what he wore on a normal day. You helped him pick out the brown sweater vest and matching tie, but he selected the rest of the ensemble. “Did I tell you that you look incredible?” He asked, pulling his jacket on.

“I believe those were the words that caused us to be fifteen minutes late, Dr. Reid,” you chided but smiled nonetheless when Spencer pulled you close and embraced you.

You felt him smile against your neck, “Worth it,” he whispered.

Dragging him by the arm, you stood on the porch and knocked on the door. Almost instantly, a familiar voice rang out, “You have to use the knocker!” Penelope called out.

Sighing, you rolled your eyes and took the bronze adornment in your hand and knocked it against the red-painted door. The heavy door swung open and you were greeted by Penelope Garcia, “Welcome Dr. Reid and Someday Mrs. Reid, to the New Year’s party that will, likely, be the New Year’s party to end all New Year’s parties.”

“I have no doubt, Pen,” you stepped forward and hugged her. “You look great, I love this color,” you told her, settling your hands on your shoulders. She wore a lime green button-down dress with an old-timey collar, and her blonde locks were pulled up into a French twist.

Spencer and Penelope greeted each other, and Garcia led the two of you to a sitting room, “Where did you find this house?” Spencer asked, walking in behind you.

She waved him off, “I am the master of all things Internet, I found it online and thought it was perfect.”

Your heels clicked as you followed the two of them. They were quicker, Penelope knew where she was going and Spencer naturally had a long stride, not to mention the restriction of your gown. “Perfect for what, exactly?” You inquired.

“A BAU Murder Mystery party!” She answered as if it was obvious.

A wolf whistle from the other side of the room caught your attention, you turned around to see Tara grinning at you, “Well how about you.”

Blushing, you spread the skirt of the red silk dress out and gave a fake curtsy, “Oh this? Just something I had lying around.” In reality, you borrowed the dress from a coworker. Its only fault was being just barely too long for you.

Once you observed Tara’s costume, an off-white button-up with brown suspenders and matching pants, the gears in your head clicked into place. “We’re dressed as characters from Clue?” You asked, looking at everyone’s costumes. It all suddenly made so much sense, you were Miss Scarlet, and Tara was meant to be Colonel Mustard.

“Well, there are only so many characters to choose from, so I needed some other detectives to choose from. I picked Nancy Drew, Spencer is Sherlock Holmes with Matt as his Watson, and Krystall is Jessica Fletcher from the renowned television show Murder She Wrote.” Penelope pointed at guests as she explained their outfits, “Kristy is Daphne of the differently renowned television show Scooby Doo, and Luke refused to dress up at Hercule Poirot.”

Your eyebrows raised up, “I didn’t know not dressing up was an option,” you admitted. Despite the weather being unseasonably warm, you were still cold in your dress.

Sending a pointed look in Luke’s direction, Penelope cleared her throat before responding, “It wasn’t.”

Putting a hand to his chest in mock hurt, Luke feigned shock, “I did dress up as a very famous detective. Matt Simmons of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“But does that really count as famous?” The man himself, Matt asked teasingly.

In response, Luke gestured around the room, “Everyone here has heard of him.”

You tuned the two of them out. When provided the time, the two of them could bicker for hours. You looked at everyone else’s costumes, the rest of the group was from the board game. Emily was Mrs. White, Rossi was Professor Plum, JJ was Mrs. Peacock, and Will was Mr. Green.

The BAU spent so much time sequestered solving crimes that it was a wonder to have the entire group here at the same time.

After effectively shushing Luke, Penelope made her way to the center of the room, “Okay, I know what you’re all thinking ‘Penelope, we spend all of our days solving murders, why would you plan a murder mystery party?’” She stood up straight, pushing her shoulders back, “Well, I’ll tell you, the idea for this party came to me when I had the flu last month.”

“Are you telling us this party was conceived from a fever dream?” Emily asked, she leaned forward in her all-white outfit, resting her elbows on her knees.

Pointing at Emily, Penelope grinned, “That is exactly what I am telling you, my dear. Now, let me set the stage for you.” She clapped and the lights went out, bringing everyone’s attention to a projector screen that had just lit up against the only bare wall in this room. “Our victim was a resident of this house. What’s her name? You might ask. Patricia Gomez, heiress to a large fortune and a company that makes socks.”

A quiet chuckle came from the other side of the room, “This is quite the fever dream.” You had to agree with Rossi, Patricia Gomez was an almost painfully uncreative name. Still, everyone went along with it.

“Save all questions until the end, please!” Penelope scolded, “I have folders made up for each of you, with information on where your characters all were at the time of the murder. Before attending this party, the killer was already notified of their status, they may try to fool you.”

You skimmed through the folder that the technical analyst had handed you, it looked like a real FBI folder, but you didn’t doubt that Garcia had resources to make realistic fake files. The body had been found, stabbed in the kitchen, the time of death set at noon.

Matt stood up first, reaching out his hand for Kristy to take, but they didn’t get far. “Oh no, no partnering with your partners,” Penelope said, laying down another rule for her party.

“What are you saying?” Spencer asked, looking between you and her. It was sweet knowing that he had wanted to team up with you, it reminded you of how you first met. The FBI profiler and the investigative journalist.

Garcia sighed, “If you are canoodling with someone, you may not investigate with them.”

You shrugged at Spencer and walked toward Kristy instead, “What do you say, Daphne? Shall we?”

“Oh, I think we shall,” Kristy responded, hooking her arm through yours.

“Hey,” Luke interrupted, “It’s not fair for the investigative journalist and the lawyer to be teamed up to solve a murder.”

Stopping in your tracks, you stared at him for a moment, “Luke, you work for the FBI. If anything, I think we’re at a disadvantage.”

Together, you and Kristy made your way to the kitchen, as you walked away you heard Luke ask Garcia to be his partner, the two of you laughed as she told him she wasn’t playing because, “Somebody has to keep things organized, Newbie!”

Looking around the kitchen, you found a chalk outline, but not much else. Of course, this wasn’t a real crime scene, there would be no blood, and for all you knew, Kristy was the killer.

“What are you thinking, Dave?” You asked Rossi, who had teamed up with JJ. Maybe a seasoned profiler would push you in the right direction.

He cocked his head like he was weighing his options, “Well, the folder says there were only four people in the building at the time of the murder, and only one of them was close enough to the kitchen to pull it off. Logically, the best option is Mrs. White.”

So, he thought Emily was responsible. You scrawled some notes down about the kitchen before you and Kristy decided to move to the bedroom, “It says Watson – Matt - was in the main bedroom at the time of the murder, Mrs. White – Emily - was in the pantry, Jessica Fletcher – Krystall – was in the basement, and Professor Plum – Rossi – was in the library,” you read from the file.

“Then Dave is right, Emily is the only one who was close enough to get to Patricia,” Kristy reasoned. There wouldn’t have been time for anyone else to commit the crime in between the time the body was found and the time of death. The timeline of events was very short.

You shrugged, “Then I guess we could probably go to the library until the timer runs out.” Picking up the skirt of your dress, the two of you left the bathroom and walked into the library. Leaning up against the shelves, you intertwined your fingers in front of you, “Do you have plans for the new year?” You asked Kristy, tilting your head.

She hummed, “A lot of our plans tend to change. You know, with Matt’s job and the kids, but we’d like to take some kind of vacation, even if it’s just a day trip.” She answered, brushing her long hair over her shoulder, “What about you?”

“Oh,” you said, “You know, getting married.” You answered, “Then we’re just planning on seeing where life takes us, I think. You’re right, it’s hard to plan around the job. I can’t imagine adding kids into the mix.” The thought gave you a whole new respect for Kristy – and Will, for that matter.

Kristy smiled, “Totally worth it, though.”

Laughing it off, you pushed yourself off of the shelving, “I think I’ll take your word for it,” you responded. “For now,” you added, looking around the library.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, following your gaze around the library.

Realizing this must be how the BAU feels all the time, you answered, “Something is bothering me about this case.” Kristy beckoned for you to go on, “They all solve crimes like this every day, so in order to make it fun for them, Penny would have to make it at least a little bit of a challenge, right?” You asked.

“You think it was too easy?” Kristy asked.

You started pacing around the library, along the front of the desk. “The answer being Emily is too easy. There has to be something more to it.”

“Well, the file says she had experienced a blow to the head shortly before her death. So, is it possible she was incapacitated somewhere else and then moved to the kitchen to be killed?” Kristy asked, flipping through the file, she was sat on top of the wooden desk.

Nodding, you looked at the generated picture of your fake victim. She wore a large ruby necklace, her hair was pinned up, but in the list of effects and evidence, a necklace was never mentioned. “Did you see a necklace in the kitchen?” You asked, flicking your eyes over in her direction.

Immediately, she shook her head you spun around to go back to the kitchen. Mid-spin the heel of your shoe hooked into the too-long fabric of your dress, causing you to tumble ungracefully to the floor. “Are you alright?” Kristy asked. Not for the first time tonight, you found yourself jealous of her shorter dress. Damned board game characters.

Groaning in response, you blinked in an attempt to reorient yourself. In your peripheral vision, something caught your eye: a necklace. “Kristy,” you whispered urgently, hoisting yourself up into a sitting position before reaching over to grab the gold chain. It was crusted with something red that you could only hope was ketchup. Unless Penelope was taking this game way too seriously.

You lifted the chain curiously. “That’s the necklace that Patricia was wearing when she died!” Kristy exclaimed, “But that means…”

“Rossi did it,” you said from the floor. “And he tried to fool us with his poker face.”

Setting the necklace on the desk, you reached down to take your heels off. Kristy spoke, “Do you think the necklace is enough evidence for us to make our case?”

Raising your eyebrows, you looked up at her, “I don’t know. You’re the lawyer, do you think it’s enough evidence?”

She nodded, “I think the evidence pointing to Emily is circumstantial, but this necklace has substance to it. And no one else has gone through the library, so at the very least we’ll have a unique answer.”

You grinned, “I like the way you think, Mrs. Simmons.” You reached out your hand and she helped you up, “Let’s go show these FBI agents how it’s done.” The two of you headed back to the sitting room.

The room was full when you got there, “Ah, I thought we were going to have to send out a search party for the two of you!” Penelope said, “Sit, sit, I’m sure we have some excellent conclusions to go through.” She handed the both of you glasses of wine before you sat down next to each other on the velvet chaise lounge.

Honestly, it reminded you of grade school. When your teacher would go through the answers on the homework, only for you to find that, somewhere, you had done something terribly wrong. By the time it got to you and Kristy, half of the people said it was Emily, almost half had said it was Matt, and one person said it was Kristy.

Nonetheless, the two of you stood up and announced your conclusion, “it was Rossi,” you said in unison.

“First, we met with David in the kitchen, and we asked him what he thought,” you said. “He could’ve said no, he could’ve said something else, but he told us how he thought Emily Prentiss was the killer.” You explained, “Now, as extremely professional detectives, we know that frequently, killers can’t help but insert themselves into the investigations.”

Lifting her hand in a waiting gesture, Kristy continued, “But we heard him out, and we trusted his conclusion. Until we didn’t, that is.” She said, “After some more expert investigation, we went to the library, where Rossi had claimed to have been at the time of the murder. It was there that my partner discovered the victim's necklace. It was broken as if it had been torn off of her neck, and there was blood on the chain.”

“This is combined with the report that the victim had experienced a blow to the head before she died, which could’ve easily been inflicted by the corner of the very desk I discovered the necklace beneath,” you resumed. “We propose that David Rossi, otherwise known as Professor Plum, incapacitated the victim in the library, before moving her to the kitchen so he could claim he had no part in her death.”

Rossi looked up at Penelope, who grinned and nodded, “I didn’t even realize I had done that in the kitchen earlier. Are you by chance looking for a new line of work?” He asked, getting a chorus of laughter in response.  

“For my two winners,” Garcia said, her smile still bright as she draped two medals around your and Kristy’s necks. “Thank you, everyone, so much for playing this game. I know it’s hard to see it as a game when it all feels so real, but I appreciate you for separating fact and fiction for tonight.”

It was Luke who responded first, “Of course.”

“But maybe,” Rossi said, raising his wine glass in his hand, “Maybe next year we’ll just do a normal party.”

Tara raised her glass in response, “If you’re hosting, I’m attending.”

You nodded, concurring, “Far be it from me to miss a BAU party.”

Behind you, Spencer loosely wrapped his arm around your waist, “It’s almost the new year.”

“Aha!” Penelope said, “I have one last surprise for all of my favorite people! If you’ll just follow me out to the deck, we’ll be able to see the fireworks from here!”

Outside, the cool air bit at your bare skin. Ever the gentleman, Spencer draped his jacket over your shoulders. Grateful for the warmth, you pushed your arms through the sleeves and turned to face him, “You know, we’ve been together for years, but this will be our first New Year’s kiss.” You said, studying his face, every detail that you’ve come to know over the past few years.

Distantly, you heard the rest of the group counting down, but you were too focused on Spencer. “It won’t be our last, though,” he promised.

You grinned up at him, “As long as we get to go to the BAU party, Sherlock.”

“Of course,” he whispered, leaning down to press his lips to yours. “Happy New Year, Miss Scarlett.”

[morganwrites12672]

Normal?

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: She had known Sam growing up. The two had both dreamed of a normal life. Sam had gotten out, she hadn't. One day, she decides to visit him at Stanford.

Word Count: 1.6k

Rating: PG-14

A/N: I hope you enjoy this! My requests are open.

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Her life was like a movie.

Not one of the good ones, no. Her life wasn't like a romcom. Her life was like a goddamn horror movie.

After her mother's rather brutal murder committed by a Werewolf, her father had lost his mind. The man had been on a bloody war path to kill anything Supernatural he could get his hands on. She had been dragged down the horrible path with him. Having been only five whenever her mother was killed, her memories of the woman were spotty. Almost everything she remembered from her childhood was shitty.

Cheap motel rooms, killing ghosts, lying to everyone she met, and nightmares. That was it. She didn't have a life that was considered enjoyable. She hunted monsters. She saved people. That was her job. She wasn't the girl who would get the happy ending. No, she was the girl who got to experience most people's nightmares every day of her life. Sure, it sucked. But, it had some not so sucky parts.

One of those parts was every second she spent with Sam Winchester.

She had first met the boy whenever she was twelve. Sam had been thirteen at the time. He had been clumsy with legs far too long and lanky for him to control. He has tripped three times on the walk to the cabin. Her father has bought the stupid cabin shortly after she had turned nine. It was a good place to store extra hunting supplies. It didn't get used much. Her father couldn't sit still for long.

The two had been walking through the woods together. Listening to John and her father talk had grown tiring. And Dean was no better. He was pissed off about something, she hadn't bothered asking Sam what. She was content to let the older Winchester brother sulk while she showed Sam her favorite places in the woods.

As they walked back, she remembered how he suddenly stopped. She had been curious and turned around to see why. His words had come as a surprise.

"Do you ever want to be normal?" He had asked her. She would have thought it was a joke if not for the serious expression on his face.

"I don't think we get to choose," She had replied. She knew they didn't. Both of their fathers had forced this life upon them.

The conversation had ended there. Sam had been more quiet than usual once they were back inside the cabin.

She woke up with a surprising smile. It wasn't often she dreamt of something so pleasant. More often than not her dreams were plagued by literal monsters. Or, people she hadn't been able to save. The later option sent a chill down her spine to think about. Those faces would haunt her forevermore.

It was one of the rare nights she had actually slept. She was used to catching a few hours here and there. No time for sleep whenever she had monsters to kill and people to save. It wasn't like her father had ever let her sleep in whenever she had been a child. Old habits die hard.

As she slid out of bed, her smile widened. She was only a few hours away from Stanford.

In a few measly hours, she would get to see him again. It has been months since her last visit. It wasn't often that she had any downtime. Hunting kept her busy. She had began hunting on her own shortly after she had turned nineteen. Working with her father had been too much for her to handle. She still hadn't been able to shake her father's voice from her head anytime she took even a night off though. His words seemed to be ingrained in her brain.

'If you stop working, people die. I didn't raise you to be a goddamn slacker.'

She didn't waste anymore time. She quickly showered before throwing everything else together. She was in her car, driving towards Stanford within half an hour. The anticipation of seeing Sam had her all jittery. She felt absolutely ridiculous. Almost like some school girl with a stupid highschool crush.

The drive seemed to have taken ages (only three and a half hours). As she finally parked her car in front of the address Sam lived at, she practically flew out of her car. She had wanted to leave immediately after she finished her hunt, but she had been too exhausted. Once she had finished it she had practically passed out. Vampires were tiring to deal with.

She took the stairs two at a time before knocking on the door.

Sam opened the door and greeted her with a smile. She threw her arms around him immediately. It had been months since she had had the time to visit him. She had also been thousands of miles away. Her lifestyle made anything inconvenient. It was worth it though. This time it hadn't been hard. Only a few hours out of her way. Not like last time.

"God, I've missed you."

Sam pulled away from the hug, smiling at her words. They were good friends. Both of them harbored small crushes (not very small anymore). Yet, neither would admit it. They both liked things how they were.

Sure, she wished she could kiss him right now. But she didn't. Their friendship was too perfect to ruin. Neither one of them would ever risk it for something more.

"I'm sorry it's been so long, I haven't been anywhere near California in a while," She explained. She had tried though, several times. But, she would always get drawn away. Always. It pissed her off. She wanted to drop by and check on him more than she did. She knew Dean had part of that covered though. Even if he refused to tell Sam about his visits.

Sam couldn't believe she had made it. For weeks, she's told him she would visit soon. He knew how the hunting lifestyle went. It could have been months before she had enough time to visit him. His heart fluttered at the thought. She was willing to go out of her way just to see him.

"Don't apologize. I know how busy you stay," He said. He didn't even want to think about what she had been doing. Hunting was a dangerous business. He hated that it was the business she was still in. He cared for her, even if he knew they were just friends. He couldn't help but wish for something more.

After she had spoken, Sam invited her in. The two made small talk for a while. Catching up on everything. She asked him about his classes and how he was enjoying college. He asked her about the hunts she had been on. The two exchanged information about those topics for a while. Until, a question Sam asked caught her off guard.

"You don't seem happy hunting anymore," He blurted, and it was true. Whenever she was younger it had been easier to pretend. Now, it got difficult. She got to watch other people her age be normal. It stung. "You don't have to keep doing that. . ."

His words were more true than she was willing to admit. She stayed silent for a minute, considering her reply. She hadn't spoken to her father in months. She didn't even have to tell him that she was quitting. She could still hunt on occasion, only cases close to wherever she chose to live though.

"I. . . I don't know what I would do."

"Anything you want," Sam replied. "Go to college, get a job, have a life. You. . . You could even stay with me for a while at first," he offered.

She considered his words. As she was thinking, her gaze fell to his lips for a brief second. She instantly looked away as a light blush stained her cheeks. Could she stay with him? Could she be normal for once?

As she looked back to answer him, she noticed how close they were. If she took a step forward, she'd be close enough to kiss him. Alarm bells were ringing in her head as she took the step. Living with Sam and keeping her feelings a secret would be impossible.

Sam seemed to notice what she was trying to do. Before she could move any closer, he was all over her. His arms around her waist, his lips mere inches from hers. He gazed down at her. And, she realized something. From the look in his eyes, her feelings were definitely reciprocated.

"Is this okay?" He murmured against her lips.

She threaded her fingers through his shaggy hair, "More than okay."

His lips met hers. The kiss was passionate and messy. Neither one of them had the patience to start slow. Already Sam was deepening the kiss. A soft moan left her lips at the sudden action. She pulled on his hair slightly as he continued kissing her.

"Does this mean you'll stay?" He asked, his hands slipping her shirt over her head. He took in the sight of her wearing a bra in front of him. It took every piece of self control in him not to rip off the rest of her clothes this second.

"I'll stay," She replied, kissing him again. Their lips moved in tandem together as Sam unclasped her bra. In a few more seconds Sams shirt had also been discarded. His hands fondled her bare breasts as she tugged on his hair.

She knew that there would be a lot of obstacles. It wasn't easy to quit being a hunter. It had been her life for so long. But, she would figure it out with Sam.

This was just the beginning of their future together.

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A/N: Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a comment and reblog!

[leossmoonn]

five nights with mike (2) | mike schmidt

read part one

summary - a romance develops between you and mike at freddy’s

warnings / includes - reader is fem. established feelings. natural time skips. very loosely follows the plot of the movie but i didn’t want to watch it again for this lol. eventual smut - piv, oral f receiving, brief handjob

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18+ under the cut

“thank you so much for picking me up. you might have to tomorrow, too.”

mike glances at you, giving you a small smile. “it’s no problem.”

you buckle yourself in and set your purse between your legs on the ground. “how is abby?”

“great. she asks about you all the time,” mike chuckles. “oh,” you sigh, putting your hand on your chest. “she’s adorable. maybe sometime we can eat lunch or something together.”

his heart spikes and he nods enthusiastically. “that-that would be awesome. yeah and, uh, i can pay this time. i can even make it, too.”

“mike schmidt cooks, huh?” you grin at him. “i only know how to make a few things, but i like cooking in general. just give me a recipe and i’ll try my best,” he says.

“mmm. well, i love a man who can cook,” you remark, looking out the window. heat creeps up mike’s neck and reaches his ears. “just let me know what kind of food you like, and i’ll make it. i’m not a trained chef or anything, though, so if it’s bad then i don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

“i bet you’re better than me. i personally like baking better,” you say.

“baking is cool, but it takes too long and i’m an impatient person.”

“well, how about you cook and i’ll bring the dessert.”

“oh, you don’t have to do that,” mike shakes his head. “you’re already so busy with work.”

“it’s no trouble. i’ve stated to get later shifts at my day job. it means i work later, but more time to sleep and some more time reserved for things like baking.”

“that’s great to hear. do you feel like you sleep better now?”

“no,” you snort. “if anything, i feel worse, but that’s just my brain. i can tell my body appreciates it.”

mike hums in response. “tonight you can sleep the majority of the shift if you’d like.”

“and leave you all alone? no. after what happened to abby, i’m kind of scared to sleep there.”

mike rolls his bottom lip in between his teeth. “don’t let abby scare you. she has lots of imaginary friends even before i took her there, which won’t be happening again.”

“right,” you sigh. “it’s just that i swore i heard other voices. like a man’s voice.”

mike feels the hairs raise up on his arms even under his jacket. “maybe tonight we can scope it out.”

“sure. hopefully we don’t die. imagine those fur things coming to life and murdering us,” you shiver in thought.

mike chuckles, “that would be wild.”

mike parks his car at the pizzeria. you grab your purse and lead the way in. as you step inside, there’s a cracking sound. you look under your shoe, seeing a bunch of glass on the floor.

“holy shit,” you gasp. you look at the diner, seeing it totally trashed.

“fuck, um. yeah, steve mentioned this to me earlier. i-i must’ve forgot,” mike says sheepishly. he really did forget. he must’ve been so clouded by his excitement to see you, he scraped his conversation with steve completely.

“it’s okay. it’s not like you warning me would’ve changed what happened.” you can’t believe your eyes. it seems like every table in the diner is flipped over or broken. glass litters the floor and you’re thankful you chose to wear sneakers tonight and not slippers like you have been. “what did happen?” you turn to mike.

“i guess a bunch of people came in here after we left and trashed it. i’m not sure why. i swore we locked all the doors.”

“yeah, i thought we did, too. we wanted to get abby out of here fast, though, so we could’ve missed something.”

“yeah, that’s what i was thinking, too,” mike sighs. “i guess you really won’t be getting any rest tonight.”

“it’s alright,” you shrug. “i just don’t know if we’ll be able to get the diner back to its original state.”

“it’s not like anybody but us comes here,” mike jokes. you smile and nod, “right.” you set your purse down on one of the booth tables that isn’t destroyed. “let’s get to it.”

mike and you spend most of the night cleaning. you were shocked to find even more mess in the hallway and kitchen areas. everything was going smoothly until you find what you think is blood splattered all over the storage room window.

“mike?” you call out. there’s no answer and a pang of worry hits your chest. “mike?” you shout louder.

“coming!” you hear him. fast footsteps echo in the hallway and you can’t help but feel creeped out. you always thought this place was weird and dinky. you only accepted the job because you found out another person was working, and while you feel very save with mike, you just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something seriously wrong with this place.

“what’s up?” mike asks. you point to the window and his eyes widen. “oh,” he says. “um, maybe that’s the blood of the person destroying the place?”

“maybe. but it’s from the inside.”

“yeah,” mike gulps. “we can tell steve about it or something. we were hired to babysit this place, not be a clean up crew.”

“right,” you nod. he grabs your hand gently and you feel butterflies erupt in your tummy. “let’s go back to the office. we only have a couple more hours here. we can relax from cleaning then just be done.”

you smile in agreement, letting him lead you out of the hallway. soon your mind wanders away from the eerie feelings. you talk about everything and nothing. you laugh at every terrible joke he makes. he listens intently to stories about your family. with each minute, it seems like you two get closer — both emotionally and physically. by the end of the shift, you’re sitting knee-to-knee. your foot is brushing up against his jeans, feeling the muscle of his calf. both of your hands are rested on the desk and his fingers routinely brush up against yours. soon, they’re basically intertwined. you don’t know how they got there, but you’re not complaining.

“looks like we made it without dying,” mike says. you grin, “until tomorrow.”

“shall i take you home, then?” he asks. your face falls and he catches it, but you’re quick to mask it. “yeah, sure.” the disappointment seeps into you, but you know you’ll see him again soon. you just wish you could have more time with him.

you both walk out, triple checking that everything is shut and locked. the car ride home is silent, but it’s comfortable. you glance at mike every so often, admiring him from the passenger seat. his hair is tousled from running his hands in it. his eyebrows are furrowed as he focuses on driving, his eyes moving every so often as he watches the road. your eyes trial down the shape of his nose, noticing the tiniest bump towards the top.

dread fills you as he pulls into your driveway. you purse your lips as you try to think of what will allow you to spend more time with him.

“what’re your plans for today?” you ask. “nothing much. abby’s with a babysitter right now. thankfully, it’s the weekend so i don’t have to rush to take her to school,” he answers.

“ah,” you hum. he looks to you, seeing your face in deep concentration as you stare at your lap. “what about you? you work later today, right?”

“yep. at 2,” you say. he glances at the dashboard clock that reads 6:30 am. “you have a while then. are you tired?” he asks.

“not really. honestly, staying up all night kind of gave me a boost of energy.”

“me, too,” he nods. you can’t help but sigh. there’s no good reason for him to come inside or even for you to go back to his house. you figure you just have to wait until tonight.

“thank you again for driving me. are you able to pick me up later?” you ask.

“of course,” he nods. you smile, “great! i really appreciate it.”

“it’s really no problem,” he smiles. you start to get out of the car, but he stops you. “hey, can i, uh, use your bathroom really quickly?”

“yeah,” you nod a little too much. “thank you,” he says, stepping out of his car. you unlock the front door, trying to remember if you left your house a complete mess or not. you’re relieved to see that you did not.

mike looks around your house. it looks identical to his from the outside, but the inside is a whole different story. he wonders if you hired an interior decorator because of how beautiful it looks.

“the bathroom is down the hall to the right,” you say. he turns to look at you, then to the hallway. “thanks,” he says, making his way to the closed door.

you take off your shoes, placing them neatly on the small shoe rack you have by the door. there are some dirty dishes on the coffee table in your living room from your last meal, but you’re sure he doesn’t mind. everyone has dirty dishes laying out from time to time. you take the opportunity to load them in your dishes washer, re-folding some blankets and fluffing up the couch pillows.

you’re sat on your couch when mike comes out.

“are you hungry?” you ask. “no,” he lies. he wants to stay, but he doesn’t want to be a burden to you.

“oh, come on. we haven’t eaten in like, eight hours. at least i haven’t. i have some cinnamon rolls that would love to be baked.”

“would they, though?”

you giggle and stand up. “will your babysitter mind staying a little late?”

“i’ll call her,” mike says. he takes out his phone, dialing his home phone. it takes a moment or two for someone to pick up. “hello?” abby’s voice echos.

“hey, abby. is max there?” he asks. “yes. she just got me breakfast from mcdonald’s,” abby says.

“oh, that’s nice of her. do you mind if i speak to her real quick?”

“okay. max!”

mike quickly pulls the phone away as abby yells into the mic.

“hello?” max says. “hey, max. i, uh, got caught up at the pizzeria. are you able to stay and watch her for an hour or so?” mike asks.

“yeah, of course,” she says quickly. “awesome. i’ll pay you extra, i promise,” mike says.

“it’s okay, mike. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“yep,” he hangs up, waking into the kitchen where you’re setting out the dough.

“ah, these are pre-packaged,” mike remarks. “nobody has time to make cinnamon rolls by scratch,” you say.

“says the person who likes baking. or do you just like fake baking?”

“this is not fake baking!” you exclaim. “i am putting it in the oven and going to put icing over it.”

“whatever you say.” mike leans against your counter, crossing his arms over his chest. you can’t help but notice him flex his biceps.

“i bet you fake cook,” you quip. his brows raise in question. “and what does that entail?”

“you put a foam cup full of ramen and warm it up in the microwave.”

“those are delicious.”

“i mean, yeah, but it’s so hard to put an egg in it and sometimes the noodles aren’t soft enough.”

“well, i usually cook my ramen on the stovetop. so if i ever make you that, you’ll know it’s real cooking.”

you laugh at his joke, your eyes flickering from the rolls to him a few times. you think about doing this again with him, next time with him making you food. you think about being in his house, seeing how he lives, looking at the pictures he may have on the walls, or lack thereof. you think about sitting on his couch and watching a movie, shoulders and knees touching. you wonder what his room looks like, what color his sheets are. you want to know what he looks like sleeping and waking up. you want to know what he looks like on top of you and between your thighs.

“what else do you know how to make?” you ask.

“chicken pot pie.”

“pot pie? wow.” you are genuinely impressed.

“i’ve been told i make a mean stir fry, too.”

“you’ll have to make it for me then. does abby like your cooking?” you ask, putting the pan in the preheated oven.

“only if it’s spaghetti and waffles.”

“i see that she’s a simple girl.”

“food-wise, she is. but i don’t mind. they’re both easy things to make.”

“it’s sweet.” you turn to him, leaning against the counter diagonal from him. “how you take care of her. she’s lucky to have you.”

“truth is, i’m lucky to have her. we don’t always get along, but she keeps me going.”

“that is adorable,” you awe. “i am an only child, so i envy people who have siblings.”

“it’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but it’s nice just having someone there.”

“seems like it,” you say. you move to your coffee maker, turning it on and finding a k-cup to use. “would you like some coffee?”

“i would,” he nods. “can you grab us some mugs? they’re in the cabinet behind your head,” you direct.

he does so, placing the cups on the counter. he moves to slide it to you at the same time you put your hand on it. your heart skips a beat. your eyes shoot to his and you see they’re already on you. you watch his eyes trail down to your lips and the back up to your own eyes. you feel weak in the knees as he stares at you through his lashes. his eyes are wide and full of innocence, but there’s a hint of mischief in them as his pupils begin to widen.

“thank you,” you say, your voice coming out barely above a whisper.

“mhm,” he hums, his voice low and smooth. “how do you like your coffee?” you ask.

“one sugar and a splash of milk or creamer. whatever you have,” he answers.

“i have some creamer in the fridge.” you head towards your refrigerator. he watches you as you bite your lip as you search for the creamer. you shut the fridge door gently, setting the creamer next to the coffee maker. you open the cabinet above of you, grabbing a couple packets of sugar. he keeps his eyes on you as the silence settles in.

this feels so nice. being with you in your house feels nice. being close to you, spending time with you feels nice. mike wants to do this every day. he wants to fall asleep holding you close like he did the other night in the office. he wants to live with you and make dinner for you, having it await your arrival after your day shift. he wants to wake up next to you, tracing circles on your skin until they eventually become replaced with kisses. he wants to know how you’d look on top of him, riding his dick and face.

soon the cinnamon rolls are done. you take them out of the oven, waiting a few moments before icing them.

“you’re pretty good at icing,” you say. “thank you. these are kind of hard to ice since they’re so warm,” he chuckles.

“yeah, you’re supposed to wait, but i’m starving.” you take a bite into the roll, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. mike can’t help but notice that his jeans feel uncomfortably tight all the sudden. he takes a bite of his roll, making a note of how good they are.

“you can never go wrong with these,” you say. you take another bite, some icing sticking to the top of your lip. “you have a little bit of something here.” mike’s pinky points to his own lips.

“oh, god,” you laugh, heat creeping up your neck from embarrassment. “i should’ve warned you, i’m a messy eater.” you take a napkin and wipe it over the bottom half of your lip.

mike smiles and sets his roll down. “here, let me.”

you nod and place the napkin down, his fingers brushing against yours once more. he moves closer to you, leaning his head in to where your foreheads are almost touching. his gaze is trained on your lips as he cups your face, swiping his thumb over your lips. you don’t realize you’re holding in a breath until he looks into your eyes.

“thank you,” you manage to say. your throat feels dry all of the sudden and you feel hot all over. “no problem,” he says.

the air is thick between you two. you’re so close, closer than you’ve ever been. you can feel the heat radiating off of him. when you inhale you can smell him. he smells like the woods, spearmint, and vanilla. you can recognize the spearmint smell from his car. you wonder if the woodsy smell is natural and if the vanilla is the scent of his body wash.

he doesn’t move is hand away and you’re sure you don’t want him to. his eyes move across your face, not sure whether to stare at your lips or your eyes. he sucks in a deep breath, swallowing slowly. you watch as his adam’s apple bobs up and down, his jaw becoming more sharp as he bites down on his back teeth for a moment.

“can i kiss you?” his voice is low and warm. your eyes flutter in surprise, your heart following in suit. his big brown eyes stare into yours, holding your eyes hostage.

“yes,” you finally say. he slowly moves in, his hand moving upwards to touch the nape of your neck. you try to control your breathing as you watch his eyes flicker from yours to your lips. he brushes his bottom lip against yours, causing a thrill to run up your spine. his head moves back slightly, but he makes up for it with closing the gap between you two.

kissing him feels like a weight taken off your shoulders. all the tension you’ve felt releases as you move your lips with his. he kissed you so gently, a little too soft, like he’s holding back. after a few seconds he pulls away, both of you catching your breaths.

“i’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he says. you smile, grabbing his free hand. “well, don’t stop.”

he kisses you again, this time harder. it’s almost bruising. he grabs your waist, holding you tighter and closer. you take a shower breath and his tongue slips into your mouth. you moan softly as his hand slivers down to your ass and squeezing the soft tissue. your arms wrap around him and your weave your fingers through his hair. it’s so soft like you’ve always imagined.

“can i do this?” mike breathes against your lips. your eyes are still closed as he slides both hands up your shirt. you answer him by pulling away completely and taking your shirt off, revealing your nude-colored bra. you expect his eyes to drop down immediately, but you watch as they follow your jaw and down your neck. they sweep across the area where your collarbones are, then finally landing on your breasts.

his hands walk up your sides, making you laugh a little bit. he smiles at you, his eyes jumping up to yours now. you can’t help but squeeze your thighs just by the way he’s looking at you. he attaches his lips to yours once more, but it’s not long before he starts to trail down to your neck and your chest. you unhook your bra, letting it fall off your shoulders to the ground. you lean against the counter as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your hardened nipples. you let out a little gasp as he pinches them, looking up at you to try and gage your reaction. he closes his lips around one nipple, flicking it with his tongue. you sigh this time, your hand falling to his head.

you feel his hands skim down to your pants. his fingers hook under the waistband, feeling over the cotton of your underwear. you shift your weight, feeling that the tension is almost unbearable. it’s painful as you watch him slowly slide down your pants. he runs his tongue down the valley of your breasts, pressing wet all over your tummy before landing at the top of your underwear. you step out of your pants, feeling the cold air hit your legs, making you shiver.

his left hand grabs the underside of your thigh. his hand is so warm against your cold skin. it feels nice, but not as nice as the feeling you get when he runs the pads of his fingertips down your underwear. he skims just over your slit, feeling some of the wetness that has collected. you want to slap the smirk off his face, but it makes your stomach flip.

“is there anything i should do?” he asks. now he looks all innocent, staring at you with wide eyes and raised brows.

“i could think of a few things,” you say. “mm, like what?” he inquires. his fingers are at the side of your panties. you watch in anticipation as you wait for him to pull them to the side. “tell me what you want,” mike says.

you swallow hard. “i… i want your fingers inside of me. and your mouth on me.”

you can see all of his top teeth as he smiles. “that’s all you had to say.”

you spread your legs, using the counter as a crutch. he pushes your underwear aside, slipping one finger into you. heat creeps up your neck at the sound of your cunt gushing. he slides it out momentarily, finding your clit to moisten the area. he slides two fingers in this time, curling them inside of you. he watches you again, seeing your lips part and chest heave up and down. you feel your brain go numb as he keeps his eyes locked on yours as he brings his mouth to your cunt.

“ohmygod,” you rush out, your head lolling back. his tongue flicks your clit, sucking every so often. you lead so far back your back is supported by your cabinets. one of your hands hold his head, your fingers gripping his hair. your other hand is digging your fingernails into his clothes shoulder.

“fuck, mike,” you gasp as he quickens the pace of his fingers ever so slightly. he hits that spot so perfectly, and you can’t help but squeeze your thighs around his head. his tongue starts making stronger strokes on your clit. not enough to make it hurt, but enough to make you feel like you’re already about to orgasm.

you’ve talked to mike about past lovers. you know he’s had a couple and for only short periods of time. you assumed he would be experienced, but not an expert, which you had no problem with. he’s sure as hell proving you wrong now.

“don’t stop, don’t stop,” you breathe out. you place one hand next to you on the counter, gripping the marble top so hard you think it might leave an imprint in your palm. “mike, mike,” you warn him, your throat constricting and heart racing. your toes curl in your socks and you clench your thighs around his head one last time.

you have to push his head away, seeing the dazed look on his face. his fingers exit you and he sucks them dry. you visibly gulp, feeling warmth fill your lower stomach as you watch him. all you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears and your heavy breathing.

“good?” he asks. “yes,” you nod enthusiastically. “so good.”

you grab him by his shirt, crashing your lips onto his. you taste yourself on his lips. both of your hands drop down to his jeans, undoing his belt quickly. his heart skips in excitement as his pant pool at his ankles. you palm him through his brief, feeling how hard he it. it must be painful, you think, and it is. he was already hard from the moment he kissed you, and it didn’t get any better when giving you head.

you pull away and wet your hand with your spit, shoving your hand down his boxers. both of his hands grip your waist as you wrap your fingers around his length, pumping it in your hands, squeezing every so often. your other hand reached down to his balls, massaging them gently, but at the same pace as your other hand.

“shit,” mike groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. he already feels like he’s going to blow a load. he hasn’t had sex in a long while, but he didn’t his stamina was this terrible. he knows it’s you, though. you’re the reason why his fingertips are digging into your skin. you’re the reason why his pre-cum is leaking all over your hand. you’re the reason why when he feels like he’s close to coming, he stops you because he wants — no, needs — to feel what it’s like inside of you.

“do you have a condom?” mike breaths out. “yeah,” you say. you quickly make your way to one of your drawers, pulling out a packet. “these work?” you ask.

“yes,” he nods. “you just keep condoms laying around?”

“easy access,” you shrug.

“you fuck everybody in your kitchen, then?”

“only my hot co-workers.”

he blushes at your comment. you give him a wink, tearing open the condom. you hand it to him and he slides it on. you grab the bottle of lube you keep handy as well, slathering it onto the condom, giving mike a playful squeeze that elicits a low groan. he takes you by the waist and kisses you, spinning you around so now yours against the counter again. you take your panties off and hop on, the cold marble feeling nice against your blazing hot skin.

you lean back, watching mike line himself up with you. he looks into your eyes then back down, pushing himself inside of you. you gasp softly, your grip on his shoulders tightening. he starts off slow at first, basking in your warmth and tight walls. but soon, he’s fucking you. he slides his arm under your back and pulls your bottom half towards him, causing the angle to change. he hikes one of your legs up, allowing him to lean into you more and just hit that spot deep inside of you deliciously.

“mike,” you pant into his shoulder, holding yourself close to him. he makes your eyes flutter shut and roll back farther with each thrust. you pulsate around him with every whimper and moan that comes out of his mouth. you soon feel that familiar feeling bubble in your lower stomach.

mike rests his head against your cabinet, looking down and watching as he slides in and out of you. his grip on your sides tighten as he tries to focus on other things than you, but he can’t. you’re just too sexy. the way you’re moaning in his ear, chanting his name with each thrust. the way your nails begin to scrape against his shoulder blades. not to mention, you look amazing just sitting on the countertop. he can’t not think about you and the fact that he’s inside of you.

that’s all he needs to finish.

you wrap both legs around him as you come. your head leans back, your eyes screwing shut. he comes with you, stopping after a few slow thrusts. he slides out of you, chest heaving up and down. you squeeze your legs together and swear you can still feel him inside of you.

he ties the condom and throws it into your trash can. you have a big smile on your face when he turns to look at you. he can’t help but mirror it.

“how, uh, was that?” he asks, suddenly becoming bashful. “amazing,” you breathe out. “how did i do?” you ask teasingly.

“you were…. perfect.” his pupils are blown and you can’t tell where his iris starts. his words make your body feel even more warm. you jump off your counter and put your clothes back on, making a note to wipe off your counter with lysol soon.

“i should get back home to abby,” mike says. your smile falls, but you understand. “she probably misses you.”

“probably not,” he chuckles. “well, i know i will.” you take his hands into yours.

“you’ll see me soon,” he says, his thumb tracing circles on your skin.

“i will,” you smile, starting to feel excited again. you walk him outside, leaning on the hood of his car. “i hope to do this again sometime,” you say.

“me, too. maybe sometime before work i can make you dinner?” he suggests.

you’re smiling so hard your cheeks are starting to hurt. “i would love that.”

————

taglist

@celestbarnes

[jedi-enthusiast]

I haven't made a post in a while, so here's my think piece on why the "Anakin was sleep deprived and thought Padme was going to die" excuse for his actions in ROTS is bullshit, since I feel like tossing my two-cents into the conversation.

----------

I have really bad anxiety and, when I am without my medication, that anxiety turns to extreme paranoia. I am also in a near-constant state of minor sleep-depravation, since I suffer from insomnia, but when my paranoia kicks in, I will go days on end with little to no sleep.

Some backstory, so that all of you understand exactly how and why my anxiety when it comes to death/sleep is so severe:

I had cancer a couple of years ago- (about three I think, but my memory from that time is very foggy) -and, during that time I suffered from something called Methotrexate Toxicity, which is when chemo leaks into your brain---or, at least, that's how the doctors explained it to me.

In short, I went to sleep one night and woke up paralyzed, and for a week I was certain that I was going to die.

I'm better and am no longer paralyzed, but now when my paranoia kicks in I become convinced that---if I go to sleep---I'm going to either die in my sleep or wake up paralyzed again and then die. Depending on how severe the paranoia is, sometimes I also become convinced that my mom and dad will die as well if I sleep, usually in a car crash---since my dad has almost died in a car crash twice.

I become physically unable to sleep because I am so terrified of doing so.

Now Anakin, as he's portrayed in Lucas canon, has no such issues---he only suffers from occasional nightmares, not the sleep depravation/paranoia combo that I suffer from. I'm sure we can all agree on which is worse.

Even if he did suffer from the same issues, though, it still doesn't excuse his actions.

I have had times where I've been up for almost 3 days, running off of 3-4 hours of sleep and convinced that the moment I fall asleep I'll stop breathing, and still I have never thought of harming other people. Mass murder, genocide, whatever! None of it has ever seemed acceptable to me, even during my worst spirals.

So I don't give a fuck whether Anakin was sleep deprived or running on fumes or what, he's still responsible for his actions!

[the-kr8tor]

Hello, I've been trying to reach you about your cars extended warranty:)

(Requesting Reverse Isekai AU thingy please^^)

I don't even have a car 😭 (thank you for requesting muah 😘)

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, lovestruck reader, reverse isekai AU, fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

One minute you're mindlessly scrolling through your phone with your headphones blaring loud music, a minute later you're screaming bloody murder when a geometric glowing portal pops up in your room. It made everything in the room glow orange and yellow as confusion and surprise took over your form.

Are you getting abducted by aliens? Are you in an episode of Rick and Morty? If so, then multiverses are real, it's either that or the mold from your numerous stock water bottles has finally gotten to your brain.

A half second into your contemplation, out comes a man that you're oh so familiar with and oh so smitten with. His boots thump loudly on your floors, spikes glimmering under the red LED lights. The whites of his mask widen when he spots you cowering in the corner, darkness overtakes you when his oh so familiar voice echoes above the whir of the portal.

“This ain't 1346.” You fall off the bed like a damsel in distress.

—

You wake up to water gently splashing your face, flicking more like. And your head aching, eyes adjusting to the sudden light.

“Fuckin' finally, I thought you were dead.” A garbled voice utters as your ears try to waken up from your deep nap. “You alright there?” His voice clears and you still think you're dreaming when Hobie Brown's mask pops up in your vision, droopy eyeliner, spikes and all that jazz that you've practically memorized in your mind.

You thought your poster has once again fallen off the walls and onto your bed. But no, when you touched his bicep abruptly, eyes as wide as saucers, lips stuttering out his name. Your favourite character is real and right in your bedroom, flicking water from one of your numerous discarded water bottles on your bedside.

Even your wildest imagination couldn't make this up.

“You're Hobie Brown.” You say in disbelief, voice just above a whisper.

“Yeah, I figured you know me based on all of these…” he roams his eyes on your walls and table. “...posters and stickers. What am I over here? A rockstar or somethin’? Since you know my name.”

“You're Hobie motherfucking Brown!” You screech, suddenly jumping off the bed, looking like someone just told you Santa isn't real.

“That I am.” Said man has the audacity to smirk at you. And you swear you would have fainted again. “You a big fan?”

“I love you.” Your voice merely a murmur but he for sure heard it as the eyes of his mask widened for a brief second.

“I think it's time for us to chat, yeah, love?”

“L-love? Fucking…” voice wavering, you drop once again, but this time he catches you perfectly without the motion sickness from traveling to one dimension after another.

Hobie chuckles, eyes staring at your sleeping face, mouth still agape from the surprise and skin hot under his gloves. “Never thought someone could faint twice in one day.”

—

There's a glass of cold water in your hands, legs nervously bouncing under the blanket. He sits at the foot of your bed, giving you enough space so as to not make you uncomfortable in your own home, and to also not make you pass out (again) from the close proximity. His iconic boots are discarded, vest folded next to him, and mask in his pocket. You almost fainted again when he took it off.

“So, this Miles from earth–1610 is gonna get chased by Miguel and the entire society because he doesn't want his canon event to happen?” You nod as he recalls your story. Not a story anymore as this Hobie hasn't experienced it yet. Of course you didn't tell him the entire plot, just in case it rips a hole in the space time continuum. “And a few people are gonna need a watch?”

You sniffle, skin so warm that you think you're boiling the water in your hands.

“Hmm, that checks out. Good thing I started making these watches then eh, love?” His mischievous smile makes your stomach do flips, you're sure he's doing it intentionally.

Pinching yourself under the covers, chugging down the cool water, you muster up enough courage to actually speak coherent words.

“H-how’d you get here?”

“Fucked up my coordinates, I think. I'm pretty sure I'm not in Kansas anymore.” Hobie chuckles at his own joke before switching his attention to your wide eyed self. “Wizard of oz, you do have that here, right?”

“Y-yes,” you say meekly, drowning in his blue? Grey? Or brown eyes? You have no idea as his borders and colors change every minute or so. Nevertheless, you're absolutely done for. You guess this is what it feels like to meet your favourite celebrity, or in this case, favourite character. “Reverse isekai.” You whisper, nerding out at the possibilities.

“A what?” He says in his accent and you tamp down the feeling of wanting to say it back jokingly.

You clear your throat, “nothing.”

Nodding, he inhales, eyes darting around your fangirl room full of fandom merch and of course spiderverse merch. He zeroes in on the body pillow peeking under the blanket. You immediately lift the covers up to hide it, accidentally spilling water all over yourself and the bed. *Great, very smooth, you thought.

His eyes are soft and full of endearment whilst he watches you frantically and desperately dry yourself off.

You hope that he doesn't tease, but you know him, know his character, so you anticipate what happens next.

“What was that then?” He pats your foot, head tilting to look at you. You feel your head swirl again, and you swear the water spilled all over you evaporates from the sheer heat from your skin.

“N-nothing, Hobie.” You sink into the mattress.

“Right,” He unfolds his vest, putting it back on. “It's been great, but I gotta go.”

“Oh,” you blink, “do you want me to take out the posters? I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “Nah, not uncomfortable, I've been in worse dimensions. This ain't that bad really.”

“They're bootlegs if that makes it more okay.”

Hobie laughs and you practically melt from the sound.

“Bootleg, huh? That's a great name, project bootleg it is.” His smile blinds you for a second. You feel like you've ascended to heaven. “I have a tight schedule, being Spider-Man and all, but maybe I can visit again to get some insider knowledge of the future. Eh, Oracle?”

“S-sure,” you choke on the singular word. “It's a date— wait– no, I meant—”

Hobie chuckles, hands on his hips, bouncing on the balls of his boot clad feet, and border turning bright pink. For some reason, in all your clumsy and goofy self, you just made *the Spider-Man sheepish. Not just any Spider-Man, Hobie Brown, your absolute favourite out of all the thousands of Spider-people in the entire multiverse.

“It's a date then, no fainting next time yeah? I'll still catch you anyway, but it wouldn't be that fun if you're sleeping through it.”

“Okay.” You manage to say, heart loudly beating in your chest when his art style changes into love poems etched into his design.

He jumps inside the portal to hide the poems, winking at you before his body disappears into the void.

As the portal closes, you pass out once again, with a lopsided smile this time.

[gullemec]

Red Underlined

Golden Cage - Chapter Six

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: You confront the aftermath of your night with Butcher and your father hosts a rather interesting dinner party.

Warnings: angst, language, butcher being emotionally constipated and a dick about it, discussion of sex, discussion of grief, daddy issues galore, discussion of death/murder, reader has an emotional breakdown, discussion of suicide (not reader), sexual tension, Homelander is a creep, unwanted touching (from Homelander)

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.8k

A/N: Lots of emotional constipation and angst and daddy issues here, proceed with caution! Also Homelander makes an appearance and is such a nasty creep so beware of that too.

This time when you wake, it's with a start. No warm embrace, no welcome weight tethering you, just the cold shock of reality rousing you from a fleeting dream. Your heart thuds as your half-awake brain searches the room.

Butcher sits across from you, perched in the room’s stiff wingback chair, his silhouette outlined by the pale dawn light. He’s fully dressed, boots planted firmly on the floor, arms crossed like he’s preparing for a battle.

“Butch?” Your voice comes out groggy, uncertain. He doesn’t look at you. “What are you doing?”

“Get dressed,” he says, flat and clipped.

You blink at him, confusion prickling under your skin. Yesterday’s clothes are scattered around the room, discarded in the heat of passion. Gathering them, you can’t help but notice how he averts his eyes, a rare show of decorum. But his body is stiff, his expression locked in that impenetrable mask.

Does he regret it?

The thought coils in your gut like a snake, equal parts hurt and fury. You’ve had enough of his hot-and-cold act, especially after the mind-blowing sex you'd shared just hours earlier. 

By the time you’ve dressed, the tension in the room feels suffocating. Without another word, he leads you out to the waiting van.

He may be older than most of the guys you usually sleep with, but his maturity level might actually rank below theirs. 

The silence on the highway is unbearable, the minutes dragging like hours. You stare at him, his profile rigid as he grips the wheel, his jaw tight. Finally, you snap.

“Look, I’m not doing this,” you begin. “I'm not subjecting myself to another awkward car ride, so you'd better come right out and tell me now if you regret last night.”

He exhales hard through his nose, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel.

“I don't,” he says, after what feels like an eternity.

“You don't what?” you push, unwilling to let him off the hook.

His lips press into a thin line, the struggle playing out across his face as he tries and fails to find the right words. 

“I don't regret it. At all. Last night was one of the best nights of my fucking life, all right?”

Your heart skips, but the relief is short-lived.

“But it was a mistake,” he continues, voice low. “We shouldn’t have done it.”

The sting of rejection hits you like a slap. “Why not? Because you suddenly grew a conscience?”

“Listen, love, you're young. You got a future ahead of you. I'm too damn old for you. I’ve got more baggage than Heathrow, and none of it’s carry-on.”

“You think I care about that?” you fire back, your voice rising. “You think I don’t know who you are by now?”

“It’s not just that,” he says, cutting you off. “This job? This life? It’s dangerous. You don’t have room for emotional ties if you want to survive it.”

“Who said anything about emotional ties?” you retort, even as your chest tightens. You could play it cool. Maybe the two of you could be purely physical, using the kinetic energy you share for sexual release alone. Sure, you'd be betraying the growing sentiment you'd developed toward the abrasive man, settling for his physical affection alone if he truly couldn't find it in him to serve you emotionally, but at least you'd have some shred of him to keep for yourself. 

But the way he shakes his head tells you it’s not an option.

“You deserve more than that,” he says firmly, eyes fixed on the road.

You scoff, anger bubbling up. “That’s rich, coming from you. You certainly weren't saying that last night when your dick was—”

“You think I don't want to be able to give you that?” His voice is raw, startling in its honesty.

The fight leaves you for a moment, the truth of his words sinking in. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t let you see the cracks in his armor.

“You’re gonna meet someone,” he says, quieter now. “Someone who can give you the life you deserve. Someone who doesn’t drag you into this mess. Someone better.”

You scoff, hurt quickly turning to anger. “That’s bullshit,” you snap, your voice trembling. “Don’t pretend you know what I want, Butcher. You think I’ve got some perfect life waiting for me? Have I ever given you any reason to think I want anything more than being a part of the Boys? You think I don’t know exactly what I’m signing up for?”

He says your name, gently, like a prayer, finally turning to look at you. 

“Listen to me,” you tell him. “This is the most alive I've felt since my mom died. For the first time in my life I feel like I'm really making her proud. And I'll be damned if you get to decide what my future looks like.”

He finally turns to look at you, his hazel eyes softening. “Of course you get to decide what you want, if that means working with us. But you deserve to be happy, love. And I can’t give you that. I’m sorry.”

The apology hangs heavy between you, cutting deeper than you’d expected. You turn away, staring out the window as your eyes sting. You won’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him.. He cannot know the deadliness of the blow he has so casually dealt you. 

“Thanks for being honest, I guess,” you say quietly, your voice brittle.

The silence stretches, thick with unspoken words. Finally, Butcher clears his throat. “I get it if you don’t want anything to do with me after this. MM and Frenchie can take over—”

For an angry, petulant moment you want to agree, to let your hurt be known. But it's not what you want, not even close. As much as the sting of rejection smarts right now, complete separation from him would hurt even more.

“No,” you interrupt, the word sharper than you intended. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “It doesn’t have to be like that.”

A part of you does feel relief, knowing that you would have fallen into bed with him regardless of his true feelings for you. Your bones and atoms had screamed at you incessantly to crash your very being against his, and you had fulfilled that request. Maybe you could let go of this preoccupation now. 

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The road hums beneath the tires, the tension easing just enough for you to breathe.

“It was just a one time thing,” you offer, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. 

He nods, too quickly. “Purely physical,” he agrees. 

“Right. No one has to know,” you assert. 

Probably for the best. It was bad enough that everyone at your internship thought you only got the position because of your father, you didn't need the others in the Boys thinking you were only there because you were fucking their boss. 

Still, he holds your gaze, shoulders tense, only tossing a glance toward the road when absolutely necessary. He's assessing you for truthfulness, picking up on the smallest tells in your voice that you're not as casual about this as you'd like him to think. 

You hesitate for a moment.

“It was really good, though,” you admit.

And, like a dam, his cool facade releases, posture softening. “It was really fucking good,” be agrees enthusiastically. 

“Like, so good,” you repeat. 

You both laugh. 

Fuck. 

~~~

For your entire life, family dinner has been a fortnightly tradition. 

There is a salient moment in your childhood memory; your parents, tucked away in some corner of the house they thought you wouldn't detect, voices raised in frustration. Your father, increasingly away from home, was missing out on your childhood. Your mother, desperate to keep your life as stable as possible, begging him to change. Despite his philandering ways, there was a love there between your parents, at least once upon a time. And thus a compromise was reached and the family dinner tradition was born. 

Of course, CytoGenix duty called from time to time and family dinner was deemed of lower priority, leaving you and your mother to dine alone, huddled at the end of the ten-seater dining table. Then there were the four years you spent studying abroad, missed dinners you had no idea would be your mother’s last. Still, family dinner had been an honored tradition for the most part.

And when you were bedridden, steeped in grief and disbelief, it was your father's suggestion that you restart the tradition. It was the only thing that roused you from that dark numbness. For a couple of months there it was good. Just you and dad, navigating the fog together, united in your heartbreak. 

That was, until he announced there would be a guest joining you at dinner one night. You had assumed an aunt or distant cousin, some estranged family member who’d made their way through the woodwork upon hearing the news of your mother’s untimely passing. That pretense fell away the moment Monica strolled into the dining room, dressed for Paris fashion week. You’d held a polite smile, asked polite questions, and offered polite answers to the rare, offhand question she threw your way. It was at one of these fortnightly dinners that Monica and your father, hands grasped together tightly, announced they were getting married. It was harder this time to offer a polite congratulations, forcing a pained smile until you could excuse yourself to sob in the privacy of the bathroom.

And no, you didn’t go to the wedding.

It’s in that enormous dining room that you sit now, pushing a charred brussel sprout around on your plate. 

“You know, sweetie, you have such a glow about you lately,” Monica coos from across the table. Her tone is all honey, but her eyes hold the sharpness of a blade. You resist the urge to roll your eyes anytime Monica uses terms of endearment toward you, as if her saccharine words could disguise the fact that she’s closer to your age than to her sexagenarian husband.

Still, you flush at implication. Is there a blinking sign floating over your head that reads I just got fucked so hard I saw stars, ask me about it?

“I’ve been getting out more lately,” you offer instead of the expletive laced response you really want to say. 

“I’ve noticed,” your father says, his tone carrying more irritation than interest. “I’ve also noticed you’ve been taking a lot of personal days at the office.”

He's not wrong. Ever since the day you’d woken up in the basement of the laundromat and had your entire world turned on its axis, something profound had shifted. Discovering that Vought—and by extension CytoGenix, too—likely bear responsibility for your mother’s death has a way of making intern projects feel laughably small. You figure that Adam and Emily have the menial lab experiments covered in your absence. 

Your father sets his knife down deliberately, licking his teeth before speaking. “I want you to take this seriously,” he says, his voice cool but weighty. “This isn’t just an internship—it’s the family name we’re talking about.”

Something about the scrape of Monica’s knife on the china grates on you, or maybe it’s the way you fucking hate brussel sprouts. Maybe it's your father's condescending tone and the fact that the family name has only ever brought you pain and misery. Perhaps it's the fact that all of you sitting here together now is a bastardization of a tradition your mother created in hopes that you'd have some semblance of a normal childhood.

“What about me, though?” The words spill out before you can stop them. “What about what I want?”

The room falls still. Monica freezes mid-cut, her fork hovering. Even you’re surprised at the sharpness in your own voice.

“Maybe you forgot, since you didn’t bother showing up to my graduation, but I majored in biology, not pharmacology or business. I never wanted to come back here, let alone do this internship. So excuse me if I miss a few days here and there, okay?”

The heat of your anger makes your face flush, sweat prickling at your spine. Across the table, Monica blinks, her expression unreadable. If you didn’t know better, you’d think she almost looked impressed.

But your father doesn’t yell, doesn’t slam his fists on the table like he did when you were younger. Instead, he does something that is perhaps even worse. He dismisses you, a loose hand wave and unaffected expression rendering your impassioned cry moot. The calm, detached response somehow cuts even deeper.

“Nonsense,” he says coolly. “Someone needs to take over the family business when I go, and if you ask my cardiologist he'll tell you that day isn't too far off.”

“Baby, don’t talk like that!” Monica gasps, her performative worry grating on your nerves. She turns to you. “Your dad’s been overseeing testing on a new heart medication in the labs—which you’d know if you bothered to show up.”

You zone out completely as the two of them bicker back and forth, about your father's health, about your insolence, and then eventually about frothy gossip they'd overheard during their recent outing to Le Bernardin. 

Your mind drifts.

What do you want? You’d chosen biology at Cambridge as a compromise, a way to avoid outright rebellion against your father’s wishes. Your mother used to tell you to go after what set your heart on fire, to never settle for anything that didn’t light you up inside. She always spoke as if your success was inevitable, like there was no version of reality where you wouldn’t do something extraordinary.

Only, maybe she'd never considered a reality in which her advice and listening ear no longer existed, where her very absence snuffed out that spark entirely.

What would she say about the Boys, about Butcher? She was a sensible lady, and classy, so it probably would have taken her some time to warm up to the idea of you cavorting around with a crew of vigilantes. Still, you want to believe that she would see the spirit with which you speak about them, the way you feel a million times more purpose scheming and spying in a dingy, dimly lit basement than you ever did sitting in a cubicle reading lab reports. You imagine her reaction to Butcher, her mother's instinct warning you to guard your feelings, and her inability to deny that you were glowing. 

You're pulled from your daydream when your ears perk up at something Monica says. “Sorry, what was that?” You ask. 

She examines you for a moment. “I said that production has been set back for a special product we've been making for Vought. There was an… unfortunate accident.” She spears her steak, her gaze dropping. “Ashley’s furious. They’re demanding a meeting.”

This time Monica is on the receiving end of your father's casual dismissal as he waves her off like a gnat. “I already spoke to her. Told her they can come to dinner at the Lakehouse. We’ll pour them some wine, ease the blow.”

Monica sets her jaw on edge. “It's going to take a lot of wine for this to go down smoothly, darling,” she says curtly. Her tone lowers. “The losses were huge, it's going to take years and billions to recoup—”

Your effort not to smile is Herculean.

Then your father’s voice cuts through. “I want you there,” he says.

You blink. “Me? Why?”

“You need to start familiarizing yourself with Vought if you’re going to take over. Think of it as a lesson in conflict resolution.” He chuckles, ignoring Monica’s pointed glare.

And, to everyone's surprise, you don't argue this. “Okay, I'll be there.” Your mind swirls with all the ways you can take advantage of this opportunity. 

You choke down the last brussel sprout before bouncing up, giving your dad a kiss on the cheek before you leave. 

“See? I told you she'd come around,” you hear him say before the door shuts behind you. 

~~~

You don’t bother going home after dinner. Instead, you head straight for the laundromat, the adrenaline from your dinner revelation buzzing in your veins.

The basement is alive with chatter as you burst through the door. MM, Hughie, Kimiko, and Frenchie greet you with a chorus of smiles and hellos, their faces lighting up at your excitement.

Butcher, on the other hand, freezes. He bolts upright from the couch as if you’d hit him with a stun gun, his wide eyes darting over your face. For a moment, it looks like he might say something, but his mouth clamps shut before finally settling on an awkward wave before returning to his usual seat on the couch. The others glance at him, puzzled by his bizarre reaction, but say nothing.

You don’t entirely blame him. It's the first time you've seen each other in the week since you slept together. The memory lingers sharper than you’d like to admit. The rest of the car ride home had passed in companionable conversation, punctuated by argument every time you wanted to pull over to take a picture of a cool looking tree or pretty sunset. By the time you pulled up in front of your apartment you were dead tired, asleep on your feet. But just as you turned to leave, Butcher squeezed your hand. “Be safe, alright?” he'd said, and you told him you would be. 

You thought about him that night when you touched yourself, something you've been making a bad habit of lately. You wondered if he might have been doing the same. 

None of that matters now. You’re here for a mission.

“I’ve got a lead,” you announce, diving into an explanation of the upcoming dinner and its potential as a goldmine for intel. Everyone is receptive, earning you a back pat from MM and a good job, ma poupette  from Frenchie. You can't deny the way their praise feels like sunlight on your face. 

Hughie chimes in. “You should wear a wire. We’ll be outside in the van, listening in. If anything goes sideways, we’ll be ready.”

You nod, reassured by the thought of their backup. Soon, they’re deep into planning—locations, entry and exit points, contingencies. You hang back, content to watch them work.

That’s when Butcher sidles up beside you.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asks, voice low. “Privately.”

Your pulse quickens as you nod and follow him into a side room. He shuts the door behind you, and the air between you feels suddenly charged. You're embarrassed by how flustered you feel just by being so close to him again, like your body knows his and reacts involuntarily at the proximity. Your cheeks flush as you draw your eyes up to meet his, putting effort into controlling your breath. Did he want to discuss what happened again? Did he change his mind about this physical element of your relationship? Did he pull you into this room because he absolutely could not wait a second longer to tear your clothes off and have you again, right here, right now?

He interrupts your spiraling thoughts by pulling a manila envelope from his trench coat and shoving it into your hands.

“What’s this?” you ask, confused.

“Your mum’s autopsy report. The unredacted version,” he says, his voice unusually soft. “Had it smuggled out of Vought Tower.”

Your breath catches. You grip the envelope, your excitement from earlier replaced by a rising wave of guilt. How had you let yourself become so wrapped up in your feelings for him that you’d lost sight of why you were working together in the first place?

You start to pull the papers out, but his hand covers yours, stopping you.

“I’m warning you,” he says. “It’s not good.”

You nod, swallowing hard.

The words on the pages blur together at first, dense medical jargon making your head spin. Some of it is familiar, pulled from the sanitized version Vought had given you. But there are new phrases here, ones that jump out like knives.

Internal injuries consistent with a traumatic car accident or fall from a great height. 

No external injuries noted. 

Partial exsanguination. 

You shake your head. None of this makes sense. You were told that your mother was found in her apartment, like having fallen and slipped in the shower. You didn't have to be a medical examiner to know that a person wouldn't have such catastrophic injuries from a slip, couldn't bleed to death from a wound with no external injury. 

Your hands tremble as you flip to the final page, one you'd examined at length in the past. Your eyes fall to the Cause of Death header. As before, you see ‘accidental’ written beneath it. Except next to it, previously obscured by a thick, black redacting line, you find two letters. SR. 

“SR?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Butcher grimaces. “Supe-related. It means a Supe killed your mum.”

You suspected it, readied yourself for it, stayed up late at night agonizing about it. Yet, with the evidence in your hands now, finally real, you begin to tremble. There was no running from the fact that your mother had suffered, that she had been afraid in her last moments. What did she think when the Supe showed up at her apartment? Had she begged for her life? Had your father and Monica contracted with Vought to get your mother out of the picture?

Your legs give out beneath you, vision swimming. Before you meet the ground, strong arms catch you, wrapping around you. You're enveloped in Butcher's arms as he gently guides you both to the floor, pulling you in tighter as you rest against the wall. Your lungs heave in great, powerful bursts, awful croaking sobs escaping from deep inside you. You sob in the same way you did on the night you received the life-altering news, unabashed and involuntarily. Butcher says nothing as he rocks you back and forth, a large hand running up and down your back. He lets you get it all out, like he's been here, like he knows this pain all too well. When the sobs subside and your breathing steadies, he helps you to your feet, his hands lingering just long enough to ensure you’re steady. You wipe your eyes and manage a grateful glance, knowing that speaking would only unleash another torrent of tears.

Butcher steps back slightly, his hand lingering on your shoulder as if anchoring you to the moment. His face softens, guarded but undeniably tender. He clears his throat, glancing away before meeting your eyes again.

“I know what it’s like, you know,” he says, voice quieter than you’re used to. “To lose someone and not have the answers. To lie awake at night, over and over, trying to piece together the truth that everyone else seems happy to bury.”

You blink, surprised by his tone. “You’re talking about Becca?”

He shakes his head. “Not just Becca. My brother, Lenny.”

The name hangs in the air like a heavy weight. He exhales sharply, as though it physically pains him to say it.

“Lenny was... different from me,” he continues, the rough edge in his voice softening further. “He wasn’t like this.” He gestures vaguely at himself, the trench coat, the scowl, the hardened demeanor. “He was the better one. Gentle, kind. Always trying to keep me in line. He was... the only good thing left in my life, for a long time.”

You stay quiet, the gravity in his voice pulling you in.

“But I couldn’t protect him.” His jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists. “He was dealing with his own demons, and I was too blind, too wrapped up in my own shit, to see what he needed. He...” Butcher’s voice falters, his words cracking. “He didn’t make it. Took his own life. And I’ve spent every day since wonderin’ if I could’ve stopped it, if I could’ve done somethin’ different.”

You reach out instinctively, your hand brushing against his arm, offering the same silent comfort he’d given you earlier.

“That’s why I’m telling you,” he says, looking at you with a rare vulnerability, his eyes sharp and glassy. “Whatever it takes, we’re going to get the bastard who did this to your mum. You’ve got my word. I’m not gonna let you go through this alone. Not like I did.”

His words ignite something deep inside you, a mixture of gratitude, determination, and pain. You nod, your voice unsteady but resolute. “We’ll get them. Together.”

Butcher’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead, he nods, the unspoken understanding between you solidifying like steel.

“Just promise me,” he adds, his voice rough again, “you don’t lose yourself in this. Revenge is a funny thing. It takes more than it gives. Trust me, I know.”

You swallow hard, hearing the weight of his warning but knowing, in your heart, that this path is the only one you can take.

“I’ll try,” you say, though you’re not sure if it’s a promise you can keep.

Butcher seems to hear it in your voice but doesn’t push. Instead, he straightens, his usual stoicism returning. “Get some rest,” he says, pulling his trench coat tighter around himself. “Big day tomorrow.”

As he walks toward the door, you glance at the manila envelope still clutched in your hands. The truth you’ve been searching for is finally laid bare, but it feels heavier than you ever anticipated.

Before he steps out, Butcher pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at you. For a moment, there’s something in his gaze, something soft and almost protective.

“You’re tougher than you think,” he says gruffly. “Don’t forget that.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with the truth and the ache of everything it means.

~~~

You're darting around your apartment in a short cotton bathrobe when three raps fall against your door in quick succession, alerting you to the arrival of Hughie and Butcher.

Thrusting the front door open, you barely greet the men before scurrying back upstairs. Dinner at the Lakehouse starts in an hour and a half. You're running late and you know it. 

“Make yourselves comfortable,” you shout over your shoulder, already halfway up the stairs to your loft.

Butcher steps inside first, glancing around the expansive living room with its vaulted ceilings and tastefully expensive decor. Though he’s been here once before, briefly, you can feel the weight of his presence in the space. Hughie follows, lingering awkwardly by the door as if afraid to touch anything.

“You sure this is just yours?” Hughie asks, his voice filled with awe as he surveys the plush furniture and abstract art pieces that probably cost more than his yearly salary.

“Doesn’t look like the digs of someone in our line of work, does it?” Butcher mutters, one eyebrow cocked as he gestures toward the oversized painting above your couch.

You cringe upstairs, pausing mid-search for your shoes. Do they know the painting cost a cool twenty grand? Do they know your father didn’t even blink when you charged it to his credit card?

The size and opulence of your apartment feel like an accusation, another reminder of the gulf between your world and theirs.

Pushing the thought aside, you turn to your reflection in the mirror. The maroon dress you’ve chosen clings to you like a second skin, fabric cascading over your hips and down your thighs to lightly skim the floor. The neckline rises to your collarbones, giving the illusion of modesty. It's what happens when you turn around that's worthy of a commotion; your back is bare save for delicate straps that criss-cross your back, dipping dangerously low beneath your waist, leaving little to the imagination. You’d be lying if you said you weren't looking a little forward to seeing Butcher's reaction.

Taking a steadying breath, you smooth the silk down your sides and make your way downstairs. The clack of your heels on the wooden steps draws their attention immediately. Hughie’s head snaps up, his mouth slightly agape before he quickly averts his gaze, his cheeks flushing.

Butcher, on the other hand, doesn’t bother to look away. His eyes rake over you, unapologetic, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and something darker, something you’re afraid to name. He doesn’t speak, but his jaw tightens, and for a moment, he seems rooted in place. His eyes burn a hole through you, jaw firmly remaining on the ground. It's as though he's never seen you naked, reduced to tears by his relentless—

Get a hold of yourself. 

“Wow,” Hughie stammers, standing abruptly. “Uh, you—wow, yeah, you look—”

“Thanks, Hughie,” you interrupt, sparing him further embarrassment.

He awkwardly holds up the wire and listening device, his hands trembling as he explains how it works, assuring you that you'll be safe and that they'll step in if anything goes sideways. You distantly wonder would cause this mission to go awry, and what exactly the Boys would do to help you. You nod along, your mind only half-focused on his words as he hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of threading the wire through your dress. You've grown quite comfortable around the guy, but it's hard to imagine how this couldn't be an awkward interaction. He frets, deeply uncomfortable manipulating your dress or touching your skin. 

“Uh, maybe you should—” Hughie stutters, gesturing vaguely toward you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Butcher growls, snatching the wire from Hughie’s hands. “I’ll do it.”

Before you can protest, Butcher steps closer, the heat of his presence washing over you. He hands you the mic, his voice low and rough. “Stick this under your sternum.”

You do as he says, tucking it into place with trembling fingers. He takes the wire and, with surprising gentleness, pulls the side of your dress open where the straps criss-cross. His fingers brush your skin as he threads the wire through, and suddenly the air feels too thick to breathe.

His hands pause at your waist, his eyes lifting to meet yours. The smoldering intensity in his gaze steals the air from your lungs, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“This,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he reaches up to place the earpiece in your ear, “is so you can hear us in the van.”

 His eyes read wistfulness. Yours return the favour. 

The proximity, the warmth of his breath fanning across your cheek, sends shivers racing down your spine. You force yourself to stay still, fighting the instinct to lean into him, to close the infinitesimal distance between you. Your flesh reacts to his touch, his breath fanning on your face sending flutters down your spine. You inhale deeply, committing his warm scent to memory. It takes all your self-control not to reach out and touch his neck. 

Butcher lingers a moment too long, his eyes flicking to your lips before he catches himself. He pulls back abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets as if to hide their tremble.

Hughie clears his throat loudly, snapping you both back to reality. “Uh, so... ready to go?”

Your cheeks burn as you step back, smoothing your dress and avoiding Hughie’s curious gaze. “Yeah,” you mumble, grabbing your coat and clutch. “Let’s get this over with.”

Shit. You have no idea how to explain to Hughie what the fuck just happened between you and Butcher. You have no idea how to explain to yourself what the fuck just happened between you and Butcher. He said it was a one time thing, and you had agreed. So why did it feel like neither of you really meant that now?

You don't wait around to find out. Cheeks hot, you pull on a heavy wool coat and throw your keys in a clutch, mumbling to Hughie and Butcher that your car is waiting downstairs for you, the three of you hurrying out of the apartment. 

Your heart is racing, your cool utterly lost, and you haven't even started the mission yet. 

~~~

The Lakehouse is hardly a house at all. Perched on eight sprawling acres of pristine waterfront property, the six-bedroom estate is more like a luxury resort. It boasts a private beach, a boathouse, a fully staffed kitchen, and amenities that wouldn’t be out of place in a five-star hotel. This was supposed to be your childhood home, a place where your family would gather to escape the chaos of the city. But, of course, your father’s relentless ambition had other plans. Weekdays in the city turned into every week in the city, and the Lakehouse became little more than a backdrop for corporate schmoozing and high-stakes dealmaking.

You’ve only been here once since moving back, and that visit had been for a similarly uncomfortable dinner with grumpy shareholders. That’s how it works with your father. When he invites someone to the Lakehouse, it means he’s either wooing them or trying to quell a crisis. Tonight, it’s the latter.

The heated marble floors feel too smooth under your heels as you drift through the dark wood-paneled corridors, a ghost in your father’s world. The hum of conversation grows louder as you approach the atrium, a cavernous space filled with old money charm and new money ambition. When you step inside, the low murmur of voices barely shifts.

Your father, however, notices immediately. His face lights up as he strides over, announcing your presence to the room with an enthusiasm that feels both practiced and performative. You’re greeted with nods and distracted glances from the scattered groups of investors, politicians, and Vought executives who occupy the space.

You paste on a polite smile and glide into the crowd, the maroon silk of your dress flowing like water around your frame. The fabric clings in all the right places, and you’re acutely aware of how much the dress is working in your favor tonight. You flit from one conversation to the next, exchanging hollow pleasantries with anyone willing to give you the time of day.

“Yes, I’m his daughter.”“No, I don’t work for CytoGenix yet, just shadowing.”“Of course, I’m honored to follow in his footsteps.”

You parrot the answers you know they want to hear, offering carefully crafted tidbits about your life in exchange for half-hearted words of encouragement or patronizing nods.

“So,” one executive asks, swirling his glass of whiskey, “you’ll be running CytoGenix one day, huh?”

You want to tell him you’d rather set the place on fire and dance on the ashes. Instead, you laugh, a soft, practiced sound, and offer some noncommittal response that earns an approving chuckle.

After thirty agonizing minutes, you can’t take it anymore. Your smile feels brittle, your cheeks sore from holding it in place. Excusing yourself with a vague promise to freshen up, you slip out of the atrium and into the cool night air.

The back terrace is wide and expansive, the kind of place meant for grand parties or quiet reflection. Tonight, it acts as your refuge. You pull your heavy coat tighter around your shoulders as you step to the edge, your heels clicking softly against the stone.

The view is breathtaking. The lake stretches out before you, the surface calm and glassy, reflecting the fiery reds and burnt oranges of the setting sun. The horizon blurs in the distance, where the vibrant sky meets the still water. The crisp fall air fills your lungs, sharp and invigorating, cutting through the lingering tension from the evening.

For a moment, you let yourself exhale fully, allowing the facade to fall away. Out here, there are no prying eyes, no hollow pleasantries, no suffocating expectations. Just the quiet lap of water against the shore and the distant rustle of leaves in the breeze.

You grip the stone railing and gaze out at the horizon, wondering if this is what your father feels when he’s here, if he ever lets himself feel anything at all. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you’re only here for one reason: to play your part. But the thought lingers like a shadow, just out of reach, as the sun dips below the horizon and the lake fades into twilight.

Your serenity is interrupted when the terrace door opens with a creak. You swear under your breath at the unwelcome intrusion. 

“Hey there sweetheart,” a voice beckons out behind you. Instead of the warmth you’d normally feel at this kind of greeting, you find the hair at the back of your neck standing on end, unsettled to your core. Your stomach tightens, and you hear Butcher’s muttered curse in your earpiece.

You turn, finding Homelander closing the door behind him, joining you on the balcony. 

“Homelander.” You turn, keeping your tone neutral, but your heart beats louder in your chest. "Enjoying the evening?"

He steps onto the balcony, closing the door behind him, his gaze tracing you with that predatory intensity that sends a ripple of discomfort through your veins. “Indeed I am.” He eyes you up and down, slow and deliberate, his words syrupy and laced with an unsettling warmth. “Enjoying the view even more.”

“Fuckin' prick,” Butcher growls under his breath through the earpiece.

You offer a strained smile, your pulse quickening despite yourself. “The lake’s amazing this time of year,” you say, grasping at the first thing that pops into your mind, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground.

Homelander takes a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “Not as incredible as you,” he says with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His hand rests on your waist, and you recoil instinctively, every nerve in your body screaming to move, to get away. “You’re something special, you know that?” He leans in slightly, his voice dropping, “I’ve had my eye on you all night.”

A burst of anger flashes in Butcher’s voice. “I’m gonna kill him,” he hisses, but you can hear the strain in his words—he knows he can’t act just yet.

You swallow. Despite your knowledge of who he is, what he is capable of, you're not immune to his charisma. The quasi-genuine emotion in his voice is almost believable, bombarding your defenses. You stiffen against him, clutching onto the balcony railing like it might save you. 

Your stomach churns as Homelander's fingers curl possessively around your waist. Your muscles stiffen, but you stand your ground, ignoring the dread welling inside you. “I was just heading back inside,” you mutter, the tension radiating from your body palpable. You try to sidestep, but his hand snaps out, gripping your wrist in an iron hold, pulling you back toward him.

“No need for that, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your ear, his voice low, with a dangerous edge. “Don’t tell me those perky tits and round ass are gonna go to waste.”

“Enough, I'm going in,” Butcher's voice cracks through your earpiece, barely holding back the fury in his words. “No!” Hughie chirps, eliciting jumbled groans from Butcher. If he thinks he's disgusted listening to it, he should try hearing it spoken directly into his ear. 

You press your palm to the cool railing, feeling the weight of his gaze on you, the air thick with tension. You take stock of the situation, calculating your next move. The terrace is isolated, the fall air too cool for the partygoers inside. No one would hear you if you screamed right now. Still, your proximity to the party would prevent Homelander from doing anything too egregious. He may be sociopathic and narcissistic, but he's not stupid. He can't hurt you, at least not right now. 

Your mind races as you swallow the vile words bubbling up. It’s your turn now. You meet his gaze head-on, your voice barely shaking. “Back off, asshole,” you say, each word dragging itself from your throat with the kind of anger you’ve been keeping locked inside for months. “Step the fuck off.”

The world feels suspended for a heartbeat, and then another. You brace yourself for whatever comes next—the snap of your wrist, the rush of air as he lifts you into the sky—but all you hear is his shallow, ragged breath. He doesn’t move.

To your utter shock, he lets go of you. Only his hand remains, grasped around your wrist. You turn to face him. 

You feel the anger roll off of him in waves, concentrated and palpable. You fight to keep your breathing even as you contend with the electricity falling off of him, a live wire spinning out behind you. 

“You know who my father is,” you state, voice calm and even once again. “You don't want to do this.”

“That fuckin’ bastard is getting a bullet—”

His face falls, menacing energy leaking out of him. You feel the malicious energy exuding from his very being, every nerve in his body wanting to hurt you in this very moment, the barest thread tying him to reality.

Please, you think. Give Butcher a reason to run in here. Let him save me. 

He holds onto you, fist tightening around your wrist painfully. He gazes up at you, unnaturally blue eyes pleading. 

“I'm going in. I don't fucking care I’m going,” Butcher crackles into your ear. 

“Stop,” you say, simultaneously to Butcher and Homelander. “Just walk away.”

For a moment, the tension is unbearable. But then, to your shock, both men stand back. Butcher's voice fades from within your ear. Homelander takes a step backward, though it’s not out of mercy, but rather a calculation. A predator retreating from its cunning prey. His fingers twitch, but he doesn’t reach for you again.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, his voice almost too smooth. He turns away from you with a languid motion, desperately trying to coax his boner away. 

You swallow the bile rising in your throat and steel yourself. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”  

You stare up at him, daring him to act up even a little bit. His eyes are lifeless, shark-like. He doesn't move. 

His smile is a razor. “Sure.”

You take a breath, then turn, letting the distance grow between you. “I really need to get back to my dad,” you mutter, your voice almost too casual as you slip past him and back inside.  

You slip back inside, the warmth of the party pressing against you. Your footfalls echo against the wood panelled walls, softening the jagged edges of your inhaled breaths. You pause for a second, ensuring he isn't following you, before ducking back into the dinner party. 

~~~

Dinner is served: Filet mignon, perfectly seared, accompanied by a side of Catalonian salad. 

It takes all of your energy not to tear into the meal, desperately trying to recall your brief time spent at finishing school in your teens. An array of assorted cutlery borders your meal; you select what you hope to god is the correct fork.

The minutes stretch on in blessed silence, the clink of cutlery and soft murmurs as everyone devours the fresh seafood. Cloth napkins flutter delicately to dab at dribbles of butter staining chins.

“A toast,” Ashley says, cutting through the meal’s quiet indulgence. “I'd like to extend Vought's gratitude toward the Morgans tonight for this lovely get together,” she raises her wine glass, all of the partygoers offering theirs up in the toast. She raises her glass in a practiced gesture, and everyone follows suit, toasting dutifully before draining their drinks.

When she speaks again her expression is serious. “But,” she continues, her tone now sharp, “I'd like to discuss the status of V2. After the recent attack, our shareholders are understandably concerned.”

Monica stands from the table, patronizing smile plastered on her face. “Ashley,” she begins, flashing a disingenuous smile, “We so appreciate your condolences on CytoGenix’s recent loss of two beloved security guards. May they rest in peace.” Her hand presses to her chest in exaggerated grief, screwing her eyes shut in mock sincerity.

You scoff quietly, wondering how someone so transparent in their deceit made it this far in the industry. How did your father fall for her when your mother was right there?

She continues. “What happened was a freak accident. V2 remains a well-guarded secret. We can assure you that CytoGenix is fast at work replacing all of the destroyed product.”

The room erupts into hushed murmurs, sidelong glances communicating dissatisfaction with Monica's response. She's trying desperately to downplay what happened, what you did, and she's failing miserably. 

“Monica, as an executive at both Vought and CytoGenix, I'm a little concerned about your nonchalance. Are you not concerned about the loss of 13 billion dollars in profits here?” Ashley’s voice is measured but biting, her sharp gaze trained on Monica without faltering.

Monica's face falls ever so slightly. It's barely perceptible, but you notice the infinitesimal twitch in her smile, the twinkle dying in her eyes. The energy in the room shifts as the din of cutlery and small talk silence. The two women stare each other down. Electric tension crackles around the room. 

Then, the squeak of a chair as it’s pushed back snaps you from your thoughts. You’re caught off guard when your father rises from his seat, one hand raised in an almost theatrically calm gesture.

“Ladies, please,” he says, a placating smile on his face. “I am willing to put my name and reputation on the line here to tell all of you,” he makes a sweeping gesture to the room, “CytoGenix is committed to ensuring favorable outcomes for everyone sitting at this table. I have taken on the responsibility of guarding the remaining vials myself. The future of V2 rests under my watchful eye.” His chest erupts in a hearty chuckle, as though it was silly that anyone doubted his company's ability to make money. A laugh that threatened danger if it was not met with a positive response. 

As if on cue, everyone devolves into soft laughter, like the room itself has exhaled collectively. Stanley Morgan, ever the consummate politician. Ability to command a room unmatched, he basks in the light chatter of the relieved guests. 

Sometimes your father's power scares you. Times like right now. 

You find an excuse to leave once dinner is finished, feigning sleepiness to avoid being dragged into the inevitable dessert round with the insufferable business crowd. As you pull on your coat, your father crosses the room and gives you a quick, almost absent hug. He presses a kiss to your hairline, the gesture so fleeting, so routine, but for a moment, you feel a flicker of something you can’t quite place.

“Stay safe, kiddo. I love you,” he says, and for a moment you forget. So you pretend. 

You pretend that you just had a normal weekly dinner with him and your mom, just like old times. You pretend that she's just in the other room, finishing up the whipped toppings for her favorite dessert, key lime pie. You pretend that your father always tells you that he loves you, that he doesn't save it for occasions when he's drunk and you've finally done something that makes him proud. 

You hug him back. You tell him you love him too.